By Joe Deaux
Mr. Christian holds a Blackberry in his right hand and a black rook in his left. His eyes peer high over my right shoulder. I sit behind white chess pieces. Mr. Christian looms over the black pieces while keeping an eye on the doorway to his chess shop. Moments ago he was quizzing children about the worth of bishops (three points) and pawns (one point), and demanded high fives from each child as recognition for a good session.
Christian Whitted, 41, is originally from East New York. He owns and runs the New York Chess & Game Shop at 192 Flatbush Ave. in Prospect Heights. His business card says the shop offers, “Chess Sets, Group or Private Lessons, Adults & Children, Books, Board Games, Gifts, Etc.” His hair is shaved to stubble. He sports a goatee beard. His eyes are a piercing dark shade.
I ask when he first played chess. Eighth grade, no, fifth grade, he recalls. He is expressionless. Does he remember the first gripping encounter with the game? Still peering over my shoulder, a smile curls from the corner of his mouth: “A date,” in Washington Square Park.
He was 20-years-old when he and his date watched people playing speed chess in the Greenwich Village landmark. A homeless man was scoring checkmate after checkmate. “Aw, he shoulda moved the bishop,” Mr. Christian whispers, imitating how he spoke to his date as they watched a game of speed chess that day. After observing a handful of wins, he heard, “Young blood!” The homeless hustler was demanding a contest. Mr. Christian agreed to a winner-takes-five-dollars match. He lost. They played again. Another loss. They played another game. Again he lost. He recalls losing roughly 15 straight games. “And that,” he says, ’is really when the love affair with chess started.”
He prefers to introduce himself as Mr. Christian. Employees introduce themselves by the same formula: title plus first name. I am called “Mr. Joe”.
Mr. Christian’s chess shop teems with young people. He says the business provides an atmosphere that affords children the luxury to feel comfortable while conquering 64 square boards. He likes to challenge students and adults by asking them how many squares are on a chessboard. Sixty-four is not correct. Mr. Christian traces the outer edges of a group of four small squares with his index finger to communicate one large square. “There’s so much more than you see,” he says, adding that chess is the right blend of simplicity and complexity.
What do you see in these children playing the game? “I see truth. I see character. I see growth. Learning. Fun.” He claims to see who people truly are by how they move their pieces. A student is walking from the bathroom; Mr. Christian tells him to tie his shoes. His attention returns to me. He says he wants to feel like he makes a difference. He pauses and stares above my right shoulder again. At this point, a young man approaches our table and properly rearranges pieces that were misplaced by Mr. Christian’s finicky fingers. Without exchanging words, teacher fist bumps student.
He recognizes that kids love lots of things like weed and X-Box, but believes they will see the value in chess. He thinks it is an avenue that leads to overcoming setbacks and realizing discipline. He pauses after this comment and twiddles a rook and a pawn between his palms. They drop and clang to the ground.
He considers himself a “master-strength player”. Ben Apatoff, an employee at New York Game & Chess Shop, can attest to his boss’s talent: “He thrashes me,” he says. “It’s like being Dr. Watson with Sherlock Holmes.” When Mr. Ben arrived in August of 2009, Mr. Christian demanded they play a chess game to determine Mr. Ben’s abilities. Mr. Ben jokes that he lost after eight moves and Mr. Christian remarked: “You’re good enough to teach.”
Kenneth Jones, a physician at Morris Heights Health Center in the Bronx, and a close high school friend of Mr. Christian’s, says: “I think he’s master level.” Jones believes his one-minute quick game is Grandmaster material. The title of Grandmaster is the highest attainable status in competitive chess. Jones adds that one-minute chess is a “mindset” and even some Grandmasters “suck” at it.
Mr. Christian understands the conventional wisdom that player strength is an important factor in chess, but he stresses that one should not hinge on this perception. He says that Grandmasters come into the shop and teach the children. He emphasizes that inviting great chess minds to class allows students to recognize that master-strength is attainable. One cannot be tentative in chess, says Mr. Christian; growth and development come through confidence.
I ask what is the most challenging hurdle he has encountered in the world of chess. “Opening this door…and this place,” Mr. Christian says of running a chess business. He opened the shop on Aug. 23, 2008. The formula is uncomplicated: if you do not sell then you do not eat. Period. “This is the biggest chess move of my life,” he says staring at me. It is clear that this Chess Shop is central to his being. He loves the game, and he loves this business. The line between life and work is often blurred with Mr. Christian.
“He is a very, very good chess teacher,” Says Jones.
“Outside of my immediate family, no one has held me to a higher standard,” says Mr. Ben.
“I am blessed and thankful for the love and support of Brooklyn,” concludes Mr. Christian. He shakes my hand and says goodbye while chewing a piece of gum.
On the day in Washington Square Park when he fell in love with chess Mr. Christian lost around $75. The dinner date plans were downgraded to hot dogs. Today, Mr. Christian struggles to recall anything about the woman on that date.
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