"Mr. Mavin ... Mr. Mavin, can you hear me?"

The voice came as if from a distance, at the end of a long tunnel. Someone was saying something. Marvin thought he heard his name but everything was so hazy. He couldn't focus; he couldn't make out the words. Just his name or something that sounded like his name.

" ... starting an IV ... "

Marvin felt something jab his arm and suddenly he opened his eyes.

"Can you follow my flashlight?" a different voice said. A light, way too bright, was now shining in his eyes.

"Hey cut it out!" Marvin managed to say, although he hardly recognized his own voice, it was so weak and raspy.

"He's responding," the same voice said. "Now, Mr. Mavin, please, following my flashlight."

The light began tracing a path to Marvin's right. Marvin tried to sit up but firm hands held him down.

"Please don't move, Mr. Mavin, until we can assess your condition."

"Did I have, like, too much beer or something?" Marvin asked.

"No, Mr. Mavin, there's been an explosion and you were knocked unconscious. Now please, work with us while we assess your condition and then get you to the hospital."

"Hospital? I ain't going to no ... "

And then it all came back. Marvin sank into the cushions of the gurney, no longer trying to sit up, He had been on the phone with Priscilla. Something had been wrong. A threat. That was it. And then there was this bright flash and loud noise and then utter blackness.

"Priscilla ... is she okay?"

"I'm sorry sir, who? There was no one else here with you."

"It's his wife," the other voice said. "Priscilla is Mrs. Mavin."

"Oh, yeah," Marvin said, "yeah, she's in Detroit. So she must be okay, right? Can you like, you know, call her? Her number's on my cell phone."

"I'm afraid there's not much left of your phone, sir. Now please, let us finish checking you over. The hospital staff will be happy to call your wife for you."

"I don't wanna ..."

"Mr. Mavin, we'll give you something to help you relax." The EMT quickly injected Marvin with a tranquilizer.

"Ow! That hurt! Now look, I ..."

That was all Marvin said. He was once again unconscious.

"Gee," the EMT said to his partner, "I know the guy's a superstar and all that, but he sure is a handful. Let's get him off to the Emergency Room where he'll be someone else's problem.

Someone at the hospital did finally call Priscilla, who said she would take her private jet to Portland as soon as it could be readied. But the nurse in charge reassured Priscilla that Marvin wasn't seriously injured and would be released soon. She further told Priscilla that Marvin would be busy with the police and the FBI for quite a few hours, and it wasn't worth her flying all the way out from Detroit. Priscilla reluctantly agreed.

"Whew, dodged that one," the nurse said to the others in the nurses' station. "Can you imagine having a rich entitled prima donna right up in our faces?"

Marvin spent the night at the hospital with a policeman outside the door of his room. In the morning, he was discharged and the policeman took him to Portland FBI headquarters. He was interviewed for several hours.

He told the agents the whole story about Cha Cha, and they said they would look into it but that there was really very little to go on. Someone had launched a rocket propelled grenade at the hotel and hit the window of Marvin's room. The agents were inclined to think that wasn't accidental.

"The thing is," one agent said, "is that there's no evidence. Nothing on CCTV of any use, not even anyone at the front desk that can recall being asked for your room number. So we're kind of stuck. We'll keep investigating but meanwhile just watch your back, okay?"

With that, Marvin was sent back to his hotel, where he was offered a different room. "Of course," the clerk said, "there's the matter of damages to your other room. You know, the broken window and damage to the walls. Normally a customer would be asked to pay for this, but given the circumstances, the General Manager says we won't be charging you."

Marvin gave the clerk a bewildered look. "Yeah, real nice," he finally said, "me not having to pay for someone trying to kill me and all. Hey look, I gotta get to my match."

Marvin walked away. Golly, but a beer would be nice, except coach wouldn't approve.

He knew he really ought to call Priscilla before he got on the team bus to go to the match. But his phone had been smashed and he didn't have time to go to his new room and call from there. Prissy was going to be pretty upset with him but the hospital had told him they had been in contact with her and let her know that everything was okay.

Marvin did his best in that evening's match. He was playing first board against the Paisley's top player, a fellow named Al Caius Caszmir. He had been a star in the Eastern Europe League before landing a contract with the Paisleys.

At some point, the game reached the following position. Marvin had winning chances and both he and his opponent knew it

Marvin spent a few minutes, fidgeting in his characteristic manner and muttering to himself. Finally he said loudly "Aha!" and was about to reach out and make his move when ...

Priscilla was shaking as she sat in one of her designer leather couches, her cell phone hanging loosely from her left hand, a glass of Chateau LaFitte in her right. She lifted the glass to take a sip but her hand was trembling so badly she had to set the glass down on the crystal coffee table in front of the couch. Even at that, she managed to spill a few precious drops.

She shouldn't have listened to that nurse last night. She should have ordered the corporate jet readied and flown to Portland at once. She could have been there inside of a few hours.

Instead she had tried to sleep with no success. Her chauffeur picked her up in the morning and took her to work as always, but she couldn't focus and ended up canceling her afternoon meetings and going home early. She had put on a yoga DVD but yoga didn't calm her either. Now it was early evening. She had no appetite and even a fine wine didn't appeal.

She hadn't heard any more from Marvin. All she know is that he had left the hospital and was supposed to be playing in a match right about now.

She had dismissed her security detail, figuring she was being overly paranoid. Now she wasn't so sure if it was a wise idea.

Finally she had enough. She was going. She needed to be with Marvin. He would be in Portland for two more days. She'd order the jet and who cared what the shareholders thought. She'd just reimburse the expense. Or get her Board to approve it as an emergency. She didn't care.

Rust Belt had a transportation coordinator on duty all the time. She called that office and made arrangements. The coordinator told her the jet could be ready to go in three hours; that's how long it would take to call in a pilot and a steward, do fueling and checks, and file a flight plan.

It was 7 PM. Priscilla arranged for a chaffeur to pick her up at 8. That would get her to the airport at 8:30. Maybe her arriving early would get the staff to move things along a little faster.

She spent the next little while packing a bag. As an experienced traveler, that didn't take very long.

At 8:00 there was a knock on her service door. Good. The driver was early. Transportation must have sensed her mood.

She went to the service door and peered through the spyport. It was a female driver she didn't recognize. Maybe they had hired someone new. She would have liked to have had her favorite night driver, Manny, but he must have had the night off.

She unlatched the door and swung it open. "I'm glad you're early, and I'm all set to go ... "

A strong foot kicked the door open the rest of the way and Priscilla found hersef facing a silenced 9 mm Glock automatic held by none other than Cha Cha Hopkins.

"Make a sound, lady, and it's the last one you'll ever make."

... a uniformed police officer came running across the playing field and over to Marvin's seat at home plate. He wore a sergeant's stripes, making him a little older than the less senior officers, and he was clearly out of breath. "Mr. Mavin," he began, "you need to come with me. Right now."

Marvin, his hand still outstretched over the board, ready to make his move, turned his head and said, "Hey there, bro, we're in the middle of a match here and you're interrupting. Now lay off, okay?"

"Sir," the officer replied, "I told you, you need to come with me now!" This latter was delivered in a commanding tone. "Now, I said."

Marvin looked around, seeing where the referree was ... there, sitting in his chair a few feet off the left side of the board.

"Hey ref," Marvin said, "can you tell this dude to like, buzz off?"

The sergeant's face turned red and with a beefy hand under each of Marvin's shoulders, he pulled Marvin up and out of his seat and started to drag him towards the player's entrance.

"Bro, I gotta make my move! My clock's running down! Let go of me!"

The sergeant didn't reply and just kept pulling Marvin to the entrance. Marvin was already through the door when the stadium announcer told the assembled crowd that Pietri Donaleki would be substituting for Marvin J. Mavin.

The policeman meanwhile had gotten Marvin into a small room filled with other police officers. They were standing around a tablet computer which was clearly running a video calling program. Marvin took a quick look and then a long look. He couldn't believe his eyes.

"Say hello to your beloved hubby," Cha Cha said, holding her cell phone up to Priscilla's face. Priscilla was tied firmly to a chair in her kitchen. Her hair was dishelved and she had a couple of bruises on her face. "He's got the police with him but that won't do you any good."

"Marvin!" Priscilla shouted. "Help me!"

"SWAT team is on the way," one of the policeman said to Marvin. "Don't worry." It all came through clearly on Cha Cha's end.

"I heard that!" Cha Cha said. "They'll never get here in time, and I'll be long gone."

She paused for a moment.

"And so will Priscilla. Watch what happens next, Marvin."

To be continued.

---

It's a tense situation for Marvin and Priscilla, but we'll have to wait until next month to see how things turn out. Yet you don't have to wait at all to try out today's problem, which is a very practical one. You won't need to call in a SWAT team; just solve it on your own and click on Read More to check your solution.

[Read More]

Valentine's Day was just around the corner, and the Coffee and Cake Checker Club was talking about Valentine's Day gift giving.

The year was 1955 and the place was the Beacon Cafe, on the ground floor of the Provident Life Building in Bismarck, North Dakota. The Coffee and Cake Checker Club, informally led by Sal Westerman, a kindly elderly gentleman, met at 1 PM sharp on Saturdays from September through May.

Meetings often followed a routine. The members--- Sal called them "the boys" even though all but one of them were at least 50 years old--- would visit a little over coffee. Then Sal would present a checker problem which he had selected during the week. The boys would try to solve it. If they did, Sal would buy them all treats, baked by Deana, the Beacon's proprietress and a baker without equal. If the boys couldn't solve it they'd buy treats for Sal and his wife Sylvia.

But today young Blaine was in attendance, along with regulars Dan, Wayne, Larry, Mike, and Louie the Flash (that's what everyone called him).

You may recall our holiday story in which young Blaine was being pressured to make a Christmas marriage proposal to Moira, his long-time girlfriend. Blaine did indeed propose, and Moira accepted. It was a joyous holiday season for them, and they agreed upon a June wedding date.

It goes without saying that young Blaine was once again being teased by the rest of the boys. This time it was about what he was going to give his new fiancee for Valentine's Day.

"Come on there, young Blaine, she'd really appreciate a new car, maybe one of those Caddys," Dan said.

"Take it easy on me, guys," young Blaine replied, "I can't afford anything like that. I'm just a junior engineer at the power company. I'll be in hock for months for the engagement ring I got her at Christmas."

"Well, I can tell you if you don't come up with something nice, you'll be in hot water," Wayne said. "I think it's happened to all of us. Don't let it happen to you!"

"If you can't get her a new Caddy, maybe you could get her some more jewelry," Louie the Flash offered.

Deana, stationed as always behind her counter, chimed in, "Girls always like diamonds. Get her diamond earrings or a diamond necklace to match that engagement ring."

"I'm not made of money," Blaine said, "like I told you I'm a junior engineer with a junior engineer's pay. Wouldn't a dozen red roses do the trick?"

"Might be," Sal said, "but only if you take her out for an expensive dinner, like maybe at the Patterson." The Patterson Hotel was an upscale hotel with an upscale restaurant.

"That could work," Deana said, "but you still have to give her something on the side, and please don't say perfume."

Everyone nodded their heads, thinking back to a disastrous experience Sal had once had (see a previous Checker Maven story).

"You know what," Mike said, "offer to take her shopping at A. W. Lucas and buy her anything she wants."

"I hate shopping, young Blaine said. "But Moira loves it."

"See, we've got it all figured out for you," Louie the Flash said. "Invite her down from Minot for the weekend. Put her up in the Patterson, get her roses, take her out for dinner, and the next day take her shopping. She'll love it, and it shouldn't cost you more than ... well, less than a diamond ring, anyhow."

Blaine groaned and tried to change the topic. "Shouldn't we be solving Sal's checker problem instead of spending what little money I have left?"

That got a good laugh from everyone, and Sal said, "Very well then, here we go." He arranged the following position on one of the waiting checkerboards.

"Okay, boys," Sal said, "you've got an hour, and after that you'll be buying for sure."

"M & M bars today," Deana told the group. "Great for Valentine's Day."

The boys quickly forgot about teasing Blaine and dug into the checker problem. Meanwhile Sal ambled over to Deana's counter to chat a bit.

"I knew he'd propose," Sal said, "and I knew it would work out."

"It was pretty obvious," Deana replied. "You know how it works. He chased her until she caught him! I'm happy for them both, and I think he gets the message about Valentine's Day."

Sal and Deana both shared a smile and a chuckle.

---

The Checker Maven won't presume to suggest what you should or shouldn't do for Valentine's Day. That all depends on your own situation and your own preferences. But we do suggest you try out today's problem. Give it a "hearty" try and then with a "flowery" gesture, click on Read More to see the solution and the rest of today's little tale.

[Read More]

It was January and the National Checker League season was back in full swing after the holiday break. The Detroit Doublejumpers, a former championship team trying to make a comeback, was in Portland for a three match series with the Portland Paisleys. They would go on to San Franciso, Los Angeles, Phoenix, Dallas, Houston, and finally Cleveland before beginning a home stand back in Detroit. It was a long road trip, and Marvin J. Mavin, the superstar champion of the Doublejumpers, would be away from his wife, Priscilla, for an extended period. (Recall that, in a previous series of stories, we recounted Marvin and Priscilla's summer wedding and European honeymoon.)

On a Monday the Doublejumpers had just arrived in Portland on a short flight from Seattle, where the Doublejumpers had swept a four match series with the Seattle Switchers. Everyone on the team was feeling good and the mood was upbeat.

After a team dinner, carefully overseen by new head coach Davey Anderson to ensure that there would be no imbibing of spirits, something strictly forbidden during active playing dates, everyone retired to their rooms to relax and rest, as they would need to turn out for the team bus just after lunch the following day to go to the Portland Checkerdrome for practice sessions and then their series opener at 6 PM against the Paisleys.

Marvin decided to read the Portland newspaper instead of watching a movie on the room's big screen TV. The newspaper, the Portland Portlandian, had a daily checker column and Marvin enjoyed that even more than the funnies. (On occasion, he was even known to read the news although he didn't make a habit of it, leaving it to Priscilla to catch him up with current events when the Doublejumpers were at home.)

Tonight, Marvin decided to do things in reverse order. He got into his pajamas and bathrobe and read Blondie, Peanuts, Beetle Bailey, and his favorite of all--- Dennis the Menace--- before turning to the checker column. And it was there that he saw the following headline and news story.

"Disgraced Coach Finds Post in Semi-Pro League"

"Charity Chastity Hopkins, commonly known as 'Cha Cha', has taken a position as the Head Coach of the Manasquan Muppets, a semi-pro team in the Jersey Shore League on New Jersey's Atlantic coast. Cha-Cha, who had coached briefly in the majors, was accused of the attempted second degree murder of Marvin J. Mavin, the Captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers. Charges against Cha-Cha were dropped due to a serious case of misgendering, but the NCL Players' Union said they would go on strike again if Cha Cha was made a coach in any NCL or affliate team, from the Majors right on down through the Rookie Leagues.

"Cha Cha was reported as having said, 'I wanted to stay in checkers. I'm a great coach and I have a lot to offer. I took what I could get, but someone of my caliber shouldn't be reduced to this. I blame that miserable maggot, Marvin J. Mavin. It's all his fault and one day I'll get even. He and that skanky wife of his had better watch their backs."

"When asked if she was threatening Marvin or his wife Priscilla, Cha Cha replied, 'It's not a threat, it's more like a promise.'

"NCL officials could not be reached for comment, but one representative who spoke on condition of anonymity said, 'We won't be pursuing this. After that misgendering incident, Cha Cha is pretty much untouchable.'"

The first thing Marvin wondered was why he hadn't been asked to comment. But he guessed that the NCL top brass warned off the press, again because of his misgendering Cha Cha and thereby getting criminal charges against her dropped due to his use of "fightin' words" (recall from previous stories that Marvin had called Cha Cha a "woman" and had failed to ask her for her preferred pronouns).

At the trial, Cha Cha had said she would get even. Now, she had gone public about it. Marvin further wondered if Priscilla had heard about this. Then, as if on cue, the room telephone rang before Marvin even had a chance to look at the checker problem printed below the news article.

Marvin located the phone on a nightstand next to the bed and picked it up.

"Hullo?" he said.

"Marvin, it's Priscilla. Why aren't you answering your cell phone?"

"Uh ... what? Oh yeah, that. I gotta charge the battery but I don't know what I did with the charger and I been busy and stuff so you know ... "

"Okay, stop. Look, dear, I'm still at work, it's been very busy, but I just got a call from one of my researchers."

"Still at work, wow, ain't it kinda late over there?"

Priscilla was the CEO of the international conglomerate Rust Belt Holdings and had a very busy work life.

"Never mind it being late, the researcher found an article that appeared in the checker columns of several major newspapers. It's about that woman that attacked you ... "

Marvin chuckled. "Yeah, Cha Cha. I just seen the article in the Portland newspaper. Kinda concerning."

"It sure is."

"Yeah, ain't nobody asked me what I think. It's all about that woman--- uh, I mean that person."

Marvin heard an exasperated sigh as Priscilla went on, "Marvin! She's threatening us! And she's very violent! What are you going to do about it?"

"I dunno. Ain't much to do. I'd just get in trouble again and after that hearing I don't need no more trouble. She ain't going to do nothing anyhow."

"She already tried to kill you once, how can you say that?" Priscilla paused. "Well, if you're not going to do anything, I will. I'm going to get Rust Belt Security to set up monitoring at home, in the office, and in my limo and all of my cars. And I suggest you tell your Coach about this."

At that, Priscilla hung up the phone.

Marvin thought about calling Priscilla back but then realized he first had to find his cell phone and charge it up. Then he thought he'd just get another earful in any event, or even worse, Priscilla might be angry enough not to even take his call.

It took him a good fifteen minutes to find his phone and charger, and by then he decided to call it a night. He didn't even bother with the checker problem the Portland paper had published that day.

Marvin, as was typical, slept through breakfast and was barely in time for the team bus. Upon arrival at the Checkerdrome, there was a working lunch with the Tactics Coach and then sessions with the Openings Coach and the Endings Coach. Blitz scrimmages followed and practice wound up about 90 minutes ahead of the match with the Paisleys.

The match went well and the Doublejumpers won handily by a score of 7 to 3. It was only when Marvin arrived back at his hotel room and ordered a room service dinner that he thought to look at his phone. The coaching staff didn't permit the team members to take cell phones to the stadium for fear they would be distracted, and most of the team couldn't wait to check for messages once they got off the bus at the hotel. Marvin, however, was not so attached to his phone.

To his utter consternation, his phone showed eighteen missed calls, two voicemails, and ten text messages. Every single one of them from Priscilla. Marvin started through them. Most of them just said "call me" albeit in a more and more exasperated tone. The final voicemail said, "I can't reach you so I tried calling the team office. They refused to put me through. They said your match can't be interrupted and they didn't care that I was the Team Captain's wife. I said I would sue. I asked them if they knew who I was and what a powerful position I held. They wouldn't budge. I've got a mind to call a lawyer and start a suit against your team. But if you don't call me right now I may call a different lawyer. The kind that specializes in divorce settlements."

That was the end of the message.

Needless to say, Marvin called Priscilla's number at once.

She answered at once. "About time," she said curtly. "Didn't you realize how urgent this is?" Then, not giving Marvin a chance to respond, Priscilla went on, "I got an envelope in the mail today. My office mail, no less."

"Uh yeah honey well gee, dontcha get a lot of mail and stuff?"

"Not this kind. It was a small brown envelope, hand lettered with no return address. It made me very suspicious. I called the mail room and chewed them out for not having it checked, and then had security take it off and examine it. And do you know what was in it?"

"Uh ... like ... a bomb or something?"

"No, no, although it's just as bad. You know that news article about Cha Cha and her saying she'd get even. Well, what was in the envelope was a copy of the article with "You're next after him" scrawled across it in red crayon."

"You're next ... like ... you're going to be the next pro-am coach or something? I can't figure ... "

"NO, you idiot, it's a THREAT! Don't you get it? A threat!

"Uh, yeah, you're right. You gonna call the cops?"

"I did. They said they can't do anything. There's no proof that this came from Cha Cha. But of course it did. So as I told you earlier, I have a Rust Belt security detail watching the house, and they'll be driving me wherever I need to go. But you better watch out yourself."

"Sure honey, yeah, whatever you ... "

The windows of Marvin's hotel room shattered as the rocket propelled grenade exploded against them. The phone dropped from Marvin's hand and everything turned black.

To be continued.

---

Will Marvin ever get to solve that checker problem? You'll have to tune in next month for the second part of this three part story. But you can solve it right now (we hope you haven't experienced any exploding windows) at your leisure. Don't bomb out. Solve the problem and then detonate your mouse on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

It was Marvin and Priscilla's first Christmas together after their marriage the previous summer. Certainly, they had spent many a Christmas in each other's company during their long courtship and engagement, but as a newly married couple, this one was to be special.

Marvin J. Mavin was the Captain of the Detroit Doublejumpers in the National Checker League. The Doublejumpers were trying to make a comeback after a disappointing previous season. Priscilla K. Snelson was now the Chief Executive Officer of Rust Belt Holdings, a large multinational conglomerate.

Marvin, upon his marriage, had to give up his old Volkswagen and his downscale apartment in a rather unattractive Detroit neighborhood. He came to live in Priscilla's huge 5,000 square foot condo in an exclusive building in a very posh development.

Marvin and Priscilla had discussed what to do for Christmas. They both agreed that going to Priscilla's parents, who lived in a house twice the size of Priscilla's condo in an even more exclusive area, would not be best, at least not this year. They did not think much of Marvin and certainly didn't approve of their daughter's marriage to him. They did go to the wedding but left before the reception began, and gave them no wedding gift.

Priscilla thought to invite a small handful of her friends--- no more than fifty or so, she insisted--- to have Christmas dinner at her condo; for such affairs she always hired a Michelin starred chef. But surprisingly, Marvin was able to talk her out of it, saying he wanted something more personal and intimate.

Then he suggested spending Christmas with his mother in Ohio. He thought Priscilla would object, but to his delight, she said, "Well, Marvin, we did try a Thanksgiving with my parents, so I suppose it's only fair to spend a Christmas with your mother, even though she and I are ... well, let's just say we have different backgrounds and world views."

Now, Marvin's father had passed on when he was young. He was very close to his mother, who didn't really understand sophisticated things and at times thought Priscilla was a secretary in an office in downtown Detroit. Priscilla had only actually met her a couple of times. Mrs. Mavin wasn't at all the kind of person who would generally be in Priscilla's circle, which ran almost exclusively to the rich, cultured, and worldly.

Mrs. Mavin lived in a small home in a small town in central Ohio. It was a little difficult to get there; from Detroit you had to fly to Columbus and then drive for about 90 minutes. Priscilla thought it must just be easier to drive all the way.

"Not in the limo," said Marvin, upon hearing this. "It would stand out too much in that little town and make my Mom uneasy. We could just take my old--- oh, right, I don't have the Volkswagen any longer."

"We could take the Lexus, that's my cheapest car and there's nothing special about it," Priscilla said.

"Honey, there's probably like one Lexus in that whole town and it's probably an old one."

The discussion went on, and in the end they decided to fly and just get a compact rental car at the Springfield airport.

They left in the afternoon of the second day before Christmas and their trip was uneventful. On arrival at the Columbus airport, Priscilla insisted on driving saying she wanted the experience of piloting a "regular" car.

Marvin's mom, Mrs. Mavin, was waiting on her front porch for their arrival and greeted them effusively with hugs and kisses.

"It's so good to see you again, Priscilla," she said, "it's been since that fancy wedding, I think. How ever you could afford that on a secretary's salary, I'll never know. But it was really nice, though, even though you didn't serve a noodle casserole or zucchini bars."

Priscilla kept a straight face and simply said, "I'm glad you liked it, Mrs. Mavin."

"Now, let me show you to your room," Mrs. Mavin said. "I've fixed up the guest room with my quilts--- I knit them myself, you know--- so that you'll stay warm and cozy.

Mrs. Mavin led the couple up a winding flight of stairs and down a short hallway. "Right here," she said, "and the bathroom is at the other end of the hall. I only have a tiny hot water heater so remember, you can't take long showers! I always like a bath, myself. Now, I'll just leave you two for now. It's already nine o'clock and time for bed."

Mrs. Mavin wandered off to her own room.

Priscilla looked around. "Cozy, indeed," she said, "if cozy means small. And old-fashioned. I can just imagine what the bathroom is like."

"Aw, c'mon Prissy, this is how a lot of people live. It's homey and comfortable and it's what they like."

"You mean what they can afford."

"Prissy, don't be such a ... "

"Classist? I know. I'm just used to more ... never mind. But could you please not call me Prissy?"

"Sorry hon. But look, we're only here until Saturday morning, could you like, kinda go easy and just, you know, bear with it?"

Priscilla nodded silently and headed for the bathroom. A moment later there was a scream. "EEEEEEEK!" It was Priscilla.

Marvin came running. "What is it hon?"

Mrs. Mavin arrived a moment later. "What's wrong, children?" she asked.

Marvin entered the bathroom to find Priscilla standing on top of the toilet, staring into the bathtub with wide-open eyes and a frightened look on her face. "There's a spider in here!" she shrieked.

"Oh, dear," said Mrs. Mavin, "that's just one of G-d's little creatures. Here, I'll just pick him up and put him outside."

"Kill it! It scares me!" cried Priscilla.

"Oh, now, that little spider is as scared of you as you are of him," Mrs. Mavin said gently. She took a washcloth and carefully extracted the spider from the bathtub. "I'll just go downstairs and let him out," she said.

Back in their room a little later, Priscilla said to Marvin, "I'm not so sure this was a good idea."

Marvin, looking a little frustrated, was uncharacteristically gruff in his reply. "Could you just relax? I'm sorry my Mom isn't wealthy and lives in an old house with old plumbing and maybe a couple of spiders. Can you please just deal with it? We don't have to stay at the Ritz all the time. It's my Mom, okay?"

In reply Marvin only got a cold look. "Tell you what," she finally said, "how about we just buy your Mom a brand new house for Christmas. We can afford it, and then everyone will be happy."

"Everyone except her."

"What do you mean? How many people get a new home as a gift?"

"She loves it here. She's lived here for over forty years. You could never get her to leave."

"But ... "

"But nothing. You just don't understand, do you? Money isn't everything. A fancy house isn't everything. A snazzy car isn't everything. You know what's everything? Family, that's what. And it's what Christmas is all about. Celebrating with your family and being happy with what you have, not worrying about what you don't have. But you've been wealthy all your life and you wouldn't understand. I'm going to sleep on the couch in the living room tonight."

Marvin grabbed a bathrobe from his suitcase, and left the bedroom, closing the door behind him.

He made up something of a bed downstairs on the living room couch. But he couldn't get to sleep. After a little while he turned on a light and looked on the coffee table. Sure enough, his mom had a couple of back issues of All Checkers Digest waiting for him there. She must have gone to the library to borrow them specially for his visit.

He leafed through one of them and found an interesting problem that he hadn't seen before.

But Marvin was still upset and he didn't make any progress. Finally, he fell asleep with the light on. The magazine dropped to the floor, and the sight of Marvin asleep on the couch with the light on was what greeted Mrs. Mavin when she rose early in the morning to make some breakfast and finish preparations for the Christmas holiday meals, starting with tonight's Christmas Eve celebration.

"Marvin, son, why are you sleeping on the couch?" Mrs. Mavin asked.

Marvin stirred briefly and then woke up. "Huh?" he said, his eyes still only half open.

"Why aren't you sleeping with your bride?" There was a touch of concern in Mrs. Mavin's voice but no hint of reproof.

"Oh ... uh. Yeah, like, I was snoring pretty loud, you know." Marvin didn't want to tell his mom about his quarrel with Priscilla over the accommodations.

"I thought as much. Well, I'll just start up some breakfast. Pancakes, bacon, scrambled eggs, fresh fruit, orange juice, and coffee? Or would you rather have a glass of milk? You always loved your milk, you know."

"Mom, that was like 35 years ago. Thanks, coffee will be fine for both of us." He wondered if he dared speak for Priscilla. She liked lattes made with soy milk and probably wouldn't care for Mom's favorite Maxwell House coffee, made the old-fashioned way in a percolator.

Marvin set the dining room table while his mom prepared breakfast. After about half an hour, just as breakfast was ready to be served, Priscilla came down the stairs and into the dining room. She was dressed her satin bathrobe with a heavy argyle sweater over it. Marvin looked up, and despite last night's quarrel, had to laugh. "You look ... I dunno!" he said.

"Save it," Priscilla snapped. "It's so cold in here I can't believe it. Doesn't your mom heat the ... " Priscilla cut off in mid-sentences as Mrs. Mavin entered from the kitchen, carrying steaming plates of eggs, bacon, and pancakes. She too gave Priscilla a surprised look.

"Cold, dear?" Mrs. Mavin asked. "Oh, I'm so sorry, but tell you what, I'll turn the thermostat up to 68 and then you'll be nice and toasty warm."

Priscilla managed a mumbled thank you.

"Please, sit and eat!" Mrs. Mavin urged. "A hearty breakfast is a good way to begin the day! Now, get started and I'll bring out the rest of the food."

Priscilla looked at the heaped platters and said, "Isn't there somewhere I could go for a latte and a croissant? I can't eat all of this heavy, greasy ... "

Marvin, who had held in his displeasure until now, finally said, "Take it or leave it. No place in this town to get croissants and lattes. But if you want I'll gladly drive you back to Columbus and you can just go back home and spend Christmas with your fancy friends and drown in lattes for all I care!"

Priscilla stood up and hissed, "Sounds great to me." She then padded back to the staircase and headed up to the guest room.

Just then Mrs. Mavin returned to the dining room with bowls of fruit and a coffeepot. "I'm sorry, I didn't make hash browns this morning ... where did Priscilla go?" she asked, noticing the empty seat at the table.

"Oh, uh ... she wasn't feeling well. Upset stomach. Probably from eating something bad at the airport yesterday, I guess," Marvin said.

"What a shame," Mrs. Mavin said. "Well, son, you eat up and I'll make Priscilla a nice pot of tea and some oatmeal porridge. That will help settle her stomach."

"Uh, mom, I don't think she actually wants anything right now. It's like, when she's sick, you know, she wants to be home in her own bed. So I might have to drive her back to Columbus. I'll come back right after, though."

"Oh, no, Marvin, if your bride is sick you need to be with her. Such a shame, though. I was so looking forward to having you both here and spending a nice Christmas together. But it's okay. I can go over to the Legion Hall. A lot of the widows go there for the community celebration."

Despite the brave words, Marvin couldn't help but notice a tear in the corner of his mother's eye, and to him it was just heartbreaking.

"I'll be right back, mom," he said, quickly standing up and going double time up the staircase.

He found Priscilla in the guest room just finishing up with repacking her bag.

"You can't do this," Marvin said. "My Mom is so hurt and I can't stand to see it. You need to stop the nonsense right now, go down there and have breakfast, and quit acting like the big-city hotshot. It just isn't right. My mom is simple, sure, but she has a good heart and despite everything, she loves you just as she would her own daughter. That makes up for all the sophistication and culture and money that she doesn't have. More than makes up for it because it's priceless and it's something money can't buy."

Priscilla raised her head from the suitcase and silently gave Marvin a good long stare.

Then she burst into tears.

Marvin went and put his arms around her.

"I've been horrible," she said. "Just horrible. I don't know how you can stand me. You're so right. Your mom's love is precious. I'll go and apologize right now and hope you both can forgive me."

"Don't apologize," Marvin said gently. "Just eat the breakfast. That will make mom happier than anything. And tell her you're feeling better and will be spending Christmas with her after all."

Priscilla wiped her eyes and nodded silently. Then she changed into a blouse and slacks and went down with Marvin to enjoy bacon, eggs, pancakes, juice, and coffee, with not a croissant or latte in sight.

It was going to be a Merry Christmas after all.

---

It seems like it's become a cliche for Marvin to not get around to solving his checker problem. But you can certainly give it a try, at your leisure, maybe after one of those big breakfasts that Marvin's mom likes to prepare. No matter; solve in the manner and time of your choosing, and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

The Christmas and New Year's holidays were coming, and this would be the last meeting of the Coffee and Cake Checker Club until after the two week break.

Everyone was gathered in the big booth at the back of the Beacon Cafe, which was situated in the Provident Life Building in Bismarck, North Dakota. The year was 1955 and the club was informally led by Sal Westerman, a very accomplished but very modest elderly gentleman.

Several of the "boys" (all of whom but one were over 50 years of age) were on hand. Young Blaine had put in an appearance, as well as regulars Dan, Mike, Wayne, Larry, and Louie the Flash. The group was rounded out by Old Frank, who only was seen on occasion.

It was cold, clear, and crisp outside. The temperature at 1 PM, the club's meeting time, was hovering just above zero (Fahrenheit, of course) and would likely drop well below zero by the time the club adjourned just before the cafe closed at 5.

The cafe was gaily decorated for the season and the chatter was about what everyone would be doing over the holidays. Several of the boys were going back to their family farm in various locations around the state, to celebrate with relatives. Young Blaine would spend the holiday with his parents up in Minot. Sal and a couple others would have a quiet holiday at home.

Now, young Blaine was a busy fellow and only could make it to the club once in a while. Today, he was coming in for some serious but good natured teasing from the older members--- which was everyone else, actually.

"So young Blaine, you finally going to propose to Moira?" Dan asked. Moira was young Blaine's girlfriend of some five years. "I'm sure a big sparkly ring would make a great Christmas gift for her."

"Well, I was actually thinking of maybe a nice bottle of perfume," young Blaine replied, turning a bit red as he did.

"No, no," Sal said, "I tried that one Valentine's Day and trying to choose perfume for a young lady, or a lady of any age for that matter, is just a way to get yourself into hot water. Come now, young Blaine, she's been waiting for how long now? The bird could fly the coop, you know."

"Aw, she wouldn't ... would she?" Blaine said.

"Happened to lots of guys," Old Frank put in. "Why, I remember back in ... "

"Things have changed a bit since the Civil War!" Mike said, and everyone laughed.

But before young Blaine could make a reply, Deana, the proprietess and a championship baker, announced that today she had a special holiday treat, date nut bars with candied fruit. "Kind of a fruit cake except they're bars," she pointed out, and then couldn't help but add, "and you there, young Blaine, listen to a gal who knows the score. You better propose while the proposing's good."

"Well, then," Sal interrupted, adroitly changing the subject, "those bars sound very festive and I'll be sure to take a few home for my wife Sylvia. Of course you boys will be buying because you're not going to solve the problem I brought along today. So much as this discussion is interesting I think we'd best get down to business."

That elicited a chorus of "oh yeah" and "we'll see." But Sal had accomplished his goal. The boys were ready to turn to checkers, likely much to young Blaine's relief.

The long-standing tradition was for Sal to bring along a checker problem; if the boys solved it, Sal bought the treats but if they didn't win it, they would buy for Sal and Sylvia.

"Okay, Sal, put up or ... you know!" Wayne said playfully.

"You're on," Sal replied, and set up the following position on two of the waiting checkerboards.

"Hmm," young Blaine said, anxious not to have the conversation revert to his relationship with Moira. But, when presented with a nice checker problem, the boys weren't about to focus on anything else.

Sal, meanwhile, was looking in young Blaine's direction and smiling, if ever so slightly. He could still remember his days of youthful love. There was an intensity to it that was perhaps suitable only for the young. But there was another reason Sal had changed the subject and directed the conversation away from young Blaine. There were some bittersweet memories that at the moment Sal didn't want to revisit, but couldn't help doing.

He and Sylvia had recently celebrated their 41st wedding anniversary. They were married in 1914. Sal was 28 years old at the time. He had courted Sylvia for a good five years. She had turned 23 and was getting impatient. A young lady of 23, her parents told her, should have been married by now and starting a family.

But Sal was afraid. He was afraid to ask, for fear of being turned down. Until the day he was summoned to the Army, to fight in the Great War, which had just begun.

He was to report in 90 days, and there was no telling when he would be home again--- if ever. It looked like the war would go on for a while, and lives were already being lost. So he scraped together his savings, and went and bought the best ring he could afford. It wasn't much but it would have to do.

Then one evening that week when he and Sylvia had some precious time alone in the parlor of Sylvia's home, where she lived with her parents, all in practically a single breath he told Sylvia of his being called to go to war and then instantly bent a knee and asked her to marry him.

Sylvia looked into Sal's eyes and wept. Finally she said, "Sal, I don't know what to say. I've been waiting so long for you to ask me I was on the verge of telling you we would have to break off our relationship. In fact, I was prepared to do that tonight."

Sal's expression turned from nervous to crestfallen. "So," he said, "you won't accept?"

"You're asking me to marry you and at the same time telling me perhaps I'll become a young widow. Five years of courting, why couldn't you ask me before it came to this?"

Sal didn't respond, didn't know how to respond. Silent, he stayed on one knee, waiting for Sylvia to say more.

"We don't even have time to get married," she said. "You leave so soon." She paused. "I have to think about this. Give me a day or two, would you?"

Sal stood. His voice trembling, he said, "Of course. Whatever you wish." But his heart was about to break.

"I think you had better go now," Sylvia said. "Come back in two nights and I'll give you my decision. Don't get in touch with me or my parents until then."

Sal nodded his head and quietly made his way to the front door. It was a long, cold walk home, but not as long as the ensuing two days would be.

When the 2nd evening came, Sal, his heart skipping beats, willing himself not to shake, made his way back to Sylvia's. She answered the door herself.

"Come in, Sal," she said quietly. She walked with Sal into the parlor and pointed to the sofa. "Have a seat," she said. Sal sat as directed but Sylvia made no move to join him. Instead, she stood in the middle of the room with her arms crossed over her chest.

"I've decided to accept," she said. Sal started to smile and looked as if to speak, but Sylvia didn't give him the opportunity. "I've discussed this with my parents," she went on, 'and they agreed, but they and I are imposing a condition."

"Anything, dear, anything," Sal said but Sylvia had already gone on.

"You must marry me before you report for duty," she said. "That doesn't give us much time, and we'll only be able to have a small wedding with just a few guests and a reception here at the house. We'll go for the marriage license tomorrow."

Then she smiled. "Now, where's the ring?"

They were married just a few days before Sal went off to boot camp. Sal didn't return until the war was over. But he did return.

Sal's reverie was interrupted by young Blaine. "You look like you're somewhere else, Sal," young Blaine said. "But look, we've solved this one."

Sal looked at the clock. An hour had passed. "Show me," Sal said.

---

We can't say if you're in a situation in which you're thinking of proposing to a girl- or boyfriend over the holidays; we suspect that would apply to a rather small number of our readers. But perhaps some of you can recall a past year, whether near or distant in time, when that was the case. No matter. There's a nice sparkly checker problem for you to try. Young Blaine seems to have the solution in hand, and we "propose" that you see if you can match the boys on this one. It's a bit long and a bit difficult but we're sure you can "engage" with it, and then click on Read More to check up on your "proposed" solution and read the conclusion of our story.

[Read More]

It was the Saturday before Thanksgiving. The year was 1955 and the place was the Beacon Cafe in the Provident Life Building in Bismarck, North Dakota.

At just after one in the afternoon, the Coffee and Cake Checker Club had started its weekly meeting. The club, nominally led by Sal Westerman, had a number of checker enthusiasts as members, all but one of whom were over the age of 50.

The club meet each Saturday from just after Labor Day to just before Memorial Day, except for holidays such as Thanksgiving weekend.

The "boys" as Sal called them, were all enjoying their coffee. Dan, Sam, Delmer, Wayne, Tom, and Louie the Flash were on hand today. But instead of being deep into a checker discussion, they were talking about the upcoming Thanksgiving holiday. A rather pointed debate was going on about what you should eat on Thanksgiving.

"Turkey, what else?" Dan said, and there were a number of nods of agreement. But Sal was espousing a contrary point of view.

"Now, boys," he said, "I certainly can't argue against the great American tradition of turkey, with lots of stuffing, homemade cranberry sauce, sweet potatoes, and so on, not to mention pumpkin pie for dessert."

As if on cue, Deana, the Beacon's proprietess, called out from behind her serving counter, "Pumpkin spice bars today, boys!"

There were smiles all around as Sal continued, "But my wife Sylvia allows as how she's a little tired of turkey after so many years, and wants to make prime rib instead. She says it's 'festive and celebratory' as she puts it, and 'a nice change from the ordinary.'"

"I like that idea," Deana said. "Are you having a lot of company? With a big crowd, a large turkey is probably a better choice, but for smaller groups a nice three rib roast might be just the thing."

"It's just us this year," Sal said. "Our daughter can't make it up from Washington D.C., and Sylvia's sister Phoebe is going down to Utah to visit with their other sister." Sal almost expressed his relief at Phoebe's being elsewhere, but held back at the last minute. He and Phoebe didn't exactly hit it off.

"Well, then, there you go," said Deana. "A three rib roast will make a great dinner and lots of roast beef sandwiches during the coming week."

A few of the boys said, "I don't know" or words to that effect, but the discussion finally ended with Sal saying, "Thanks, Deana. In any case you can imagine I didn't want to argue with Sylvia, especially after she kind of implied that if I want a turkey I can cook it myself."

Everyone had a good laugh, after which Wayne asked Sal what he had in mind for today's checker problem.

"Here's what I've got for you," Sal said.

The tradition was that Sal would bring along a checker problem for the boys to solve. If they got it, Sal bought the treats but if they couldn't solve it, the boys bought their own plus some for Sal--- and Sylvia.

Sal laid out the following position. "Here you go, boys. It's already one-thirty so let's keep it to no more than half an hour."

The boys all nodded their assent and were soon deep into contemplation.

---

Our Checker Maven staff do sometimes have prime rib at Thanksgiving, but to support tradition, we serve traditional stuffing, even if pan baked, prepared according to a recipe that is at least 150 years old. What do you have for Thanksgiving? Do you stick with traditional turkey or do you serve something completely different? We'd love to hear from you.

Of course first you should tackle today's problem. We promise you it's not a turkey and you won't have any beef about it. See how you do and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

Things had seemingly returned to normal in the National Checker League after the near-disastrous player's strike just before the start of the season. Fortunately, as described in our previous Marvin J. Mavin story, the strike came to a negotiated end afer Marvin defeated Charity Chastity "Cha Cha" Hopkins in a one on one match intended to settle the terms of the strike. At the conclusion of the match, Cha Cha, in a rage, assaulted Marvin and ended up being jailed on a charge of attempted second degree murder. Marvin missed the first two weeks of the season while recovering from a broken collarbone and injuries to his throat and neck.

However, not much could keep Marvin away from the checkerboard, and he was soon back in action.

But, alas, everything isn't always simple. Cha Cha, despite bail being set at $1 million, obained her release and immediately mounted a defense and had her lawyer file for summary dismissal of all charges based on Texas law which accounted for "fightin' words." Cha Cha's defense team put forth the argument that Marvin employed "fightin' words" and therefore Cha Cha's assault on Marvin was justified.

A hearing was scheduled in Dallas Superior Court and Marvin was subpoenaed to appear. The NCL Player's Union decided to provide counsel as NCL management declined to do so citing "conflict of interest."

Unfortunately for Marvin, the powerful Looking To Be Offended (LTBO) lobby filed a brief as an amicus curae, or friend of the court. But they were no friend of Marvin, who had encountered them before (see earlier stories).

LTBO supported Cha Cha's "fightin' words" claim. In their brief, they noted (as did Cha Cha's defense team) that Marvin had used the expression "mano a mano" (in reference to their one on one match) after which he called Cha Cha a "woman." They argued that mentioning gender was well known to be outside the politically correct spectrum and that in so doing Marvin provoked Cha Cha with "fightin' words."

In due course, Marvin was called to the witness stand. He didn't hear the order to step forward, having been preoccupied with a checker problem in All Checkers Digest.

"I told you to leave that magazine in the car," his lawyer, Greta Gumption, hissed. "Now get up and go to the witness stand before you're held in contempt!"

Marvin reluctantly put down his magazine and obeyed.

After being sworn in, the defense lawyer, Ms. Susie Saucer, asked Marvin a few preliminary questions about his occupation, marital status, on so on.

"Yes, I'm married," Marvin said. "Priscilla Snelson is my wife."

"Really, you're married? she said. "The way you look, I never would have guessed you would have found anyone who would take you. And by the way, you should say "spouse" as the word 'wife' is gender biased. But, anyhoo, describe the so-called assault in your own words."

"Well," Marvin said, "we had this here match, mano a mano, you know, like ... "

"Mano a mano?" Saucer interrupted. "Are you saying that Ms. Hopkins is a man?"

"I ain't saying nothing," Marvin replied. "It's just like, an expression, you know ... "

"A very offensive expression," Saucer said. "But please continue."

"So then Cha Cha ... "

"Her name is Ms. Hopkins."

"Yeah right, I know, so then she says she didn't like what I said and ..."

"You knew she didn't like what you said but you said it anyway?"

"Uh yeah but that was like before she told me and how was I supposed to know?"

"You should have asked. Go on."

"So I says okay then mano a womano ... "

"So you did call her a woman."

"Well, ain't she? I mean maybe she don't look much like one ..."

Saucer threw her hands up in the air. "Your Honor," she said, turning to the judge, "look at this ... person. And having heard what he has to say, I ask again for summary dismisal."

"Hey wait a minute," Marvin said. "You ain't heard the rest. Like how she called me a maggot and said I was dog food ..."

"The witness will remain silent," the judge intoned. "Prosecutor, this certainly seems like a case of fightin' words. Calling someone a woman. Criticizing her appearance. Not honoring her wishes. Why, I'll bet this so-called victim never even asked Ms. Hopkins for her preferred pronouns."

"Your Honor," the prosecutor said, "attempted second degree murder is a very serious charge and Mr. Mavin was nearly killed by Ms. Hopkins. Surely this should at least be argued in front of a jury."

"I don't think so," the judge said. "Defense, approach the bench. Witness, you are dismissed."

Marvin went back to his seat next to his lawyer. "You really botched it," she said, and then fell silent.

Meanwhile Cha Cha's defense team was conferring with the judge. The LTBO lawyer joined in. After a few minutes, there was a nod of agreement all around and the meeting dispersed.

The judge cleared his throat and then announced, "The defense has agreed to a plea of guilty to a charge of misdemeanor assault with a sentence of three days, which has already been met with time served. Ms. Hopkins, you are free to go. Case closed." So saying the judge rapped his gavel and the courtroom began to clear.

Cha Cha came over to Marvin and said quietly, "And you thought you had won, you little worm. Well, Charity Chastity Hopkins isn't done with you yet. I'd watch my back if I were you."

"Are you threatening my client?" Marvin's lawyer said, but it was more a squeak than a statement.

"Figure it out for yourself, weakling." Cha Cha walked off to join her defense team, whose members were talking about going for drinks to celebrate.

"Next time, and I hope there isn't a next time," Marvin's lawyer said, "do as you're told and listen instead of messing around with checker problems. And for heaven's sake, ask people for their preferred pronouns. That's what people do in the 21st century. If you don't, people get away with murder. Or at least attempted murder."

Marvin shook his head. "Just don't get it," he muttered as he made his way back to the parking garage.

---

Since (at least we hope) you're not in court, you can feel free to solve the problem that Marvin unfortunately had to set aside. See how it goes and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

It was a fine fall afternoon on a Saturday in October, 1955. The place was Bismarck, North Dakota, and for Sal Westerman, that meant an afternoon visit to the Beacon Cafe, where his Coffee and Cake Checker Club met weekly between Labor Day and Memorial Day.

Sal left home around 12:45 PM in order to arrive by the nominal 1 PM start time. He enjoyed the walk in the brisk autumn air under a cloudless blue prairie sky. However, something was troubling him--- an unusual situation for one of his beloved Saturday club days.

He had gotten a letter early the previous week from a certain Simon S. Sinistra, postmarked Washington, D.C. The letter said that Mr. Sinistra was coming to Bismarck for a couple of weeks as a representative of the Department of Agriculture to lend help to the North Dakota department of the same name. The letter said that he understood things were "not well run" in Bismarck and that Washington would provide Federal "guidance" to "improve" things.

That would have been enough in and of itself, but then Mr. Sinistra went on to say that he had read about the Coffee and Cake Checker Club in All Checkers Digest, and, as he himself was a member of the District of Columbia Federal Employees' Checker Association, he was looking forward to visiting the Coffee and Cake Club to give them guidance on how to run a proper checker association.

"As a small-time club in a small-time podunk town in a small-time podunk state in a small-time podunk region of the country, undoubtedly you will be grateful for my advice and will follow it without question. You should be most appreciative that I kindly am providing my services without a fee, as I understand North Dakota to be a poor state, limited not only in culture and sophistication, but in material resources" Mr. Sinistra had said in his letter.

Sal found himself hoping that this Sinistra fellow wouldn't show his face at the Beacon. But he supposed he had to be prepared for the worst.

Now, the "boys" who made up the club--- all but one of them over the age of 50--- indeed were an unsophisticated lot, not schooled in the ways of big city culture. But they were honest, hard-working, and decent. They loved their country and they took care of their families. Most of them were Sunday churchgoers. In short, they were old-fashioned, upright, loyal, patriotic, and caring. They were also, as it turned out, quite good checker players.

What they didn't have was a lot of tolerance for pretension, snobbery, and condescension.

Sal arrived at the Beacon at just before one o'clock, greeted Deana, the proprietress (who was a championship baker) and said hello to the "boys" who had already arrived. There was Dan, Wayne, Mike, Larry, and Louie the Flash. Soon afterwards Tom and Ron came in, making a group of eight along with Sal. It was a nice turnout.

They all visited for a few minutes over coffee before Wayne asked the inevitable question. "What have you got for us today, Sal?"

The tradition was that Sal brought along a checker problem and if the boys could solve it, Sal would buy treats for the crowd. If they couldn't solve it, the boys would buy their own treats and some for Sal, including an extra serving or two for Sal to take home to his wife, Sylvia.

"Here's one from Ed in Pennsylvania," Sal said. Ed was one of Sal's checker pen pals and was a grandmaster problem composer. Sal went ahead and set up the problem on two different checkerboards in the big booths at the back of the cafe.

As per usual, Deana, never missing a marketing opportunity, announced, "Rhubarb crumble today, with vanilla ice cream!"

But just as she finished her announcement and the boys started to settle down to tackle the problem, the door to the cafe slammed open and in came a figure dressed in an expensive black suit. The man looked around the cafe and frowned. But before he could speak, Deana said, "Hey, pal, take it easy with that door! You break it you pay for it!"

"Are you addressing me in that tone of voice?" the man said. "Do you, a menial cafe worker, dare threaten a representative of the United States Government?"

"You better watch yourself, bud ... " Deana began, but Sal stood up and said, "Mr. Sinistra, I presume? Welcome to the Coffee and Cake Checker Club. I'm Sal Westerman, the organizer."

"Not today you aren't," Sinistra said. "I'm here to show you how it's done outside of Podunk. I'll be in charge today. Now, I suppose we'll have to make do with meeting here, but it will be the last time you gather in a sordid cafe. Surely there are better places, even in this cow town. Mr. Westerman, you are assigned to locate suitable meeting space. I will expect this to be accomplished no later than Tuesday. Do I make myself clear, or are you all as stupid as I'd expect?"

"Hey, careful what you say! Besides, we like it here!" said Dan. "We don't need another place. The food is good, the coffee is good, and it's friendly--- like us. There's rhubarb crumble today, you should try it."

"Rhubarb? Are you serious?" He looked over at Deana. "I imagine you run this ... place?"

Deana, slowly turning red, nodded.

"Well, where are the French pastries? The croissants? The Viennese tortes? At our club in Washington, we have only the best. Speaking of which, I'd like a cappucino with extra foam, two sugar cubes on the side. Cane sugar, please, not beet sugar, which I understand is common around here."

"You can have a cup of coffee, pal," Deana said, "if you pay in advance." Her tone had become quite unfriendly.

"Put it on my tab," Sinistra replied as he strode to the back of the cafe. "Now, what is this?" he asked, looking at the checkerboards.

"We always start out with a problem that I provide," Sal began to explain, "and then ... "

"Not any longer," Sinistra said, and then he picked up the checkerboards one by one and shook the pieces off of them. The boys grumbled but Sinistra went on, "We usually start with a lecture on technique by a qualified individual, such as myself. But I think the first thing we need to do is lay down the new rules for the this club." He turned to the serving counter, "And where's my coffee?" he demanded.

"Where's your ten cents?" Deana replied curtly.

Sinistra glared. "Do these yokels pay in advance?" he asked. "The answer had better be 'yes' or I'll bring the wrath of government down on this pitiful little cafe."

Deana stood up straight. "That's it," she said. She came around from the back of her counter. "You're leaving. Now. And you're banned. You're trespassed. You ever come back here the "podunk" police will throw you in our "podunk" jail. And as for the wrath of goverment or whatever nonsense you're spouting, I know my rights. This is my cafe and we do things my way."

"And this is our club and we do things our way," Louie the Flash said.

All the boys were now also standing, making a wall in front of Sinistra. "It would be best if you listened to Deana," Sal said gently. "She's right. The Beacon Cafe is not the place for you, and the Coffee and Cake Checker Club is not the place for you, either. I'm sorry. But this isn't Washington D.C."

"And thank heaven for that!" Tom exclaimed.

Sinistra looked as if he were about to say something, but then simply turned on his heels and went to the door. He made sure to slam it on the way out.

"Dan, can you check that door for me?" Deana asked. "I wouldn't at all mind having that puffed up city boy run in for vandalism.

Dan checked the door carefully. "No damage, Deana," he said, "more's the pity."

"Boys, time's a wasting!" Sal said. "I'll set up today's problem again and you can see how it goes."

Everyone gave their quick assent, and soon the boys were deep into contemplation. Sal gave them an hour, allowing enough time for things to settle down.

"Got it!" Dan exclaimed after the hour had passed, adding, "Wonder if that big shot could have done it?"

---

We certainly hope no one like Mr. Sinistra will ever make an appearance in your favorite checker venue. Now, we actually don't know if Mr. Sinistra could have solved today's problem; the question is, can you? Give it a whirl and then click on Read More to see the solution.

[Read More]

After the debacle at the Detroit Doublejumpers training camp (see our previous Marvin J. Mavin story), and the subsequent strike by the Doublejumper team, the rest of the National Checker League joined in in a sympathy strike, and they were soon joined by other checker leagues the world around.

NPL Player's Union President Jimmy Huffer told the media, "We will not stand idly by while the players we represent are abused. We expect that so-called coach to be fired, and the players be given compensation for psychological damage which may have a profound negative effect on their careers. We think $10 million per player is about right."

"That coach" was Charity Chastity Hopkins, also known to her great dislike as Cha Cha, who had attempted to institute Marine boot camp style disclipline into the Doublejumpers summer training camp. The Doublejumpers' previous season hadn't gone well, and their management wanted a big shakeup. They got one, but not the one for which they hoped.

But they stood their ground, and the management of the other teams stood with them. It was a total impasse. Opening Day came and went, with no checker matches being played. Would the season be completely called off, causing untold financial loss across the country, not to mention great disappointment to the nation's millions of checker fans?

There weren't even negotiations taking place. Days passed and the strike wore on. But then there was a breakthrough.

A checker columnist for a small newspaper in Tularosa, New Mexico, wrote that he'd like to see Marvin J. Mavin take on Cha Cha in a checkers match, and if Marvin won, Cha Cha would be dismissed. If Cha Cha won, she would remain as head coach, and while it was suggested that she tone things down a little, either way the strike would come to an end.

The idea somehow gained national attention, and although both NCL management and the NCL Player's Union didn't like it very much, there was a lot of pressure. Even politicians got involved and the President of the United States himself was heard to say, "They need to get on with it. What's a nation without checkers?"

So the match was arranged. Cha Cha pressed for a two part match which would mix martial arts and checkers, but that didn't gain any traction, as everyone knew that Cha Cha would give Marvin such a beating he wouldn't be able to complete the second part of the match.

Finally the day came. It was to be a single match played in the Dallas Checkerdrome in front of a sellout crowd of 50,000 checker fans.

In the dugout, Marvin's teammates warned him not to shake hands with Cha Cha. "She'll have you on the ground in seconds," they warned. "Probably even break your wrist, or worse."

"I ain't scared," Marvin replied, but nonetheless, when they met at mid-field, Marvin bowed instead of offering a hand.

"So, we meet, like, you know, mano a mano," he said, grinning.

Cha Cha gave him a look as if she didn't believe her ears. "Mano a mano?" she screamed. "Listen here, Captain Dog Breath, I'm not a mano in case you haven't noticed!"

"Coulda fooled me," Marvin muttered, careful not to be heard. Then aloud he said, "Okay, mano a womano, you like that better?"

"Leave gender out of this!" Cha Cha shouted back. "You better say 'one on one' loud enough for me to HEAR you, and you better say it right NOW!"

"Ma'am, yes ma'am!" Marvin replied, but the note of sarcasm in his voice couldn't be missed. Of course, Marvin had noted there were six very large referees standing in a circle around the two players, ready to intervene if things got out of hand.

The head referee, Ritchie Bandwidth, stepped forward. "People, let's just play checkers, okay? Now, the match is one game. If a draw, a second game, and so on until there is a winner, no matter how long it might go. Take your seats and begin."

"Prepare to die, maggot!" Cha Cha hissed.

Now, there was no doubt Cha Cha was a top player. While in the Marines, she had won the Armed Forces Individual Championship for four years in a row, and then on her re-enlistment, she coached the Marines to four consecutive team championships. When she left the service, she decided on a professional coaching career instead of one as a player. Her severe methods were not appreciated by her teams, but she got results, at least until she reached the NCL and encountered the Doublejumpers.

Marvin and Cha Cha played five draws over a period of about three hours. The fans were getting impatient for a result and loud boos accompanied the announcement of the last two draws.

The sixth game, though, was different, and looked like it might produce a result.

It was Marvin's move in the following position, and he thought he had some chances.

"You're dead meat, Captain Dog Food," Cha Cha said in a stage whisper. "And wait until we get back to training. You'll suffer like you've never suffered before. I'll beat you to a bloody pulp. I'll break both your arms and both your legs. No sleep, no food until every last ounce of insubordination is knocked out of you. It'll be so bad you'll quit because you can't take it any more, and good riddance, too, as you crawl away in agony ... "

"Stuff it," Marvin said, as he reached out and made his move.

---

Can you defeat Cha Cha and end the strike--- on terms favorable to the players? There's a lot at stake here so the pressure's on. Try your best and remember that Cha Cha can't get to you, wherever you might be. When you're ready click on Read More to see the solution and the conclusion of our story.

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It was Saturday, September 10, 1955, the first Saturday after Labor Day. And that meant just one thing to Sal Westerman, long time resident of Bismarck, North Dakota.

The Coffee and Cake Checker Club would resume its afternoon meetings at the Beacon Cafe in the Provident Life Building.

Sal was the unofficial leader of the club, which met every Saturday from just after Labor Day to just before Memorial Day, after which there would be a summer break.

Sal loved his club and really missed it during the summer. Although he knew that summers in North Dakota were short, and most club and school activities of any kind were put on hold, still he missed his gatherings with "the boys" as he called his club companions--- all but one of whom were over 50 years of age.

He loved the venue, too. The Beacon Cafe was owned and operated by Deana Nagel, a championship baker who always gave the boys a warm welcome and let them occupy the large booths in the rear from 1 PM, just after the lunch rush (lunch in Bismarck was taken at noon without exception), until closing time at 5 PM. There was always plenty of coffee and the greatest baked treats anywhere, all at fair prices.

The tradition was that Sal would bring along a checker problem and the boys would try to solve it. If they got it, Sal bought the treats but if they didn't, they had to buy their own and something for Sal too, and often a couple of extras for him to take home to his wife, Sylvia.

As was usual for what Sal called "opening day" there was a great turnout. Besides Sal, there was Wayne, Delmer, Sam, Dan, Louie the Flash, Tom, Kevin (a.k.a. "Spooler"), Ron, young Blaine, and even Old Frank, who wasn't seen all that often, and was actually younger than Sal.

After some prelimary chatter about how the summer had gone, and a few stories from Sal about that big tournament in Las Vegas, the boys were ready to get down to it.

"Let's see what you've got," Tom said.

Sal smiled. "Okay, you asked for it. I've got a different one this time. It's from the Galt Evening Reporter."

"The what?" Wayne asked.

"The Galt Evening Reporter," Sal replied. "It's a little town in southern Ontario. They have a checker column written by Morris Gordon and he has a setting that he said comes from an actual game he played at the local checker club. Morris and I met in a younger day when I played a tournament in Toronto, and we've stayed in touch on and off over the years. He wrote to me just last week saying as how your club will never get this one, as it's championship material."

The boys groaned in unison. "You're sure making it hard on us, Sal!" Louie the Flash said. But he smiled as he said it.

The large turnout occupied two booths, so Sal set up a board in each booth with the following position

As if to spur everyone on, Deana announced from behind her counter, "Chocolate almond nut bars today! Fresh and warm!"

Surely the boys heard her, as there were some sounds of contentment. But they were already deeply immersed in studying the position.

An hour passed. It was 2:30 PM. Sal called "Time!" and everyone looked up.

"We didn't get it," Wayne announced from the table on the left.

"Neither did we," said Dan, who was at the table on the right.

"Well then, boys, let me show you!" said Sal.

---

This one indeed isn't easy. You will either see it, or you won't. It's a lot of fun, though, and well worth your time. See how you do and click on Read More to see the solution. You'll have to provide your own chocolate almond nut bars, though.

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