March 1st, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
12 Comments 
With apologies to The Bard of Avon for plagiarizing his words "that which we call a rose. By any other name would smell as sweet." — copped straight from Romeo and Juliet.
Before I get to the subject blog, it is appropriate to note that our American bridge establishment continues to rise above the many petty issues of exclusion with which it has been plagued. Sadly, there was a dire need to form the ABA (American Bridge Association) in 1932 because of certain prejudices in high level bridge against African-Americans. According to our ACBL Encyclopedia of Bridge, "In the early days of contract bridge, Afro-Americans were excluded from most major tournaments." That seems like an eternity ago and thank heavens for that. We have overcome disturbing tendencies against pigment color, chauvinism toward female players, sexual preference, ethnic and religious beliefs. Proudly, our bridge world today has one focus and welcomes people from all walks of life to honor the game and uphold its sanctity. Biases and prejudices are non-issues!
It is with this in mind, that I dare to approach what I considered a quite humorous (though some might find it ‘sticky’) tale about the naming (or actually renaming) of a convention. While under my late husband Norman’s tutelage, he reminded me, "When you open 1NT, if the opponents double and I say REDOUBLE – PASS! They have made a mistake." Norman’s admonition resurfaced as I read a recent email involving my longtime friend and insurance agent, Philadelphian Jack Mendelsohn, who has always exhibited a terrific sense of humor — which the following tale will bear out. The story goes something like this:
Jack and a partner were discussing the auction above and had agreed to play it differently than Norman suggested — that the redouble demanded partner to respond with 2C and take it from there. When asked the name of the convention, Jack was told to fill it in on his card as "Christian Transfers." Jack, being of the Jewish faith, good-heartedly laughed and allegedly declined to attach that name to the treatment. Obviously, it was done in jest — and laid to rest. Two years later, it was discovered that said convention was being played by Jack and another partner, but had been renamed "Hebrew Run Out." However, we haven’t gotten to the punch line yet. When I received the update, I noticed that they had misspelled Jack’s surname (Mendelsohn — omitting the ‘h’). I wrote back, reproaching him, "At least they could have spelled your name right." Jack’s exact retort, "Thanks, Judy. The H he left out was for Hebrew."
February 26th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
34 Comments
As many of you veterans may recall, two American bridge legends were heralded for their contributions in the field of cryptography and shared credit for their involvement leading to the breaking of the Japanese Code during World War II. In 1941, thirty-two year old Oswald Jacoby (already in the service of his country), was playing in an Open Pairs in Richmond, VA and when he learned of the Pearl Harbor attack immediately departed the tournament site and did not return to the bridge scene for four years. Ozzie served in the Intelligence divisions in other military conflicts, including the Korean War. His code-breaking counterpart was popular British-born author and columnist Alfred Sheinwold. During World War II, Freddy was the chief code and cipher expert of the OSS (the forerunner to the CIA).
The conflict was all-out war where the lives and welfare of millions of people were at risk. It was serious stuff and the primary objective was to stop the carnage. Secret codes, deceit, misrepresentation, surreptitious movements, etc. were all part of the big game. In wartime, opponents are life-threatening enemies. The stakes are high. In bridge, opponents are fellow lovers of the game. Therefore, the ground rules are quite different.
Let us turn briefly to recreational competition. Bridge has a steadfast policy of full disclosure. A partnership MUST KEEP NO SECRETS and all unusual off-the-beaten path understandings must be revealed in a timely fashion. Most, if not all, other competitive games have a complete openness in their appearance, so that all can witness every game-winning, game-losing, or even game-changing event.
If you read The Lone Wolff, you may recall a prime example of this very concept cited by Bobby. In American football, referees are empowered to deal with, and thus prevent, any stealthy and perhaps unseen advantage one side may try and implement. Many years ago, on offense, the eleventh player would sometimes line up, if possible, close to his own bench (blending in with all the players on the sidelines). However, actually being in bounds would qualify him as a legal pass receiver because his position at the snap was on the line of scrimmage. Upon the release of the ball, the unsuspecting defense (not aware that he was an eligible receiver) would fail to cover him leaving him wide open for a targeted long pass to score an easy touchdown. After having many important games decided by this subterfuge, including bowl competitions, the NCAA put an end to this advantage by officially declaring ‘The Hideout Play’ illegal.
In bridge, we must be mindful of certain improprieties, since there are so many illicit ways to communicate. Let’s put aside pre-arranged signals (the most heinous and disdainful of all), body movements, hesitations, misinformation (out of ignorance or misunderstanding), etc.) — and focus on another violation which should be severely punished — THE WITHHOLDING OF VITAL INFORMATION.
Details about a partnership’s abiding responsibility of disclosure appears in the ACBL Laws under the heading ‘Alert Procedures’ and was called to my attention by a conscientious local club owner and director who prides herself on running her game by the prescribed rules. She provided me with a copy of Law 40.B (Concealed Partnership Understandings Prohibited). Even more compelling than the Law itself was the following brief declaration:
"Bridge is not a game of secret messages; the auction belongs to everyone at the table."
THAT SAYS IT ALL!
Here is a perfect example of what appears to be an innocent oversight and manifests itself often in Support Doubles Auctions. Remember at all times: What you know, your opponents are entitled to know. Simply put — but gospel! Most people alert the meaning of a specific bid, but in a competitive auction (intentionally or unintentionally), they fail to alert the inference of a Pass (which by the same token transmits information to one’s partner as well).
Specifically: 1C P 1H 1S (Let’s zero in on the subsequent action, or non-action, of the opening 1C bidder)
If you are employing the above-mentioned convention (and don’t rattle Bobby’s cage on that subject) — there are three** possible bids the opener can make supplying information about his heart holding:
2H (guarantees FOUR); DOUBLE (shows THREE-CARD ‘support’); PASS (shows TWO OR LESS).
ALL THREE BIDS ARE ALERTABLE. An unalterable, distinct message is delivered by the PASS. In the absence of an alert, your opponents assume it denies three (and certainly four) — but the Pass may be construed by unsuspecting opponents to convey the message of a minimum hand (and thus no free bid).
(** Of course, with a great hand and four trumps — 3H or 4H is a conceivable bid — but is not relevant in this discussion).
Summing it up in no uncertain terms …..
A) YOU KNOW the Pass shows two or fewer hearts;
B) YOUR PARTNER KNOWS the Pass shows two or fewer hearts;
and therefore ….
C) BOTH YOUR RHO and LHO are entitled to the same information! In the name of equity, reach for your ALERT CARD and INVITE THE OPPONENTS TO JOIN THE PARTY!
February 25th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
7 Comments
Being a member of the golden age club is not all bad! I remember the wonderful era of baseball (Ebbets Field, the Polo Grounds, Yankee Stadium) where the heroes of the game rode the crowded subways and buses with the ‘rank and file’ — no limos, chauffeurs, private cars, bodyguards, or million dollar contracts. They were just ordinary people who shared the love of the game with the fans.
That sentimental reflection spans the early days of bridge as well. The game was smaller, the attendance was less, the cost of travel was a pittance by comparison to today’s escalated costs and the directors were a breed of their own. Everyone knew everyone else. The camaraderie was out of sight. It was just one big happy family.
The directors’ names were household words — Al Sobel, Harry Goldwater, Phil Merry, Paul Marks, Jerry Machlin and some others I am sure I have overlooked. The tradition of such characters earned them popular acclaim and respect — much in the manner of two current directors — Sol Weinstein and Chris Patrias — who usually seem to be in command at the highest levels.
For several decades, a standout favorite in my hometown of Philadelphia was Maury Braunstein (whose wild bow ties were his trademark). Everyone adored Maury (and his popular wife Marian who was also a director). Maury directed predominantly on the National level but, when available, presided over most of our tournaments — booked in advance by popular demand. He had a darling personality and I remember his oft-quoted response when someone asked him about the importance of the game to the players. ”You’d be surprised! To some of these people, it’s a matter of life and death .. or even more serious.”
In 1997 I vividly remember Marian inviting Norman and me to Maury’s Surprise 83rd Birthday being held in upper New York State and apologizing if it were an imposition. Imposition? No way! We were honored. Norman and Maury were great friends for many years — and we tried our damnedest but couldn’t pull it off. We were even more saddened when we learned Maury died later that year and we never made it to the big bash.
Below was our poetic message of regrets:
SORRY, MAURY!!!
We tried our very best — you see
To fly up — to Schenectady
There was no problem — getting there
(From Philly — we’d catch — U. S. Air)
But getting back — we had a plight
There was for us — no return flight
The evening aircraft — had a crowd
And standing up — is not allowed
So all our efforts — went in vain
They could not ship us back — by plane
Please be assured — we went all out
Our hearts were in it — have no doubt
We planned to show up — with no fuss
But “a number” — they did on us
Though in the flesh — we couldn’t swing it
We’re thankful for — this modern trinket
So to Maury — and — his charming queen
Our love is sent … by Fax Machine!
Fondly,
Judy and Norman Kay
February 20th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
3 Comments
The following article written by me was published over thirty years ago (1978) in the District 4 Spot (Philadelphia Area Bridge Publication) and is rather self-explanatory. As you read the early commentary, it will sound like an old Abbott and Costello routine — but I kid you not!!!!!!!!!!!!
I mark the hand records for a country club men’s team who must remain nameless. Late one night I started scanning the records and results preparatory to marking them the following day. On every hand record, I would come upon little messages from the bewildered captain:
Board 1: East and West were reversed. I think North-South are okay.
Board 2: South and East are reversed. I’m not so sure about the other two.
Board 3: I’m not so sure who had the spade ace. Could have been West.
Board 4: I think both sides were reversed, but I can’t remember for sure.
Board 5: Was played this way at our table. Can’t vouch for anyone else.
… and so on .. right on down to board 24.
In a confused, frustrated state, I composed the following poem at about 3 a.m. that morning.
East was East and West was West
When Rudyard Kipling was laid to rest
But times have changed — directions, too
Geography — has gone askew
For North and South should play as one
A standard bridge phenomenon
East and West should do the same
A basic premise — of this game
But something happened Wednesday eve
How or why — I can’t conceive
They switched from Bridge to Musical Chairs
And mixed and matched both seats and pairs
Marking boards is always fun
Especially when a team has won
But this experience was THE WORST
A losing match — with hands reversed
If all four pockets had been crossed
I would not be so fully lost
But you took South and made him East
Then the rest of you sat — where you pleased
The enigma began on the very first deal
Upset and frustration — I cannot conceal
But patience earned — its own reward
You finally had a “passed out board”
I know you yearn to strengthen your game
Outbid the opponents — and put them to shame
Stop in a partial — unblock — overtake
I’d love to help you — BUT GIVE ME A BREAK!
Find your seats at alternate tables
Carefully read your guide cards and labels
Do not revoke — or lead out of turn
And remember .. finesses .. sometimes you must spurn
Now here’s a request — you may think absurd
Record the hands — as they REALLY OCCURRED
Then I will know which cards went where
Come on, fellas … FAIR – IS – FAIR!!!!
February 20th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
3 Comments
Quite by accident I happened upon Gary Mugford’s site (http://mugfordmugshots.blogspot.com). Do yourself a favor, check it out and be sure not to miss his January 14th rendering called "BRIDGE: I Miss Alan Truscott." I DO, TOO!
Gary claims Norman and I met him on an elevator at a National in Toronto many eons ago (when Gary was working for the ACBL) and he teases he didn’t make an impression because I didn’t remember him. Guilty as charged (but he shouldn’t take it personally as sometimes I can’t remember what I had for breakfast)! However, since we reunited last year when he reviewed The Lone Wolff, we have become great email pals and I am his devoted fan! I promise never again will I forget such a talented, self-effacing journalist with a delectable sense of humor.
If you were a New York Times Bridge Column follower, you will savor Gary’s tale about the late Alan Truscott who took over the much coveted position as Editor upon Albert Morehead’s death in the mid-sixties. Alan was a man for all seasons — sensational at word games, puzzles, trivia, played tennis, championship chess and even competed in the N. Y. marathon at the age of sixty-one. He contributed much to our game and will remain a treasured and respected legend among bridge players and fellow writers as well.
February 17th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
3 Comments
No common-interest group is without its own seamy side! Let’s begin with our legislative bodies and their recent indiscreetly misdirected efforts. This reference is tied to Wall Street and Corporate American greed. It addresses an inordinate number of previously ultra-successful brokerage houses as well as other huge companies on the big board with regard to their misuse of government bailout funds for executive bonuses. Allow me next to descend upon the sports scene and the continuing revelation of the use of steroids and other illegally used strength-enhancing drugs by our record-shattering sports idols — not to glide over unnoticed the rumored underage competitors in the recent Olympics. Striking closer to home, how about the cheating (both here and abroad) in our own game and the personal administrative agendas — doing whatever is needed to float their own boat. Another even sadder issue is the abuse of youth by trusted elected officials in our nation’s capitol, and comparable misbehavior of some respected scoutmasters and even the untouchable divine clergy. Perhaps much of this has been in existence longer than we care to admit — but with the growing popularity and accessibility of cyberspace and the no-bars-held policy of the newspaper industry — our motto seems to be “Let it all hang out!”
This blog was prompted by a brazen eye-opening front page headline in my local SUNDAY LAS VEGAS REVIEW JOURNAL yesterday. The New York Times does not have the monopoly on sensationalism. This is neither an endorsement nor criticism of the announcement — but rather a startling reaction by this reader, a relatively new resident of Sin City — which serves as one of our country’s largest tourist attractions. Don’t misunderstand me, we love it here. Perhaps we have been sheltered by indulging in our own golden age lifestyle — since our dailiness consists of commuting biweekly between our home and the bridge club, occasional jaunts to a local casino blackjack table and enjoying their restaurants whenever the spirit moves us. It is a relaxing, carefree atmosphere — far from the bustling and sometimes maddening aura of the Strip. So — living within the confines of our own little world, sent my mind reeling from the following:
What immediately caught my eye (in bold black one-inch high letters) were the words WORKING GIRLS and beneath the caption there appeared a quarter inch subtitle LAS VEGAS’ 50 MOST PROLIFIC PROSTITUTES (accompanied by photos of 24 of the 50, with names, ages ranging from 20-41 and detailing their arrest charges — mostly trespassing — with a few charged for solicitation). I found the inclusion of photographs amusingly reminiscent of the words from Easter Parade (about finding that you’re in the rotogravure). In fact, if I hadn’t seen the caption, at a glance from afar my conjecture would have been they were Miss America contestants or Academy Award Nominees. It just appeared so nonchalant in nature.
Immediately, I headed for my Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary as I never heard the word ‘prolific‘ associated with that profession. I always thought it meant productive (in a positive sense). The first listed definition was fruitful (and indeed they could be if by some chance they weren’t careful); the second definition was archaic; and the third explanation alluded to inventiveness or productivity (like a prolific composer or literary artist). Somehow Mozart or Shakespeare didn’t fill the bill. Enough of the English lesson. On to the article!
It was entitled “Police Crack Down on Solicitation,” and the opening line was “Call it a unique kind of most wanted list or simply an attempt to clamp down on the area’s worse-kept secret”. The article continued on page 20A, explaining that prostitution is legal in 10 rural Nevada counties — noting that Clark (which includes Las Vegas) and Washoe (Reno, Tahoe, etc.) were not on the approved list. So, if you are getting a little antsy reading bridge hands and want a change of pace, go to the website suggested (lvrj.com/prostitution) or check out the Review Journal (Vice Enforcement’s Top Offenders) dated February 15th. For bridge players, it gives new meaning to the terms ‘one over one’ and ‘hooking.’
February 17th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
2 Comments
Back in fifty-six, I had just graduated from college but was caught up in this
overpowering obsession called bridge. Not unlike the local scenery of today, the
duplicate clubs were flooded with middle-age or retired people — looking for something to
pass the time. Television was in its infancy, computers were a far-off vision and
Monday Night Football did not embrace our lives until 1970.
In an outlying suburban area of Philadelphia, there stood a restaurant called
Maxwell Fried’s. It was known not so much for its fine cuisine and banquet
hall, but more notorious for hosting the popular jam-packed Monday Evening
Duplicate in its back room. Most girls my age were happily relaxing at home in
a non-competitive atmosphere — strengthening their marriages and raising their brood,
while I was footloose and raring to play. I had just taken a Beginner’s Bridge Course at
Philly’s legendary Junto School and it wasn’t hard for the Monday Nighters to
spot an eager beaver looking to set the world on fire and expand her horizons.
Besides, I was young, perky, petite and wore a size 9 — and several kind, respectable
men took me under their wing.
Of course my zeal for the game, rather than the customary search for the perfect
mate, didn’t sit well with my mother, as even back then I had a mind of my own and
a fetish for the game! But, they say ‘the proof of the pudding is in the eating’ and if
you check my track record — you’ll agree that I didn’t do too badly after all!
Many of the regulars politely tolerated my rather unseasoned style and
unfamiliarity with the protocol of the game which was overlooked because of the
lusty ebullience which totally consumed me. Eventually I learned the finer points
and the etiquette befitting a cordial opponent. Before the days of Zero Tolerance,
there was prevalent gloating, hotdogging, high-fives, name-calling, nasty innuendos
and other offensive behavior commonly associated with poor sportsmanship. I truly
believe the game was still in its infancy and even recall a fistfight that erupted between
two men (over a woman — rather than a board).
Rifling through two boxes of memorabilia which bulge at the seams, I discovered
this poem I had penned. Bear in mind, I was a novice, thrilled every time I got a ‘plus
score,’ proudly owned about ten hard-earned masterpoints and really hadn’t a clue about
anything. I was nothing more than a starry-eyed beginner! However, fifty years later
I realize that my childish behavior poetically cited below could have found me before
a Committee today and censured for failure to control my laughter in the presence of mine
enemies. What did I know???
Also remember — the auctions were pretty primitive back then and Strong Two Bids were
the “in thing.” (Until I re-read the poem today, I had totally forgotten that the forcing two-bid
in vogue in the Fifties was called a “Demand Bid.”)
Scribbled atop the rhyme was a one-word caption:
“PSYCHING”
“Two Diamonds!,” said North — to open the hand
Upon which East snapped — “Is that a demand?”
“Yes,” I replied — as quick as a wink
She then bid Three Clubs — before I could think
My eight points were scanned — with quizzical eye
Someone at the table — was telling a lie
But just who it was — I was not quite sure
So I bid Three Hearts — and listened for more
A booming “Threes Spades” — near punctured my ear
But when partner passed — it soon became clear
A rebid of clubs — was heard on my right
And the sound of three passes — a shocking delight
Four Clubs bought the hand — and the lead was all mine
The dummy unveiled — was simply divine
As diamonds were led — (won by board’s queen)
Declarer’s complexion — turned sickly to green
The contract was played — at a breathtaking clip
I thought that she surely — was going to flip
For Seven was cold — it was easy to see
But stopping at Four — was as bad as down Three
Now I want you to note — I sat like a clam
My behavior was meek — as that of a lamb
But being descended — from Adam and Eve
And blessed with the power – – to laugh and to grieve
My good self-control — and my prior restraint
Went only so far — as I was no Saint
My giggles erupted — without any warning
And the grin on my face — disappeared (just this morning)
But funnier far — than the psyche (unexposed)
Was the fact I caught on — and kept my mouth closed!
(Note: This was written fifty-two years ago and as Bobby quickly
picked up on it — one card for every year!)
February 10th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
2 Comments
Not surprisingly, the Alder column today (following up on yesterday’s hand) — did indeed advocate not succumbing to the temptation of taking the club finesse at trick one, for the obvious reason — placing a ‘cold’ contract in jeopardy because of poor timing.
The concept discussed was reminiscent of a famous overused line on the old TV show "Championship Bridge with Charles Goren" which was aired from 1959 through 1964 on NBC. Those of you (whether by exposure from ‘kitchen bridge,’ rubber bridge, duplicate or even tournament competition) all remember fondly how we anxiously awaited the Sunday Bridge Gala to appear on the tube. The sponsors were Allied Van Lines, Samsonite and Sara Lee and four celebrated bridge personalities (usually two established partnerships) would compete against each other in a friendly, warm atmosphere that would be accompanied by the analysis of the bidding, play and defense. There were token money prizes to the winners, but I recall Norman (having played on one of the shows with his good friend, Alvin Landy) telling me, during his particular appearance that it was preordained among the four contestants that they would ‘split’ the booty (hardly enough to cover a round trip train ticket, cabs and sustenance before and after the airing). But, appearing on the show was not about money. It was all about the distinction of being handpicked by "Mr. Bridge" to appear on this much-watched bridge extravaganza.
The program zeroed in on many theories, card combinations and frequent table situations and Drier, the popular Emcee, was often heard to belt out with great exuberance and conviction, "He spurned the finesse, Charlie!" At the time, my friends and I had just been introduced to the game and it made an everlasting mark on our novicy, impressionable minds that it is not always judicious to take what appears to be an obvious finesse. Such was the case in yesterday’s hand and once again proved to be sage advice.
It is astounding that a simple subject discussed in a current column can trigger a memory from a TV show popular almost half a century ago. Perhaps that is why bridge is a game unto itself!
February 10th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
1 Comment
The Alder Column appears in our local paper and today it contained a captivating quote, "It is better to get up late and be wide awake than to get up early and be asleep all day." It’s a great line — and how true!
South is declarer:
Dummy holds AQJ5 54 AQ1072 AQ
opposite 762 A108 KJ9 10764
The contract is 3NT with South as Declarer (though some aggressive North players with 19 HCP and a decent five card suit might have stretched and opened 2NT). In the actual hand, the lead was the C3 and I was appalled to read on, "You are East, defending against three no trump. Partner leads a fourth-highest club three. After you take your king …" WHOA, TILLIE. BACK UP. Who invited East to the party????? I would have risen with the club ace sure as shootin, gotten to my hand with a diamond and hooked the spade. What can they do to hurt you? If the clubs are 5/2, your club 10 is not in harm’s way. And — should they be 4/3, the best they can do is take three clubs and a spade. If you finesse the club queen and lose, expect the obvious heart shift and if the spade finesse loses too, you are down.
It was hard to believe the writer zeroed in on the defense — rather than recommending the declarer abandon a possible losing club finesse and being subjected to a dangerous and reasonably automatic heart shift which could sink the ship if the spade king is off side. Another consideration — had you aggressively opened 2NT, you may have received a less favorable opening lead of a heart. So, you may be one trick ahead of the North declarers and I would have been grateful to see the club three hit the table and not been greedy with the club finesse, settling to make my contract.
I just couldn’t imagine why the writer was dwelling on East’s options after winning the club king. However, I think I answered my own question when I spotted at the bottom of the column … "If something else has occurred to you about this deal, please read tomorrow’s column before emailing." If I were a betting gal, I would put my money on Alder’s attention to the declarer’s choice (or lack of it) at trick one. Time will tell.
February 6th, 2009 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
4 Comments
Realistically acknowledging the hard, cold facts necessary to maintain and preserve marital bliss enables one to understand the placement of Norman (on request) and Bobby (eagerly, willingly and voluntarily) across the table from yours truly on many occasions. I probably played with Bobby more in the first twelve months of our marriage than I did with Norman in nearly forty years.
Permit me to digress for a moment as background vastly impacts the difference in spousal attitudes. Norman was accustomed to (and spoiled by) playing exclusively with the likes of Edgar and other world class partners in the hopes of eventually getting to compete in (and win) a world championship. He rarely played ‘socially’ by choice (only if he got drafted and could not wheedle out of it gracefully). As I have stated before, Norman had a full, well-rounded and active life, not dependent upon bridge for a livelihood. I sincerely believe he did not play for sheer enjoyment — but was motivated by a loftier goal. Time at the table was merely a means to an end — a chance for that big pie in the sky (of which he was disgustingly deprived — but don’t get me started on that one)!
Conversely — Bobby (long before he made the big time) co-owned a bridge club in his native San Antonio during the sixties and, of necessity, also played professionally with many weak players and students. Though there were exceptions, he was accustomed to less-than-expert partners — so compared to the "Miriams" of this world, I look like a superstar. It has been a challenge, but he has penetrated my rigid, frigid Kaplan-Sheinwold brainwashing and converted me to his modern loose-as-a-goose Bobby Wolff style. Being transformed to Bobby’s mind set is a small enough price for me to pay for my biweekly duplicate adventures in Utopia!
Now — back to my intended subject of this blog — heroines of the game! Two incredible females, Sally Young and Barbara Brier, each in her own way, touched my life. Sally made a fleeting appearance but Barbara’s entrance on the scene had an enduring affect — resulting in a cherished friendship of twenty years.
The year was 1963. Hall of Famer Sally Young invited me to play with her at the June Fete, an Annual Charity Bridge outing (with predominantly female players) run by Charlie Solomon at one of the prestigious suburban Philadelphia Country Clubs. I was a young bride and at the time never really reflected upon what caused her to single me out to play (when obviously she had the pick of the litter). But — why look a gift horse in the mouth? In retrospect, almost half a century later, it dawned on me that maybe she lost an election bet, owed Norman a favor — or a more likely explanation — it was a ‘pay date’! In any event, we played and I was in total awe for all twenty-four boards. Back then (except for Helen Sobel), men totally dominated our hobby and it was a revelation to witness a gal play as if she could see through the cards.
Barbara played a major role in my life from 1976 to 1996. Not only was she my frequent bridge partner till her death thirteen years ago but a worthy Scrabble and Boggle adversary as well. She was a native Philadelphian who migrated to New York and eventually settled down in Miami where she taught bridge and played professionally. Barbara had several NABC scalps on her wall — topped off by the World Championship Mixed Pairs in Stockholm which she won in 1970 with Waldemar von Zedtwitz (an even greater triumph than it appeared as he had already been declared legally blind). She could hold her own with the best of ’em!
Most of Barbara’s clients were snowbirds who started returning to their Northern nests as spring approached. Because her ordinarily active business slowed down — come April — she began spending her summer months up North with her daughter Bonnie and her family. Incidentally, as a point of interest, I might add that if Bonnie did not have a budding successful legal career (plus a charming non-bridge playing husband and three lovely young kids) — she might have cashed in on good bridge genes as Bonnie in her youth won a Teenage Pairs at the Nationals with another youngster named Kyle Larsen.
As fate had it, Norman and I lived about a mile from Bonnie and Bruce — and since Barbara and I shared so many interests, we became virtually inseparable the last several years of her life. In the 1990s she even worked for me part time during the summer in my wholesale baseball card business. If ever I had a female soul mate — Barbara filled the bill — and I still think about her often. I adored playing with her although at the outset, it took me eons to realize that there was no prevailing ACBL law which prevented the South player (moi) from becoming declarer at NT. Barbara cleverly took stringent measures (akin to hand-hogging — which, by the way — Bobby does not) to avoid that disaster befalling our partnership. She was a ‘naturally’ talented performer (despite her Roth-Stone leanings) and I was mesmerized watching her declare a hand. The greatest compliment I could pay Barbara is that she routinely and effortlessly took almost as many tricks as Bobby!
Playing with Barbara was never dull and she always had a ‘good story.’ It is hard to repress a smile as I recall her firsthand account of a Sunday happening in the Philadelphia area. Barbara was playing with a client born into a wealthy, prominent Upstate Pennsylvania mining family. It was no secret he enjoyed having a drink (or two or three) between sessions. Unfortunately, it was during the days of the Blue Laws (where the sale of liquor on Sunday was prohibited). Following the afternoon session, Barbara (a Miami Dolphins fanatic) scurried to her room to check out the football scores while her client went to a friend’s suite for a little snort. They agreed to meet in the lobby thirty minutes later and Barbara would arrange for a waiting cab to transport them to dinner. Fortunately, someone was on hand to help her tottering client navigate from the elevator to curbside for their brief taxi ride to the restaurant. Strains of soft music filled their ears as they made their way through the dimly lit room to their table. After the waiter took their orders and departed, her client, who was obviously disoriented and quite agitated, kept badgering Barbara — asking, "Where did our opponents go?"
So much for loosening up between sessions!
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