AFebruary 25 1980
The Burlington Free Press, Burlington, Vermont, Monday, February 25, 1980
Chess master John Curdo plans a move on his rounds through the aisles of his opponents Thursday night. Free Press Special Photo by James Lister Smith
Chess Master Plays 46 Opponents at Once
By James Lister Smith
Special to the Free Press
It was awe-inspiring: one chess player pitted against 46 eager opponents Thursday night while taking them on simultaneously.
John Curdo, a U.S. master, sauntered from table to table, taking sips from a soft drink, peering down at the boards in front of him. Chatting on and off with his jittery adversaries, he rapidly made his moves.
Curdo is a chess pro. He makes his living appearing in tournaments, writing a column on the game for The Boston Globe and giving lessons and exhibitions. He achieved this enviable status by becoming a national master in his mid-20s, taking the New England championship seven times and the Massachusetts title on no less than 14 occasions. He is rated above the 2,400 level of play, which, in layman's terms, translates as terrific.
Playing simultaneous matches is a lucrative sideline for Curdo and one which he enjoys, because he knows he will perform excellently and the pressure isn't as tough. “In a tournament, you've got to win to eat,” he explains. “But in a 'simul' you're going to eat anyway.”
Studying, not eating, is what he did before his performance at the Burlington Chess Club on Pearl Street. He perused a book made up of his opening strategies, took a nap, then set off in readiness for the 7:30 p.m. start.
Three rooms were occupied by the players. All but two of the competitors were members of the chess club. They clearly knew the ropes; boards, pieces, and, in at least one case, a table had been brought. Everybody was set up and anxiously waiting before Curdo began his languid rounds through the aisles.
The atmosphere was far removed from the library-quiet image commonly associated with chess. Conversation buzzed between the players. Youths of various ages moved around, none of them resembling in the slightest the bespectacled egghead-brained archetype. Stentor-voiced Bill McGrath, club president, boomed out that participants were encouraged to walk around during the games, kibitz with other players, gang-up against Curdo and wipe him off the map. The prize for beating Curdo was a free entrance to the March 1 competition, and anyone who managed a draw could join the speed chase the following evening.
In the early stages of the game, Curdo toured all 46 boards in about five minutes, but as the evening wore on, and the moves became more complex, he slowed down. His first victory came about 9 p.m. and was chalked up on the wins/losses/draws board. It was not long after that he claimed another — a chess player falling prey to pawn pressure, the center fork gambit and plain ignorance — but then a lull descended on the proceeding.
Bill Mcgrath confided that it looked as though the games could last until the wee hours, especially in “the Barre Room” — so termed because it contained a good proportion of Granite Cityites putting up some hefty opposition.
But spirits ran high, with advice, questions and comments criss-crossing the aisles. “Faint heart never won fair maid or some such rubbish,” intoned Bob Clawson as he urged a dubious fellow-competitor to be more aggressive with his king's bishop; the advice was accepted because Clawson's no slouch around the board, having given “simuls” himself.
However, it was Larry Campisi of Jericho who came up with the evening's most memorable remark. He assured a worried neighbor that Curdo maybe wouldn't notice the blooper he had committed. Curdo, of course, did.
After midnight, Curdo began to wipe out his opposition, and he mopped up the stragglers around 2 a.m. By then he had been playing for close to seven hours without a break. His tally was 38 wins, six draws and two losses. The defeats came at the hands of local podiatrist Jerry Hayes and Bill Chandler, a 17-year-old Burlington High School student.
Curdo lingered afterwards talking and signing scorecards, then returned to the McGraths' home where he has been spending the week. He had a snack and unwound with late show before going to bed.
Friday morning, the chess master slept late.
October 17 1980
Daily Hampshire Gazette, Northampton, Massachusetts, Friday, October 17, 1980
GAZETTE reporter Chris Sammartano looks on soberly as state chess champion John Curdo moves inexorably toward a checkmate. Curdo managed 14 victories and one draw in a simultaneous chess tournament at the Hampshire Mall in Hadley (Photo by Gordon Daniels).
Reporter a pawn at hands of master
By CHRIS SAMMARTANO
I didn't mince my words: “I'm going to beat you” I told John Curdo who happens to be the Massachusetts state chess champion, looked me over for a second absently toying with a pawn on the chess set in front of us.
“We'll see,” he responded.
I had this raw gut feeling that I indeed would see.
Curdo played 15 of us at once in what is known in chess circles as a “simultaneous chess tournament” the other night at the Hampshire Mall in Hadley.
Any chess players who wanted to pit themselves against the life-time chess master paid a $5 registration fee set up his board and waited as Curdo sped from table to table, picking off their pieces like cherries from a tree.
However, before the games, at least one of the chess-playing challengers Lloyd Horowitz, a senior at the University of Massachusetts in Amherst wasn't fazed. “I'm pretty good I'll give him a fight,” he said.
It seemed as though all of the players were “pretty good.” Most had pads on which they marked down every move Curdo made.
However, the 48-year-old North Billerica man is a tough player. He has a 2,436 rating and has studied chess for 34 years, which places him as something of a slim Minnesota Fats when it comes to chess hustling. And that's even before you learn he has written a book on playing chess and the weekly chess column in the Boston Globe.
I hadn't played chess in a few years. Subtle nuances of the game — such as defense offense and strategy — escape me. However I was confident I had a plan.
Counter attack
Since I knew I could never beat him with strategy I decided to move my pieces illogically. That would confuse him.
Sitting on the same side of a semicircle of tables the players pondered their chess pieces as Curdo started to play by making a move and then moving on to the next table.
When Curdo came around the second time I cunningly made my first move by moving the pawn in front of my queen forward. After a brief pause he moved his king’s pawn forward and went on to the next table.
Several rounds later, I decided to really confuse him I moved my king’s knight for no reason. He looked down at the board with a puzzled expression for about three seconds. Then, I knew I had him.
He took my knight with a pawn.
“There was nothing you could do. It was trapped” he said apologetically as he whisked by on his way to the next table.
Better than Dad
Few people like to lose. One of the reasons I never became proficient at chess was because my father — the person who taught me to play at the age of seven — would ravage my pieces with the mercilessness of a claymore mine. I never beat him.
This man was better than my father. I remembered Bergman's “Seventh Seal” and the inevitability of being beaten by Death. I realized that my illogical playing style wasn't working as Curdo took my knights, a bishop, and a rook. And all I had of his pieces were a couple of pawns.
As the game progressed a crowd gathered behind the players who were huddled over their boards. Two tables down a University of Massachusetts freshman and a member of a chess team, Hirsh Leff, took time out from his concentration to look my way.
“How are you doing,” he asked. Leff had taken as many of Curdo's pieces as Curdo had of his.
“Great,” I lied.
Leff eventually offered Curdo a draw - which Curdo accepted. That was the best any of the players did. In an average eight-minute game per player, Curdo beat them all except for Leff.
When Curdo came hack around to me for the 24th time, my king was in check by a rook and it was hemmed in by a bishop and a queen. There was only one place I could move. I decided the time was right for a deal.
“How about a draw,” I suggested.
“There are a few moves left yet,” Curdo said declining.
We'll just have to slug it out then, I thought as I moved the piece to the only available space.
Hummingbird quick, he moved his queen.
“Checkmate,” he said politely, proffering his hand. “Thank you,” he added, equally politely.
As a child, when my father would beat me at chess, I would scatter the pieces on the board with a backhanded slap, and run wailing from the room.
“Thank you,” I replied, shaking his hand. Mentally, I scattered the pieces.
