The Athens Bar phase took place when I was in the 5th Grade.  St. John's gave us an entire hour for lunch.  Considering we could finish eating in 10 minutes if it was important, lunch gave us plenty of time for friendship, gossip, and fun activities.  One day a friend of mine named Frank brought a chess board to lunch.  There were several quiet boys like Frank and me who hung together.  I guess you could call us the nerds.  To Frank's dismay, none of us knew how to play chess.  So Frank offered to teach anyone who was interested.  I was curious, so I took Frank up on his offer.  Two other guys did as well.  From that point on, lunchtime chess became a regular activity with the four of us.  I won some, lost some, but I always enjoyed playing.  I was tickled pink when I finally beat Frank at his own game for the first time.  Since I was already fighting a serious inferiority complex, lunchtime chess became one of my few bright spots.  That led me to ask Mom to buy me a chess set for my 11th birthday in October.  Dumb idea.  Just who exactly was I going to play with?  So the chess set just sat there.

Shortly after my 11th birthday, Mom brought home a sailor named Kristos.  Cute guy, big shoulders, macho attitude, the perfect one-night stand.  Mom may have been plump and plain, but she never lacked for men.  Mom's attitude was simple.  Her tubes were tied, she couldn't get pregnant, she liked sex, so there you have it.  Sunday morning when I woke up, Kristos was at the kitchen table drinking coffee with Mom.  Kristos spoke little English.  He knew enough to say he was from Yugoslavia, not Greece, but that was about it. 

Kristos noticed the chess board in the living room and beckoned to it.  I did not want to play, but Mom insisted I entertain her new lover.  While my mother cooked breakfast, Kristos advanced his pawns one space at a time until I was completely pinned back.  Kristos was so overwhelmingly superior, he did not even bother to take my pieces.  Instead his moves forced to me to constantly retreat until he smothered me to death like an anaconda.  When Kristos laughed derisively, I failed to see the humor.  Nice work, sailor boy, you just beat an 11 year old kid.  I was furious at being crushed to death by my mother's latest one-night stand.  No doubt there were Oedipal overtones, but let's not go there.  Angry, I stomped to my room. 

The sting of that overwhelming defeat lingered for a long time.  Kristos demonstrated I wasn't nearly as good as I thought I was.  A few weeks later I noticed a chess book for beginners at my school's Book Fair.  It was written for kids my age so I asked Mom for money to buy it as a Christmas present in advance.  Now I began to teach myself the finer points of the game.  The book really helped.  Soon I was able to beat Frank and the other boys in our group on a regular basis.  For the next three years or so I almost never lost.  However, at the end of the 8th grade, a new chess nemesis appeared to torment me.  His name was Neal. 

As if I did not have enough problems, at the beginning of May 1964 Mom brought home a new loser to live with us.  As usual, I was not consulted.  Neal was a taxi driver with a strong resemblance to an unshaven Jack Nicholson.  Neal turned out to be a loud-mouthed, foul-smelling, chain-smoking alcoholic.  Of all the strays my mother found in the dog pound, Neal was tied for worst with the ex-con Tom Cook.  I despised Neal from the moment I met him.  Neal, 40, was a dark-haired man of Jewish descent.  He had the thickest eyebrows I have ever seen.  He was six feet tall and seriously overweight.  Neal hated to shave, so he constantly had that slovenly unshaven look.  Neal was a lout, but he was also bright, I'll grant him that much.  I knew he going to be trouble the moment he noticed my chess set and began to brag loudly about what a great chess player he was. 

"You'll never beat me, Dickie Boy, no one beats me."

Of all the one-night stands and live-ins stretched across nine years, Neal was the one I detested the most.  The rest I learned to ignore, but not Neal.  The others left me alone, but Neal went out of his way to irritate me.  Neal liked to taunt me with his big mouth and lofty opinion of himself.  By putting me down, he felt superior.  Because I had grown up alone, no one had ever picked on me before quite like he did.  The moment Neal realized I had a thin skin and lacked the verbal skills to fight back, he subjected me to all kinds of ridicule.  I found myself seething at his put-downs.  Neal was a bully who took savage pleasure in humiliating me any way he could.

Neal was Mom's replacement for Miguel, the man my mother had recklessly turned away.  I never met a more repulsive man.  Neal smoked.  Neal drank.  Neal watched TV and belched.  The living room stank from beer and cigarette ashes.  Neal hated to wear a shirt, so when he dozed on the couch, his giant beer belly and pale white skin reminded me of a beached whale.  He never shaved nor bathed.  One would think Neal would look in the mirror, but for some reason the guy never wavered from his lofty opinion of himself.  Neal loved the fact that I went to a private school with a strong academic record.  Since Neal considered himself a real deep-thinker, he lived for any chance to demonstrate his intelligence.

"You should listen to me, Dick, I'm an intellectual.  I can teach you things.  Maybe you'll learn something to make you more popular at school."

Oh my God, how I seethed when he said that!  How did he know I was virtually friendless?  Did my mother tell him?  No way.  Mom and I never talked about anything serious.  She didn't have a clue that I was ostracized at school by the Cool Kids.  Angry at Neal for finding my Achilles Heel, I was also darkly impressed.  Give Neal some credit.  Considering we never talked, Neal had somehow guessed I possessed the lowest self-esteem of any boy at my school.  I spent every waking hour trying to figure how to belong to a crowd that ignored me, so I have to hand it to the guy for knowing exactly where to hit under the belt.  Oh, how I hated this man.

Despite my animosity, Neal did teach me something useful.  Oddly enough, one day Neal offered to show me how to fight dirty.  He said the secret was to catch my opponent off guard.  First I should clap my hands over the guy's ears, then slug the guy in the throat.  This trick would come in handy one day.  File this gem away in your memory bank.

Chess became the battleground in our growing test of wills.  The moment Neal moved in he noticed my chess set.  He immediately challenged me to a game.  As we played, I could see he took the game seriously.  Puffing away on his perpetual cigarettes, I nearly gagged to death as Neal studied each move carefully.  It did not take long to see that Neal was a lot better than the boys at school.  He was also better than me.  Neal seemed to know every sneaky play in the book.  It was not just that he beat me, it was his decision to rub it in.  Neal would laugh in a mocking way after each victory.  He would guffaw loudly and remind me not to take it so hard.  After all, since he was such a great player, I never stood a chance. 

"Don't worry about it, Dickie Boy!  I beat everyone."

I could not stand losing to Neal.  Choking on his cigarette fumes, how I hated this guy!  But I didn't let on how angry I was.  After all, I had to live with him.  Privately, though, I chafed at my defeats. 
I noticed that even when I lost, each game was pretty close.  I believed Neal wasn't really that much better than me.  I knew I had some ability; I just lacked polish.  My problem was that I could not figure out how to win the End Game.  If I could discover some way to improve, I might win.

Meanwhile my dislike of Neal grew and grew.  If he called me 'Dickie Boy' one more time, I might explode.  I pleaded with Mom to throw the bum out.  "Please, Mom, I'm begging you!" 

Mom admitted she wasn't too keen on Neal herself, but since he was helping with the bills, he could stay.  With a frown, Mom said, "I need the money, so you will just have to find some way to deal with the aggravation."

That gave me pause for thought.  This was the first time I had ever considered that money might be the reason Mom allowed these strays to stay with us.  Knowing how money was Mom's lifelong problem, I resigned myself to Neal's presence.  But I wasn't happy about it, not by a long shot.

This started in May and now it was June.  Summer arrived and Neal was still here.  And so my worst nightmare had come to pass.  I wanted the freedom to enjoy my summer alone in the apartment before starting high school, but no such luck.  Since Neal worked nights, I was forced to share my home with him during the long summer days while Mom was at work.   

Sure enough, that's exactly how it played out.  Throughout June, Neal played Lord of the House all day long.  I could not bear the sight of him.  Or the smell either.  Just to get away from him, in the early morning Terry and I would head over to nearby Cherryhurst Park. 

For two hours I would practice shooting basketball, my official summer project.  Since I was determined to go out for the Junior Varsity in the Fall, I practiced jump shot after jump shot until the Texas sun made it too hot to continue.  Meanwhile Terry chased the squirrels and birds in every direction.  At least one of us was enjoying his summer. 

I would return home and there would be Neal in the living room.  He would be puff puff puffing away with cigarette in one hand and a beer in the other as he watched his beloved soap operas.  Such an intellectual.  Disgusted, I would head to my bedroom and shut the door.  I felt like a prisoner in my own home.  One day in June, Terry and I returned from the park to find Neal sitting at the kitchen table practicing his chess moves.  Neal saw me and ordered me to sit down and play. 

The insistent tone of his voice got Terry's attention.  He came closer to me and stared bullets at Neal.  I quietly grinned.  Aha!  It was the return of the 'The Look' from the time I had my bicycle accident.  Mind you, Terry did not growl or make a sound.  He just stared at Neal.  Sure enough, when Neal saw the look in Terry's eyes, he did a double-take.  That is how I learned Neal was afraid of Terry.  As well he should be!   From that point on, Terry never left my side when Neal was around.  Thank goodness for my loyal bodyguard. 

Neal must have outweighed me by one hundred pounds.  Intimidated by his size as well as his uncanny ability to annoy me, until now I had held my tongue.  However, emboldened by Terry's subduing effect on Neal, I realized for the first time I could say anything I wanted with impunity.  Seeing an opening, I taunted him.  "Gosh, Neal, looks like Terry doesn't like you very much."

Neal frowned.  "Keep that dog away from me!"

The moment Neal raised his voice, Terry took a step forward.  When Neal instantly flinched, it took everything in my power not to laugh.  Instead I decided to press my advantage.  "Gee, Neal, if I didn't know better, maybe you need to take a shower.  Terry has a very sensitive nose, so that's probably what's bothering him."

When Neal's eyes grew wide, I knew I had scored with the shower quip.  Neal had no comeback for that one.  This moment marked a turning point in our tense relationship.  Since I had never met anyone before who deliberately tried to humiliate me, until now I was not quite sure how to fight back.  However, unbeknownst to Neal, I too possessed a wicked tongue.  Just ask Mom.  So far I had kept my smart mouth under wraps around Neal, but seeing him flinch from my dog was just the encouragement I needed.  Thrilled to see my shower retort draw blood, I gave free rein to my sarcasm from here on out.  To my delight, my biting style got under Neal's skin just like he got under my skin.  Considering how slovenly Neal was, I had all kinds of weak spots to target... smoking, drinking, obesity, etc.  Neal's odor problem was my favorite.  Whenever he pissed me off, I had an easy counter-attack.

"Hey, Neal, there's something wrong with the shower nozzle.  Come see if you can fix it.  Oh, never mind.  I forgot you don't even know where the shower is."

If he did not reply, I would pause for a moment, then continue the onslaught.  Later on I would add to the running commentary.  "Guess what, Neal, I got the shower fixed.  Do you want me to show you how to use it?"

Neal would just glare at me and fume.  But what could he do?  Neal knew better than to get physical with me.  Even worse, he did not dare raise his voice.  Terry caught on to my game.  I think he could tell by the sound of my voice when I was messing with Neal because he would saunter over to my side.  Pretty soon I was smarting off to Neal any time I felt like it since I had Terry to back me up.  Of course Mom had no idea what was going on.  This was between Neal and me while she was at work.  Now that my hostility was out in the open, a confrontation was inevitable.  One day after my morning basketball practice, I came home from the park hot and sweaty.

Neal immediately grabbed his nose and said, "Pee you, you stink, buddy."

"Maybe so, Neal, but at least I know where the shower is located."

Seeing Terry's ears perk up at my special taunting voice, Neal bit his tongue.  He settled for grumbling something under his breath, then pointed to the chess board.  "Take your shower, little preppie boy, but when you're done, it's your move.  I can't remember, have you beaten me yet?  Nah, I don't think so." 

There was no love lost between us.  The tension had grown much worse ever since I had begun to talk back.  He did not dare lay a finger on me thanks to Terry.  Unable to smack me across the face like he wanted to and no longer able to best me in a war of words, the chess table had become Neal's final bastion of superiority.  Today Neal had just challenged me to our first big chess game of the summer.  Okay, fine, let's play.  After my shower, I tried as hard as I could, but Neal beat me soundly.  Neal always insisted on playing twice, once as White, once as Black.   After he beat for a second time, bellows of raucous laughter emanated.  Neal was Lord of the House.  Hear him roar.  Neal had just put the smart-mouthed twerp in his place. 

I seethed inside, but kept my mouth shut.  I grabbed Terry and the basketball and left the apartment to play basketball for the second time that day, Texas heat be damned.  Right now I was hotter inside than it was outside.  I really needed to let off some steam.  Unfortunately, Neal wasn't done yet.  When I returned home, Neal offered to let me try again.  Like a fool, I accepted the challenge only to be soundly defeated twice more.  After four victories in one day, Neal was in hog heaven.  For the rest of the day, Neal laughed every time he saw me and bragged about his victory.  He told my mother about his victories when she came home and laughed again.  Neal enjoyed humiliating me because it proved he was smarter than me.  With this guy around, my summer was off to a lousy start.  Cursing my futility, I openly wished I could find some way to improve at chess.  I was dying to put this guy in his place. 

From this point on, Neal used his chess ability to goad me any chance he could.  Any time I started getting the better of him in our war of insults, Neal would say, "If you think you're so smart, then why can't you beat me at chess?"  The laughter would ensue.  This went back and forth for most of June.  I would insult him, he would insult me, but any time Neal wanted to shut me up, he would point to the Chess board.  Now that Neal knew how aggravated I was whenever he beat me, he had regained the upper hand. 

This man was ruining my life.  I cursed my inability to match Neal's chess skill.  One day after my latest defeat, I stomped out of the house for a long walk around the neighborhood.  I screamed my head off, "Darn it!  I wish I could find a way to beat that SOB!!"

To my surprise, an odd coincidence took place that same afternoon.  After Neal left to go drive his taxi, I was grateful to be left alone in the apartment.  Taking a shortcut from my room through my mother's bedroom to the living room, I noticed a box of books lying on the floor over in the corner.  Curious, I put the box on the bed and leafed through.  There were two books by Ayn Rand, Fountainhead and Atlas Shrugged. There was On the Road by Jack Kerouac and Exodus by Leon Uris.  There were several Bertrand Russell books on philosophy.  I snorted with contempt.  These were just the sort of books an intellectual would read.  I wondered if Neal had actually read them or just kept them around to impress whomever he was shacking up with.  When I reached the bottom of the box, my eyes lit up. 

"My, my, what do we have here?"   Hidden at the bottom of Neal's box was a book covering the results of the 1960 World Chess Championship.  With a sense of excitement, I opened the book.  The book was written by Mikhail Tal, the winner.  It was Tal's explanation of how he became the world chess champion in an upset victory over fellow Russian Mikhail Botvinnik. 

This book contained the moves from every game played written in chess notation, P-B4 (Pawn to Bishop 4), QxR (Queen takes Rook) and so on.  Even better, there were detailed explanations for the reason behind Tal's most important moves.  My eyes grew wide.  Having found a chess book that explained the strategy of a chess grandmaster, I immediately grasped the potential.  By replaying each game in the book, maybe I could improve. 

I carefully put the other books back in proper order and placed the box back where I had found it.  Would Neal find out?  I doubted it.  The book was probably on the bottom because he never looked at it.  I pegged the odds of Neal missing this book at one in a million.   Now I carried my prize to my bedroom.  Having this book appear with such perfect timing felt like a good omen.  With a hunch that this book was the secret weapon I had coveted, a sense of contentment came over me.  This was my golden opportunity to get my revenge on Neal.  I had my basketball project in the morning and now I had my chess project in the afternoon. 

Throughout July I made it my mission to replay every single chess game in the book.  On each page there was a discussion of the reasons behind Tal's most important moves.  Every spare moment I would analyze those notes.  I had no idea if learning the secrets behind Tal's strategy would help me improve my own game, but I had to try something.

Each morning Terry and I would head over to the park so I could practice shooting basketball.  Terry would run around the park chasing squirrels and I would shoot baskets for an hour or so.  When I returned, I would see old whale belly passed out on the couch with two empty beer bottles on the floor and a still-smoking cigarette in the ash tray. 

First I would turn off the TV lest it wake Neal up.  Then after a shower and lunch, I would return to the living room to have another look at Sleeping Beauty for extra motivation.  There he was, Lord and Master of the house, snoring his head off in another drunken stupor.  Disgusted, I would head to my bedroom and begin my chess moves with the door closed and locked.  Terry would jump up on the bed and take a nap while I carefully replayed the games on my chess board.  The vision of Neal laughing at me was always in my mind.  I studied that chess book with the fervor of a Bible scholar. 

Once in a while, Neal would challenge me to more chess, but I always refused.  I wanted to finish the book before I played him again.

"You're too good, Neal.  You are the king.  I can't beat you, so I give up."

Neal would guffaw, call me a chicken, flap his elbows like chicken wings and make a few more chicken squawks for good measure.  What an asshole.  Then he would go smoke another cigarette and turn on his soap operas.  Humiliated, I would retreat to my room, slam the door, and open the book.  Every time I heard Neal open the refrigerator door and grab another beer, my desire for revenge mounted.  Wherever I went in the apartment, the lingering odor of cigarette smoke gave me headaches.  Oh, how I wanted to get rid of this man!

It took a month, but I finished every game in the book.  Now I carefully returned the chess book to the box and waited.  I thought I understood the reasons behind the moves, but I had no idea if it would make any difference in my own game.  One day at the start of August, Neal challenged me to another game of chess.  I tried to look casual.  "Sure, Neal, why not?"

Neal looked at me funny.  After ducking him for a month, why was I suddenly so cooperative?  Shrugging off his suspicion as preposterous nonsense, Neal sat down at the table.  This time I was ready.  I gleefully cleaned Neal's clock.  He never knew what hit him.  Fuming and shocked, Neal demanded a rematch.  Since we started late in the day, Mom came home in the middle of the second match.  She watched in surprise as I handily won the second game too.  This was the first time Mom had ever seen me have the upper hand.  It wasn't just that I beat Neal.  I beat him so soundly that Neal was bewildered.  His expression was priceless.  Neal stared at me like a wounded prize fighter who has just been knocked down for the first time.  No one beats Neal.  Neal beats everyone.

At that point, Neal left for work.  No doubt as he ferried passengers around the city in his cab, he spent the night wondering what could explain my sudden improvement.  Not surprisingly, the following day Neal challenged me again.  Again I cleaned his clock.  I smiled.  It was uncanny how much I had improved.  It wasn't even that difficult to beat him.  Studying that book had made a huge difference.

It was the victories on the second day that really spooked Neal.  The first two victories could be chalked up as a fluke, but four in a row was a different story.  Neal was forced to deal with the thought that these victories were no accident.  It wasn't just that I had won four games in a row, it was the ease with which I beat him.  Plus there was an air of confidence about me that made little sense.  Whatever happened to that sniveling kid who ran to screaming to his room every time Neal whispered the word 'Chess' throughout July? 

Seeing Neal lost in thought the next day, I couldn't resist.  "Hey, Neal, how about another game of chess?"

Neal was so upset he could barely muster a lame retort.  "Oh, go to hell!"

With that, I had a sudden inspiration.  Neal had just handed me the perfect way to drive the stake through his heart.

"Oh, no thanks, Neal, I just came from hell.  Haven't you heard?  The Devil has been helping me improve my chess game."

The moment I saw Neal turn pale, I grinned with delight.  Neal was so bewildered he did not know what to think.  He was convinced my sudden improvement could not be attributable to a simple explanation like a bad day on his part.  For the rest of the day Neal walked around the apartment slamming doors and muttering to himself.  Poor Neal.  He drove himself silly trying to figure out how I managed to improve so much.  No doubt he wondered what I had been doing alone in my bedroom all those hours.

What an intellectual!  Neal never had a clue what my secret was.  Instead Neal began to stare at me like I was Damien from The Omen.  Seeing how much it bothered him, I refused to explain the circumstances.  I guess he got spooked by my supernatural improvement.  Good.  Served him right.

Just before Neal left for taxi duty that night, I heard Neal and Mom arguing about something.  Neal was still upset.  Within the week, Neal moved out.  I had slain the dragon with a chessboard.  My mother even thanked me once he was gone.  When she said good riddance, I smiled.  Checkmate.

Footnote.  In Hindsight, 1964 was a very unusual year.  In rapid fire succession, I had four experiences that would one day be added to my Supernatural List.  Of the four, the discovery of the chess book was the one that really got my attention.  Losing my temper after another chess defeat, I had left the house screaming at the top of my lungs how frustrated I was.  As I walked Terry through the neighborhood, I distinctly remember saying, "Oh, how I wish I could find a way to beat this guy!" 

When I found Neal's chess book the same afternoon, I had the weirdest feeling that someone had guided me to it.