December 13th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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Whether it be in the world news media or in comparable bridge-related situations, people in high places seem to be taking advantage of their unique power of leverage — ensconcing the truth and promoting their own personal biases and prejudices. It happens in government with patronage obligations to fulfill — as well as in bridge to gain favor with those in positions to help their cause in the form of lucrative sponsorship recommendations, higher professional status, more conducive conditions of play or simply the old ‘you scratch my back — I’ll scratch yours’ ploy. It is not hard to spot cliquey bridge favoritism and petty jealousies in some prominent newspaper and magazine editorial positions in popular venues — and though it is not a new trend, it seems to be gaining momentum — more brazenly — with no fear of retaliation or accountability. Like they say — Go Fight City Hall. It is insidious, at least to me, when these power brokers of the press use their venue to personally color the truth, make decisions of inclusion or omission and are accountable to no one. In my day, it was known as posturing from the podium — surely a no-no in honorable circles.
On the brighter side of responsible reporting, a New York Times article of December 12, 2008 (by George Vecsey) covered the much publicized Lance Armstrong/Bob Hamman court battle involving drug usage during the Tour de France. Vecsey revisited another Hamman interview from the Times in 1987, where Hamman alluded to the fierceness of the competition at the bridge table. It caused the writer to state, “The Aces outlasted the world power, Italian Blue, which was abruptly disbanded after suspicions of dishonesty.”
‘The Italian Blue’ translated to the exalted Italian Blue Team which won a remarkable string of victories in European and World Championships and were never again to reappear in tact as a team in a WBF related event after 1976.
The shots were being called back then by the powerful Godfather of the World Bridge Federation, Jamie Ortiz-Patino, serving as President. He shocked the bridge world by simply proclaiming their credentials would not be acceptable and they were unwelcome to participate at the next world competition. It was a daring decision that put to rest the reign of the ever-victorious Italian Blue Team. Their unprecedented streak was acknowledged with marked whispers and even today, forty years later, is still very much remembered by their victims and loved ones .. and others in-the-know.
December 12th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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Johnny Crawford is just a name from the past to many of you. He ranked up there as one of the ‘great characters’ of the game — handsome, charismatic and blessed with the good fortune of leading an incredibly charmed life. He was, as they say, Runyonesque. My late husband, Norman, had the pleasure of being his teammate and friend and related many unbelievable Crawford Stories. This is perhaps my favorite one ….
Johnny’s first wife, Marie, was a descendent of Martha Custis (Washington). After his divorce from Marie, he married a lovely woman, who just happened to be the Reynolds Tobacco heiress. Even before he tied the knot with Leslie, Johnny lived in the fast lane, hustling all kinds of games and usually emerging a winner. The Crawfords had a lovely estate in Camden, South Carolina, where Johnny hosted many soirees. He loved sports and it was no secret he was an inveterate gambler. One weekend in the late fifties or early sixties, he invited many of his bridge cronies to his Southern haunt. He arranged (and picked up the tab for) their flights, had them welcomed at the airport and chauffeured to his home for a weekend that Norman, for one, would never forget. Bear in mind, Norman had just made the big time — when, in his late twenties he was invited to join Crawford’s teams with the likes of Becker, Rapee, Roth, Stone, Silodor, et al. He was a rookie stockbroker on weekdays and an aspiring bridge expert on weekends. Norman was very modest (although everyone recognized a superstar in the making), but it was still quite exciting to be included among the bridge hoi polloi and in the company of so many notable old timers.
The morning after Norman’s arrival, he noticed a crowd hovering around his host as he was speaking on the phone. He curiously found his way over to Johnny who was writing at fever pitch and eventually, when the group thinned out, Norman asked him what was happening. Norman learned he had been polling a number of his regular bookies, negotiating the ‘best prices’ for the Sunday pro football games. Johnny could see he piqued Norman’s interest, and volunteered, “Would you like to get in on it?” This was an unfamiliar scene to Norman, but too embarrassed to be thought of as a wimpy outcast by his new peers, he enthusiastically piped up, “Sure.” Johnny replied, “O. K., kid. You can have 5% of my action” ….. whatever that meant! It sounded innocuous enough.
The rest of the weekend was spent over cocktails and elegant cuisine in a relaxing atmosphere — a perfect opportunity to see how the proverbial other half lived. The following day, after a sumptuous breakfast everyone settled in to watch the game the local station provided. Remember — fifty years ago (before cable and Direct TV) there was usually only one game that could be seen or heard but that could never present an obstacle to this crew. Since bridge animals collect friends in just about every port in the U. S., a simple telephone call would get the job done. Getting an up-to-date score would be the first order of business and sometimes the caller would simply request that the telephone be set down beside their TV or radio for a live broadcast. Whoever said bridge players were dumb?????
As the limousines lined up to transport everyone to the airport for their return flights, Johnny stood at the door routinely accepting and handing out quite a bit of loot. As Norman passed by, Johnny tapped him on the shoulder and presented him with fifteen hundred bucks (which equated to 1/20 of Johnny’s bet). You go figure it out!. This was Norman’s first exposure to how the big boys lived (and bet). All the way home, Norman rejoiced reflecting upon his windfall, as he had no idea if he had lost how long it would have taken him to pay off his first gambling debt!
December 10th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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Fifty years on the bridge scene has enriched my life beyond any measure of description. Because of my unique conjugal attachments, i.e., Norman and Bobby, I have been the recipient of eternal bridge lessons, mixed pair partners waiting in the wings and cherished encounters with some of the most revered players on the planet.
Of all the celebrities I have had the thrill of meeting in my bridge travels, one stands out — with no equal. On a trip to California in the late nineties, our long-time buddy, Don Krauss, invited Norman and me to lunch and informed us we’d be joined by an old friend whose company he was confident we would enjoy. And, indeed, we did! Being an avid bridger, his luncheon mate was noticeably impressed by Norman’s track record and gracious persona.
My late husband recounted humorous incidents with partners and teammates as Don’s friend told of his early beginnings in a new country and detailed some of the ‘projects’ tackled and individuals who crossed his path. It was a spellbinding tete-a-tete between two bridge lovers while Don and I sat back enjoying the repartee. The surprise guest didn’t have many masterpoints or tournament scalps on the wall. His missing trophies were ably supplanted by Oscars, Awards and Honors.
As Norman and I departed the restaurant, we laughed as we mused over the ‘projects’ tackled (LOST WEEKEND, DOUBLE INDEMNITY, SOME LIKE IT HOT, STALAG 17, LOVE IN THE AFTERNOON, SABRINA, WITNESS FOR THE PROSECUTION, SUNSET BOULEVARD, SEVEN YEAR ITCH, IRMA LA DOUCE, etc.) and the random individuals who crossed his path (RAY MILLAND, BARBARA STANWYCK, FRED MacMURRAY, MARILYN MONROE, JACK LEMON, TONY CURTIS, WILLIAM HOLDEN, AUDREY HEPBURN, GARY COOPER, HUMPHREY BOGART, CHARLES LAUGHTON, MARLENE DIETRICH, GLORIA SWANSON, SHIRLEY MacLAINE and true casts of thousands). What a darling, lovable elfin-like creature and a credit to the human race! Obviously, by now you have surmised our modest charismatic luncheon companion that day was none other than the celebrated movie mogul — screenwriter, producer, director — Billy Wilder!
December 9th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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Thanks to all who ventured a stab both on this site and via private email messages (as well as those who sent condolences without a guess).
Before I release the originally billed figure, appropriately and coincidentally referred to in the vernacular as a ‘telephone number’) — allow me to make an educated guess as to how it all evolved. When I logged onto the AOL site for a local connection, the first two names which appeared were in Flagstaff, AZ. Since it is routine to accept the suggested sites as listed, it never occurred to me that they were about eighty miles away and over an hour and a half in travel time. Details!! The connection had to circumvent hills, dales, crags, tors, peaks, mountains, ravines, passes, boulders, ridges, rocks, canyons, condors and whatever other interference presented itself. There was no official Rip-off Advisory posted in the room admonishing that users of internet phone lines had to put up their first born for security. (Incidentally, I have checked with AOL who have confirmed that I proceeded exactly as instructed and the connection sites offered were the recommended ones).
Before we get to the ‘kicker,’ it may be of interest to learn that the telephone bill I received at our next stop (The Day’s Inn, in Scottsdale, Arizona) for more computer usage than at the Grand Canyon — was $1.00 per day (a total of TWO BUCKS for internet dial-up service). Amazing!
Enough of the explanations, excuses and suspense. Here was my original bill from the hotel according to my credit card company. ARE YOU READY? My purported total TELEPHONE COSTS ALONE were $481.96. My average telephone dial-up bill in the past (in the continental U. S.) has been about $1.50 per call — or approximately $10-$15 per day for excess usage … certainly reasonable — but at the user’s discretion with no surprises at day’s end (or the middle of the night). I have been told that the initially-unyielding Hotel Staff has already started negotiating to reduce my charges. You bet!
However, I am more concerned with the future mandatory posting of notices by a responsible hotel management staff in a visible spot so that ALL GUESTS KNOW THE RAMIFICATIONS OF USING HOTEL PHONE LINES UNDER EXTRAORDINARY CIRCUMSTANCES! I think this is an enlightening learning experience for all of us. Though I turned out to be the designated Guinea Pig of the Week — YOU could be the next unsuspecting patsy!
SO — according to my charting of the answers, the winner is GAIL BELL who emailed me privately and ventured $436 as her guess.
December 8th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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Though this site is primarily designed to focus on our beloved game, the following blog should fall within its parameters as a tournament destination was included in our itinerary. Bobby and I decided to take a short excursion via the Grand Canyon. All arrangements were made through AAA and Trip Tik who were right on target. The accommodations and on-site restaurant were perfectly fine — but then disaster struck in the guise of my computer connection. I never leave home without my laptop and without exaggeration — have taken my trusty computer to well over fifty hotels over the course of the last ten years. Though DSL lines are available, I prefer the mundane, unsophisticated service of dial-up through the telephone in the comfort of my bedroom. The actual cost is either by local call or a daily rate — depending upon the hotel. It is always affordable, usually a pittance — and never problematic. At this juncture in time, I can set up the dial-up function by rote. I turn it on; change the location by inserting the dial-up area code plus the three numbers of the hotel telephone exchange; and when the names of the three nearest locations appear (cities or suburbs), I simply accept their suggestions and Presto — you are set to go. It never fails! (However, at this point in my life, I should learn never to say never)!
Both Bobby and I enjoy accessing our individual emails and other sites such as up-to-date news, sporting events, blogging, etc., during our leisure time in the room. We take turns in cyberspace — always shutting the computer down when we are finished. Perhaps this saga is getting boring to you — but don’t despair — the excitement picks up momentum. Mind you — we were at the hotel about 36 hours and in the middle of the night I heard something being slipped under my door. THE BILL!
The ‘bottom line’ included two nights’ stay and a rented refrigerator which were pre-arranged and agreed upon. However, I needed a blood pressure pill when I spotted the alleged cost for their routine dial-up service and the use of an 800 number to my cell phone company as I was having reception problems — possibly because of the altitude. For the person who can come closest to guessing my telephone cost for 36 hours — I offer one autographed copy of The Lone Wolff — and if you already have read it — we can make it as a Holiday Gift for the person of your choice — signed, sealed and delivered. The answer and winner will be announced twenty-four hours from now.
You can be certain I have already sent an S. O. S. to my credit card service and registered a disputed charge complaint — initiating an investigation. Of course, it’s not over till it’s over!!!! Stay tuned — and send in your guesses!
December 5th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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A few months ago, I sent an email to both new and old bridge buddies, in an attempt to introduce them to the fun and ease of bridge bloggging. I began by sharing the shock and horror of my indoctrination to the game in 1955 and whisked them through my courtship and marriage to the late Norman Kay — bringing them up to date with my current mate, Bobby Wolff. Since I started blogging some humorous bridge tales from the crypt, I have been requested to post that old email to my blog site. If you have seen it already, forgive me; if not, please read on …..
My earliest exposure to the game seems like just yesterday. That’s what happens as you grow older. Everything seems to run together! I was graduating with a Business Degree from Temple University the following February and had a free summer and a little money in the bank, so why not spend it in New York. Besides, I had a boyfriend who lived in Manhattan — all the more incentive to visit The Big Apple. I convinced (perhaps conned is more accurate) my parents into thinking it would be a wonderful opportunity for me to enroll in an Abnormal Psychology course at Columbia University, unsuspecting of just how much it would prepare me for the next fifty-some years of my life.
En route to my classroom the first day, I noticed four fellows sitting at a round table under a huge beach umbrella. screaming, cussing and throwing cards at each other. I thought to myself — this must be one helluva game — and my instincts were right on target! Things haven’t changed much — except the tables are now square and zero tolerance makes you control your temper for fear of banishment. It was a very educational experience — bridge, that is! I never attended a single session of class until the penultimate day of reckoning (the final exam). It was then I learned the title of the text I should have been reading, bought a beat up second hand copy, burned the midnight oil and passed the course. My parents were none the wiser until many years later when I confessed. Need I tell you — I was about to get hooked!
I graduated in 1956, got a job as a legal secretary but spent every available moment playing at friends’ homes during the weeknights and on weekends attending nearby tournaments whenever one could be found. ‘Nearby‘ meant any place that was reachable by car, boat or horseback within one hundred fifty miles! It was a ritual and I was savoring every moment. Being ambitious, enthusiastic, young and svelte (hard to envision), I was invited to play by some very good male players. However, my obsession with the game (to the exclusion of all else) caused people to embarrass my mother with the same rhetorical question: “Your Judy, she’s such a nice girl — why doesn’t she get married?” In frustration, she would reply: “Married? How can she ever meet anyone normal? She travels ‘with that circus’ every weekend.” (See what she thought of you guys)! However,when I finally met Norman (and Charles Goren attended our wedding), my mother’s inquiring bridge cronies hung their heads in shame. She became the queen of their Tuesday Night Games. And — the ‘girls’ all got to meet Mr. Bridge himself as well as the lesser members of the ‘circus’ on that Sunday evening in the summer of ’63.
Lots of water has passed under the bridge since then. Every day I reflect upon my nearly four decades with Norman — until his death in January, 2002. I was resigned to spending my remaining years near my children, close family and friends — content with cherished memories — never entertaining for one moment the possibility of finding another person, at that juncture in time, as perfect for me as my incredible Norman. Wrong! Enter Bobby Wolff! Three months after our initial three-day cartridge romance on the computer, we were wed. If you read The Lone Wolff — you are familiar with the saga. Just goes to prove that one should never say never! Our fifth anniversary is coming up this Sunday, December 7th (Pearl Harbor Day) which I always refer to as another date that will live in infamy.
December 1st, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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Being married to two revered Bridge Hall of Famers goes a long way toward humbling one’s image of her own game. And believe me, it is not all bad. Every gal should be so lucky!
I began playing bridge at the end of my college days and spent a good portion of my early married life tending to two young children and running a household. In the mid-sixties, it was not chauvinistic to expect a mother to keep bridge in it’s proper prospective — and put our beloved game on the back burner. However, times were changing and soon, this not-so-shrinking violet, became a ‘regular‘ at the Bridge Nationals. I remember counting the hours and minutes till we arrived at the hotel on a Thursday evening and greeted our old friends as we checked in. It was like dying and going to heaven. You can’t beat that scenario.
Bridge was so different back then. The dress code was more stringent; people were better mannered; the tournaments were smaller and more personal; and the few ‘admitted’ sponsors were obscure. Of course, the costs were less and the economy was substantially better — making travel more affordable. I even remember when suites at a bridge site were less than fifty dollars a night and card fees a couple bucks a throw. Talk of cheating was kept on the back burner although our country had its share of lowlifes (some even made it into our Hall of Fame).
I spent a great part of my early days kibitzing Norman and Edgar and would retire to Edgar’s suite after the evening session, eavesdropping on their discussions and hanging on every word. I enjoyed when they were joined by their esteemed teammates Eric Murray, Sami Kehela, Bill Root and Richie Pavlicek. What a delight! Mutual respect was perhaps the distinguishing trademark of the group. No aspersions cast or criticisms made. Harmony ruled supreme.
Norman and Edgar were hell-bent on playing a modified version of ‘Kaplan-Sheinwold‘ but I have no doubt today if they were still alive, would have been compelled to spice up their conservative, disciplined system to hold their own among the big boys. They did not give credence to professionalism as both Norman and Edgar wanted the pure chance to represent their country, playing with two other expert partnerships. Norman always yearned for a world championship, but lost his battle as the ‘exalted’ Blue Team had another agenda! Bobby came upon the scene a bit later and only suffered through four years (1972-75) before their Reign of Terror was put to rest. I painfully regret Norman’s timing was not better.
I never entertained aspirations of becoming a great player — content to hold my own and enjoy the local games and national tournaments. I was happy (and still am) to bask in the deserved glory of both Norman and Bobby. Not being Top Banana I wear as a Badge of Honor. I do not have an identity crisis and never did! I always knew my place. I’ve forever done my own thing with self-satisfying results — whether it be writing bridge shows, running charity games, planning local NABCs (without benefit of titles or bosses), owning trotters, heading my own baseball card business or picking my spots with my favorite partners and getting lucky on occasion.
I would always discuss the so-called problem hands with Norman and received objective answers — whether it was I or my partner who erred. I learned the hard way and have the scars to prove it — but being the beneficiary of expert advice on a 24/7 basis (which is now beginning its sixth year with Bobby) has a ‘leveling effect’ to which very few bridge players have been subjected. It is good for the soul and ranks high on the humility charts. It has served me in good stead and I am the recipient of priceless advice (priceless — any way you slice it) for almost five decades. I have learned to listen to the ‘real’ experts and benefit from their experience. Perhaps I am just spoiled. It is a way of life for me as I have been exposed to the high-level scene for five decades and I’ve come to recognize an expert when I see one. I am more discriminating than most.
As Marty Bergen said, “Points Schmoints.” That has no bearing on one’s qualification — although points are not so cheap these days. Our values and even the criteria for judgment have changed. Imagine awarding masterpoints for finishing in a duplicate for an underaverage score or sitting side by side with your partner on internet bridge. Seems like a farce to me. Guess I am just old-fashioned.
I always laugh when I overhear someone after a session, confidently proclaim to whomever will listen, “I only made one mistake.” I muse to myself, “That’s ONE MISTAKE you know about” and must restrain myself from asking … just how many others eluded your grasp????
Perhaps decades of experience have allowed me to make my own evaluation of what constitutes an expert and I am a very harsh judge of the supremes! There are all levels of experts — just depending upon whom you ask. In fact, I remember a remark by long-retired Arthur Robinson (of the Jordan/Robinson days) who taught bridge along side of Charlie Solomon to the Philadelphia Country Club Set. He volunteered, “The difference between an expert and a student is usually one lesson.”
I have enormous respect for those who have a passion for learning and the desire to improve, but I marvel at people who make profoundly authoritative statements — without the credentials to substantiate them. Everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion but I have never been awestruck or mesmerized by bridge gurus at-large. I view the scene with a grain of salt as I am reminded of Einstein’s Theory of Relativity. Expertise is in the eyes of the beholder.
November 28th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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If you are interested in Bobby’s recent comment on the controversial Forcing Pass situation (Separating the Men from the Boys — Parts I and II) as well as how the Dallas Aces handled similar blame-placing assessments, be sure to see his latest blog at http://bobbywolff.bridgeblogging.com
November 27th, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
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In 1956 my first partner, Marleen, and I made our debut at the popular, well-attended Center City Bridge Club in Philadelphia. It was the ‘in’ place for duplicates and was frequented by the hoi polloi of the bridge world (who in those days always played and practiced at the local duplicates). The verse below needs no explanation and was sent to the proprietor, Rhoda Grahn, who hung it on her bulletin board and remained there till the club eventually closed.
HAVE YOU GIRLS EVER PLAYED BEFORE?
The time has come to say “Adieu” — This seems the only thing to do
Many times we’ve made the claim– That we are giving up the game
But this is it (the final straw) — From your game we now withdraw
It all began at Table Three — They put us through the third degree
For after bolstering their score — They asked, “Have you girls ever played before?”
At Table Four they seemed to stress — The advantages of playing chess
At Table Five it was agreed — Monopoly was more our speed
Then we went on to Table Six — Where cards and questions seemed to mix
And then we had to hear once more — “Have you girls ever played before?”
At Table Eight it was implied — We ought to set the game aside
Though we’d improved by Table Nine — The queries flowed like cherry wine
And as we moved to Table Ten — We heard that old refrain again
Once or twice we would not care — But don’t you think we’ve had our share?
As students of the Junto School — We crammed our heads with every rule
The Italian System may be grand — Though difficult to understand
But when it comes to mass confusion — There’s none to beat the one we’re usin’
We read the daily columns too — What more is there for us to do?
We try our best — We do not cheat — We do not even mind defeat
It does not matter how we place — To lose at bridge is no disgrace
But must we sit in contemplation — And tolerate interrogation?
So if we quit — we’ll hear no more …………………..
HAVE YOU GIRLS EVER PLAYED BEFORE?????????” |
November 21st, 2008 ~ Judy Kay-Wolff ~
2 Comments
Forgive me for double dipping on the site today, but I wanted to introduce my old friend whom I first met in Philadelphia in the sixties, the great former Dallas Ace, who has a wealth of stories you will be enjoying. His latest blog, appearing at http://markblumenthal.bridgeblogging.com inspired what you are about to read.
For those of you who are old enough to remember Maurice Chevalier, I am compelled to steal his famous nostalgic song line … “I Remember It Well.” Mark and I share a wealth of old Philadelphia Stories as so many colorful characters graced our local scene. It was not uncommon for the top players to make frequent appearances at the daily duplicates. They were visible at the Sectionals and Regionals and it was very exciting for us little people to rub shoulders with the big boys who were always warm and gracious and never too busy to answer a bridge question.
For my money, Bobby Jordan was the best bridge raconteur of his day. I can remember countless times after a session at an ‘away tournament’ when we would retire to someone’s room for snacks and drinks while Bobby would willingly hold the audience captive for hours — recanting one titillating story after another. Sometimes it was three a.m. before we found ourselves wandering back to our rooms — still laughing! His repertoire seemed endless!
Here is one of my favorites ….
Bobby (a fun-loving prankster at heart with a charming personality and enormous sense of humor) was playing in some innocuous Friday evening one session event at a local tournament. His first opponents were a rather ordinary looking couple but as they approached the table it was apparent the wife was noticeably nervous probably because of her counterpart’s aggressive mannerisms and ferocious demeanor. Bobby’s suspicions were confirmed on the first hand when the woman, faced with a difficult bidding decision, guessed wrong and her judgment resulted in a zero. The husband’s condemnation of her bidding was relentless as he continued to scream, “All the way down from York, Pennsylvania, we discussed this sequence …” and the tirade never abated.
When the round was finished (while the irate husband was still chewing out his wife), Bobby devilishly placed the same board on top (reversing directions so they had each other’s hands for the second go-round) and goaded the distracted pair into thinking they had not completed the round. As suspected, the auction was identical and soon as the embarrassed husband realized what Bobby had done, he jumped from his chair and made a bee-line for the restroom. However, Bobby who was a firm believer in tit-for-tat, followed the man and conveniently stationed himself at the adjacent urinal, reminding his red-faced opponent of his earlier refrain … “All the way down from York, Pennsylvania ……!” It has to be over forty years since I first heard the story — but I can envision Bobby’s grin and his chuckling words still echo in my ears!
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