Page 17 - The Art of Learning by Josh Waitzkin_Neat plip book

hooked on the game, junkies, eccentric artists—al l diamonds in the rough,
brilliant, b eat men, l ives in shambl es, a ame with a p assion f or chess.

Every day, unless it poured or sno wed, the ni net een marbl e tables in the
southwest corner of Washington Squar e woul d fill up with thi s motley crew.
And most days I was there, kno cking ches smen over with my sho rt arms,
chewing gum, learning the game. Of cour se my parents tho ught long and hard

before allowing me to hang out in the park, but I was adamant and the guy s
cleaned up their acts when I came to pl ay. The cigar ettes and joint s were put
out, the language was cleaned up, few deals went down. I woul d sit across from
one of my buddies, immediately sweating and focused. My mom told me she

saw her little boy become an old man when I pl ayed chess. I conc ent rated so
hard, she thought her hand would bur n if she put it in front of my eyes. It is
difficult for me to explain the serious nes s I had abo ut ches s as a young bo y. I
guess it was a calling, t hough I’m still no t sur e what that means .

After a few months I could already beat a num ber of the guy s who ha d be en
playing for decades. When I lost a gam e, one of my friends woul d gi ve me a
piece of advice—“Josh, you laid back too long, he go t comfortable, you go tta
go after ’em, make ’em scared” or “Josh, my man, sometimes you go tta castle,

get your king to safety, check your self before you wreck your self.” The n I
would hit the clock, buckle down, and try again. Each loss was a lesson, each
win a thrill. E very day pieces of the puzzl e fell toget her.
Whenever I showed up to play, big crowds woul d gather around the tabl e. I

was a star in this little world, and whi le all the attention was exciting for a
child, it was also a challenge. I learned qui ckly that when I tho ught abo ut the
people watching, I played badly. It was hard for a six-year-old ham to igno re
throngs of adults talking about him, but when well focused, I seemed to ho ver

in an in-between state where the int ensity of the ches s po sition mixed with the
rumble of voices, traffic noises, ambul ance sirens, all in an inspi ring swirl tha t
fueled my mind. Some days I could concent rate more pur ely in the cha os of
Washington Square than in the qui et of my family’s living room. Othe r da ys I

would look around at everybody, get caught up in thei r conv ersations , and pl ay
terribly. I’m sure it was frustrating for my parents watching my early di scovery
of chess—there was no telling whether I’d chew gum my bears, smile, joke , and
hang my pieces or buckle down into another world o f int ensity.

One Saturday afternoon there was a tall figur e standi ng in the crowd whi le I
played speed chess against my friend Jerry. I noticed him, but the n fell ba ck