The Real Bobby Fischer: A Year with the Chess Genius

By Frank Brady and Petra Dautov

The Willfully Inscrutable Bobby

Bobby Fischer, the enigmatic 11th World Chess Champion, lived in Germany for almost a year beginning in April 1990. He had connected with a woman, Petra Dautov, who had reached out to him two years before. It was not a romantic relationship, but quite intriguing nevertheless. In her own words, “My intention in describing the experiences in this book was to show the human side of the chess genius and allow everyone to make up their own minds.”

As noted by the venerable Fischer biographer Dr. Frank Brady in his Foreword to the book:

…[T]he result is a lively reading experience through the authentic dialog captured by the author. [Fischer] would spend a year in the city of Wiesbaden and mostly in the little town of Seeheim, [the author’s] long-term residence. During this time as constant companions they spent almost every day together.

One of the most fascinating aspects of the book are the glimpses into the continuous intransigence shown by Bobby concerning matters of deep import to him…The dialog in this book rings true simply because it is authentically chronicled by Petra…

Petra Dautov (née Stadler;1961-2020) was a German club player and played in a few open tournaments in Hungary. But she found it much more fun to spectate, which is why she was a regular visitor to major chess tournaments. She was also a close personal friend of many members of the chess elite at that time. She first met Bobby Fischer in 1988 and a close friendship developed. This is her story.

This book is an unabridged translation of the original German edition (1995) of Bobby Fischer ̶ wie er wirklich ist ̶ Ein Jahr mit dem Schachgenie.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Russell Enterprises, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 6, 2025
• ISBN: 9781963885002

Book preview

Part I

Background

For several years, my fascination with chess took me to tournaments both within Germany and abroad, although I was soon forced to recognize that the nervous energy expended did not translate into good results and I restricted myself largely to the role of spectator. Over the course of time, I met many interesting, in some cases truly extraordinary, people, and formed a number of friendships.

I was a regular visitor to the Bundesliga matches played by SG Solingen, whose team in 1988 included the former world champion Boris Spassky. Of the many grandmasters I have met, Spassky is without doubt one of the most pleasant and entertaining. In one of our many conversations we touched upon – of course – Bobby Fischer, his erstwhile world championship opponent and conqueror. Certainly, I did not know that the two were still in contact. I told Boris that it had always been a desire of mine to meet Fischer and I would be interested to know what had become of him, especially as there were all kinds of rumors circulating about him. To my utter amazement, Boris said that this would be a good idea and could turn out well. I was just the right person to take care of Bobby a bit. He wanted to tell him that a young lady from Germany would soon write to him, and that I should only say a little about myself in the letter.

Shortly afterwards I received the not very pleasing information from Boris over the telephone that Bobby had requested that I should enclose a photograph with my letter. It was bad enough, I thought, to write a letter. But if the rumors were to be believed, one wrong word, my imperfect knowledge of English, or even the wrong stationery might be enough to ruin things before they even started. It doesn’t bear thinking about what damage a photo could do…

After many hours spent selecting the right paper, photograph, and choice of words. I finally dispatched my masterpiece, harboring little optimism, to the PO box address in Pasadena, Los Angeles, that Boris had given to me. The best I could hope for would be a call from Bobby’s long-time secretary Claudia Makarov – at least that’s what self-proclaimed insiders told me.

The first call, however, was from my mother – I was working in Switzerland at the time – and she asked me a question that filled me with sheer terror: whether I knew a Robert Fischer, he had called the night before and would try again.

Admittedly, my mother was used to speaking to late callers, asking for me in different languages, but even for her the bring-bring of the telephone at 4 o’clock in the morning was not exactly a welcome surprise. I was more than a little concerned therefore as to whether she had treated the caller with enough respect and courtesy. My attempts to convince her of the importance of the caller and the considerable significance for me appeared to come to nothing. I was just assured, and I could barely believe what I was hearing, that he would certainly call again.

Torn between fear and hope, I set off on the long journey home that same evening.

Chapter 1

Bobby Gets in Touch

My somewhat unconventional lifestyle meant that at around 4am on the morning of March 27, 1988, after a tiring journey home, the ringing of the telephone wrenched me from my first phase of really deep sleep.

Is that Petra?

Yes.

It’s Bobby Fischer here.

These first few seconds will always be engrained in my memory. I had simultaneously hoped for this call and also feared it, worrying that in the excitement I would spoil everything after coming so far. I was not feeling at all well and I did not know what to say.

Oh, Mr Fischer…, I finally said, cumbersomely.

You can call me Bobby, he replied, generously.

I’m very pleased you’ve called. I was worried that you would not call again.

Oh, no need to be. I told your mother yesterday that I would. That was your mother on the telephone?

Yes. Hopefully you could make yourself understood. I was still extremely nervous.

Absolutely, her English is very good.

I resolved to tell her that, since it had been a while since her lessons at school.

Your letter was interesting, I received it yesterday, and I really liked the photo.

So he had called immediately after receiving it. It seemed that my efforts had not been in vain. But his next question caught me completely off-guard.

Are you Aryan?

No idea – that was my first thought. Up until this point I had not paid any attention to my family tree. Also, I did not completely understand the reason behind the question and assumed he just wanted to know whether I was German. As my mother came from Lower Silesia and my father from the Sudetenland, I answered carefully:

I think so.

Ah, that’s good. Boris says that you speak several languages.

But not exactly perfectly, I had to admit to my chagrin.

Oh, that’s not a problem was Bobby’s generous expression of forgiveness – and then had me translate White is winning into five other languages. Evidently, I had thus – after the question of my pedigree – passed the second test. I was very relieved about that as, given the early hour and the fact I was extremely nervous, my brain was not exactly working at full capacity.

But thing’s got worse: Can you mate with a knight and bishop?

Yes, of course you can, I said optimistically and thought, well, it’s possible, but I definitely don’t know how to. However, he mercilessly gave me the position of the pieces, and that’s when I really started to sweat.

My desperation could obviously be felt as far away as Los Angeles and appeared to very much amuse the great master. After guessing a few correct moves through a fortunate coincidence, he gave me the rest – and I breathed a huge sigh of relief.

It’s nice to talk to you, said Bobby. Could you call me back? I don’t have much change. Unfortunately it’s not possible to call Germany collect.

It’s at this point I would like to thank my father for paying the telephone bill, as this long-distance call was not to be the last.

Bobby gave me a telephone number for a restaurant in Los Angeles. As I was later to see to my astonishment, there were four telephone booths in Philippe, a self-service restaurant, where people could also take calls.

Our conversation moved onto general topics.

Do you practice the piano a lot? asked Bobby.

I had mentioned my music studies in my letter, but even so I was pleasantly surprised by his interest.

At the moment I don’t play very much. I am often in Switzerland and sort out paperwork, plan concerts and all that sort of thing for a pianist. But I still practice for at least two hours every day .

Wow, that really is a lot." Bobby was impressed.

Only about half a chess game, I pointed out.

Yes, that’s true. That’s the worst thing about chess today. Games are often lost due to time pressure. You run out of time just when the position is getting interesting. I’ve invented a new chess clock that is so much better. I’ve filed a patent, but unfortunately this is only valid for America.

I find that very interesting, how does this clock work? I wanted to know.

When you get down to your last few minutes, time is added with every move you make. I’ll explain it to you when we meet. Unfortunately, there hasn’t been much interest in it in America.

Perhaps you should come to Germany…

"Absolutely, I would really like that, but it is quite expensive, and I would have to earn some money first of all, in fact I would like to earn a lot of money. I like Germany very much; it is so clean and I especially like the German Ordnung." He said the last word in German – as he would often do later.

I mention that in that case he was not speaking to a typical German and instead asked him.

How do you spend your time?

I’m preparing for my match. I have to defend my world championship title.

This was another surprise to me.

So you want to play again? I asked excitedly. Boris hadn’t said anything about this to me.

Yes, of course. They’ve just not let me; they’ve always been working against me.

You mean the entire chess organization?

Yes, especially the Russians. They control everything, and they didn’t like the fact that I was better. But I am still world champion!

Do you know yet who you’ll be playing?

Ah, that hasn’t been decided yet…. It was clear he didn’t want to reveal any more details to me and, as we had already been talking on the telephone for almost an hour, this seemed to me an opportune moment to bring the call to an end.

I very much like talking with you, but it’s already quite late… I said with a heavy heart. I certainly didn’t want to lose contact with Bobby so soon, but my fears turned out to be unfounded.

You can call me back. I’ll also give you the numbers of the other telephones here, in case this one is engaged.

Sure, that’s great. When should I call you?

Let me think. Tomorrow, at 7 o’clock in the evening. Is that OK?

For me that would be four o’clock in the middle of the night, and I didn’t even want to think what the telephone bill would be.

It was nice speaking to you, said Bobby.

Yes, likewise. So until tomorrow then, and many thanks for your call.

Yes, until then, bye.

So that’s a summary of our first conversation. Our telephone calls became a nightly occurrence.

I also asked Bobby how he was preparing for his comeback. Do you have a computer or are you using books?

I look at games in chess magazines or in Informator.

Do you have the latest edition?

Yes, Boris sent it to me. But I only have a small chess computer which is already old and unfortunately not very powerful.

There must be stronger ones available now or, even better, normal computers with a good chess program.

Yes, you are right, but they are quite expensive, and I prefer things I can carry with me. I always carry all my important things with me. Perhaps you could make enquiries in Germany about a small computer and send me a few brochures. But once I have defended my title, I will probably buy myself a really big computer.

Shortly afterwards I contacted a well-known computer company and asked them for some information material. I explained the significance of the prospective buyer it would be sent to and they assured me that English-language brochures would be in the post to me as soon as possible. That was the last I heard from them…

Subsequently, the impression I received from speaking to Bobby, that financial issues were the principal motive behind his return to chess life, was reinforced. I asked him whether he had any support.

There’s a Japanese lady who sometimes sends me things, clothes and so on, and I still receive offers to advertise something or other on TV. But that’s unreliable and besides, I would like to earn much more money.

What would you like to do when the money’s coming in? I enquired.

Oh, maybe I would buy an island, like Marlon Brando, near the Fiji Islands probably. But most importantly, anywhere where there is no nuclear power station nearby. That’s the bad thing about Germany, that nowhere are you safe from such things.

I preferred not to comment on this sensitive subject. So I searched around for a more innocuous topic of conversation and asked him what else he spends his time doing.

Oh, I am very busy.

That was the sentence I heard repeated the most frequently in all our telephone calls.

Yes, but what do you do all the time? I found myself asking out loud.

I often visit the library and have some very good books which I’m always studying. I’ll show them to you when you visit. If only I had guessed what lay in store for me…but more on that later. In Pasadena there is a very good bookshop that I often visit.

Don’t you live there anymore?

No, I live in Los Angeles, it’s more convenient.

I would very much like to get to know the city. I’ve seen so much of Los Angeles in newspapers and films…

American films are terrible!

I don’t think that the others are better, I ventured to object.

True, but American films are especially bad, he replied brutally. Chinese films are better.

I think I prefer to eat Chinese, I said.

He laughed. OK, then we’ll eat Chinese when you visit – or Japanese.

I had no idea whether the two cuisines were roughly the same and agreed.

"The other thing I would really like to do is go the beach. I