Summer 1980
1) DortmundLike every summer in these years, 1980 was no exception: I spent the winter semester with good intentions and mainly at university, as a good student. I probably wanted to encourage my father’s oft-quoted saying: “The road to hell is paved with good intentions. For in the summer semester there were plenty of other temptations. The good student mutated into a would-be chess professional. The semester usually runs from February to July. But by May at the latest, the temptations were too great. If you still need proof of how seriously I took my studies, I can tell you the following little incident:
My dearest professor at the time, even a chess player himself, also a mentor and almost a friend to this day – yes, I regularly describe my new mathematical discoveries to him –, was thus Mr Letzner. I actually met him one day in passing at the university. When I met him again a few days later and asked him about the previous meeting, something like: “Mr Letzner, we met here the day before yesterday, at the III Mathematical Institute,” he replied: “Oh, are you looking for a witness that you were here?
So I had registered for the International Tournament in Dortmund. For the master group. It was also just at the time when the single-division Bundesliga had been founded. There used to be a Nord, Süd and so on. The single-league was definitely a huge challenge. I really wanted to play there. It was great! You play against the best teams and players in Germany. Two games per weekend, the so-called double rounds. I just had to be there.
There was one small drawback: my home club, Lasker-Steglitz, had not qualified for the 1st Bundesliga. I would have had to play in the 2nd Bundesliga there. So I wanted to look in Dortmund, rather in West Germany, to see if there was an interested club somewhere. I had already spoken to my teammates. Despite their surely feigned regret, they agreed to the extent that they didn’t want to hinder my further career. They showed understanding. Apart from that, there was another aspect worth considering: you could expect to be paid, depending on the quality. And my club would certainly not have been able to “bid” with any big clubs.
I was a largely unknown quantity in (West) Germany, despite certain proofs of quality in my youth (once 4th place, once 8th place at the German Youth Championships). Nevertheless, I got an offer from one of the biggest clubs in Germany, one of the title candidates, the SG Köln-Porz. The (in chess circles) famous patron, Mr. Hilgert, had already heard some positive things about me. He offered me a place, but not a regular place. I would have got my stakes, but no guarantee.
The meeting came about when I was at the German Championships (unfortunately only as a spectator; I had missed the qualification in the form of the Berlin Championships again this year by half a point). There I met Norbert Franke, the team leader and the “girl for everything” of SG Bochum 31. Norbert took such great care of me and guaranteed me a regular place. We quickly agreed on the financial aspects (more about that later) and I agreed. From that summer on, I was a member and a Bundesliga player for Bochum.
If you want to correctly classify my outstanding importance for world history, you have to know that the author of the chess column in the Tagesspiegel, Rudolf Teschner, was worth the following (rather erroneous) report. The wording roughly: “The talented Berlin player Dirk Paulsen will continue his studies in Bochum. He is joining the local club, SG Bochum 31, and will play there in the 1st Bundesliga from next season.” Playing chess: yes. Study: No. Or does playing chess also count as studying?
I’m surprised that this article wasn’t in the “Chronology of World History”, which I got as a Christmas present from my father much later (it only ever says: 1969 – the first man on the moon or such uninteresting, insignificant events). Well, at least I kept the article for the next 20 years.
I wanted to “present” myself in Dortmund. Show what I can really do for once. Norbert lived, as you can easily guess, in Bochum. He had a house there. There was a room for me upstairs, for the duration of the tournament but also for my later stays in Bochum. So I also had this advantage: free accommodation.
I approached the task with full concentration. After all, in addition to the 2000 DM prize money, the winner could participate in the Grandmaster Tournament next year. I dedicated myself to this task as follows: jogging every morning. Then a shower. Then shopping. Oatmeal, fruit, milk, nuts, orange juice. Bread, butter, cold cuts, that was for later. Then preparation. Replay a few games, think about opponents and opening. Then a short rest for lunch (1 to 2 p.m.), a sandwich made, packed, orange juice added, and off to Dortmund.
The same discipline at the board: just sit at the board, don’t get up. At that time, the thinking time was 2 1/2 hours for 50 moves. That applied to both parties. So you could and had to reckon with a playing time of 5 hours. I thought about the game, the position, throughout. However, I allowed myself to get up once per game: I had to go to the toilet and eat one of the sandwiches I had brought with me, you don’t do that at the board. Then back at it. Only the game counted.
And what was the result? The first three games went back and forth. I never had a particular advantage, but I wasn’t at a disadvantage either. All three were draws. I didn’t know anything like that. How do I win a game? It seemed that nothing could be done. Finally, in round 4, a win. After hard work, but still. It’s possible! In round 5, the nasty setback: a defeat. What a loser I am! And someone like that wants to call himself a “professional”? Professional loser, maybe. A joke! 2.5 out of 5, just 50%! It’s a pretty lousy feeling. You’ve done relatively little wrong, yet you realise that you’re not good enough. Frustrating!
The worst thing afterwards: a rest day. Who needs something like that? I want to play, rather two games a day. And just now, after a zero!
Anyway, I was in the midfield, no money prize in sight, no grandmaster tournament, just an average player. Then came the last 6 rounds. I kept playing, with the same iron discipline. Gradually it paid off. My vision opened up. I seemed to see everything beforehand. Everything my opponents were up to. I had the better plans. When the man who gave his name to my chess club, former world champion Emanuel Lasker, was once asked how far in advance he would calculate the moves during a chess game, he replied: “Always one move ahead. That was also my motto, at least for the duration of this tournament. I won all 6 games and was the clear tournament winner!
Qualification for the GM tournament and a, by my standards, bulging wallet! 2000 DM! A reward for the hard work. But also a breakthrough?
3) BielWell, how did my further planning look like: 5 days I had to/wanted to stay in Bochum, my “new home”. Then on to the annual chess festival in Biel. And one more thing: now enjoy the success, be happy and rejoice.
And what happened? I fell into depression. I don’t want to offend the people of Bochum, but nevertheless I got a pretty good impression in those 5 days why Bochum has the highest suicide rate in Germany. Grönemeyer’s song didn’t exist yet either, so everything was grey, rather black around me. I couldn’t sleep either, I became weak, miserable, sick. And on top of that, I was longing for Angie. All alone and far from home.
Then one day (the fourth day) my later friend, then just acquaintance, Lothar Nikolajczuk, came by and discovered me, completely down. He immediately got me out of this hole and took me to his very spacious flat in Recklinghausen. Lothar lived with his friend Vladimir Budde. Vladimir was an upcoming team mate of mine. However, the 2nd board, a giant, I was initially only board 6. So for me, a giant. But at least, and Vladi was also quite surprised, I had won Dortmund. My depression vanished in a flash, I had life again, people, but above all chess players around me, that was enough.
Lothar and Vladi went to the tournament in Baden-Baden together the next day. I went with them to Baden-Baden, one night at the campsite, then on to Biel by train.
The year before, 1979, I was in Biel for the first time. This tournament is really an experience. Not only does Switzerland itself (also) show its best side there: it’s a huge spectacle, almost a must for every chess player. There were three categories there: an intermediate, a master and a grandmaster tournament. At the peak, there were over 1000 participants, all housed in the huge convention centre in Biel. I eagerly studied the tables, names and Elo numbers of the other participants every day. One day in 1979, I was standing in front of the tournament table with a boy my age. It’s easy to strike up a conversation among chess players anyway, I inquired briefly about his name. He answered, short and to the point, “Maier”. I replied, quick-wittedly, “Ah, C.”. My daily study of the rankings and results had in a way borne fruit. Only the first names were not written out in full, but with abbreviations. From that moment on, C. not only had his lifelong nickname gone, but a really deep friendship also flourished. Apart from the fact that I usually not only immediately recognise 59ers but also almost automatically like them, as well as almost automatically like Aquarians (C. was born two days after me, which meant that I used to tease him regularly on the birthdays we often celebrated together, but only on 28 January): You simply had to like C.. And not in the sense of Otto, who once said that about the boss of the house, only to add, after a pause for thought, “—- otherwise he’ll kick you out.”
I also met C in Biel in 1980. With him there was always just fun all day. I enjoyed it so much, just life again, that I didn’t want or could muster the discipline like in Dortmund a second time. Life had me again, I was running around during the games, fooling around with C. and others and … scored 4.5/11, one of the worst tournament results ever. Nevertheless, I have quite good memories of the tournament.
2) On to - well, where actually?In the course of the tournament I met Robert Fischer. For insiders, this may sound more than surprising. Since Bobby was not visible to anyone during those years, let alone chess players. Nevertheless, it is true. Robert Fischer was an Austrian. He had about 750 elopoints less than his namesake from the United States, the former world champion.
3) Bobby "the legendMy imagination tends to run away with me at such points. I made use of my admitted tendency to automatically have to tell my life story in response to a random question by simply writing it down. According to Brecht, this should now silence me (see chapter: The Pauli Ladder; Brecht: Talking – Writing — Silence). I’m still waiting for that effect. But I can think of numerous stories around it, all of which have a meaning:
I once had a car stolen. Cleverly, I had a) changed my insurance company before the theft, as my old one required an immobiliser, which was not yet a matter of course at the time (1994), and b) I left the vehicle registration in the car after I bought it. My insurance company was, of course, not prepared to pay for the damage. However, despite the fact that I was assured of hopelessness, I did not give up hope and got myself a lawyer. I knew exactly how the story had happened and was convinced that the judge would also have to recognise my absolute honesty and sincerity. My lawyer shared my assessment, probably for monetary reasons. During this time I read several comparable stories. Curious story. How thefts were faked. How the fraudsters were convicted. But also how the truth came to light. And one thing was remarkable and immediately obvious to me: in order to check the truth of a story, it is usually sufficient to ask the narrator about minor details. And with invented stories, that simply doesn’t work. The inventors only have their prefabricated answers ready. No detailed recollections. I got two-thirds right, by the way, by comparison.
I’m only mentioning this once to say that you certainly can’t complain about the lack of detailed memories in my stories. Even if some of it sounds unbelievable, invented: it’s all true (and not just “apparently” true). Even now, my sincerity still stands in my way. It commands me to mention that there are individual details that have been slightly modified for the sake of tellability. But the stories remain true. It (is) wa(h)r so.
But: what is real? According to my theory (see also chapter “Nihil is — nothing is (really)”), virtually nothing. So I might as well stick to fantasising now. Let’s go. My twins, who were born in 2002, are of different sexes, i.e. fraternal. They were born on 28 May, under the sign of Gemini. Now, because the resemblance is not immediately obvious due to gender predisposition, I am occasionally asked, “Are they actually twins?” Whereupon I let out a long, drawn-out: “Yessss” and before the interlocutor can take the floor again, follow it up with “…of the zodiac sign”. And this statement, within the bounds of possibility, can indeed be classified as “true”. I can then contain the astonishment intentionally caused by this in the postscript: “Although the statement is true with regard to the star sign: you are also twins in the sense of your question. (Occasionally I still puzzled over how many children I would have to have in purely mathematical terms: two twins who are each twins, what could possibly come out of that? Especially as my big daughter is also a Gemini {by the sign of the zodiac}).
And since I’m just fantasising, I might as well tell you about my actual (almost) encounter with the real Bobby Fischer: He was in Berlin for a few days around Christmas in 1978. I, as an absolute Bobby fan and admirer, which didn’t make me any different from the rest of the chess world (except the Russian one), was still praying fervently for his comeback. He had already lost the world title (to Karpov; by not playing) in 1975. Nevertheless, there was still hope.
Bobby wanted to remain unrecognised during his “appearance” in Berlin, as always. But he did not succeed, because Arno Nickel, who is still the editor of the “Schachkalendar”, was in the KaDeWe at the same time as Bobby. Arno’s alert eyes had made the connection relatively quickly. As a former Hamburger, he was also equipped with sufficient courage and addressed Bobby directly: “Are you Bobby Fischer?”
Bobby was quite peculiar, as is typical of chess players. But dishonesty is not one of his distinctive characteristics. He answered in the affirmative. Once identified, he then apparently also had a little pleasure in the encounter. He later visited the chairman of the Berlin Chess Federation, who also sold books, Alfred Seppelt. Mr. Seppelt unfortunately put a spoke in his “no fuss” wheel and immediately used his own contacts to the media, i.e. the newspapers, and published an article about Bobby the next day. Alfred Seppelt was the Berlin Champion in 1955, which he tells with some pride to this day, but there are worlds between him and Bobby in terms of chess, no question. In this respect he embarrassed himself a little (or a little more) when he wrote in this article the words: “We even played a few games. But Bobby Fischer doesn’t seem to have lost any of his playing strength, because I didn’t manage to win a single game.” From this one should probably conclude, among other things, that he held a few draws? Apart from that, I could have been a bobby double there with a similar result, with all due respect to Mr. Seppelt’s playing strength.
So what does this have to do with me? Well, I only missed Bobby by a day, so to speak. My mother had promised me some chess books for Christmas. Where did you buy them? At Alfred Seppelt’s. We visited Mr. Seppelt the following day to buy some books. I listened fascinated to his stories and asked to sit in the same chair as “the legend”. I was allowed. However, it belongs to the realm of fable that I did not change my trousers afterwards and that my mother finally had to have them welded off my body…
Perhaps you are beginning to get an idea why my way of thinking once earned me an entry in the class register that is unique in this form. My teacher, who, by the way, unlike many others, really liked me, once felt compelled to write down: “Pauli is disturbing the lesson. Reason: associative thinking.”
4) Where was I?Okay, I know, in Biel. And despite all my innate extravagance, I still hadn’t managed to get through the 2000 DM. I had money and holidays. So where to? Robert Fischer, the Austrian, of course immediately called Bobby anyway, already had an idea: he wanted to go to Spain, Badalona. I knew that Vladimir Budde also wanted to go there. So what could be more obvious? We set off late in the evening. The first night took us to Rimini. There we had a longer stopover. Eric Lobron, a friend at the time, soon to become a grandmaster, was also there, with his own car, so we drove in convoy. Eric was on holiday in Rimini. “Bobby” recovered a little and we went on. We spent the night in St. Tropez. Fantastic there. More about St. Tropez later.
The next morning we continued to Badalona, about 40 km northeast of Barcelona, directly on the coast. On the way, I bought the book “Spanish for travellers” and was ready for the adventure Spain.
We arrived there early in the morning. We immediately found a (rather: the) hotel, the one for chess players, that is. My first question at the reception: “Donde esta il mio amigo Vladimir Budde?” I had acquired this on the way. Where is Vladimir? The friend was (still) invention. But Vladi was there.
Not enough of the curiosities, I’ve already hinted at what this was leading up to. I met Winfried Taeger. Also a very good player. Winfried, as he was never called, was already completely greying, although unsuitable for it in terms of age, a 44 year old, had the nickname “Bobby” for completely inexplicable reasons and without my intervention. Now I was surrounded only by “Bobbies”. Luckily I wasn’t in England at the time. That took a little while.
With the latter Bobby I was on the road every day. Always to the beach, up and down the Costa Brava by train. Looking for the most beautiful beaches. But that was just an excuse. I was really looking for the most beautiful girls. But that was really difficult. Not because of lack, but because of abundance… The colour of her skin alone. Never in my life have I seen such a gigantic collection of such beautiful girls. A typical conversation: “Do you speak english?” Nix. “Parlez vous francais?” They seemed to guess what I meant. Then the only possible answer, “Solo Espanol.” So I had to rely on my meagre but growing knowledge of Spanish. Well, here and there I even got a date, like, “Va a venir?” Will you come? (My book only gave the polite form). “Si.” But that was it. Kissing, touching? Not a thought.
Besides, and that’s enough, there was a tournament participant called Lutz Paulsen. Lutz was from Karlsruhe and was, of course, immediately and universally called “Louis”, in reference to his also quite famous chess-playing namesake from the (pre-)previous century. That alone was not remarkable enough. We made friends and later had a little adventure…. that will come in a moment.
The tournament itself was really great. The games always started late in the afternoon at 5 pm, because of the midday heat in early August. Earlier was simply not possible. You could hardly eat during the day anyway, which was also unusual. So the real food was only served after the game. But what did “after” mean? The games went on until 10 pm. But the games that weren’t finished, the so-called hanging games, were played afterwards, at midnight, after dinner. And I had a few of those.
I also became famous in one way in the tournament, but rather the sad form of fame: in the penultimate round, still on the way to the very good prize ranks, I had a pawn more in the rook ending against the International Master Ochoa. Although chess players like to say: “Rook end games are always a draw”, I had justified hopes of winning this game and moving up to the top. The game was abandoned. We went out for dinner, as usual. The analysis still showed winning chances, but no clear path. If we had to, we would have to accept a draw.
That was extremely difficult for me. I kept looking for a way to win, gradually had to settle for a draw and — I overplayed the game and lost. But that alone would not necessarily be spectacular. It happens every day. But the fact that the underlay subsequently confused the pieces with the shower was rather sensational. Full of despair, instead of giving up gracefully, I grabbed all the pieces, even the beaten ones, and poured them over my head. This form of surrender was also unknown in Spain.
Nevertheless, I even got a small cash prize by winning in the end. So there was (still) money.
4) Across SpainNow I have to add another small detail:
I had won Dortmund and thus gained the right to play in the Grandmaster tournament the following year. However, the organiser had a serious problem with me: I had no Elo rating. I was just out of youth. I hadn’t played many international tournaments yet either. And the Elo system (see chapter “The Elo system”) had long been introduced. But there was not yet too much spread of the numbers. You had to play against Elo opponents to have any chance of getting a number.
The problem was this: a single non-Elo holder would be enough to rob the tournament in Dortmund of its “grandmaster tournament” status. They imposed the condition on me: I would have to have an Elo number by next year’s tournament to be able to convert my eligibility. I had now found out that there was such a tournament in London. It was specially designed so that non-Elo players could “play” for a number. The so-called “Lloyds Bank Masters” tournament.
Fortunately, Badalona is now in the immediate vicinity of England — but only compared to Australia. Nevertheless, fate was kind to me in the sense that “Bobby Tiger” (Taeger became “Tiger” in a flash, which is easy to do if you pronounce T A E G E R like a child just learning to read and “Tiger” in English) and Vladimir Budde also went to the other side of Spain to a small tournament near San Sebastian. How do you get there? Quite simple: use connections. In this case, names. Lutz “Louis” Paulsen was the proud owner of a BMW. Chess was not his greatest passion. He was more of a gourmet. Always picked out only the best places with his kind of travel guide, so nothing for us. Chess players are always on “low budget”.
Louis was quickly persuaded. A little trip across Spain and look for a few 5-star restaurants over there? Good, why not. Young, spontaneous, dynamic, decisive. Four men in the BMW: Louis himself, Bobby the Tiger, Vladimir and me. And a drive across Spain. That was quite an adventure. I hardly remember ever having seen paved roads, let alone a motorway. It was “over the villages”. Amazed children at the (dusty) roadside included.
The drive must have taken longer than expected. We reached the northwest coast late in the evening. Nothing. No hotel, no nothing in Santander, at least not in our price category and free. Back on the country road. We drove a little further. And suddenly, it was about 2 o’clock in the morning, in a small town called Torrelavega, a huge party!
The things that can happen to you! It was a kind of carnival. Vladimir and I immediately discovered the huge slide. You got a kind of carpet as a slide base and off you went. The longest slide ever in my life. And the fastest. What mood swings! Suddenly there was a real festive mood, just before there were anxious questions.
The party came to an end, around 4 am. Using our newly acquired skills, we enquired about sleeping facilities. The locals also excelled in restraint: there was nothing. What did we do? Back into the car, it was still dark, a car park outside near the sea (you could hear the roar but everything was gloomy) – the older two were allowed to sleep in the car, Vladi and I outside. Vladi looked for a tree and I lay on the road next to the car. The one hour of sleep was really restful!
It was soon light. We then found accommodation near Santander. I felt very independent as I hitchhiked to the port. My Spanish had matured to the point where I could even hold rudimentary conversations. And I booked myself a boat ticket. The next day, Santander – Plymouth, once across the Atlantic, a childhood dream.
The trip itself I have somewhat less fond memories of. I was quite lost in the big wide world. I met an Englishman on the ship. At least. He asked me if I had eaten yet. I said no. We went to the restaurant.
I felt quite seaworthy and experienced. After all, I had already sailed from Hamburg to Helgoland. The North Sea with a sailing boat in some wind – you think you’ve experienced everything when it comes to choppy seas. But here, on the Atlantic? That was completely different. I always looked out of the window. Sometimes you only saw the sea, sometimes you only saw water. What was that? It gradually became clear to me: that was the swell, the swell here. Endless waves that rocked the ship back and forth, not fast but very leisurely but very extended. It was so unusual that I actually got seasick.
I spent the rest of the crossing, about 80%, in my cabin. The remaining 20%? If you really want to know, my advice: get seasick…. Even these 24 hours will pass at some point. And so it was. Arriving in Plymouth it was broad daylight (as far as possible in England). The next train took me to London. A taxi to Finsbury Park, to the venue, about an hour and a half. Normal for London. I was late. But I was still allowed to take part. And: I even won the first round, against A.P. Lewis, as I remember to this day. After all the exertions!
I played the tournament more badly than well. Walter Pilz from Graz was my roommate. He had his name not entirely without reason. Only there must have been an orthographic transmission error somewhere. He should have written “Pils”.
That came in handy in my now permanent state (should that be exhaustion, depression, homesickness?). We always took two beers, even if they weren’t called pilsners in England, before the game. We had, so to speak, found an answer to the question “two beers or not two beers”. It’s “Yes, but two beers each” (Asterix also once ordered “Two wild boars, please.” on a trip with his friend Obelix after a long day stopping at the pub “Zum gebratenen Wildschwein”. Obelix, walking behind him, then “Two for me, too.”). I spoiled the clear winning position against Grandmaster Gheorghiu, as usual. But it was still enough: I had my Elo number!
The money was gradually running out. “Finsbury Park” was not only called that… I had to go home. How to get to Berlin now? Lacking alternatives and in really bad shape, I asked my mother to send me some money for the flight home. My mother, yes, my dear mother, she did as she was told, to bring back the prodigal son. The first flight in my life. I couldn’t have lasted another day. Arriving at Heathrow, there was one flight. It was full. I was comforted: I could still buy the ticket and try my luck as a “stand-by passenger”, otherwise the next day. Please, please, just not that! There were four stand-by passengers in total. I was in position four. But I was allowed to go. At that time, I had no idea what “luck” really meant…
The flight via Hanover to Berlin was also exciting. But I only wanted, had to do one thing: go home, to my own bed.
