Evening Star Newspaper, March 17, 1935, Page 78

He Contracted Bridge THIS WEEK i his youth — and never fully recovered. .7\@]0 an addict and expert, too, he reveals the mside story of his career at the card tables by OSWALD JACOBY N MY youth | had measles, mumps, chicken pox and whooping cough. one right after the other. As a result of that series of maladies. 1 passed through a long period of convalescence. and while in a weakened condition, with scarcely any re- sistance or vitality, I contracted bridge. The first symptom was a precocious interest on my part in the weekly newspaper bridge articles of Foster. I used to lie in bed and read them with a fascination out of all keeping with my tender years My father before me was a pridge addict His suffering was often indescribable — par- ticularly when he had to play with my aunts - my mother being immune to the game. So, while T do not believe that bridge is actually an hereditary ailment, | am sure that I must have come into this world with a constitu- tional weakness, or predilection, for it. Although a great deal is known to science about the nature and progress of bridge, its devastating effect and the misery it inflicts upon the human race. no reliable cure or adequate preventive measures have ever been devised, and the germ itself has never been isolated. Even in my most excruciating moments of self-criticism, I've never looked upon myself as a guinea pig. Nevertheless. so genuine is my desire to advance a scientific under- standing of bridge, particularly in its chronic stages, that I have at last conquered my natural shyness to the extent of offering myself up on the altar of knowledge as a case history, illustrating the woefulness of perni- cious bridge. The manner in which | became infected ought to shed a little light upon this dismal and perplexing scourge. As baffling as it at first was, the way the contagion originally took hold of me was afterwards quite evident. The bridge bug that bit me unexpectedly pounced upon me from the doctor who was attending me during my convalescence from those childish attacks of measles, mumps. chicken pox and whooping cough. For this benign old family physician was a wolf in sheep's clothing. His gentle, whole- some, understanding appearance was alto- gether deceptive. He was, in fact, a bridge carrier. Since my father was a bridge addict, I'd already seen something of the horrors of the habit, but the idea of experimenting with the virus, or of laying myself open to an attack. never really took hold of me until our family physician came into my bedroom one day and caught me reading one of Foster's articles *‘Ah. ha!" he said. with what I can only describe as a fanatical gleam in his eye. ‘‘Are vou attracted to bridge?”’ Timidly, I admitted that I had detected in myself a certain leaning in that direction. the king and jack of diamonds, three hearts to the queen, four clubs to the ace and four little spades, what would you do?" “I'd pass.” 1 said. squirming around under the covers. At that moment my father and an aunt came into the room, and the doctor turned ° upon them, ecstatically. “‘Oswald needs diversion and mental stimulus.” he decreed. ‘Have you got a pack of cards handy?>" While my father knew just about all there was to know about auction, he had on that occasion the misfortune to have one of my aunts as a partner, so naturally the doctor and | won the match. I've never been the same since To keep peace in the family, my mother at all times adamantly refused to be enticed into learning bridge. While it cannot be said that my aunts ever really learned the game, they were by no means unyielding. Indeed, after my initiation, they frequently played with me and my father, whose patience was monumental. but who often seemed, just the same, to be on the verge of dying any second of apoplexy. While my aunts looked upon my father and his knowledge of auction with awe, they nevertheless could never be thoroughly sub- dued around the bridge table. On each occasion, one used to show up with a written list of rules my father had laid down for her - but she never followed them. The other would pick up her hand, peer at it for ever so long, sigh. and then say to my father, *‘Suppose you have seven diamonds, to the king, queen, jack — the ace and one club, three little hearts and one spade, what would you bid?’" After my father had made the only possible reply, she would go into a trance again. and finally arousing herself, would bid one heart — invariably with seven hearts to the king, queen, jack. When we got into the war, I was too young to enlist right away, but I promptly gave up bridge, just the same, and devoted myself with patriotic fervor to poker and black-jack -these, as I understood it, being the old army games. Thus I was equipped to be a good soldier when I finally did get into the army. ““Ah ha'!” he said, “are vou attracted to bridge?’ £ Not only did I myself profit greatly by my military service, winning considerable money but two months after I donned a uniform, we also won the war Flushed with victory, { entered Columbia University, mainly for the opportunities afforded me there to gratify my craving for bridge. And that craving continued after I had finished college. I used to play with a very testy old gentle- man who was a great stickler for the fine points of bridge ethics and manners. Once we were playing against a husband and wife. The wife was exceedingly disagreeable, and called her husband many insulting names. Finally my testy old partner looked up from his cards and curtly said, ‘‘Henry, why don't you sock her in the jaw?"" The rubber was finished in silence. In tournament play, the tension is so terrific many players find it necessary to let off steam occasionally. When I'm playing in a tourna- ment, | am always under such a terrific strain that [ cannot sleep very well during the entire ten days or so. Naturally, I have to blow off steam. But I try to make it a point to get my partner away from all opponents, and express my opinion of him in private Among the experts, my favorite partner is Dave Burnstine, and he feels much the same way. So we often slip out for a few moments of mutually beneficial vituperation. Occasionally I encounter an example of purposeful bad manners with the deliberate “ Henry, why don’t you sock her in the jaw " March 17, 1935 ' intention of upsetting an opponent. In a tour- nament, | was once playing against a woman who sat in a rocking ch2ir. On the first hand I was declarer, and just as I started to play she began to rock. The chair squeaked. My mind went blank. ““Would you please stop rocking?"' | asked her. She glared at me. *‘Are you trying to upset me?’’ she demanded. “Far from it,” I replied, ‘I was just trying to get you not to upset me." I tried to play the hand. The rocking and squeaking reached a crescendo. I could stand it no longer. So I said. *‘I wonder if you would stop that rocking?’’ She called the tournament manager, and complained that I was trying to upset her. y *‘Do you really mean a little thing like that is upsetting you?'"' he asked. ““Just stick around a few minutes and listen,” T suggested. He did, and finally he said to me, ‘‘You win. I can't stand it either. She'll have to stop.” I recall one player, who with diabolical motive, offered a woman opponent who had false teeth and a taste for sweets, some very inviting taffy. Alas for her, she took it, chewed it and in no time was completely off her game. In a mixed event, I once had as my partner a woman who had never played in a tourna- ment before, and was very stage frightened. On the first hand, I bid one club, the second passed, my partner bid one diamond, and the fourth, an expert, doubled. Then he tuned to my partner and completely bewildered her by asking if she used the Vander- bilt club convention. His double was a psychic, and I knew his question was to upset my partner and camouflage his psychic . I said, “I'd like to know what special convention you are using.’’ Hebk;oked at me, pretending to upset. So I called the tournament ‘ manager, and put the whole thing up to him. I got the decision, of course — for he had no right to ask the ques- tion after he had doubled. Louis Watson is the mildest of all the experts. For years, I've seen him silently endure the most asinine errors on the part of partners. But recently, under - outrageously strong provocation, he broke his record of never expressing disapgqoval of a partner's Illustrations by G. de Zayas I think you are nuts!”