(November-December 1967, Volume IV, Number 3-4)



It seems that there has been a great deal of speculation on my identity. Let me allay the suspicion that I am either Elwin Meyers or Martin Morrison. I am not. For those whose curiosity is killing them, let me say that I live in Berkeley. Now, on to more titillating bits.

There was quite a reaction to my last column, when I said that some chessophrenetics had suspicions about Mr. Trottier's tournament tactics. Remember, I said that he seemed to pleasant a fellow for any kind of chicanery, and that he was merely one of those players who were unable to improve, always remaining a very weak B or a very strong C. Am I responsible for those whose nasty little minds wanted to believe that the grumbling losers devised as an excuse for their poor play? I hear that Mr. Trottier will not play in the C's any more. Well, at least he has integrity. What more proof do you need?

I hear that our busy editor, Martin Morrison, has taken on some more work for himself - being a teaching assistant at the University of California at Berkeley. Who'd ever guess that he's teaching Latin? Well, at least he has culture.

It seems that Mr. Richard Hansen went to jail the other day. Oh no, not to serve a sentence. He went as part of a chess team to challenge the skills of the Vacaville Medical Facility's team. It must have been quite a surprise to his team to find out that the opponents had on their side the infamous Dr. De Kaplany (convicted of killing his wife in an acid bath a few years ago). How did Richard's team fare in the match? "Pretty poorly," he said, adding, "after all, they have lots of time to study."

En Passant's brilliant little games columnist remarked the other day that all the games printed in this newspaper had only eighteen moves. I'm glad he has nothing better to do than count moves.

Sorry for the pithiness of this column, scaccics, but don't pout - I'll have more for you next time. A final word of thanks to those who have been sending in juicy items for this column.

Confidential to P. R., of Richmond: No, I am not Robert Clipson. Keep trying.

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