The Chess Champion

A gift and a promise

The Sunset Pines Retirement Home had one unbreakable legend: Mr. Elijah Jenkins, 92, had never lost a game of chess. Not once in ten years.

The list of opponents included college geniuses, club champions, even a Grandmaster straight from Moscow challenged Jenkins. They all sat across his scarred wooden board and left defeated. Jenkins played quietly, politely, always with the same gentle nod and soft “well played” before making his final move.

The staff boasted about him endlessly.

“Elijah’s unbeatable,” was their mantra.

One Fall afternoon, 12-year-old Ethan Park walked in. He was the city’s junior champion, fearless but a bit timid. He had already crushed grown-ups twice his age and apologized for doing it.

Today Ethan wanted a crack at The Legend.

The common room packed out. Residents ringed the table. Nurses hovered nearby. Ethan’s parents watched from the doorway.

The game began.

Ethan attacked first and Mr. Jenkins defended calmly. Hours dragged on. Ethan sweated and was losing badly, down to a lone king and rook against Mr. Jenkins’s queen and pawns. He let out a sigh and slumped over in defeat.

Then Mr. Jenkins reached out and tipped his own king.

Game over.

“I resign,” Jenkins said with an outstretched hand to shake. “Beautifully played, son. You’re gonna go far.”

The room went dead silent.

Ethan said, “But sir, you, you were winning! By a mile! Why?”

Mr. Jenkins leaned forward and smiled.

“Because 50 years ago my wife made me promise I’d never beat a child at chess. She said it builds bad character.”

He winked.

“You’re the first kid stubborn enough to force me to keep it.”

Ethan’s jaw dropped. The Grandmaster in the back of the room started slow-clapping. The other spectators took his cue and began clapping.

The Legend had kept a 50-year promise, one worth keeping.