News chess 2013

he games being played had been honed by years of chess matches at St. Nicholas Park, near 141st Street, where regulars, hustlers and occasional visitors played for hours on end, drawing crowds and creating street chess legends.

But with winter’s arrival, the games moved inside, to the St. Nicholas Chess and Backgammon Club, on the corner of 139th Street and Edgecombe Avenue in Harlem. It is a place where the art of the hustle can get lost amid the players’ familiarity with one another.

“We eat together, we party together, pray together,” a regular named Two Hand Dave said. Like most who frequent the club, he is known only by his nickname, particularly to outsiders. Two Hand Dave, 41, got his name because of his style of play, but also to distinguish him from players known simply as Dave and Big Dave.

Two Hand Dave had lost several matches to a gray-haired chess veteran, Charlie Harris, who then challenged an old friend.

At another table, less than a minute remained on the clock. In the last stand — Next move, smack! Countermove, smack! — a queen is hopelessly trapped.

The loser, known in the club as Easy E, slid back from his chair and asked someone up front to hand him the Chinese takeout food he had ordered, growing cold on a backgammon table.

“You done beat the man into hungriness,” Fred, a regular wearing a hunter’s hat, shouted over the battlefield of arrested chess pieces. A few spectators chuckled. Easy E, a 49-year-old transportation engineer, sulked away, but vowed to return. The victor, a petite woman nicknamed Mousae, with her hair wrapped in a black-and-gold colored scarf, now a crown of glory, grinned and offered some words of wisdom: “You can’t win the game with a pawn.”

Chess games here are played over three, sometimes five minutes. Veterans will spot those who want to learn.

While the game pieces flew, J.B., the manager of the club and mayor of the old park crew, leaned back in a chair stationed by the door. With his hands resting on his belly, and a head of gray stubble, he resembled Buddha, a backgammon player joked, prompting a chorus of laughter. J.B. and some of the old-timers gazed up at the television for a “Mission: Impossible” episode. Before long a debate ensued — which character did the actor Leonard Nimoy play first: Paris, the I.M.F. agent, or Mr. Spock? (The half-Vulcan eventually wins.)

The club actually began, unofficially, more than two decades ago in the apartment of one of the players. When summer came, the players migrated to St. Nicholas Park. Before long, “masters were coming every day,” J.B. said in a gravelly voice. “It became one big park for all the strong chess players to go.”

With their chessboards and time clocks, the crew took over a patch of the park by 141st Street from the purse-snatchers, holdup artists and addicts who smoked crack in the park restroom. The camaraderie mimicked a festive family reunion. J.B. sold sodas from a cooler that he pushed from his nearby apartment. Someone grilled burgers and franks, while R&B and hip-hop thumped from a boom box. At times, the games lasted until dawn. But when winter came, the group, which over the years had swelled to some 300, scattered.

David Smith, the club owner, found them all a permanent home; the storefront, formerly a barbershop and a 99-cent store, has been leased now for a little over two years. The players have everything they need for the winter: heat, takeout menus, a coffee and tea machine and a minifridge. For the sticky summer, Mr. Smith even put in a central air system, although he knows that before long the park will beckon.

“There’s a freedom there,” Mr. Smith, 44, said. “There’s nothing like being outdoors, playing chess and talking garbage as loud as you want.”

For now, people steadily strolled in, each of them greeted with shouts.

“Vito!” someone said. “You must be on work-release,” another player joked.

Regulars include chess and backgammon hustlers as well as Wall Street brokers, Mr. Smith said. In skill, he said, they range from a fish, or easy target, to a master. The masters here are not officially ranked. They simply dominate.

The club rules are posted near the front door, under the security camera monitor. The police sometimes look at the tapes when outside trouble disrupts the neighborhood. Monthly dues are $50. However, most players, to Mr. Smith’s chagrin, opt to pay the daily rate, $5 a day for chess, $3 an hour for backgammon. The club is open seven days a week. Games begin at noon, and are known to go long past midnight, when the club closes. When the phone rings, it is sometimes someone’s wife calling.

“I don’t even know what keeps us up,” said Harold Carr, 62, a retired teacher. “Chess does that to you.”

Before long, J.B. was roused. Fred had challenged him to a match.

“Woooo,” yelled a player everyone called Black, 53, a former real estate broker, who inched up to the table as if he had a front-row seat to a heavyweight prizefight.

“These guys been playing 30, 40 years,” Black said, rubbing his hands together as J.B. settled across from his opponent. “They know everything. They know all the tricks.”