Fitting
Chess into a Disabled Life
By Jamie Duif Calvin
Chess has always been something I wished I had more time for. After playing
frequent tournaments in my early twenties, I had achieved an 1800 rating, putting
me in the top 15% of US players and on the US Chess Federation Top 100 Women
list.
Then marriage, kids, and a demanding career intervened, and I fell back to
one or two tournaments a year. I did manage to combine my chess and technical
interests when I was the Webmaster for the USCF's website.
I also created the online International Directory of Chess Teachers as a memorial
to IM Boris Kogan. And, like many amateurs, I bought a lot of chess books I
never found much time to read.
Falling Overboard-Disability strikes
If I had ever thought about being disabled, I supposed I had, naively, imagined
it something like retirement. Hours to be filled, limitations to be understood
and overcome. I had thought books, music, and chess would get me through almost
anything. However, becoming disabled isn't a graceful transition to a new stage
of a journey. Instead, it's more like falling overboard in the middle of the
night into a dark, cold, choppy sea. Your definition of success narrows: just
keep breathing.
In 1998 I was struck with a rare and serious illness, CIDP (chronic inflammatory
demyelinating polyradiculoneuropathy). CIDP is an autoimmune condition that
attacks the nerves in arms and both legs. My lifestyle changed dramatically.
I struggled on with work for another couple of years but with increasing difficulty,
needing first a walker, then a wheelchair.
As I lost my ability to type, I became reliant on IBM's voice technology.
But fatigue and pain took an ever-rising toll, as well as the side effects
of some of the chemo-like treatments, and eventually my voice became too breathy
for my voice unit to understand easily.
My bad days became both more frequent and more debilitating.
I could not eat with a fork, hold a book, or brush my hair. I had a good luck
cup, a mug with chess designs my students had given me when I was coaching
at an elementary school. Sadly, I had to put it away, because I could no longer
lift it.
I fell into the group of the disabled who do not simply lose function – instead
we are actively, time-consumingly sick. The meds left me feeling as though
I had severe flu every day. The weakness and the pain had no parallel in my
experience.
I remember the first day I felt I had become a ghost: I was in the grocery
store, sitting in a motorized scooter, and had gone to the ATM machine to get
cash. I pushed on the buttons first with one hand, then with two, but was not
strong enough to register my presence. I felt as though I was pushing hard
enough to shake the machine, but from the ATM's point of view, I was merely
a passing puff of air.
Like the Inuit who reportedly have more than two dozen words for snow, the
changing nature of my condition meant I had to learn the nuances of illness,
the difference between muscle fatigue and nerve conduction block, between burning
pain and joint pain and muscle cramp.
Essential technology for a CIDP chess player: a wheelchair and hydraulic
lift
I had gotten divorced a few years earlier, but my kids (now young teenagers)
were wonderful, and fortunately we lived close to my parents and my brother's
family. A nearby cousin was also a great help. I was forced eventually, though,
to retire.
So now I had all the time in the world. But chess seemed more distant than
ever. First, of course, was the time and energy eaten up with doctor visits,
physical therapy, and the hours spent too ill to do anything but nod in a chair.
Before my illness I had slept very little, rarely more than 3 or 4 hours a
day. Now I commonly slept 11 or 12. Then there was the fact that I could barely
turn the page of a book, let alone move pieces on a chessboard. Finally, my
vision had suffered, so that I could not spend more than a few focused minutes
at the computer without developing extreme double vision. I played some blitz
chess online, very badly (if you've seen me drop a Queen on move 20, you'll
know it's visual fatigue). My blitz rating dropped over 300 points.
The library of a chess enthusiast
Even when I was working, I had been a voracious reader, getting through anywhere
from 10 to 20 books a week. Now I might get through 5 or 10 pages in the same
time. I did discover audio books early on, and enjoyed them, but a book I would
have read in 2 hours seems to take 15 or 20 in audio. It is also frustrating
because sometimes I fall asleep while a CD is playing, and it can be time consuming
just to find one's way back to the last heard passage.
So I had a few books and the Wall St Journal on audio. A little music. But
chess was simply physically beyond me. I gave up any thoughts of improving,
or even opening the lovely collection of chess books that I had long ago purchased
but never had the time to read.
A New Use for Chess Technology
Then one day a friend gave me a copy of Kasparov's My Great Predecessors.
I was touched, but I could barely lift the book, and could not imagine working
through the various lines of analysis on a chessboard. Just reaching across
the table to the black pieces was often more than I could manage.
I know that many masters can open a book and just read through it. Chess is
a language in which they are fluent. For me, though, a board is necessary.
Setting up the pieces, following a line, then resetting them to a previous
diagram and working my way forward seemed a physical impossibility.
So the new book was added to the shelf of books I didn't have the strength
to read. One day, with hesitation, I mentioned the difficulty to IM Jeremy
Silman. He said, "Why don't you just look at the game in ChessBase? Then you
can back up to the main line with one click."
Many of you reading this probably long ago made the connection between print
books and computer chess display systems, but I honestly never had. I knew
about the various CD magazines. I loved watching chess coverage of live events
on the Internet. But I had never thought of opening a book and playing through
the game by entering the moves into ChessBase.
It opened up a whole new world for me. Chess books are wonderfully dense.
If it takes me four hours (spread over three weeks) to get through two pages,
so much the better – I am spared the physical effort of turning pages too often.
I can save the game at any point. Add my own notes, thoughts, and questions
to research later. And best of all, I could spend time just sitting in a chair
with my eyes closed, thinking about a position, and still feel active. Still
be learning. I even started taking some lessons. I didn't have any particular
numeric goal, but I wanted to deepen my understanding of the accomplishments
of others, to become a more appreciative fan of the great games locked away
in those books on the shelf.
Annotating and entering chess moves with voice-recognition technology
I worked on two things – deepening my understanding and improving my visualization,
so that a few seconds of looking at the grey and white squares on the computer
screen could fill my mind with enough to work on for several minutes.
Back in three dimensions
My family encouraged me to think about playing over the board chess again.
I made plans several times, but each time on the day was too ill to attend.
Then came The People's Tournament in Berkeley. Another chessplayer, also in
a wheelchair, had assured me access there was excellent. Feeling nervous, shy,
and wondering if I would again be a "ghost" on some level, I arrived. Perhaps,
I joked to myself, I would have to move the pieces by mental telepathy!
After a few mishaps with doors that lacked an automatic opener, a direction
sign that was posted too high to read, and a balky elevator, I arrived at the
registration table. The tournament directors were extremely nice. The hall
was large, airy, well lit, and the aisles wide and easy to navigate.
Ready for chess: Duif Calvin at a weekend tournament
With a rating of 1737, I registered for the B section, feeling significantly
overrated due to a six year absence. My opponent was a boy about 12 years old,
rated 1601, fiercely intent. (I felt grateful for this, as he was obviously
intent only on the board – I am not sure he even noticed my wheelchair).
The game went five hours, grueling. It was probably a draw at several instances,
but neither of us made any terrible blunders. More than once I closed my eyes,
and was delighted to see the familiar squares appear in grey and white in my
mind, backlit as though on a computer monitor, the pieces turned to icons slowly
moving as I considered different options. The time spent on my two-dimensional
studies had indeed translated to OTB play. Or perhaps it is fairer to say that
the language of chess that I had learned using the medium of ChessBase was
one into which the OTB position could easily be translated.
By the 3rd hour my hands were trembling, but I could still see clearly in
my mind the moves I wished to make, and I managed, with the help of adrenaline,
to make them on the board.
In the end, I won. I played a couple of good moves. Just as importantly, I
played an entire game! I gained 8 rating points, and my reactivated rating
put my name back on the USCF's top 100 women list for June.
A bumper sticker Duif bought herself as a prize for an entire OTB game
I have always been a very private person, and rather shy about speaking of
myself. But one of the things I discovered early in my illness is that many
people are willing to help, but few know what is appropriate. I have learned
to exchange some of my privacy for the comfort and companionship of more open
dialogue. I have learned to help where I can, and to better accept help where
it is given.
When I mentioned to Frederic Friedel how pleased I was to see some improvement
again, however slight, he suggested people might be interested in the story.
"After all others may have friends or family members who are facing similar
disabilities. It would be nice for them to know they may not have to give up
chess and chess literature altogether."
So, here is my story. Chess for me is a haven, a comfort and a challenge all
in one. Because it is mentally so hard, I know that I will never reach the
end of it-and that is one of the things I am most grateful for. It has also
provided me with a community of friends whose worth is also of inestimable
value.
I would like especially to thank Elliott, Jeremy, Eric, C. Bill, Michael,
Arconia, and everyone else who encouraged me and kept hoping that I would find
some way to keep chess as a part of my life. And I would like to encourage
anyone else who has physical difficulty managing books or pieces to try using
Chessbase to accompany a book. Perhaps you, too, will find chess in two dimensions
an easier path to travel.
From Duif's family album
When I was a kid, my Dad spent most of his extra money on travel. So we went
to a lot of different places: Kenya, Tanzania, the Netherlands, Ecuador, the
Galapagos Islands, Japan, Thailand, Hong Kong, and up the Amazon River on a
houseboat! I always took a pocket set along, and managed to play chess in a
lot of places even when we had no common language. This picture is in a fishing
boat next to the houseboat. That's my mom in the window.
On the houseboat, my family spoke English and Spanish, and the crew spoke
Portuguese and some German. But I did get to play chess with the Captain and
the first mate when they weren't busy. In the picture: I and my youngest brother
Scott, with the first mate waiting to play the winner.
On a much nicer ship in the Galapagos Islands, but I can't find anyone to
play chess with! One of the few times you'll see me in a bad mood...
My Dad steps in... It was actually my Mom who taught me to play when I was
about seven, using the book A Programmed Introduction to the Game of Chess,
written by my brother's godfather, M. W. Sullivan. My Dad would sometimes play
chess with us when we were on vacations. He enjoyed chess as a game, but had
never played a tournament, although he did play some tournament bridge in college.
My Dad, my two brothers, and me. My mom is taking the picture, and I'm not
sure where my sister was.
This is from a tournament in Reno, Nevada. It was held on Hallowe'en, so I
dressed in costume. There were about 200 players there, and the only other
person in costume was a ten-year-old boy. I had fun anyway, of course!
IM Boris Kogan and I, with our school's chess team in 1992. I'm on the far
left, back row. Yes, I'm shorter than many of the 6th graders, but at least
I could stand up then!
I created the International
Directory of Chess Teachers as a memorial to Boris. We now have
listings for teachers from over a dozen countries. Both Boris and his wife
Anna were friends of mine when I lived in Atlanta – his early death from cancer
was a great loss to the chess community
