Fischer’s first reaction was immensely positive. “It’s stupendous,” he said. “I have to accept it.” Later, he told a newsman that though he hadn’t studied the offer in detail, he’d decided to play the match because “there’s an awful lot of prestige of the country at stake.” Yet he still needed one more nudge to propel him to the board.
The second call proved to be that needed nudge. Saidy answered the phone for what seemed to be the twentieth time that day, thinking it was yet another request for Bobby to make a statement or grant an interview. Instead, it was the personal secretary of Henry Kissinger, President Nixon’s national security advisor (and later, secretary of state), wanting to set up a telephone conversation with Bobby. Bobby dragged himself to the phone, and Kissinger started off in his deep, German-accented voice, “This is the worst chess player in the world calling the best chess player in the world.” Kissinger told Bobby that he should go to Iceland and beat the Russians at their own game. “The United States government wishes you well and I wish you well.”
After this ten-minute conversation, Bobby said he was going to play “no matter what,” and that the interests of the United States were greater than his personal interests. It was at this point that Bobby saw himself not just as a chess player, but as a Cold War warrior in defense of his country.
After months of disenchanting negotiations, the millionaire Slater, backed by the diplomat Kissinger, had accomplished the impossible. What made Bobby run—in this case, to Iceland? Three elements apparently: pride, money, and patriotism.
To avoid being spotted by either reporters or the public, Fischer was smuggled onto a Loftleidir (Icelandic Airlines) flight. He made the overnight trip with William Lombardy, whom he’d announced as his official second that same day. Lombardy, the large, pale, and intense Roman Catholic priest, was perhaps the chief supporting actor in the drama at Reykjavik. Thirty-five years old, six years older than Fischer, he was the first chess master of international importance connected with the Catholic Church since Ruy Lopez (sixteenth century) and Domenico Ponziani (eighteenth century) made their imprints on the game.
The drawing of the lots to determine who’d play what color, scheduled for noon at the Hotel Esja, attracted hundreds of journalists, officials of the ICF, and members of both the American and Russian sides. When Spassky arrived, he was told that Fischer was still sleeping and had sent Lombardy to draw for him. Unnerved, Spassky refused to draw and left the hotel in a huff. At lunch, shortly afterward, he told a newsman that he was “not abandoning the match,” but Fischer had acted improperly. “I still want to play,” he said, “but I will decide when.” He then issued the following statement, possibly written for him in Moscow:
Soviet public opinion and I, personally, are full with indignation at Fischer’s behavior. According to concepts common to all people, he has completely disqualified himself.
Therefore he has, in my opinion, called in doubt his moral rights to play the match.
If there now is to be any hope for conducting the match, Fischer must be subjected to just penalty. Only after that I can return to the question whether it is possible to conduct the match.
Boris Spassky
World Champion
The penalty the Soviets required was a forfeit of the first game. The Soviet Delegation also said:
Robert Fischer must apologize.
The President of FIDE has to condemn the behavior of the challenger.
The President of FIDE has to admit that this two-day postponement violated FIDE rules.
Euwe, again rising to the occasion, said in a touching display of humility that since two of the conditions concerned him, he’d be happy to compose a statement right there, admitting that he’d broken the rules and condemning Fischer “not only in the last two days but all through the negotiations.” After working on his statement for about ten minutes, while the audience—in uncomfortable sympathy—sat waiting, Euwe read his confession aloud, signed it, and handed it to Efim Geller, Spassky’s second. It stated: “1. The FIDE condemns the behavior of the challenger in not arriving on time, thus leaving the entire delegation and others in doubt about the realization of the match, and causing many troubles. 2. The President of FIDE admits that we had to postpone the match for two days; we violated the FIDE rules. I think it’s for special reasons, and on the basis of some presumptions which proved to be wrong afterwards. I declare that the FIDE rules and match agreements approved by FIDE shall be strictly observed in the future.” Euwe’s face was flushed by the chastisement and he was on the verge of tears. The Soviets claimed that, according to the rules, Fischer should have lost the match when he failed to appear on opening day; and only through their benevolence was the contest continuing. It was now up to Fischer to make the next move.
That night, Fischer composed an elegant apology to Spassky. One reporter, Brad Darrach of Life, contended that in the first draft of the letter, Fischer had renounced any share in the prize money and had said he was willing to play for nothing but the love of chess. Though one can imagine Bobby, on the spur of the moment, proclaiming: “I’ll prove to the world that I love chess more than the Russians!” it’s easy to understand that his poor Brooklyn roots ultimately spoke to him of the need for pragmatism. He still wanted a paycheck, but the desire to prove himself over the board was his strongest motivation for trying to heal the rift.
In the end, a second letter was composed, and it was this version that was finally presented to Spassky. Fischer drove to the Saga Hotel early on the morning of July 6 and accompanied the bellboy to Spassky’s room to watch him slide the apology under the door. The text:
Dear Boris:
Please accept my sincerest apology for my disrespectful behavior in not attending the opening ceremony. I simply became carried away by my petty dispute over money with the Icelandic chess organizers. I have offended you and your country, the Soviet Union, where chess has a prestigious position. Also, I would like to apologize to Dr. Max Euwe, President of FIDE, to the Match Organizers in Iceland, to the thousands of chess fans around the world and especially to the millions of fans and the many friends I have in the United States.
After I did not show up for the first game, Dr. Euwe announced that the first game would be postponed without prejudice to me. At that time you made no protest. Now I am informed that the Russian chess federation is demanding that the first game be forfeited to you. The timing of this demand seems to place in doubt the motives for your federation’s not insisting at first for a forfeit on the first game.
If this forfeit demand were respected, it would place me at a tremendous handicap. Even without this handicap, you will have an advantage to begin with of needing twelve points out of twenty four to retain your title, whereas I will need twelve and a half to win the title. If this demand were granted, you would need only eleven points out of twenty three but I would still need twelve and a half out of my twenty three. In other words I must win three! games without losses, just to obtain the position you would have at the beginning of the match and I don’t believe that the world’s champion desires such an advantage in order to play me.
I know you to be a sportsman and a gentleman, and I am looking forward to some exciting chess games with you.
Sincerely,
Bobby Fischer
Reykjavik, July 6, 1972
One obstacle remained and that was the Soviet Union itself. A Russian minister, Sergei Pavlov, head of the State Sports Committee, had cabled Spassky, furiously insisting that he return home to Moscow. Pavlov said that Fischer’s “tantrums” were an insult to the World Champion, who had every legal and moral right to refuse to meet Fischer. Normally, such a “recommendation” had the force of law, but Spassky refused, as politely and diplomatically as possible. He replied to Pavlov that he could not debase his own standards of sportsmanship and would see the match through despite Fischer’s outrageous conduct. It was a courageous act, and one that called for much finesse and force of will on Spassky’s part.