2004-2009 Partners at the Simsbury Bridge Club Part 1

Partners at Eno Hall. Continue reading

I vividly remember my first night at the Simsbury Bridge Club. Paul Pearson had given me contact information for the director of the club, Paula Beauchamp (pronounced BOW shahmp). I told her that I would like to play on the following Wednesday, which was, I think, May 19 or perhaps May 12, 2004. She told me that the games were held at Eno Hall, located on the main street in Simsbury (Hopmeadow Street better know as Route 10/202). Parking was in the back, and the game, which was in the basement, could easily be reached from the parking lot via a handicap ramp. She told me to arrive a few minutes before the 6:30 starting time, and she would pair me up with someone.

I consulted MapQuest to try to figure out the best way to get there. I think that I may have driven on Route 20 all the way to the intersection with Route 202. There are three or four better routes, but I allowed plenty of time.

Roz Sternberg.

I located Paula, and she assigned me to play with Roz Sternberg. I had only played a few hands of bridge in the previous twenty-four years, and I remembered very little. I had relearned Stayman and Blackwood, and the course that Paul had taught at Fermi had familiarized me with five-card major openings, transfers, and negative doubles. Roz was accustomed to playing with rookies. She told me that jumps were weak, and everything else was mostly natural.

I also did not know how to keep score on the travelers. So, Roz had to sit North. We were assigned to table #3, which was right in front of the air conditioner that blasted away all evening. My South seat was directly before the fans. Cold air blew on my neck all evening as I sat there shivering. The opponents at the first table had to show me how to use the bidding box. I remember nothing about the hands; I was concentrating all my attention on following suit and bidding or leading only when it was my turn. I was proud that I had successfully avoided any director calls. I was unable to turn up a copy of the results, but I seem to remember that Roz reported that we finished about in the middle.

After that I played with Roz a few times and against her countless times. I don’t have any great stories about her play. For some reason she never came to Eno with a partner. That was a little strange because after she retired she mostly played at the Hartford Bridge Club (HBC) with a few steady partners.

Roz was employed as the IT director for the New Britain Public School System, which had one or two AS/400’s. Nobody there really knew too much about them. Several years after our initial game she found out that I had a lot of experience with AS/400’s. She asked me to come to her data center to see if I could help her with a problem. I can’t remember exactly what it entailed, but it was something rather tricky that I had previously encountered. Furthermore, I had documented my work-around. So, I went there, implemented the fix, and explained what I had done.

Actually she sent a check.

Roz then had me look at a few connectivity issues. I was less certain of my abilities in these areas, but when I left, everything seemed to be working the way that they wanted it. I considered this just a favor for a friend, but she insisted that TSI send her an invoice for my time. So, we did. It was for $100 or maybe $150. She probably had a budget for this sort of thing.

I was afraid that Roz would start calling me for technical support whenever they encountered a problem, but, in fact, she never asked again. My recollection is that within a year after my visit the school system replace the AS/400’s with a different system.


Peg Corbett1 also never came to Eno with a partner. On the second or third Wednesday that I attended at the SBC I played with Peg, and we actually won a fraction of a masterpoint from the ACBL. Here is the published scoresheet:

Open Pairs Wednesday Eve Session May 26, 2004
 Scores after 24 boards  Average:   48.0      Section  A  North-South
 Pair    Pct   Score  Rank   MPs     
   4   57.81   55.50   1    0.60     Jean Seale - Sonja Smith
   3   56.77   54.50   2    0.42     Peg Corbett - Mike Wavada
   1   49.48   47.50                 Ellen Tabell - Tony Tabell
   2   46.88   45.00                 Don Verchick - Nancy Campbell
   5   39.06   37.50                 Carl Suhre - Dorothy Suhre
 Open Pairs Wednesday Eve Session May 26, 2004
 Scores after 24 boards  Average:   48.0      Section  A  East-West
 Pair    Pct   Score  Rank   MPs     
   2   55.00   52.80  1/2   0.51     Claire Tanzer - Alice Rowland
   5   55.00   52.80  1/2   0.51     Dorothy Clark - Roz Sternberg
   1   51.25   49.20                 Jerry Hirsch - Mel Hirsch
   4   50.63   48.60                 Maureen Denges - Pat Matthew
   6   50.63   48.60                 Marylou Pech - Russell Elmore
   3   37.50   36.00                 Louise Alvord - Carol Schaper

I am pretty sure that I played with Peg a handful of times. Most of them were not memorable, but on one occasion she seemed to be on another planet. She explained to me that she had taken her prescription allergy medication, and it made her a little loopy. Both her bidding and her play of the cards were abominable. We finished last.


Winning points with Peg was exciting. However, it was nothing compared to the thrill that I ever felt came a month or so later after I had been assigned by Paula to play with Russ Elmore a couple of times. He asked me to be his regular partner!

My first game with Russ was a unique experience. He handed me a one-page typed sheet—not a convention card—and informed me that this is what we would be playing. It was close to Standard American, the system popularized by Charles Goren, but there were a few significant differences. I remember that we did not open 1NT if we had a worthless doubleton in one of the suits.

I did not complain about the eccentricities. Russ had played much more bridge experience than I had. Maybe his approach was outdated, but at least we would agree on what we were doing. Besides, Russ was cool. He was much older than my fifty-six years, but he often came to the bridge games on his motorcycle!

I realized that the primary motive for Russ wanting me as a regular partner was to avoid being assigned to play with Roz or Peg, who would argue with him about using his sheet of paper as the basis for bidding and playing agreements. Ordinarily these are negotiated with both sides willing to give in on some things. Even so, I was ecstatic that someone actually agreed to play with me on a regular basis.

At the Christmas party in December of 2004 or 2005 Russ confided to me that he intended to open every hand with a bid of 1. Yes, this was a party, but no one was drunk. I, for one, still took the games at the SBC very seriously. Those Wednesday evening games were the only time that I got to play all week, and I was very conscious of how many masterpoints I had accumulated. So, I asked Russ to just bid his hand as usual, and he respected my request.

When I played with Russ I got in the habit of analyzing every hand afterwards. Since we did not have hand records (sheets of paper that shows the location of all fifty-two cards on deal), I could only go by how well we did when I played a hand vs. when Russ was declarer. We did much better when Russ played. I told this to Russ, and he laughed.

I bought a book called How to Play a Bridge Hand by William S. Root. It had hundreds of examples with quizzes at the end of each chapter. I converted these quiz question into 4×6″ cards—problem on the front and answer on the back—that I could study during lunch breaks at work. It did help; I got a little better.

I later made an interactive web page that included all of these problems for declarer play and included other interesting ones that I encountered over the years. I posted a link to it on the web site that I designed for the SBC. The problem page is located here.


If an odd number of people showed up on a Wednesday, Paula Beauchamp3 played with one of the players who came without a partner. Since she was a very skilled and experienced player, everyone who came without a partner—usually three to five of us—hoped to get to play with her. She had many chances to play with me, but she only picked me once.

I made few obvious mistakes, maybe even none. No, that was not likely. Let’s just say that I did not notice any errors. If Paula did, she did not mention it. We finished first with a very good score, and after I played one hand she said, “You played that like a surgeon!” My buttons were busting.

I once was surprised to see Paula in the terminal at Bradley International Airport. She had apparently just returned from a vacation, and I was on my way to visit a client. I don’t remember the date, and it is hard for me to place the time, too. I generally left very early in the morning, before any flights had arrived. I do remember that she was wearing a pair of those rubbery shoes with holes in them, Crocs.

Paula’s favorite movie was Life is Beautiful (La Vita è Bella) with Roberto Begnini. I had also seen this film. I sometimes called Paula Principessa, the term of endearment used by Begnini’s character for his wife. She liked the way that I pronounced it.


I persuaded my friend Tom Corcoran to play with me at the SBC five or six times. He worked in Simsbury at the time, and so it was not much of an inconvenience for him. He had not played at all since he graduated from Brown in 1972.

I was surprised to find when researching this entry that we actually finished first at least twice. However, those occasions are not the ones that stand out in my memory. Once Tom opened 2, which showed a very powerful hand with more than half of the aces and face cards. In contrast, an opening bid at the two-level in any of the other suits show a weak hand with six cards in the bid suit. Tom had intended to show a weak hand with clubs. Unfortunately, I had a pretty good hand, and I did not give up on the possibility of bidding a slam (committing to win twelve or thirteen tricks) until he passed my 5NT bid. We ended up five or six tricks short for a big penalty.

Tom, who was only two years younger than I, stopped playing after a few months. The only remark he made was “Those people are sure old.”


When Russ moved away I had to find a new partner. I had noticed that in 2015 two guys, Roger Holmes and Dick Benedict, began playing and did pretty well. After a month or two Roger seemed to stop attending, and Dick played much less frequently and with different partners. I sent Dick an email that explained my situation and asked him if he would consider playing with me. I told him that I knew all of the conventions on the Yellow Card4, and I was willing to learn new ones. He responded enthusiastically.

June 9, 1953 could have been Dick’s last day.

Dick and I played together for several years at the SBC, at the HBC whenever I got a chance on a weekday, and at tournaments that were within driving distance. We got to be pretty close. I learned about his two ex-wives, one dead and one divorced, his two daughters, and the father with whom he had played cribbage. I learned a lot about the tornado in Worcester from which Dick’s father rescued him. I also learned from Dick that New Hampshire was the best place to buy liquor. Dick stocked up on The Famous Grouse whenever we drove up to Nashua for a tournament.

Dick and I played on many teams together. In team games5 four people form a team. One pair plays East-West and the other plays North-South. You play a match against another team. Your East-West pair plays a set of hands against their North-South pair and your North-South plays the same hands against their East-West. Two types of team games were bracketed. Between eight and sixteen teams with similar masterpoint totals played against one another in either a knockout or Swiss format. Our foursome concentrated on these bracketed games so that we did not encounter the really good players.

Usually Dick and I played together. He was good at convincing people to play with us at tournaments. Our best results came when playing with Robert Klopp6, who lived at the Duncan Hotel in New Haven, and Brenda Harvey7 from Orange, CT. I remember sending email to my dad in Kansas City from the Panera Bread in Nashua, NH, when we had won two knockouts in a row. I think that Robert Klopp may have already been a Life Master when we started, but both Dick and Brenda Harvey achieved that rank at tournaments in which our foursome played as a team.

Some of our results were spectacular. I remember that in one Bracketed Swiss at a regional tournament we won our first six rounds by such lopsided margins that we had built up an insuperable margin. We actually could have gone home without playing the final round, which we also won. However, we did not always do so well. At an Open Swiss at a sectional in Auburn, MA, we finished dead last out of twenty-five or thirty teams. Neither Robert nor Brenda played with us on either of these occasions.

Helen Pawlowski.

Dick was not sitting across from me when I made Life Master. At the time the requirement for that rank was 300 total masterpoints that had to include some number of silver and gold points that could only be won at tournaments. In late December of 2009 I had enough silver and gold, but I was a small fraction of a point short of 300. I informed Helen Pawlowski (pahv LOFF skee), the director of the SBC game at the time, about my status before the game on December 23. She immediately declared the game a “club championship”, which meant that extra points would be rewarded.

Unfortunately, both Dick and I played poorly; he was bad, but I was worse. I made a really stupid bid when playing against Claire Tanzer, who never said a bad word about anyone. She remarked that if I played like that I did not deserve to make Life Master. She was right.

However, deservedly or not, I was awarded the necessary points at the last Saturday game in December at the HBC after playing with Tom Gerchman. In those days it took the director a few minutes to enter all the scores in the computer. Everyone else had already left by the time the results were posted, and it was confirmed that Tom and I had scored well enough to earn the needed points. There was no one to celebrate with.

There was a game scheduled for that Sunday at the HBC, and, because I had set a goal of making Life Master before the end of the year, I was scheduled to play. However, the Sunday game got snowed out. So, I achieved my goal at the last possible game of the year.

Dick was, however, my partner for my Life Master parties at both the SBC and the HBC. At the SBC he gave a little speech in which he announced that I had called him up and told him something—I don’t remember what. I Immediately denounced that as a damnable lie, and asked the group whether I had ever called any of them on the phone. No one spoke up. Of course, I probably did say whatever it was that he claimed that I had said, but I never talked with Dick on a telephone. Dick and I corresponded only by email and in person. In fact, I have almost never called anyone about bridge.

My LM party at the HBC was a unique occasion for at least three reasons. In the first place it was held on a Friday evening in March 2010. I know of no other Friday evening game ever held there. Although I sat North across from Dick in the “throne” reserved for the honoree, he was only there for three hands. The format used that night involved individual scoring. Everyone played with seven or eight different partners. Only the Norths stayed at the same table. I know of no other occasion in which that format was used at the HBC.

There was one other odd thing about it. I won! Well, officially I tied with Cecilia Vasel, but I discovered later that on one hand I had made a mistake in scoring8 in the opponents’ favor. The honoree almost never does well in this game; there are too many distractions. Perhaps on that evening everyone was distracted by the weird format.

Dick and I stopped playing together later in 2010. I made a sarcastic comment when he passed what was—-to my way of thinking—clearly a control-showing cue bid. He took offense, which was not unreasonable. There was no great rancor. In fact, we did play together occasionally after that. He moved to Bradenton, FL, at some point in the teens. When he came back to Connecticut to visit we usually paired up at least once.

Inge Schuele.

Dick introduced me to tournament bridge. Four of us went to the District 3 tournament in Danbury, CT. I played with Dick, and Inge Schuele played with Virginia Labbadia. The team that we played in the first round had more than ten times as many points as we did. The guys we played against used the Mini-Roman convention. I had never heard of it, but using the 2 opening bid to describe a hand with three four-card suits and 11-15 points seemed to me like a great idea at the time. In fact, however, it is one of the few well-known conventions that I have never played.

I thought that Dick and I had performed reasonably well against the guys, but we lost the match by a lot. So, we needed either to drive back home or find another event for the afternoon session.

On the schedule we found a 199er game in the afternoon. Inge and I qualified to play in it, but Dick and Virginia had too many points. They played together in some kind of unlimited game.

Things went very well for Inge and me. We ended up in first place, and it was not even close. Our photos were printed in the tournament’s Daily Bulletin, and we each got a small trophy, the first bridge trophy that I ever won, and the only one that they let me keep.

I have a couple of other very vivid memory of playing with Dick. I remember that I earned my final gold points in one of the first Gold Rush Pairs events ever held in New England. In the afternoon session we bid and made 7NT on the first hand and held on to win our section.

The other memory is literally painful. We were playing in a pairs game in Danbury, and something was wrong with my neck. Every five or ten minutes I would—without any warning—experience a sharp pang there. I took some Advil for it, but it did not seem to help much. I found it very difficult to concentrate. We finished the event, but we did not do well.

The plan had been for me to stay overnight at Dick’s house in Avon and ride back with him to Danbury for another event on Sunday. I told him that I did not want to play again until the neck pain ceased. He agreed that that was a good idea. I rested the next day, and the pain disappeared, never to return.

Folded traveler in board and traveler with scores.

Over the years I have often told people that the most important thing that I learned from playing with Dick Benedict was the preferred method of folding the “travelers”, the score sheets that traveled with the boards that contained the cards from one table to the next. The only really important thing was for the board numbers (and almost nothing else) to be visible, but Dick’s method was definitely the easiest, most reliable, and most esthetically pleasing.


Mass Mutual in Springfield.

In 2009 I teamed up with a young guy named Steve Smith. I knew his mother Sonja, who was a fine tournament player and the best regular player at the SBC. Steve worked at Mass Mutual as an actuary. He was an FSA, but his main interest was finance, not insurance. Steve and I were a good match. I learned that he had been a successful debater in high school, but he did not participate in the rigorous type of policy debate that I did.

Steve lived in the area just north and west of the park.

Steve owned a house in the Forest Park section of Springfield. He rented out two of the bedrooms to other guys. It was not quite the Animal House, but I never knew what to expect when I picked him up to go to a tournament. He often forgot to bring cash, which was the only form of payment most tournaments accepted.

Playing with Steve was nothing like playing with Dick. Dick was the model of stability; Steve was up for anything.

Steve and I played together on a regular basis at the SBC and also in tournaments quite a few times. Considering how little experience we had, we had an extraordinary record . The highlight was the afternoon-evening of Saturday October 10 at the Sturbridge Host Hotel in Sturbridge, MA. Steve and I were playing in the qualifying tournament for Flight C of the North American Pairs, a national championship with three separate divisions, called “flights”. Three teams would qualify from our C Flight to represent New England in the national finals in Reno in March of 2010.

We played fairly well in the first session. I think that our score was a little above 50 percent. We ate supper at the Oxhead Tavern, which is adjacent to the hotel, with Steve’s mother Sonja, her partner David Rock, and two guys from New Hampshire, Bruce Downing and Mark Conner. Sonja, David, and the NH guys were playing in the B or A flight.

We needed to make up quite a bit of ground in the evening session to have any chance of qualifying. Fortunately, we caught fire in the second session. We actually turned in the best score of any pair.

In those days the directors still tabulated the results from scores recorded on pieces of paper. Therefore, it took them a fairly long time to enter and check the results. When they finally posted them, we had finished third. We were qualified for the North American Bridge Championships (NABC) in Reno!

Actually there was still one hurdle. Mark Aquino, who was the district’s NAP/GNT coordinator, called me and asked if Steve had qualified at a club game. I told him that he had done so at the HBC; I even provided him with the date and time. He said that it did not appear that Steve had won any points. I agreed that he had not, but he did earn a “Q” on the results page. I knew where to find it on the Internet and sent Mark a copy.

As it turned, out the team with the best score in our flight in Sturbridge—a couple of guys whom I had never seen at a tournament—participated even though they had not qualified at a club game. They were disqualified, and we moved up to second place. As I recall, the district paid us $100 each to play in the tournament in Reno.

Not the best bridge book ever.

Steve and I both were still working. In fact, he had been in college at the University of South Carolina just a few years earlier. So, we could only play one or two sessions per week to try to get better by the time that we played in Reno. I thought that it would be a good idea if we played a system that was somewhat different from what most people played. I bought two books on playing systems based on weak 1NT opening bids. We settled on an approach outlined in one of them. In those days my memory still worked, and Steve, as I mentioned, was very adaptable.

Steve and I had a great time in Reno. On Wednesday March 17 we boarded our Southwest flight to Las Vegas and changed planes. On the last leg—the short flight from Las Vegas to Reno—-I sat in the window seat and studied (or at least pretended to study) my Russian flash cards9, and Steve sat on the aisle. The middle seat was not occupied until the plane was almost ready to take off. A woman of about Steve’s age (or even younger) with enormous gazoingies settled there. Steve chatted her up a bit. I must admit that I listened; her answers to most of his queries were completely off the chart. Steve was remarkably adept at keeping a straight face during the interview.

The tournament was at a resort hotel/casino a few miles south of downtown Reno. We planned to play in three events—the NAP and Red Ribbon Pairs, both of which were scheduled for afternoon-evenings, and a compact knockout that was scheduled for two mornings. The Red Ribbon Pairs were held on Thursday and Friday March 18-19. The NAP was on Saturday and Sunday. Here are a few of my most vivid memories of the tournament:

  • The first night that we were there we were invited to a social gathering sponsored by District 25 (New England) and hosted by Helen Pawlowski and Steve’s mom. This was the first time that I ever met Rich and Sandy DeMartino. Rich was the District Director, and Sandy was (maybe not yet in 2010) chairman of the national Goodwill Committee. We told Rich which events we intended to play in. He opined that our schedule might be too difficult for first-timers. We didn’t care.
  • The Red Ribbon Pairs was the first time that I ever seen a Bridgemate, the hand-held battery-powered electronic scoring device. Tournaments in New England did not use them yet. I sat North and had to figure out how to operate it. It made me very nervous. I feel certain that it affected my play. I should have just switched positions with Steve. He was much more familiar with learning how to use new electronic equipment. We were well below 50 percent in the afternoon session. We did a little better in the evening, but we missed the cut for the second day. We did make friends with a few people in our sections, however. People thought that we were a father-son team.
  • We played in a compact knockout in morning sessions on Friday and Saturday. Our teammates were a father-daughter pair from Michigan who had only played together online. They lived in the same state, but they decided to go to Nevada to play face-to-face. Our team won both of its matches in the morning. So, we qualified to play the second half on Saturday.
  • At some point I remember going for a fairly long run in the area. There was not much to see.
  • I think that on Friday Steve and I ran into Ron Briggs and Andre Wiejacki (vee YAH skee), the other pair representing New England. Ron was a little bristly, but Andre and I became pretty good friends.
  • We played in a pairs game, I think, on Friday. I seem to remember that a woman criticized me for not explaining one of our conventions properly.
  • On Saturday morning we easily won the semi-final match of the compact knockout. In the finals we faced a husband-wife team from Texas. I made a serious mistake early in the match, and I was afraid that I had blown it for our teammates. However, we ended up winning by just a few International Match Points. We each won a clear coffee mug with the ACBL logo on one side and the tournament’s logo on the other. I still have mine. In 2021 I drink tea out of it almost every day.
  • It was really exciting to play in the NAP. The directors made everyone who had a cell phone or other electronic device turn it in before play started. The competition was not as tough as in the Red Ribbon Pairs, and once again we did better in the evening, but we did not make it to the second day of this event either.
  • We decided to play in the huge B/C/D Swiss on Sunday morning. Our teammates were a pair of guys from the DC area whom we had met in the NAP. Our team got off to a strong start, which is not necessarily a good idea for a team in the lowest strat of a Swiss. Steve and I were very tired. We both made stupid mistakes for which we had to apologize to our teammates. Steve started to set his hand down as dummy twice when he was actually the declarer. My mistakes were more subtle but also more costly.
  • Helen, who had a rental car, took us into town one evening for supper at an Armenian restaurant. I can’t say that I thought too much of it.

Our flight back also went through Las Vegas. Steve and I sat a couple of rows behind superstars Jeff Meckstroth and Mark Lair. Meckstroth boarded first and sat in the aisle seat looking ferocious. Lair boarded much later and quickly settled into the adjacent seat that Meckstroth had been guarding.


The Crowne Plaza calls it “The Garden Pavilion”.

I remember one other great experience playing with Steve. It was on Sunday at the first tournament held at the Crowne Plaza in Warwick, RI. We were in the big tent playing in the bracketed Swiss with Marcia West and Paula Najarian. In the last round we played against Ron Briggs’ team, which was in first place. We found ourselves in second, but we were within striking distance. On the last hand Steve had bid an impossible 4 contract. I was dummy watching Steve futilely play the last five or six cards. I observed that Ron had absentmindedly discarded a club on one of Steve’s hearts and then followed suit on the next round of hearts. The dummy is not allowed to speak until the last card has been played. So, I unobtrusively moved that trick out of alignment by a fraction of an inch. When the hand was over, I drew attention to the revoke, and we ended up winning both the match and the event by the narrowest of margins.

I have not seen Steve since he accepted a job in New York City working for Goldman Sachs. I seem to recall that Sonja said that he got married. He and I follow each other on Twitter, but his account is not very active. I could find no photos of him on the Internet.


Photo of the 2004 Xmas party: Dorothy Clark is on the left; Shirley Schienman is in the seat in which I sat on the first night.

I played with at least five other people in those early years at the SBC. I played exactly once with Bob Nuckols, Dorothy Clark, and Sonja Smith. I don’t remember anything about the games with Bob and Sonja. I remember one hand in which Dorothy and I were on defense. I led a very low card in a suit that I knew that she could ruff. The fact that my card was low should have told her to lead the lower of the two side suits back to me, but she led the other side suit. When I mentioned it to her, she admitted that she was not good at noticing suit-preference signals.

I played several times with Sonja at the HBC and once or twice in tournaments. On one occasion I was scheduled to play with her at the HBC, but I had to cancel because of a severely upset stomach probably due to food poisoning of some sort. By lunch time I felt fine. This was one of the very few times that I missed a game because of illness.

I played two or three times with Paul Pearson. He and his wife came to my Life Master party at the SBC. Much more about my relationship with Paul is detailed here.


Jerry Hirsch started playing at the SBC in 2009 a few weeks before I did. We were partners a few times at the SBC, a few times at the HBC, and also at a few tournaments. I probably played against Jerry more often than any other bridge player. At the SBC Christmas party one year Jerry took a photo of me wearing a gigantic red Christmas bow as a tie. He had the photo blown up to poster size, and he gave it to me as a present. In 2021 it still is prominently displayed in our living room.

Jerry Hirsch.

Jerry and I played together in at least one qualifier for the NAP and the Grand National Teams (GNT). We never made it to either national event, but one year we finished third in the GNT qualifier, and in the last round of the Swiss we defeated the team that won the event. Our teammates were Dave Landsberg10 and Dan Koepf.

Jerry kept a small piece of paper in his convention card holder with one word written on it: “FUN!”. I occasionally needed to be reminded of the primary reason for which we all played at such a frustrating game for so many years.

Every holiday season Jerry took on the responsibility of taking up a collection for a gift for the directors. As far as I know, no one asked him to do it.


1. Peg Corbett, who was a regular attendee at the club, stopped playing suddenly. Tom Gerchman, who started each day by reading the obituary page in the Courant, informed me she had died.

2. Russ Elmore and I stopped playing together when he moved to New Hampshire. However, he must have moved back to the Berkshires a few years later. I saw him playing at a sectional tournament in Great Barrington, MA. This really surprised me because Russ never showed any interest in tournaments while I was playing with him. I approached him and reintroduced myself. He said that he remembered me, but at the time he did not seem to.

3. At some point Paula Beauchamp and Larry Wallowitz, a teacher and director at the HBC, moved to Bradenton, FL. I think that this occurred in the early teens. This raised a lot of eyebrows at the HBC. Most people, myself included, did not even know that they were “an item”. Larry died after they had been there a few years. I did not have many dealings with Larry, but I remember attending a talk that he gave to novices about opening leads. One thing that he said really hit home: “It’s OK to finesse your partner, but it is not OK to finesse yourself.” For example, if you have a king of a suit, and you suspect that the declarer (on your right) has the queen, it is a terrible idea to lead that suit. Paula remained in Florida, but she returned to Connecticut and played at the HBC a few times.

4. The Yellow Card is a piece of paper that was designed by the ACBL to provide a set of conventions that could be used in casual partnerships, new partnerships, or specific events such as individual tournaments. It is also used by a fairly large number of pairs who just do not like to memorize conventions.

5. Details about the mechanics of team games have been explained here.

6. Robert Klopp died in, I think 2014, not too long after the four of us stopped playing together at tournaments. He did not drive a car, and he brought his own food to tournaments to save money.

7. I played with Brenda Harvey at a sectional tournament in Connecticut at least once. She moved to Saint Augustine, FL. She remains an active bridge player in 2021.

8. In duplicate bridge North traditionally keeps score. Tradition at the HBC insisted that the new LM sat North at table #1. At the time I had almost never sat North.

9. In August of 2010 Sue and I accompanied Tom and Patti Corcoran on a river cruise from St. Petersburg to Moscow. It is described in some detail here. I studied the language pretty diligently for several months, but I was seldom able to communicate with Russians outside of the tourist industry, and all of them spoke—and preferred—English.

10. My partnership with Dave Landsberg is described here.

1972-1974 Connecticut: Social Life

Events and activities in the Hartford area. Continue reading

Shortly after my arrival in Hartford I, as well as all of the other actuaries and actuarial students, was invited to a party at the home of Don Sondergeld, Vice President and Actuary of the Hartford Life. In those days everyone in the corporate world knew that parties thrown by actuaries rapidly morphed into raucous bacchanalia. They were rivaled only by accountants and undertakers in this regard.

In my whole life I had attended only a few parties, and I had most certainly never been to a fairly elegant one sponsored by my boss’s boss. I was clueless about behavior at such functions. I definitely made at least one gigantic faux pas. Mrs. Sondergeld asked me where I was from, and I answered, “The Kansas City area.” She then asked me if we could see the Rocky Mountains from there.

Having suppressed a chuckle, informed her that KC was about six hundred miles from the Rockies. So far, so good. I then asked her if she thought she would be able to see from Hartford a mountain range in the Detroit area. I don’t recall her answer, but Ithe expression on her face is indelibly etched in my memory.

In my defense, I had not yet come to appreciate how geographically challenged people in the northeastern United States were. When I arrived in Ann Arbor, I had been shocked to hear Michiganders referring to themselves as Midwesterners. When they asked me where I was from, I said the southeast. After all, I lived all my life in the Kansas City area, which is east and a little south of the geographic center of the contiguous states (a couple of miles north of Lebanon, KS).

In 1972 I had not yet seen Steinberg’s New Yorker cartoon, which makes it clear that from the perspective of residents of New York (and, I would add, New England) Kansas City is no farther from the towering Rocky Mountains than Jersey is from Manhattan.

Also, let the record to show that my societal debut in New England was not an abject failure. I spent the entire evening in the Sondergeld abode without spilling any wine on the carpet. I also did not break any precious china or figurines. I started no fights with other actuaries, and I set no fires.

My dad visited me in the Fall of 1972. He had been in New York City for business, and he took the Amtrak train to the Hartford station. It must have been on a Friday. I picked him up in the evening, and he stayed at my apartment for a night or two. I remember that I tried to fix Steak Diane for him. It was not horrible, but I was a little disappointed.

This photo is from 1957. One would expect me to remember that snazzy jacket, but I don’t.

I was often nervous around my dad, but so was everyone else. He had many habits that made people uneasy, including looking at his watch every ten or fifteen minutes—usually while someone else was talking. If you asked him, he would deny it, but he also seemed quite judgmental to me.

I knew about this visit ahead of time, and I had been dreading it. I took him for a ride in Greenie in order to show him something. Maybe we went to a restaurant for lunch. I stopped at the Gulf station on Main St. in East Hartford. After the attendant filled the tank, I swear that I carefully looked both ways before attempting a left turn while exiting the station. Nevertheless, Greenie plowed into the left side of a passing grey sedan that I had somehow missed.

I had handled a few automobile accidents as an MP in the Army and had filled out the paperwork on dozens of others. I knew that in a minor situation where no one was hurt, the first priority was to get the cars pulled over to allow traffic to flow. I made sure that the road was clear before I called the police. The collision was clearly my fault, but the officer who handled the accident did not even issuee me a warning. I was grateful but shocked. The policy of the MP Company at Sandia Base had been to issue at least one ticket in every accident. I have no idea why this cop let me slide.

Somewhere in this photo is at least one bent tie rod.

I had insurance, of course, that paid for the body work on both cars. However, when, a few months later, I brought Greenie to the DMV for the inspection required to transfer its registration from Kansas to Connecticut, it did not pass. I never experienced a problem, but the machine reported that something was wrong with the steering.

I drove Greenie to a local garage on Christmas Eve. I don’t remember whether I had an appointment, but I know that for several hours I waited for my car to get to the front of the line. It was past closing time, but the manager was aware that I had been there for a long time. All the employees had gone home when he put Greenie on the lift and determined that the tie rod on the right side was bent. The people who fixed the car originally evidently did not notice this. He informed me that he would have to order the part.

I told him that I needed to get this fixed quickly to get my car registered, and I needed my car for work. He said “OK. Give me a minute.”

When he came back he told me that he had carefully hammered it back into position. He also told me not to tell anyone what he did. I was greatly relieved. When I asked him what I owed him, he just replied “Merry Christmas.” It definitely was.

Commuting to and from my apartment in East Hartford to work at the Hartford was very easy. In the morning I just got on the Governors St. entrance to I-84, stayed to the right1, and got off at the Asylum St. exit. Parking was free (or at least cheap) at the Hartford, and it was rather easy for early arrivals like myself to find a good spot. The return trip was almost as easy as the morning drive, but sometimes the traffic would back up on Broad St. near the entrance to the highway.

The Greaseman was 6’2″ and only 150 lbs. when he was in Hartford.

On February 1, 1974, my morning commutes became a lot more pleasant. I really enjoyed listening to the Greaseman on WPOP for the last six months that I was working at the Hartford. I tried to interest others in his morning show, but he never became a big star in Hartford. WPOP changed its format to news/talk in 1975 and sent the Greaseman packing.

If the pair is playing western cue bids, the 3H bid in this auction asks partner to bid 3NT if he/she has a stopper in the opponent’s suit. If they are not playing western cues, it shows a stopper. There is a BIG difference.

Most of the time that I was in Hartford I had quite a bit “on my plate”, but I definitely would have preferred to play more bridge. As I recall, the Hartford sponsored a weekly sanctioned game in the evening. John Sigler and I played in it once or twice. I think that we finished second once. The director played in the game. When we played against him, I asked him about one of his partner’s bids, he said that it was “probably sort of a western cue bid.” This explanation would not suffice in the twenty-first century, but what was my recourse? Call the director?

The Hartford Bridge Club2 existed in 1972. Quite a few actuaries played there, but I never found out about it. Donna Feir, the club’s manager in the twenty-first century, assured me that I would not have liked it because many players were quite rude. I am not sure that that would have deterred me at all. If I could have found a place to play with high-level competition and a partner who was willing to work with me to develop a bidding system, my subsequent life may have changed drastically.

Most of the social life among my friends in the Hartford area revolved around sports. These activities are covered rather thoroughly here and here. There were also regular gatherings at a few local watering holes3 . I remember a few of them pretty well.

  • The bar at the Shoreham Hotel was the default gathering spot every Friday after work. Its main attraction was its convenient location right across Asylum St. from the Hartford. They served strange little puffy things to munch on. They came in various colors, none of which was commonly found in nature. Occasionally one of the bosses, Don Sondergeld or Don Francis, would join us. I remember that Sondergeld once regaled us with a tale about a group of actuaries on a expense accounts who ordered an outlandish meal in New York City. I don’t recall the details, but the punchline was, “Why such a niggardly tip?”
  • The White Swan Café on Park Street was another favorite hangout. Every table was provided with an endless supply of free peanuts. Customers were required to throw shells on the floor. If you set any down on the table, the waitress would unceremoniously brush them off.
  • I can only remember going to Fast Eddie’s on the Berlin Turnpike a few times. The most memorable one was August 17, 1973, my twenty-fifth birthday, which is described here.
  • I went to the House of Zodiac (a.k.a. the “Zoo”), a nightclub on Farmington Ave. in West Hartford, exactly once. Herget and a few other guys liked to go there on Fridays after the mandatory appearance at the Shoreham. On the way to the Zoo Tom generally stopped at a liquor store (locally called a “packy”) to purchase some cold beer in bottles. He always chose a brand that they sold at the Zoo. When he arrived at the club, he bought a bottle of the same brand at the bar and asked for a glass. Thereafter he refilled the glass from his private supply stashed in various pockets. This place was noisy and crowded. The only reason to go was if you were hoping to pick someone up. Conversation was impossible.
I was never at the Zoo when this band was providing the music, but you can listen to their version of “Six Days on the Road” here.

The other major social activity that I remember was helping people move from one house or apartment to another. I am pretty sure that I helped Chris and Carolyn DesRochers move into a new house. Those organizing the moving were expected to provide beer and pizza to the laborers. I seem to remember that the DesRochers set the gold standard for treating the helpers right.

I don’t remember how big Scott’s truck was.

I also helped Scott Otermat when he moved from Andover to Bristol. I was in the U-Haul truck when Scott picked it up. Our first stop was at a Dunkin Donuts drive-through window where Scott bought some donuts. The truck scraped against something—a sign or concrete awning, I think—before we got one stick of furniture into it. I confess that my first reaction was relief that Scott had been driving and not I. It also brought to mind the “Adventures in Moving” slogan, which I have long thought was the worst catchphrase of all time.

Scott hardly ever got upset, and this was no exception. I don’t know how much he had to pay for the accident. Maybe the U-Haul place did not really care. Would you care if a truck you were moving furniture in was scratched? I wouldn’t. It’s not as if you plan to take it to the prom.

I have twice been accused of putting scratches on passenger cars that I rented (once on Maui on vacation and once in Pittsburgh on business), but in neither case did the rental company insist on me or my insurance company paying. In fact, Avis wrote me a letter to apologize about the accusation in Pittsburgh. On the other hand, I am pretty sure that Sue’s friend from her dancing days, Sandy Tsiartas, told us that she was charged several hundred dollars when she got in an accident with a rental from an off-brand company in Florida.

I probably attended several parties after the fiasco at the Sondergeld home during those two years in Connecticut, but I only remember a couple. One was a fête sponsored by a female actuarial student who passed the last exam to become a Fellow of the Society of Actuaries—Barb Bednarz or Pat Adams (I don’t remember which). The honoree lived with her husband way to the East of Hartford. The only thing that I remember is that I led a game of Scissors4 which went on a lot longer than one would think among such smart people.

Perfect accommodations for three guys.

In August of 1973 I moved into the house at 345 Middletown Ave. in Wethersfield—the legendary 345 Club. Tom Corcoran and Tom Herget were my housemates. I had my own bedroom on the second floor. Somehow I obtained a used box springs and mattress that, thank goodness, had no bed bugs. I don’t recall that my bedroom had any other furniture.

At that point in my life I could still pack everything that I owned into Greenie. I didn’t even ask for help in moving. So, one Saturday morning I resided in East Hartford. By noon that day I was fully moved into the 345 Club. It was the best possible place for three young guys to live.

  • There was plenty of yard space for parking cars. Corcoran had “parked” his yellow Barracuda fastback on the right side not far from the front door. I don’t know what was wrong with it. Although it was not drivable, its gigantic rear window made it a great greenhouse. Herget planted gourds in it, and they thrived, even in the winter.
  • The entire front yard was considered a parking lot. It was not unusual to see six or seven cars in it.
  • Tom C. had a pet beagle named Cory. While Tom was at work or just out, Cory stayed on the back porch. Tom laid down papers for him in case he had to do his business, which was every day. Everyone but Tom avoided that porch.
  • Each of us had a bedroom upstairs with a door that had a working latch.
  • There were at least two refrigerators, one in the kitchen and one upstairs. Each was reliably stocked with beer. The one on the second floor had been painted by Tom C. in the manner of a lusty adventure featuring swordplay and sorcery .
  • On the first floor were a living room, a dining room, the kitchen, and maybe another underused room or two. Tom H. had furnished the place from second-hand stores on Park St. Except for the TV and stereo, the style might be described as Early Grandmother.
  • The back yard was pretty large. A railroad track that was no longer used. There was a shed back there that made for some interesting shots in the obstacle croquet games.
  • Best of all, the landlord was blind!

There was one small drawback to living in the 345 Club. For some reason the electricity would fail for short periods of time. Since it seldom went out long enough for the beer to get warm, it was not considered too big a deal.

The one problem was the electric clock in the kitchen. I wore a watch at all times, and I was obsessive about keeping it accurate. So, the state of the clock was immaterial to me. The other guys were more dependent on it, but it was a nuisance to take it down, reset the time, and remount it. So, Herget simply made a sign that gave the formula for the necessary adjustment: “Add 12 minutes”, “Add 31 minutes”, “Add 2 hours and 10 minutes”, etc. He then taped the sign to the clock—good as new.

You can pick up one like this on eBay for less than $16,000.

One day Cory was on the loose in the house. Somehow he got into my bedroom and made a beeline for the closet. I can’t remember if the closet had a door—probably not. Cory found my posters of the Russian revolution. His capitalist upbringing impelled him to desecrate them. He also found a baseball that my dad had given me that Ty Cobb had signed in green ink. I don’t accuse Cory of disrespect for Cobb’s batting and baserunning skills. He probably would have chewed up a ball that was signed by Honus Wagner or Cy Young just as readily.

Tom C. holding Cory.

I did not get upset. I must have been careless about keeping the door completely closed. Besides, material things have never meant that much to me. Aside from when I lived in Detroit, I did not worry too much about the security of my belongings.

At the end of the summer of 1973 Tom H. invited me to join a group of people for tubing on the Farmington River. By the twenty-first century this has become a highly organized activity. A company rents large inner tubes at a spot pretty far upstream. They also have a downstream location where the renters return the tubes. From there a van driven by a representative of the company takes everyone back to the starting point.

They now charge $25 per person for this service. I cannot imagine Herget paying anything close to that amount. I suspect that he rustled up some inner tubes from a farmer or trucker somewhere, and we just parked one car at the ending spot. I am pretty certain that our tubes were plain black and had no handles. I also don’t remember life preservers. The river was only a few feet deep where we were tubing.

I had a really great time. The sun was out, and in those days I could sit and bake in the sun all day long with no repercussions. For most of the journey we just sat on our tubes and drank beer from cans balanced on our bellies while moving very slowly downstream. The whole trip can take up to three hours, depending on the strength of the current. I only remember one rather scary “rapids” near the end. My knees got a little scratched up, but that did not detract much from my enjoyment.

Neither of my housemates at the 345 Club cooked much, but at some point in the autumn I felt like fixing my mother’s recipe of chicken breasts with bacon, mushrooms, and a sauce made from cream of chicken soup. It would be senseless to do this just for myself, and so I informed the two Toms in advance that I would be cooking dinner. All three of us enjoyed the meal, which also included rice and cauliflower. The chicken, mushrooms, and cauliflower were all consumed that evening. Five or six strips of uncooked bacon went back into the refrigerator, which normally contained only various beverages and a wide assortment of condiments, with a lot of duplication.

The next time that I looked in the fridge I did not see my bacon, but I thought nothing of it.

I don’t remember eating out very often. There were lots of cookouts in the warm weather. I remember being invited to Mel’s family home in New Britain, where I met her father, the chef du jour. I think that we probably had hamburgers, but the main attraction was the sweet corn. Mr. Majocha did not husk the corn. He soaked the ears and husks in water. Then he threw them on the coals. They taste OK this way, but a few edges were scorched. Boiling the ears in a huge pot would take longer and would not have been as festive, but I think that the result would have been tastier.

Silver Queen is my favorite.

On the whole I was not impressed with New England food, but the sweet corn in the late summer is to die for. Both Silver Queen and Butter & Sugar corn are much better than anything that I have tasted elsewhere. The famous golfer Tom Watson, who also grew up in the KC area, scheduled himself to play in the Hartford Open just to eat the corn.

After being stationed in Albuquerque I craved some decent Mexican food. Taco Bell was all right, but I wanted something a little more authentic. Tom Corcoran found a pseudo-Mexican restaurant in Manchester called the Tacorral5. The food was passable. The establishment had no liquor license, but they allowed customers to bring their own beer. Eventually the quality of both the service and the food went downhill. The last straw was the night that they ran out of beans. A Mexican restaurant with no beans!

If I had owned or managed a Mexican restaurant, I would never have admitted to being out of beans. I would have crossed the street and entered the Taco Bell there, bought a few hundred orders of refritos, carried them back across the street, and sold them as my own.

One of my favorite restaurants was Howard Johnson’s on the Silas Deane. Most of the people went there for the fried clams, but I had a different preference. On one night per week they had a special. You could get one-half of a fried chicken at an unbeatable price. $1.29 sticks out in my memory. That may be wrong, but I am pretty sure that it was less than $2.

I could usually talk people into joining me, but if no one was interested, I went anyway.

Just before the fall actuarial exams in November of 1973 the 345 Club hosted a big “spaghettifest”. Herget did most of the preparations. He even somehow constructed a very long table. The evening was not particularly raucous, but it did go on for quite a long time.

Herg also led a pub crawl after the exam was over. We spent a brief amount of time in some really nasty spots near the train station. They all seemed to have a large jar of eggs on display on the bar. As usual, I was among the first to abandon the group. I definitely could not keep up with those guys.

I am sure that it was probably a coincidence, but Tom Corcoran was, as I recall, the only person in attendance at the spaghettifest who passed his exam, Part 5, the same one that I took. At least five or six of us failed.

The weather on the night of December 16-17, 1973, was memorable. It started with snow, and then for several hours we were treated to several hours of ice and freezing rain—the dreaded “wintry mix”. All the branches and power lines in our part of the state were coated with an inch or so of ice. The power went out almost everywhere. Then the weather turned bitterly cold.

When the roads became passable, I brought some clothes to Sue’s place in Andover, which somehow avoided most of the ice. I think that the Toms sought temporary shelter elsewhere, too. Our power was out for, as I remember it, eleven days.

When we moved back in, I cleaned out the refrigerator. I offhandedly asked who owned the unopened (but now rancid) pound of bacon. Corcoran told me that it was mine. He had bought it for me to replace the leftover strips that he had eaten. He didn’t bother to tell me that he had done so. Since neither he nor Herget ever bought anything more complicated than hamburgers or hot dogs, I should have figured out that the bacon was mine.

No, I did not eat the bacon.

Herget had returned earlier to help the landlord clean up the fallen branches and other detritus. He marveled at the nonchalant way that this totally blind gentleman wielded a chain saw. He made short work of the fallen branches. To this day, Sue strictly limits my access to power tools, and she will not let me near a chain saw.

I am not sure, but Tom may have even reset the clock this time.

We formed a car pool. Tom C. had a blue Volkswagen; Tom H.’s Volkswagen was a sort of sickly beige; Jim Cochran drove a Pinto; I had Greenie. Four strapping adults was the most that any of these cars could hold. Greenie was probably the most comfortable.

The heat in Corcoran’s Volks did not work very well, and the defroster was pitiful. He used what we all called a “hand defroster”. He placed one of his hands on the windshield to remove the fog or frost there. Then he moved the hand to an adjacent spot and peered out through the spot he just abandoned. When that hand got numb, he switched to the other hand.

Did Tom C.’s car have automatic transmission? Of course, not.

Herget’s Volks featured a fairly large hole in the floorboard in the back. Whoever sat there repeatedly had to adjust a small log that was stored there because it was roughly the same shape as the hole. Since leg room was at a premium, the rest of us were quite annoyed by this.

Jim’s Pinto seemed to be fine. It wasn’t until a few months later that the gas tanks on these models started exploding around the country.

The car pool continued after I moved to Andover. Jim Hawke, who had broken up with Leslie, took up residence in the 345 Club and assumed my slot in the car. His car was a suitable replacement for Greenie, a Chevy Nova (popularly known as “No va” in Latin America) with three on the tree.

At some point in August or September of 1973 I decided to grow a mustache. I wasn’t really too concerned about covering up the scar on my lip. Like everyone else, I was experimenting a little with my appearance. I soon realized that it made my face look more lopsided than before, and I shaved it off.

After I broke my kneecap (details are here), I let my beard, such as it was, grow. That was my look through all of my time coaching debate in Michigan and for a few years after that. History will probably call this my Jesus (with glasses) period.

I developed my famous fashion sense during my time in Connecticut. Unless I was playing a sport, I wore the cowboy boots that I had purchased in Albuquerque. When I headed outside in the winter I wore my cowboy hat and a big brown suede coat that was lined with fleece. It weighed a ton, but it was very warm.

I had to buy clothes for work. Because of the boots the pants had to be flared or at least baggy. I favored corduroy, but I also acquired one polyester sports coat. I don’t know why I bought it. Sue made me a grey wool suit. Really! I wore it once or twice, but it was too small in every respect.

That is obviously a mannequin, NOT Choo Choo. You can watch this commercial on YouTube here.

For shirts and ties I usually went to my private tailor, Mr. Ruby, who selected the merchandise for my favorite retailer, Railroad Salvage. The big store on Route 5 was one of my favorite destinations. I particularly liked their selection of dress shirts. They had quality brands like Arrow, but the styles were nothing like you might see at a department store. People still wore coats and ties to work, but nothing required the attire to be overly somber. Tom Corcoran wore a string tie most of the time. Larry Abbott did not even wear a coat to work; he kept one near his desk in case he needed to go to another department.

At Railroad Salvage I also purchased several ties, including two that looked furry. The blue one was OK (although it was close to six inches at the widest point), but the brown one was obnoxious. When I wore it, it climbed around my neck until the knot was buried under my collar. I still have thirty or so ties, but I think that all that I purchased from Mr. Ruby have been discarded.

I bought a white belt from Ruby and gave it to Scott Otermat to wear to meetings with people from the Sales Department. I wanted to bring out his inner Herb Tarlek.

I never bought any tennis shoes from the big bin at railroad salvage. The shoes relegated there weren’t matched up. If you found one that you liked, you still had to hunt for its mate. You also had to be careful that you did not take two lefts or two rights.


1. It is ordinarily critically important to move to the left on this highway when you cross the bridge from East Hartford to Hartford. If your vehicle is in the right lane going west, you must start merging as soon as you cross the Connecticut River. If not, you will find yourself in an exit-only lane.

The vehicles that are exiting off of I-84 (both northbound and southbound) hoping to go west on I-84 must move to the left one additional lane. Furthermore, the drivers who have crossed the river in order to go to downtown Hartford must, at the same time, move several lanes to the right. All of this lane-changing takes place in a tunnel beneath Main St.

As bad as this design is, it was even worse in 1972. Eastbound drivers on I-84 who wanted to go north on I-91 were required to exit the highway and drive several blocks through downtown Hartford.

2. Mark Horton and Eric Kokish published a book about a famous bridge player who frequented the HBC, Leonard Helman. The title is The Rabbi’s Rules: Tips and Tricks to Improve Your Bridge Game. The most famous rule is “If the opponent’s king is a singleton, play your ace.” A singleton king in a bridge hand is often called a rabbi.

3. All four have long since dried up.

4. The object of Scissors is to learn how to play. All players are seated. The player with the scissors must pass them to the player on their left and announce whether they are passing them “crossed” or “uncrossed”. The leader then announces whether the pass was successful or not. If not, the player must sit on the floor. Correct answers must coincide with the passer’s own legs.

5. A Tacorral in Manchester may still exist, but Google says that it is permanently closed. It moved to a strip mall at some point. The pandemic might have been the death blow.