"Sal, I really think you ought to agree with me."

Those words were spoken by Sylvia Westerman, Sal Westerman's wife of many decades.

It was mid-November of 1955 and the Westermans were in their modest home on North 13th Street in Bismarck, North Dakota. It was a Saturday and the Westermans were having a soup and sandwich lunch at just about noon; Sal would soon be off to the weekly meeting of his Coffee and Cake Checker Club and Sylvia would be joining her knitting group at the home of a neighbor.

The Westermans had been discussing Thanksgiving plans, and with the holiday less than a week away, they still hadn't decided what to do. Or, at least, Sal hadn't decided. Sylvia most certainly had.

"Joyce can't come this year," Sal said, "so can't it just be the two of us at home?" Joyce was their daughter, who was a lawyer and had moved to Washington D.C. to work for a very prestigious Washington law firm.

"Joyce can't come most years," Sylvia pointed out, "and we've had a quiet Thanksgiving a lot of times. This year most of our friends are out of town or have other plans, so ... "

"I hear the restaurant at the Patterson Hotel puts on a great Thanksgiving dinner," Sal quickly said.

"I'm sure they do," Sylvia replied, "but that's not the same as a home cooked meal and besides it would be frightfully expensive. No, Sal, the Patterson is out, and we're going to Dickinson. It's decided."

Sal tried not to groan audibly. Dickinson, a town about 90 miles west of Bismarck, was where Sylvia's sister Phoebe lived, and Sal and Phoebe did not get along--- to say the least. Sal tried his best for his wife's sake, but Phoebe offended Sal in the worst possible manner--- he thought Sal's checker hobby was a waste of time, and didn't hesitate to tell him so, often saying that Sal was lazy and spent time on checkers rather than help around the house "like a decent husband ought to do." Phoebe herself had been single all her life but had definite opinions about husbands, even never having had one.

"How about you go, and I'll take the train down to Minneapolis. They're having their annual Thanksgiving weekend tournament. That way we'll both be happy," Sal said. But Sylvia's reply confirmed that it was hopeless."

"You and I are going to Dickinson, and that's my last word on the subject. We'll go down there on Wednesday afternoon, and we can come home on Sunday morning. Surely you can deal with four nights in Dickinson."

Sal wanted to say that it wasn't Dickinson that he had any trouble with, it was Phoebe. But Sylvia knew as much and, once in a while, expected him to grin and bear it.

There weren't too many more words exchanged between the couple. Sal sort of grunted, which Sylvia took as assent. Sylvia seemed to be about to say more, which Sal knew would be admonishments on being nice to Phoebe and so on, but he stood up and quickly said, "Time to go to the club, dear." And after that, he had his jacket, gloves, and hat on and was out the door in record time.

The 10 minute or so walk to the Beacon Cafe, where his club met every Saturday afternoon between Labor Day and Memorial Day (except for major holidays, like Thanksgiving weekend). The weather was slightly damp and overcast and it was cool rather than cold, at about 25F, which Bismarck residents considered relatively mild for November.

Walking calmed Sal down a little, but still, his stress must have been visible, for when he entered the Cafe--- an uncharacteristic five minutes late--- the proprietress, Deana, took one look at him and said, "Having a hard day, Sal?"

Most of the other club members had already arrived. The "boys" as Sal called them were all but one of them at least fifty years of age. Today Larry, Wayne, Dan, Delmer, Young Blaine, Ron, and seldom seen Theo were present. All of them were looking in Sal's direction, wondering what he would say.

"Oh, it's nothing," Sal said as he made his way to the back of the Cafe where the big booths were located. "Nothing at all. Well, nothing much. Ah, okay, a little something but I wouldn't worry about it."

It was clear that all of the boys, not to mention Deana, were curious. But no one pressed Sal, at least not at first. Everyone talked about what they were doing for the holiday. Wayne would be going to the farm out in Wilton for a big family gathering. Dan had relatives in the western part of the state and would be visiting there. Ron and Larry were having small family dinners. Young Blaine and his new wife, Young Moira, would be going up to Minot. Even Deana chimed in, saying she was closing the Cafe for the weekend and going out east to the family farm in Gackle.

Finally, it was Deana who brought it up. "Well, your turn, Sal," she said, "we all know something's bothering you and it's not hard to guess it's about Thanksgiving."

"Checkers first," Sal said. "I've got a nice problem for you boys ... "

"Come on, Sal," Young Blaine interrupted, "we're all friends here. Tell us what's going on."

Sal, in the middle of setting up his checker problem, stopped. "All right then," he said, "it's about Sylvia insisting on going to Dickinson for Thanksgiving with Phoebe."

Now, everyone knew about Phoebe, and Sal's trials and tribulations in that department. They all were sympathetic but they did stop short of outright disagreeing with Sylvia, even outside of her presence. Again, though, it was Deana who spoke up.

"You know, Sal," she began, "as much as I want you to be happy, Sylvia's got a point. She ought to be able to spend a holiday with her sister once in a while."

"But do I have to spend it with her?" Sal asked. "Phoebe could care less if I were there ... oh ... right ... she'd have a lot to say if I don't show up, wouldn't she, and it would make Sylvia uncomfortable." Sal thought a moment longer. "Of course," he continued, "she'll have a lot to say if I do show up!"

Everyone laughed, but Deana said, "I'm sure you're right Sal, but you know what the right thing to do is, too."

That pretty much wrapped up the discussion, and Sal finished setting up his problem. Deana announced that the pumpkin muffins were hot and fresh, and Sal said he was looking forward to the boys buying some for him and his wife, as was the tradition if the boys couldn't solve Sal's problem. Sal, in turn, would buy if the boys did solve it.

Sal said that 45 minutes ought to be enough time but the boys, already deep in study, likely didn't hear him.

---

If you live in the US, what are your Thanksgiving plans? We hope they are pleasant ones and don't involve difficult relatives or stressful situations. But regardless, for the moment see if you can solve Sal's problem. Click on Read More when you're ready to see the solution and the brief conclusion to our story.

[Read More]

The season had opened and "Gosh Josh" Gordon was still with the Erie Eliminators, a AA club which was part of the Detroit Doublejumpers farm system. Josh had moved up to first board from third board, a rather stunning achievement for a player with just a year of professional experience. But there were rumors that Josh was going to be moved directly to the Toledo Tillicoultrys, a big step up to AAA play.

However, that didn't happen, and needless to say Josh was disappointed. However just a few weeks into the new season, a couple of things came up, and Josh found himself facing a dilemma..

The first thing that came up was this. Josh was in his little apartment in a middle-class section of Erie one evening on an off-day for the Eliminators. (AA salaries were good but not extravagant, even for up-and-comers, and Josh lived comfortably but modestly.) The next morning the team would be taking the bus for a five hour ride to Harrisburg, where the Eliminators had a three match series with the Harrisburg Huffers.

Then his cell phone rang. Nothing unusual about that, but he didn't recognize the number, which identified as being from Jersey City, New Jersey. Josh thought it might be a spam call, but he answered anyway.

"I would like to speak to Mr. Gosh Gordon," the voice on the other end of the line said. It was male and had a strong accent.

"This is Josh Gordon," Josh replied. "Who is calling, please?"

"Let me introduce myself," the voice said. "I am Mr. Mack, and I represent a very important checker team that plays in another country. It is actually a small kingdom in a faraway land, which has much money. That is both the team and the land are having much money."

"Sure," Josh said, "and I'm the Easter Bunny. Good bye!"

"No, you must wait!" the voice said with clear urgency. "I am telling the truth! You would know the name of the kingdom, it is very famous, it is the kingdom of a very famous king but I may not yet say to you the name, however you will know it later after we make the agreement between us."

"Agreement? What are you talking about? Look here, pal, you have maybe thirty seconds to tell me who you are and what this is all about. And how did you get my phone number anyhow?"

"That also I cannot tell you, but you will know by this finding of your phone number that my kingdom is very serious."

"About what? You have fifteen seconds left."

"About making you the offer, Mr. Gosh."

"The name is Josh. What offer?"

"To come and play the checkers for our team in my kingdom. We are wanting young American players to make us even stronger. We are asking only the young players who will play many years for us and be paid very much money. We know that you, Mr. Gosh, are a good player and very soon we will make the offer to you. You will like it, the offer."

"Sorry, dude," Josh said, "First, I don't know who you are, or whether you're legit or more likely some kind of nut case. Second, I have a contract with the Doublejumper organization right here in the USA. I can't play for whatever or wherever your team is even if I wanted to, which I don't think I do. If there even is such a team. Bye now."

Once again Josh heard "A minute, Mr. Gosh!" and the voice continued to speak.

"Never mind of the contract!" the man said. "We will for you break it. We will pay the owners of your team. They will not mind."

"They will mind," Josh said, "probably a lot."

"It does not matter! They cannot reach you in our kingdom. You will be safe and you will live as a rich person with an apartment and all of your wishes will be answered! If your team makes the lawsuit, in our kingdom it will not have meaning! Now, I will at your next games be watching. You will not know me. But if you play very well, we will make the big offer. How do you answer, Mr. Gosh?"

"I say you're wacko," Josh said, and cut off the call. "So crazy," he muttered.

Now, it was near Josh's bedtime and he thought he would just blow it all off. But that's when he got to thinking. Could this actually be a foreign recruiter? It didn't seem likely, but Josh had heard of some players taking offers overseas in odd locations. Josh thought maybe he ought to report the call to his Coach, although he wasn't sure if it was even worth a second thought.

But the more Josh thought about it, the more he didn't know what was best. If he didn't tell Coach, Josh himself might be out of line, and that's not a position he cared to be in; and though unlikely, if word got out somehow, Coach might even think Josh was considering jumping ship. However if he did tell Coach, would it look like he was saying that you should have sent me up to AAA and if you don't here's what might happen? And would Coach likely think Josh had only made up an incredible and crazy story?

Josh had kind of a restless night, and by morning he still couldn't get the matter off his mind, but then it was time to board the team bus for the ride from Erie to Harrisburg. Josh didn't want to try to talk to Coach in front of everyone else. That was a likely just a convenient excuse for putting things off and Josh knew it. But the first match of the three match series was tonight and there was in any event little free time.

Game time rolled around and Josh still hadn't talked with Coach. But as he took the field, the second thing happened and at least for the moment, it made Josh forget all about his problems. For, waiting at first board, to be Josh's Harrisburg opponent, was the loveliest young lady Josh had ever seen. Her name was Amy Rye Zwieback and she was another up and coming young player, about the same age as Josh.

Now, was this young woman truly the loveliest in the world? It's certainly hard to say, but in Josh's mind, she was. It might have been that Josh was just especially susceptible at the moment, or maybe there was some other reason, but he was thunderstruck, and the sight of this young lady took his breath away.

Perhaps Josh always had some sort of ideal in his mind; perhaps too he was something of a romantic. All he knew for sure was that he had this tremendous reaction. In the back of his mind, though, Josh knew that he was being a bit foolish and had better settle down. After all, he was there to win, not to woo.

But darn it all ... what an image of perfection! And when she shook hands and gave Josh a warm smile, and then wished him good luck in a honey-laden contralto voice, Josh's heart leapt.

But Josh was a professional checkerist, and he tried to play his best game despite being more than a little distracted. He managed quite well, even if he kept stealing little glances at Amy, and after some time the position on the board was as follows, with Josh to move.

As we said, Josh was there to win, and he thought he saw a way to do it. But what would Amy think if Josh won the game? Would she be very disappointed and therefore unhappy with Josh? Or would she admire him for his over the board skills?

All Josh knew was that he had to focus and play the best move, come what may.

---

What would you do in this situation? It seems that in the course of just a couple of days, our hero Josh has encountered both a sticky career situation and something of an instant romantic infatuation.

Choose wisely, and then click on Read More for the solution to the problem and the rest of Part One of our story.

[Read More]

In our previous story, our hero, Marvin J. Mavin, refused to fill out a 'political correctness' evaluation sent to him by Grosse Pointe Modern Thinkers Academy, in advance of his scheduled lecture at that school.

Not having received the evaluation form in a timely manner, the school canceled Marvin's lecture, and sent a complaint to the Belpre, Ohio headquarters of the National Checker League, which read in part:

---

We are highly upset by Mr. Mavin's refusal to complete a routine political correctness evaluation, which we require in order to protect our students from mini-micro aggressions, ideas which they may find offensive or not properly aligned with beliefs and holdings required of the politically correct, and so on. We had no option but to deny Mr. Mavin access to our school. Because of this, our students were deprived of the opportunity to further develop their interest and skills in the sport of checkers.

We would like to further point out that, upon review of Mr. Mavin's National Checker League web page, we noted that he did not list his preferred pronouns, in an obvious gesture of contempt toward an obligation incumbent upon all politically correct members of society.

Finally, while not related directly to Mr. Mavin, we want to point out that our checkers are blue and gold in color, in order to avoid any untoward implications by forcing students to play with red and white or black and white checkers, which could lead to a belief that one of these colors is more likely to win than another, and is thereby thought to be superior.

---

The letter was addressed to Mr. Axel Homeboy, the NCL Commissioner, who immediately contacted both the Detroit Doublejumpers (Marvin's team) owner, who in turn contacted the Head Coach, Mr. Baba Dudut, who then berated Marvin in front of the team at the next practice, not because Coach thought that checkers ought to be politically correct, but because Coach had gotten in hot water with the team owner and the Commissioner.

Marvin just listened in silence, as did his teammates. However, there was a match that evening with the Arizona Almas, and unfortunately, both Marvin and the team were dispirited and discouraged by Coach's rantings, so the match wasn't going well. The fourth and fifth board Doublejumper players had drawn. The third board was won by the Doublejumpers but the second board fell to the Almas. That left Marvin on first board, needing a win or his team would lose the match on tie-break rules.

Marvin's opponent was Paul "Peanuts" Peterson, who was a reputable player. Peanuts was playing a good game and the situation came down to the following position with Marvin to play, needing a win.

Marvin gave it some thought but couldn't quite get the whole political correctness debacle out of his mind. Finally, though, he made his move.

---

A win for the team is at stake. Set ideologies aside; the game is what matters at the moment. Can you win it? Give it a try and then give a correct click of the mouse on Read More to see the solution and the rest of the story.

[Read More]

In previous stories about the Beacon Cafe, with its setting in 1955 Bismarck, North Dakota, we've explained about both the spring and fall seasons and the absolute requirement to rake your yard. In the spring, that's done on the first weekend of April, no matter if snow is still on the ground. In the fall, the rule is a little less rigid, but it's usually the first weekend in October, after this cold-weather city has typically experienced its first hard frost.

There was no question about it. If you were a homeowner, you followed these rules if you didn't want to be known as a misfit, someone who didn't belong, or even something of a pariah, because if your lawn didn't look right, it affected the rest of the neighborhood.

Sal Westerman, whom we all know as the unofficial leader of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, which met every Saturday afternoon at the Beacon Cafe with the exception of summer and holiday breaks, was a long-time Bismarck resident and understood how the town worked. When he was younger, he and his wife Sylvia, later joined by their daughter Joyce, were out there raking faithfully every spring and fall. But some years ago Joyce had moved away to Washington D.C. to join a law practice, and Sal and Sylvia were now elderly, so they hired out their yard raking to some ambitious and relatively younger ladies in the neighborhood.

Hiring someone to do your raking was acceptable, if marginally so. Doing it yourself was considered much more meritorious, but if you had an excuse, such as age or infirmity, people would nod their heads and understand, even if they felt it wasn't quite the same as getting out there and sweating. Of course, if you were younger (such as under 70) and capable (such as not terminally ill), hiring out the yardwork was considered the height of laziness. And not doing it at all--- maybe you need to move to a slum in a big city where you'd fit in better.

But "raking day" had taken place on the previous Saturday, which had turned out to be a slow day for the Coffee and Cake Checker Club, as many of the "boys" couldn't get their raking done before the 1 PM club start time. Now, the "boys" were, except for Young Blaine, all over 50 years of age, yet everyone other than Sal and Old Frank did their own yardwork.

Today, though, the attendance was much better. Dan, Delmer, Wayne, Larry, Louie the Flash and Young Blaine were all there in addition to Sal. Naturally the initial talk was about raking leaves the previous weekend.

Now, back in the day, leaves were raked and left on the curb for City pickup, though some rakers would create mulch piles and a few would haul the leaves to the landfill on their own. But another measure of merit was how big a leaf pile you created. Larger leaf piles were of course more highly esteemed than smaller ones.

Blaine said he and his newlywed wife Moira didn't have to rake as they weren't yet homeowners and were renting in an apartment building. However the building's owner offered Blaine a day's worth of pay to rake up the grounds, and Blaine and Moira gladly took it on. He mentioned the huge pile of leaves that he had loaded into the owner's pick-up truck to haul to the landfill. But the rest of the boys insisted that it didn't count because an apartment complex was larger than a house and besides, Blaine did it for hire.

Louie the Flash hemmed and hawed about his own efforts, mumbling about going to Fargo to visit yet another new girlfriend. "I raked her yard, does that count?" he asked. But the boys said they could hardly give any credit to out of town raking.

The raking one-upmanship contest went on for a little while longer when finally Sal intervened. "Boys, we're here for checkers! Now I'm sure you all--- or almost all--- did your jobs, and who had the biggest pile of leaves really isn't all that important. Let's just call it a draw and move on."

There was a tiny bit of grumbling, especially from Wayne, who had a big house and a big yard and thought he ought to have been the winner. But eventually there were nods of assent.

"Now, look," Sal said, "I have a problem for you that is quite thematic, and if you think raking leaves and the game of checkers aren't related, take a look at this.

Sal laid out the following position on a couple of the checkerboards which were on the tables in the big booths at the back of the Cafe.

"Well then, here's the idea. There are a lot of pieces on the board. Think of them as leaves and find a way to rake them all up! I'll give you, oh, forty-five minutes to solve it."

The proprietress of the Beacon Cafe, Deana, always knew when to speak up. A blue-ribbon baker, Deana sold the boys wonderful baked treats during their meetings. If the boys didn't solve Sal's problem, they would buy for Sal with some to take home for his wife; but if they solved it, Sal would buy for the group.

"I've got autumn leaf cookies today," Deana called out. "Freshly baked and from an old family recipe." As usual, Deana's timing--- and marketing--- were impeccable.

---

Are there any special rules about raking your yard, whether in spring or fall, in your community? Do you follow those rules or would you rather just play checkers? We know what our option would be! Regardless of your local situation, do try to "rake the leaves" in Sal's problem. Click on Read More to see the solution and the brief conclusion of our story. We're sorry, but you'll have to provide your own cookies.

[Read More]

The calendar had turned to September; Labor Day had come and gone, and that meant two things.

One was that the new season of the National Checker League (NCL) would get underway.

The other was that kids across the land were all back in school.

It so happens that these two events were connected, for it was the policy of the NCL to do some outreach in the schools during September, in the hopes of inspiring the scholastic checker clubs and players to seek bigger and better accomplishments.

Nearly everyone in the NCL took part, and that of course included Marvin J. Mavin, whom all regular readers know to be the superstar Captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers. Although Marvin liked working in the inner city with disadvantaged kids, this year he was assigned to an elite private school in the upper echelon Detroit suburb of Grosse Pointe, Michigan.

Now, Marvin wasn't completely thrilled with this assignment, but he was a trooper and he would do his duty. On a Thursday, when the Doublejumpers had an off day, Marvin was in his study paging through a few books in order to select material for his upcoming lecture at Grosse Point Modern Thinkers' Academy. He thought the problem below would be a good one to illustrate some points about how to think in checkers--- the right thing for the Thinkers' Academy, he reasoned.

But before he could work on this idea any further, he noticed a pile of unopened mail on the side of his desk, where the butler must have left it at some point. (Marvin's wife, Priscilla, was a very highly paid CEO at the international conglomerate, Rust Belt Holdings; she and Marvin lived in a chic 5,000 square foot condo and had a part-time domestic staff.)

"Hope it ain't all bills," Marvin said, but then realized it couldn't be; all the bills went directly to Priscilla's private CPA. There was a certain amount of fan mail, forwarded from the Doublejumpers from among the thousands of letters Marvin received each week, some advertising that the butler decided not to discard, and so on. But what caught Marvin's eye was a letter from none other than the Grosse Pointe Modern Thinkers' Academy.

Marvin opened the envelope. Inside was a letter and a form with what seemed to be a return envelope. He read the letter first.

"Dear Mr. Mavin,

"Thank you for volunteering to give a lecture to the many checker enthusiasts at our school. However, given your reputation, we would like to avoid any difficulties, and so we ask you to first answer the questions on the attached sheet. Please answer fully and carefully. Upon receipt of your submission, our governing board will review your answers and decide if we wish to continue or withdraw our invitation to speak.

"Thank you in advance,

"Grosse Pointe Modern Thinkers' Academy Board of Governors."

Marvin was a bit non-plussed. "Hey, you didn't extend no invitation, I was volunteered," he said to himself, "and besides, what's this about my 'reputation' and stuff?"

He went on to read over the form, which contained the following.

---

Political Correctness Evaluation

1. Should dogs and cats have separate bathrooms?

2. Should ants with blue eyes be placed in a protected category?

3. Should critical cricket theory be taught in schools?

4. Should hiring take into account historical inequities in preferences for breakfast eggs?

5. Should non-politically correct people be permanently banished from civilization?

Submit your answers at your earliest convenience in the enclosed envelope.

Note: The Post Office will not deliver mail that is unstamped.

---

Marvin looked at the envelope. "Gotta provide my own stamp, even. Gee. I don't know about this. Those questions, I mean like who ever heard of blue eyed ants and stuff?"

Marvin decided to wait until Priscilla got home later that evening. He would talk it over with her.

Dinner was normally at about 8; Priscilla typically worked until 7 and was home around 7:30. After dinner, which was prepared by Priscilla's private chef and consisted of a Cobb salad, panko-crusted mahimahi, a medley of steamed fresh vegetables and Potatoes Anna, followed by a lemon sorbet, Marvin showed Priscilla the letter and the form. They were seated on Chesterfields in the living room with cups of freshly brewed Colombian coffee, flavored with just a touch of cardamom.

"Well, dear," Priscilla said, "it seems reasonable to me. After all they need to protect the kids from incorrect speech and unacceptable ideas. It's important to be politically correct and that should be learned at an early age. There are things that children need to learn that they must believe in, and support. Protecting blue-eyed ants is just one of them. Eliminating persistent and pervasive breakfast egg preference inequality is another. I'm sure you understand. You could say the same about critical cricket theory. Why, did you know ... "

"Aw, honey," Marvin broke in. "I don't know nothing about that kinda stuff. I, like, play professional checkers, and over the board there ain't no blue eyed ants or cricket theory or nothing. We just play the game and the best player wins. We keep it kinda simple. Everybody gets the same chance at winning, or losing, or whatever."

Priscilla folded her arms. That was a sure sign she was getting annoyed. "Well, dear, you can tell the school that and watch what happens. You'll get canceled ... and maybe even exiled from civilization!" She laughed. "I'm going to bed now. You do the right thing, okay, dear husband of mine?"

Priscilla headed off down the corridor towards their bedroom.

Marvin thought for a minute and then muttered, "Yup, do the right thing. That's what I'll do."

Marvin went into his study, carrying the letter and form, and tossed them into the antique 1910 Victor wastebasket.

To be concluded.

---

Marvin once again appears to be headed for some potential trouble. However we'll set that aside at least long enough for you to solve today's problem. When you're ready, click on Read More to see the solution, and tune in again next month for the story's conlusion.

[Read More]

Sal Westerman was whistling a happy tune on his way to the Beacon Cafe in Bismarck, North Dakota.

It was September, 1955 (it's eternally 1955 in these stories), and the weekend after Labor Day. That meant that Sal's Coffee and Cake Checker Club would resume its Saturday afternoon get-togethers after the Memorial Day to Labor Day summer break.

Summer in Bismarck was short and during that time everyone wanted to enjoy the long hours of daylight and the relief from cold weather. So nearly all of the usual activities paused. Sal of course enjoyed his summers, but he missed his club and was delighted that the "new season" was about to begin.

As expected, the turnout was large at this opening meeting. Most of the "boys" (all but one of whom were over 50 and some, like Sal, considerably so) were on hand; Delmer, Wayne, Larry, Dan, Ron, Louie the Flash, Young Blaine, Mike, and even seldom seen members Barry and Old Frank were all seated in two of the large booths at the back of the Cafe. With Sal, that made a near-record total of eleven.

Deana, the Cafe's proprietress and a blue-ribbon champion baker, couldn't have been more pleased. In anticipation she had baked several trays of everyone's favorite, walnut chocolate chip bars, and had brewed extra pots of coffee.

After the greetings were complete, the talk turned to summer activities. Wayne and Ron had spent the summer on their respective family farms. Delmer, Larry, and Barry had spent nearly every weekend fishing and camping. Dan and Mike had taken vacations out west and Dan managed to play in a checker tournament in breezy San Francisco. Old Frank stayed home working on his custom dollhouse sideline.

Of course Young Blaine had gotten married in June (as written about in a previous Checker Maven column). The boys tried to get Young Blaine to talk about his honeymoon with his new wife, Moira, but Blaine would only say that it was "nice." The new couple had taken the train to the East Coast and went on an Inland Waterway cruise.

Louie the Flash, though, allowed as how his summer hadn't been so great. "Hey wow man, it started out nice," he said, "with my new almost girlfriend in Fargo (see previous story). Man, I was so sure she was the one. But on about my third or fourth trip she told me sorry, but she found another guy who she said was 'more suitable.' Well, okay, I said, I'll find another girlfriend, been nice knowing you. Sorta."

The problem was, Louie admitted, that each new girlfriend didn't last more than a couple of weeks and before long summer was over and anyhow he was tired of driving the 200 miles each way to Fargo. Did he have a current girlfriend? the boys asked and Louie admitted that at the moment he was strictly on his own.

That elicited a certain amount of sympathy from the boys, but then again, they all knew Louie. He'd have another girlfriend soon, and another after that, and so on.

"Enough of this girlfriend business," Sal said. Admittedly he and his wife Sylvia had been married well over 40 years and it wasn't like Sal was exactly up to date on dating and girlfriends. "I have a nice little checker problem for all of you."

The boys nodded and expressed their assent. Indeed, it was time for some checkers, and the way it always worked was that if the boys could solve Sal's problem, he would buy the treats, but if they couldn't get it, the boys would buy for Sal and some for him to take home to Sylvia.

"I sure hope you don't get this one," Sal said good naturedly, "or I'll be buying a lot of treats."

He laid out the following position on a couple of the checkerboards and the boys set to work while Deana refilled their coffee mugs.

After about 45 minutes, Sal called time. Old Frank, speaking for the group, said, "We've got it."

---

Walnut chocoate chip bars sound really quite good, but unless you're living in Bismarck in our fictional 1955 world, you'll have to supply your own. What you can do is give the problem a good try. When you're ready, click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

This year, Marvin was going to be ready.

Marvin J. Mavin, the superstar captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers in the National Checker League (NCL) had had problems in the past with training camp. The NCL season ran from September to May, with pre-seasons training camps held in August.

The Doublejumper training camp, as was the case with most of the NCL teams, was quite rigorous. It involved serious physical training as well as an intense regimen of checker study. Various coaches led sessions in problem solving, opening, endgames, mid-games, and so on. The hours were long and discipline was strict.

Marvin wasn't so good with discipline. He wasn't so good with strict, either, and he'd been in constant trouble at previous training camps. It had even led to his leaving the team briefly the previous year.

To be fair, there had been a series of over-zealous if not downright abusive coaches (see previous Checker Maven stories). The current Doublejumper coach, Baba Dudut, was a lot more fair minded, but he didn't have much of a liking for Marvin.

But Marvin had discussed matters with his wife, Priscilla Snelson, who was the high-powered CEO of the Rust Belt Holdings, a giant Detroit based conglomerate. Priscilla convinced Marvin to go to camp physically and mentally prepared, ready to follow the rules and do whatever was asked of him.

So it was with all this in mind that Marvin boarded the team bus in Detroit and rode with the team to the appropriately named Au Train, Michigan site of the Doublejumper training camp.

Au Train was in a beautiful area in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. There were sparkling lakes, cool and quiet wooded areas, and the overall atmosphere was perfect for training.

Things went well for the first week or so, and even Baba Dudut himself remarked that Marvin seemed to be "a new man with a new attitude." Marvin did the morning runs without complaint, did extra laps when told to do so, and participated actively in all the training activities.

There was just one little problem. While the food was great, featuring plenty of fresh caught fish, locally sourced seasonal vegetables, and lots of grilled hot dogs and hamburgers, there was a very strict rule against alcohol.

Now, if you've followed our stories over the years, you'll know that Marvin liked his beer. Certainly, he wasn't an alcoholic--- the team would never keep him on if he was--- but he did like a beer or maybe two once in while. And that's where the trouble began.

In the third week of the four weeks of training camp, all of the coaches needed to go to a special meeting at NCL headquarters in Ohio to hear about rule changes for the upcoming season. The idea was for them to be trained and then in turn train their players before camp ended. To make a long story short, the coaches would be away from Friday afternoon through Monday morning.

The players were left on their own for that time period. The coaches left them work to do, including problem solving and a mini team tournament to play on Sunday. They then were expected to do problem solving on Monday morning. The regular schedule would resume on Monday afternoon with the return of the coaches.

Everything went fine until the conclusion of the tournament on Sunday at about four in the afternoon, when Marvin, as captain, spoke up.

"Like, hey guys, we've been working real hard and stuff, so like, you know, why don't we, like, take the bus into town and have steaks at the Blackstone?"

There were nods of agreement. Camp food was very good, but the team wouldn't mind a break and a change of pace.

Now, there was nothing wrong, so far, with any of this and once or twice in every year's camp session, the coaches did indeed take everyone into town.

So one of the camp attendants started up the bus and everyone boarded for the ride to the Blackstone. It was all good fun and soon the team (twelve in all; the two squads of five each and two utility players) was seated at a big round table and ordering their steak and shrimp dinners.

That's when Marvin said, 'Know what? Why don't we act up a little and get a couple of pitchers of beer?"

There were murmurs around the table. Beer certainly wasn't allowed. "Aw, c'mon guys, loosen up! A pitcher of beer ain't gonna hurt nothing!" Marvin signalled to the waitress. "Hey there young lady, we need about five pitchers of beer over here!"

The waitress smiled, happy to have the boys run up the bill. Soon thereafter five big pitchers of a local brew, U.P. Gold, arrived and the waitress started filling beer mugs.

Marvin led off with a toast to good times at camp. Pretty soon most of the players were following his lead--- he was captain, after all--- at first sipping and then taking larger quaffs of the really excellent beer.

Dinner came and with it more pitchers of beer. After a couple of hours it started to get a little rowdy but the beer kept on coming. Finally, around 10 PM when the restaurant was closing, the boys settled the bill. But by then they were pretty well inebriated.

They sang raucous songs for a while on the bus back to camp, but many of them were falling asleep. A lot of beer after a sustained abstinence didn't have exactly a positive effect.

Somehow they must have all stumbled into their cots. A few of them got sick on the floors of their cabins.

At around 11 the following morning, all the coaches returned to camp and the team members were still in their cots suffering from terrible hangovers.

The coaches were livid and none more so than Baba Dudut, the head coach. It didn't take him long to get the story; the bus driver parted with it willingly after being told his job could be on the line.

Baba Dudut filled a pail with cold water, went to Marvin's cabin, and proceeded to empty the bucket over Marvin's head as he lay in bed groaning in uneasy sleep.

Marvin woke, instantly sober.

"What have you got to say for yourself?" Coach asked.

"Uh, gee, Coach, whaddya mean?"

'WHAT DO I MEAN? YOU'LL SEE WHAT I MEAN!"

By this time the other coaches had roused all the players.

"You're all going for a swim! On the double down to the lake!" Coach commanded.

Lake Au Train, even in August, is very cold, and today the water temperature was about 64F (18C). As the boys entered the water they started to shiver and a couple of them sicked up again. "Yeah, it's cold in there, better start swimming!" Coach yelled.

After about 15 minutes, the Problem Coach, Tom Riddleme, came to the lakefront with a big display board. He began to show checker problems on it.

"No one gets out of the water until all of Coach Riddleme's problems are solved!" Coach Baba Dudut exclaimed.

The team had to solve quite a few problems including the one below.

All told they were made to stay in the water for over an hour and after that tjey had to do laps around the lake until they were completely exhausted. The rest of the last week of training camp followed a similar pattern.

At one point Marvin was called to Coach's cabin and given the dressing down of his life.

"I'm fining everyone on the team $50,000 each," Coach said at one point. "But you, as the instigator, I'm fining $500,000 and you can take it or leave it. You'll also make a public apology to the coaches, the owners, and your teammates. If you do all that maybe I'll let you stay on as captain and not send you down for a year in Rookie League. And by the way if your teammates are angry with you, you can pay half of their fines for them."

Marvin knew better than to say anything. And he knew he had an even bigger problem--- how to explain all of this to Priscilla when he got back home.

---

Can you solve the problem above, which challenged the Doublejumpers? Could you solve it standing up to your neck in 64F water? Fortunately, you can solve it in comfort; see how it goes and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

Editor's Note: Today's column is something of an experiment, and we expect many of our readers will find it quite esoteric and difficult, and indeed possibly rather annoying. Take on the full challenge if you wish, but do feel free to make liberal use of the "hint" buttons found at various points in the narrative.

---

The summer season in North Dakota is short, so as always Sal Westerman's Coffee and Cake Checker Club was on summer hiatus, which meant no Saturday afternoon get-togethers at the Beacon Cafe in the city of Bismarck. The club adjourned from just before Memorial Day until just after Labor Day as the members took vacations and spent time outdoors tending to their yards and gardens, going on weekend camping trips, and enjoying the brief respite from the cold weather that prevailed during the rest of the year.

This year Sal contemplated a very unusual vacation. His wife, Sylvia, planned on a week of shopping with her sister Phoebe, who lived about 90 miles west in Dickinson, North Dakota. They would travel together by train to Minneapolis and spend a week in what Sylvia called "gay abandon." Sal wasn't invited, nor did he wish to be, as he and Phoebe did not have what you might call a warm relationship.

Now, Sal, as one who greatly enjoyed intellectual pursuits such as checkers, was also a member of a couple of somewhat obscure groups. He had long belonged to the National Puzzlers Association (NPA), a group of enthusiasts who composed and solved word puzzles of many different types. He was also a member of the American Cryptogram Society (ACS), an interest that stemmed from his work during the previous World War.

It just so happened that this year, 1955, the NPA was having its annual convention in Greenfield, Massachusetts; and on the following day the ACS would be having their own convention in Philadephia, Pennsylvania. Sal was making plans to attend them both. He would take the train from Bismarck to Chicago, then another from Chicago to New York, still another from New York to Boston, and then a local train to Greenfield. After the NPA convention ended in the evening, he'd take late trains back to Boston, New York, and finally Philadelphia.

It would be a lot of tiring travel for someone of Sal's age (let's just say he had seen 70 a few years ago). Sylvia didn't know if it was such a good idea but Sal insisted. "I can sleep easily on trains," he said, "and it will all work out." Sal would be away for about a week and would be home just in time for the season's first meeting of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club.

So it was all arranged, except for one thing. Sal wanted to compose a puzzle for the conventions, and he wanted it to be a single puzzle that combined checkers, wordplay, and cryptography. That was a tall order, but after quite a few afternoons in his basement study and a couple of trips to the public library, Sal had prepared his problem and sent it off to both societies.

Finally it was departure day. It turned out that Phoebe and Sylvia were on the same morning train as Sal, but they did have seats in different cars. At the Minneapolis station stop, Sylvia came back and said goodbye to Sal, while Phoebe harrumphed about wasting time and money when most likely Sylvia's house needed painting, and besides, who was going to mow the yard?

It was indeed a long trip spanning the better part of two days, but Sal eventually arrived in Greenfield. The NPA convention was small this year and was held at the home of one of the members. Sal presented his special puzzle.

The word puzzle part of the problem was the following rhyme. Sal wasn't the best poet ever but he made a good effort.

Here's a checker problem, quite OLD
It's easy so just be FAITHFUL and bold
Continue to the 14TH try, and mayhap
The deCIPHERed solution will fall in your lap.
Then SUBSTITUTE in all the right moves.
To be a POLYglot, this problem behooves.
And those ALPHABETICs, don't ignore
So we will give you one hint more
There's a TRI-THEME here to be seen
If you happen to know what we mean.

Then came the cryptography portion. Sal told the conventioneers that the run-up to the checker problem was given by the following cryptogram.

L-P Y-V K-P 1-X K-Q 0-X 0-4 F-C Z-5 E-2 0-C P-N C-H V-S D-H 1-Y B-H 1-Y G-M 2-Z O-S

At this point Sal declared, "White to Play and Win!"

At both conventions, this elicited some blank stares, some scratching of heads, and the occasional smile of comprehension.

"Hints are available," Sal offered, and during the conventions, he was definitely asked for hints by some number of attendees. Sal layered the hints, each successive hint giving away a little more.

One of the NPA members did manage to solve it by the end of the convention but then again only about half the members played checkers.

Sal went on to Philadelphia that evening and the next day presented the puzzle to the ACS. That group was a fair bit larger and had something of a better grasp of cryptography, and three of the members solved it by the end of the convention. Most NPA and ACS members thought the puzzle was clever although some thought it "tried too hard" to combine checkers, word puzzles, and cryptography. Still overall Sal felt good about it and immensely enjoyed his trip. He returned home tired, happy, and ready for his club to resume its weekly meetings.

---

Do you find all of this a bit confusing, or do you have a clue about what's going on? We'll offer you Sal's hints as an aid to solving. Click on the Details arrow to reveal the hint. Please use the hints only if needed!

Hint No. 1: An explanation of the word puzzle.

The "word puzzle" is not so much a puzzle as a series of hints or guidelines.

Here's a checker problem, quite OLD
It's easy so just be FAITHFUL and bold
Continue to the 14TH try, and mayhap
The deCIPHERed solution will fall in your lap.
Then SUBSTITUTE in all the right moves.
To be a POLYglot, this problem behooves.
And those ALPHABETICs, don't ignore
So we will give you one hint more
There's a TRI-THEME here to be seen
If you happen to know what we mean.

OLD and FAITHFUL means 11-15 is the opening move.

14TH further tells us that the opening sequence is the Old 14th.

CIPHER and SUBSTITUTE of course mean that this is a substitution cipher, where in this case symbols replace the numbers of the squares on the checkerboard.

POLY means the cipher is polyalphabetical, which tells us that the meaning of the symbols changes continuously.

TRI-THEME is a bit more obscure and tells us that the cipher is a Trithemius cipher, where the substitution alphabets shift one letter to the left each time.

Hint No. 2: More on the cryptogram.

The cryptogram works as follows. For the first square of the first move, we use this substitution:

ABCDEFGHIKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ012345

In other words square 1 is 'A', square 2 is 'B" and so on until square 32 is '5'.

For the next square of the first move we shift to the left:

BCDEFGHIJKLMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ012345A

So now square 1 is 'B' and so on. We shift again after enciphering each square number. This gets tedious so we wrote the following computer routine (in elisp) to do the work for us.

(defun rjn-encode-checkers (movelist)
"Use a simple polyalphabetic cipher to encode checker moves"
(interactive)
(let* ( (32squares "ABCDEFGHIJLKMNOPQRSTUVWXYZ012345")
(moves (split-string movelist "[\n -]"))
(theoutput "")
(odd 0)
themove thenumbermove spaceordash)
(while moves
(setq themove (car moves))
(setq moves (cdr moves))
(setq thenumbermove (- (string-to-number themove) 1))
(if (= odd 0)
(progn
(setq spaceordash "-")
(setq odd 1))
(progn
(setq spaceordash " ")
(setq odd 0)))
(setq theoutput (concat theoutput (substring 32squares thenumbermove (+ 1 thenumbermove)) spaceordash))
(setq 32squares (concat (substring 32squares 1) (substring 32squares 0 1)))
)
theoutput
))

Hint No.3: The solution in cryptogram form.

3-0 W-A M-I X-1 K-J 5-E I-C C-I P-K L-P V-N J-0 S-M J-T S-M I-S E-C 5-H N-V

Hint No.4: The run-up translated and the problem diagram.

The run-up in plain text and the diagram.

11-15 23-19 8-11 22-17 4-8 17-13 15-18 24-20 10-15 19-10 7-14 26-23 11-15 28-24 8-11 30-26 2-7 26-22 3-8 23-19 7-10

BLACK

WHITE
White to Play and Win

W:W13,19,20,21,22,24,25,27,29,31,32:B1,5,6,8,9,10,11,12,14,15,18

And finally, everything will be revealed by clicking on Read More. Good luck!

[Read More]

I love checkers. I play at the club at my home town in Iowa, Lindyville, and I'm the club champ. Sometimes I go to one of the bigger cities like Dubuque or Cedar Rapids or even Des Moines. I don't do badly at their clubs, either. I play for Lindyville in the Calhoun County Checker League and we do pretty well. We even finished in the top three at State one year.

So you can imagine I was pretty excited when my company chose me to go to the National Meat Packers Convention in Denver at the end of July. There were some major clubs in Denver, and I thought I'd take a couple of days of vacation and go early, check out the scene, and have a sort of mini checker vacation.

Being summer the Denver Dennies (their National Checker League team) wouldn't be playing but I heard some of their players practiced at the better clubs; maybe I'd get lucky and meet one of them or even get a game.

The convention ran Thursday through mid-day on Saturday, so I figured I'd go on Monday and check out clubs on Tuesday and Wednesday. I'd go home on Sunday and would have Saturday night for a couple of last rounds.

Now, I'm a pretty simple guy in my late thirties. My wife and I live in a modest home in Lindyville, and I commute to work in a nearby town. We don't have any kids and our pleasures are simple. I play checkers and my wife has her social circles in winter and gardening in the summer. Things run at kind of a predictable pace for us, and that makes me a little apprehensive when going to a big city, and all the more so to a metropolis like Denver. But still, I was excited to go.

The day arrived and my trip went smoothly. My wife drove me to Des Moines Airport, which is about 90 minutes away, and my United Airlines flight was on time.

That Denver airport sure is big and it's really far from the city. But I got to my hotel fine, and I was ready for a couple of days of checkers. I had looked up the clubs ahead of time and emailed them. Most of them answered and said I'd be welcome. So I spent the next two days visiting a couple of the mid-level clubs and getting some good games. I did pretty well overall, and on Wednesday night, the night before the convention was to begin, one of the players, a younger fellow named Travis who actually played for the Dennies, mentioned that if I had any more time, I might visit a club he knew where a lot of expert players were to be found. It was by invitation only, but if I said at the door that Travis from the Dennies sent me, they'd let me in. The club was actually in Golden, a Denver suburb but still part of the metro area.

I told Travis I had Saturday evening free and he said great, the Golden club usually had a good Saturday night turnout. I thanked him and said I'd certainly go there after the convention. But Travis did give me a brief word of warning, which at the moment didn't quite register. "The club is ... um ... different," he said, "so don't be too shocked."

The convention was held in downtown Denver in the Convention Center and it was really big. It was pitched at independent meat packers of all sizes and from all parts of the country. I learned a lot, met a lot of people, and it was well worth my time and my company's money. But I was anxious to get through it and get to that club Travis mentioned..

Well, the convention did close up after lunch on Saturday, leaving me plenty of time to get a little rest and a quick dinner, and then take a cab out to Golden.

The club looked fabulous from the outside. It was in an older building that had been well maintained and looked like something built perhaps in the late 1800s. I told the doorman that Travis had invited me and he immediately let me in.

No sooner was I through the door than I was enveloped in what seemed like clouds of cigarette and cigar smoke. I coughed and within seconds my eyes started to water.

Now, I'm not used to that sort of thing. Neither my wife nor I smoke, and there's no smoking where I work, nor is it permitted in public places and certainly not at my checker club or any of the other clubs I've frequented.

I went back and asked the doorman about it, as I thought Colorado had no-smoking laws at least as strict as those in Iowa. But he informed me that this was a private club, not open to the general public, and so smoking was legal.

I ventured further into the club. It was divided into a number of small playing rooms with a couple of checker tables in each one. The rooms were luxuriously appointed. I couldn't imagine how much a membership must cost and felt lucky to have snagged an invitation. But the smoke was pervasive and despite my wanting to play some games with highly ranked players, I didn't know quite how long I could last.

Everyone, and I mean everyone who was playing was smoking. I went from room to room and it was the same everywhere. Besides, nearly all the players were women. Now I knew women played checkers but I never really thought about women playing checkers and smoking at the same time. It wasn't like this back in Iowa.

A couple of women didn't have a current opponent and beckoned to me, but I kept going from room to room hoping to find somewhere at least partially free of smoke.

Finally I went into what must have been the last room in the club. Another young lady was sitting at a board. Of course she had a cigarette in one hand. "Want a game?" she said. "I've got a few minutes before my usual playing partner gets here."

"Uh, well, " I said, "I was trying to find somewhere where there wasn't anyone smoking, and possibly a male opponent."

The girl laughed. "Are you kidding?" she said. "You got a problem with women or something? This club is a woman's club. We invite men sometimes but only as a favor to them. And anyhow, everybody here smokes. We're fans of Willie Ryan."

"Fans of Willie Ryan? What's that got to do with ... "

"Look over there." She motioned to a plaque on the wall. It was engraved with a quote from, of course, Willie Ryan.

"A good smoke is an indispensible compliment to a good social game of checkers" --- Willie Ryan

"Sure," I said, "but I know that quote and later on Willie says smoking doesn't do anybody any good."

"Well, Willie smoked and we smoke. Now are you going to play or what? Look, this is an elite club, maybe the best in town. I don't know who invited you but if you're not going to play, why are you here?"

I was having trouble breathing and I'm sure my clothes were permanently fouled with cigarette smoke. But she was right. I came to play.

"I'll play," I said. "You're right, that's why I came here."

"Okay, put up your hundred." So saying she laid a no-doubt smoke saturated hundred dollar bill on the table.

"I never play for ... "

"Spare me the wimpy excuses. We don't play for less than a C-note around here. Unless you think you're really good and want to play for more?"

I was half minded to turn around and walk out. But I knew I was a good player and maybe this gal needed a lesson. Yes, I know, I was being overconfident and, regrettably, misogynistic.

I put my hundred on the table and took a seat. The woman brought out a clock and lit a fresh cigarette. "Ten minutes per side," she said, "no time increment." That meant all of the moves in the game had to be made within ten minutes, and no extra time was added when you made a move. It was fast, cutthroat play with no holds barred and no quarter given.

The game began. I noticed that when it was her move, her cigarette would dangle from the fingers of her right hand. When it was my move, she would take big puffs and blow smoke in my direction. After a while, I asked her to quit doing that. "It's how we do things around here, little man," she replied, "and if you don't like it you can always resign."

With a ten minute time limit we were both playing fast. I'll admit she was good. Very good. The game got to the position shown below.

It was my move, and there were just over two minutes left on my clock. She, on the other hand, had almost five minutes left.

She lit yet another cigarette. She blew more clouds of smoke. My eyes were so irritated they wanted to close. Through the haze, I tried to focus.

"Maybe you need a shot of oxygen," she razzed. But somehow, I had decided upon my move.

---

The smoke is thick. The opponent is tough. A substantial amount of money is at stake. What would you do here? The problem is actually quite easy and experienced players will solve it in well under a minute. Have a go at it and then click on Read More to see the solution and the rest of the story.

[Read More]

Late July in Bismarck, North Dakota, can serve up some very hot weather, and in 1955, no one to speak of had air conditioning.

During the summer, Sal's Coffee and Cake Checker Club didn't meet, so most of Sal's checker related activity took place on his own in his basement study, where the air tended to be a little cooler and where he had his collection of checker magazines and books. But if there was an extended run of hot weather, even the basement got really warm, even with fans running.

This Saturday marked the 3rd day in a row of 100F high temperatures, and Sal couldn't get comfortable no matter what he did. His wife, Sylvia, had made up a few trays of ice cubes but the Westermans only had a small freezer compartment in their fridge, and the ice cubes didn't provide for more than a couple of cold drinks.

Ordinarily Sal and Sylvia went on vacation in July, but their usual lake cottage wasn't available this year and they decided to postpone until closer to Labor Day. But that's a story that we'll relate in next month's installment.

Sylvia had gone to the movie theater (one of the few air-conditioned places in town) with a couple of her girlfriends. Sal had no interest in going to see The Lady and the Tramp, let alone be the only guy in a group of ladies, so he stayed at home.

But it was just too hot.

Maybe I could go to Lions Park, Sal thought; it's just a short drive, and I might find a shady bench to sit at and read the latest All Checkers Digest. There would at least be a breeze and I can bring along a thermos of water with the last few ice cubes in it.

So that's exactly what Sal did. Sal drove to Lions Park, parked his car and walked into the park. It wasn't all that crowded. A lot of people were probably away camping for the weekend, or on vacation.

There were indeed some shaded picnic tables and Sal was about to choose one and sit down, when he noticed someone sitting a couple of tables away. It was a young lady who of all things had a checkerboard in front of her. She was smoking a cigarette and looked, well, on the rough and tough side.

Sal couldn't resist walking over. As he approached, the girl gave him a rather unfriendly glare and then pointed to a hand-lettered sign taped to the table.

WILL BEAT YOU AT CHECKERS $10 A LESSON

Sal was a bit taken aback. Gambling was of course illegal and especially so in a setting such as a public park, and the "lesson fee" wording wouldn't fool a judge. Ten dollars also seemed like quite a lot of money.

"Have you had many takers?" Sal asked.

"What's it to you, pops?" the girl said. "But since you ask, no, it's a slow day. You want a lesson? Pay up if you wanna play, otherwise twenty-three skidoo. You're scaring off my customers."

Sal didn't see anyone around that might remotely be a customer, but he didn't reply to the comment. Instead he said, "You need to put out that cigarette first."

"I ain't gonna. I do things my way. Now I ain't got no more time to yak with an old coot, so you got like five seconds to pull out a ten spot or beat it."

"What if I win?" Sal asked.

The girl laughed. "You ain't gonna. But here's the rules. You lose, I keep the tenner. You draw, you get five back. You win, you get ten back. That way it ain't gambling, see? 'Cause you can't win nothing."

"No wonder you don't have customers, young lady. You need to find a new way of doing business and you need to clean up your act."

The girl stood, her fists balled at her sides. "I heard enough from you, gramps. Now you got a choice. Take a hike or when I'm done with you take an ambulance to the hospital."

Sal thought about finding a pay phone and calling the police. The girl could be charged with all sorts of things and would likely end up spending a couple of weeks in the city jail. But Sal reflected a moment. There's a better way, he realized.

A $10 bill came out of Sal's wallet and was placed on the table. "Here you are, miss," he said, "let's play checkers."

The girl picked up the money and put it in a jeans pocket. "Okay, geezer, get ready to be thrashed."

The game began and both players seemed to forget the hot weather, focusing on the hot game. Sal quickly realized that the young girl was pretty good, though a bit shy of championship grade. The following position came up with Sal to move.

There was a lot to consider, and after some thought about all aspects of the situation, Sal made his move.

---

Sal's plan for a quiet day in the park, enjoying the cool breezes, seems to have altered with his encounter with a tough talking young lady. What would you do in this position? As Sal knew, there's more to this than just the next move in the game. Think about it and then click on Read More to see the solution and the rest of today's story.

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