Chapter 6 - Chess, My Favorite Game

 Mang Bading’s barber shop was a very popular hangout in my neighborhood when I was growing up. Mang Bading had only one barber’s chair, but his place attracted many; not for haircuts, but for entertainment and amusement.  

There were benches and chairs outside the shop where the regular visitors would play dama (Filipino checkers) and chess while onlookers gathered around to watch the games.  

I frequently played dama with my Uncle Pelagio, but wasn’t good enough to challenge any of the regular players at the barber shop.  After school, I would often stop by the barber shop to watch people play even though I wasn’t very interested in chess at the time.  I knew the basic rules of the game, but I thought it was too complicated.  

I became much more interested in chess when I was fourteen years old.  My high school friend, Eliezer Fortunato, and I liked to compete with each other on just about anything, and since we were both chess beginners of the same level, we greatly enjoyed playing the game.  

I remember we played chess at the back of the classroom while Mrs. Del Mundo, our history teacher, was lecturing about Jose Rizal. Every time I lost to Eliezer, I would try to analyze my mistakes, and started reading chess books from the library to learn more about the game.  It didn’t take long before Eliezer could no longer beat me.

The Fernandez family was one of my mother’s customers in her laundry business. They lived close by and I often went to their house to pick up and deliver laundry.  One day, on one of my visits, I saw Mr. Fernandez sitting alone on the patio in front of a chessboard, studying a chess book.  

Politely interrupting his concentration, I asked him about the book he was reading.  It was a book by Horowitz and Reinfeld titled  “How to Think Ahead in Chess”.  I think he was more interested in playing against someone rather than studying a book because he asked me if I played.  I told him I was a beginner.  He challenged me to a game, and I accepted. We set up the pieces and started playing. 

 I stayed at his place for hours. I knew my mother would be worried, but I was having fun even though I was losing every game. Later, he asked me if I would like to borrow his book and I eagerly agreed. 

 When I finally returned home around dinnertime, I explained to my mother what took me so long to deliver laundry, and was surprised that I only received a scolding and no spanking.

I diligently studied Reinfeld from cover to cover.  The book taught me strategy playing white or black from the opening to the middle game.  To this day, I still play the Stonewall Attack, which I first learned in the book.

Mr. Fernandez and I became chess partners.  He would frequently send a maid over to summon me for a match.  Sometimes I would stay at their house and have dinner with the family so we could play more chess afterwards.  My game had greatly improved, and the more I beat him, the more eager he wanted to play.  By the time I left the Philippines to join the Coast Guard, Mr. Fernandez could seldom win a game.

Knowledge of my chess ability began to spread around the neighborhood. People in adjoining neighborhoods would come to the barbershop with the hope of being able to play me. The rule was that the loser gets up and another person challenges the winner, and I held my chair until it was time to quit.  I very seldom lost.  

Mang Bading gave me a haircut just before I entered the service. His advice was to keep up with my chess.  “It will make you famous someday,” he said. He also told me not to forget to bring him back an Oster hair clipper when I came home to visit.

In the summer of 1960, after completing my steward training in California, I reported to my first duty station at the Coast Guard Air Station in St Petersburg, Florida, as a steward apprentice.  I met three Filipino steward old timers there:  SD1 Danny Busabos,  SD3 Sam Manese, and TN Bert Amano.  Busabos was the boss. Even though they outranked me, I found them very friendly and accommodating. 

 With the old timers coaching me, I quickly learned my duties of cleaning the officer’s quarters and serving meals in the wardroom.  Liberty was granted at 4 PM.  Every third day I was the Duty Steward.  That meant I had to stay on base to serve the evening meals and breakfast the next morning for the duty officers.

There was nothing much for me to do after 4 PM when I didn’t have duties to attend to.  I didn’t have a car and public transportation from the base was non-existent.  I stayed on the base most of the time except on occasion when I was invited by other shipmates to join them on liberty to check out the bars in town.  

Saturday night was a special night for the Filipinos.  They would dress in a suit and tie for an evening of ballroom dancing at the St. Petersburg Coliseum.  Busabos asked me to come along one Saturday night.  I bought my first suit to be able to attend the dance at the Coliseum. I had a great time. There was an abundance of women to talk to, and many liked to dance with the Filipinos. 

The Coliseum Ballroom was located in central St Petersburg across from the Shuffleboard Club.  One Saturday night, we were on our way to the Coliseum for another evening of ballroom dancing. Busabos was the duty driver. 

All the parking spaces on the streets around the Coliseum were taken so Busabos had to park a block away on the other side of the Shuffleboard Club.  We took a shortcut and walked through the Shuffleboard Club property to get to the Coliseum. 

 It was around 8 PM and the property was dark, but I noticed a small building that had its lights on. Looking through the windows, I saw people inside playing chess. It was the St. Petersburg Chess Club. I was thrilled about my discovery, and wanted to come back as soon as I could.

The very next day, I walked two miles from the base to the chess club.   There were about fifteen chess tables and several games in progress. Most of the players were senior citizens.  I was welcomed by someone who introduced himself as the club’s secretary.  He recognized me as a non-member and told me it would cost me $2 to play for the day.   After I gave him the money, he matched me up with another person who was looking for a game.

I bantered back and forth with my opponent while we played and told him I was a Coast Guard serviceman assigned at the Air Station. My opponent informed me that servicemen didn’t have to play a guest fee, so I got my $2 back after I showed the club secretary my military ID.

The St. Petersburg Chess Club became my regular hang out.  The people there were friendly and welcoming, and I became a club member in no time.  The club had chess books and magazines was Dr. Roger Carlyle, who had held the title for several years prior to my arrival.  In 1961, I won the St. Petersburg Chess Club Championship and became an “Expert” as rated by the USCF.  (An Expert has a numerical rating between 2000 and 2199.  Above that, the next level is a Master.  My current USCF rating is 2142).  I maintained my Expert rating by winning many USCF-rated chess competitions all over Florida. 

 The Coast Guard somehow learned of my chess skills.  Early in 1963, the Coast Guard was looking for a chess-playing member to represent the service in the 4th Annual Armed Forces Chess Championship in Washington, D.C.  I was offered a chance to play in a preliminary event in Norfolk to select the six team members for the Sea Services team to compete against the Army and the Air Force in November that year.  I was the only Coast Guard participant in the Sea Services’ preliminary tournament. The other entrants were from the Navy and Marine Corps.

  After three days of playing, I finished fifth place in a field of twenty players.  Six top finishers were selected to form the team: four Navy, one Marine Corp, and me.

The 4th Annual Armed Forces Chess Championship was held in Washington D.C. in the fall of 1963.  There were three teams (Army, Air Force, and Sea Services) competing for the team championship and eighteen players for the individual championship. This was the first time the Coast Guard was represented in this annual competition.  I received TAD orders to participate in this two-week event. Louise, who was pregnant with Tina at the time, accompanied me.  Dave was only one year old and stayed with his grandparents.

Each participant played nine games against players from the opposing teams.  When it was all over, the Air Force won both the team title and individual title. The champion was CMSgt Irwin Lyon.  He scored 7-1/2 (7 wins, 1 loss, and 1 draw).  I came in 4th place with a score of 5-1/2 (5 wins, 2 losses, and 1 draw).

A special award, the Brilliancy Prize, was given to the player who played the game with the most brilliance and excellence as determined by the tournament director.  I was given the award for a beautifully executed attack playing the Sicilian Dragon against Navy Commander Eugene Sobczyck. The Sicilian Dragon is a defense against the white king pawn opening.  I first learned this defense from the book “How to Think Ahead In Chess” that I borrowed from Mr. Fernandez. 

Following my return from Washington DC, I continued to play chess at the St. Petersburg chess club, where Louise’s parents had to track me down the night that Tina was born.

Although I did not win the championship on this first try, the Coast Guard was appreciative of my effort and was proud of my performance. The Coast Guard Commandant, Admiral E. J. Roland, sent me a personal letter of appreciation.  The event was covered in a Navy Times article, describing me as the “little Filipino giant killer, a stewardsman from the USCGC Nemesis in St. Petersburg, Florida” who beat three veteran players and drew with another veteran whose rating was slightly below Master level.

My participation in the 4th Annual Armed Forces Chess Championship became a stepping stone to many more opportunities.  Year after year, the Coast Guard would give me TAD orders to play in this annual event. The Commandant even pulled me out of isolated duty at LORSTA Batan to play in this event in Washington.  I always did well, finishing second or third place every time, but the Sea Services team would always come in last in the team competition. 

By the fall of 1972, I was no stranger to the Armed Forces Chess Championship. Seven times I had worn the Coast Guard uniform at the boards, and seven times I had come close—close enough to feel the sting of what might have been. Second place, third place, strong showings, flashes of brilliance. But never the title.

That year, the tournament was held in Washington, D.C. I remember stepping into the hall: rows of wooden tables, boards set with polished pieces, clocks ticking their relentless rhythm. The air smelled of chalk dust and coffee, and the silence was thick with concentration. Around me sat the best players from the Army, Navy, Air Force, and Marines—men who had studied openings, memorized endgames, and sharpened their minds like weapons.

I was the lone Coast Guard representative, a Filipino kid who had once learned chess from borrowed books in a Manila neighborhood. On paper, I didn’t belong. But I had carried the lessons of every loss, every near-miss, every sleepless night replaying blunders in my head. This time, I was ready.

Game after game, the wins came. Not easily—never easily—but steadily. I leaned on the Sicilian Dragon, the defense I had first learned from Mr. Fernandez back in Santol, and which had carried me through countless battles. My opponents underestimated me at first, the way they always did. But move by move, the board bent in my favor.

By the final rounds, the room buzzed with whispers. Could the Coast Guard actually take the title? No one in the history of the Armed Forces Championship had ever expected it. The Sea Services—Navy, Marine Corps, and Coast Guard—were perennial underdogs, always finishing last against the might of the Army and Air Force.

In the last game, my opponent pressed hard, searching for a weakness. My heart pounded with every tick of the clock, my palms damp against the table. I focused on the board, on the lines of possibility. Every move was a test of nerves, every exchange a tightening of the noose.

Then came the moment: a sacrifice, bold and risky, but the kind I had practiced a thousand times in my head. My rook swept across the board like a sword. His defenses crumbled. My opponent gently laid down his king horizontally on the board, extended his hand to shake mine and said, “Congratulations. Nice game”.  

For a moment, I sat frozen. The room erupted in applause. I looked around in disbelief as the realization sank in: I had won. Not just the game, not just the title, but a place in history. I was the 1972 U.S. Armed Forces Chess Champion. And for the first time, the Sea Services had captured the team title as well.

Standing there with the trophy, I thought of the barbershop in Santol, where Mang Bading had once told me, “Keep playing, Junior. Someday, it will make you famous.” I thought of the long evenings in the Fernandez home, studying books by Horowitz and Reinfeld until my eyes burned. I thought of the Navy Times article from my first championship in 1963, where they had called me “the little Filipino giant killer.”

It had taken nearly a decade, but here I was.

For me, chess was never just a game. It was a metaphor for my life: learning to see the board when others only saw chaos, finding strategy where others saw limitation, turning weakness into strength. Each pawn pushed forward was like each step I had taken in the Coast Guard—small, humble, but leading to something larger. That victory didn’t just belong to me. It belonged to the Coast Guard, to every Filipino kid who thought he didn’t belong, to every underdog who dared to sit at the table and believe he could win.

Mang Bading was right when he predicted that chess would make me ‘famous’.  When I went back to visit the Philippines in 1968, he was still cutting hair in his one-chair barber shop. And, as promised, I brought him an Oster haircutting kit as a homecoming gift.

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