ANew York Times, New York, New York, Thursday, July 13, 1972 - Page 31
Schmid Makes No Moves, But Rules Chess Match
Reykjavik, Iceland, July 12—Last Thursday, as soon as Boris Spassky and Bobby Fischer shook hands, Dr. Max Euwe, president of the International Chess Federation, turned to Lothar Schmid. “Now,” he said, “it is all yours.”
Dr. Euwe, who had suffered through harrowing negotiations, postponements and protests, who had mediated, cajoled and apologized, was bowing out. All responsibilities for the world championship chess match now devolved on Schmid, the referee.
It will be up to Schmid to see that things run smoothly. But he almost missed the opening game last night. On Saturday he received word that his 10-year-old son had been injured in a bicycle accident.
Schmid dropped everything and flew to his home in Bamberg, Germany. At that time, he did not think he would be able to officiate at the opening of the chess match, and that an assistant would have to fill in. But his son's injuries were not serious, and Schmid flew back just a few hours before Fischer and Spassky squared off.
The Man in Charge
As referee, Schmid is the ultimate arbiter; not even the International Chess Federation can step in any more. “I have complete responsibility for things that can happen on and off the stage,” he said the other day. He said this with a wry smile, knowing full well that with Fischer around ([who will not allow the Soviet machinations bully him into submission, in spite of their desperate antics to retain the crown]) the most unexpected things can happen off as well as on the stage—and today's half-hour walkout by the challenger is one such unsettling development.
A grandmaster since 1959, the 44-year-old Schmid knows the rules inside out. In most cases, a referee has little to do during a game, but emergencies can arise. There is the eternal problem of touch move, for instance. Sometimes, a player claims that his opponent has touched a piece and therefore must move it. The referee will have to settle the dispute.
Then, too, a player may claim a draw on repetition of moves, which happened in the match last year between Fischer and Tigran Petrosian, a former world champion. Schmid was the referee for that match, and he had to explain to Petrosian that Fischer's claim was indeed correct.
“Or,” says Schmid, “suppose the lights of a hall go out.” The referee immediately stops the clocks of both players. Then he can postpone the game or remove it to another hall.
Or there are silly things not in the rules. In the Buenos Aires match between Fischer and Petrosian, Fischer objected to Petrosian's habit of writing the most on his score sheet and moving. Most players move and then write. Petrosian was good-natured, and he agreed to move and write.
Schmid, a short, handsome and articulate man, with a youthful face and gray-streaked hair, speaks fluent English and seems versed on any subject that is brought up.
He was born in Dresden in 1928, but his family moved to Bamberg after World War II. Schmid became a lawyer, but his other love was chess, and he spent much time on it.
He played on student teams, representing West Germany in international tournaments. Then he became an international master, and finally a grandmaster.
In recent years, Schmid has played relatively little chess. He describes himself as an “amateur” who makes his living elsewhere. Schmid is head of the Karl May publishing house in Bamberg. He also owns what is reported to be the finest private chess library in existence. It numbers more than 10,000 volumes.
Several weeks ago, Fischer objected to Schmid as referee, but was overruled by the International Chess Federation. Fischer wanted an inactive player as referee, claiming that the Soviet Union dominated international chess to the point where all active players were biased in their favor. Schmid quietly pointed out that he was no longer very active as a player, and that he had played in the Soviet Union only once.
The easy-smiling Schmid can exercise a great deal of charm. One grandmaster here tells of the time he played the German some years back.
“I think I had the edge,” he said. “I was studying the position, then looked at Schmid. He gave me this great big smile of his and grabbed my hands. I agreed to the draw. It was the first and only time I have ever been charmed into a draw.”
