Playing in the Park

December 17, 1992


Stanley Frankle had never been a bright fellow and certainly wasn’t anything to look at standing only about five feet two inches which was deceptive given his bad posture that made him more diminutive than that. Stanley spent most of his days wandering around Washington Square Park, feeding the pigeons and ignoring the college kids and hippies that gathered around. In fact, the only thing Stanley seemed to pay attention to were the pigeons and the chess players at the northwest end.

Stanley had been operating like this for quite a number of years. He lived with his mother in publicly-funded housing out near Coney but would venture into the city everyday to mill around with the pigeons and watch the chess players. No one paid him much mind. Occasionally the colored players would joke with him in a friendly way.

“What should I do next, Stanley? Queen to the rook side? Take his pawn?”

They would laugh and Stanley would laugh right along with them never sure if they were laughing with him or at him.

And so it goes.

It was on an ordinary Wednesday that Stanley’s position in the park changed. It was slow that day and no one seemed interested in playing chess. Harold, a large black man and a regular at the tables was sitting alone with his racing papers waiting for action. Stanley sat on the stone wall near the table waiting for a game to watch. They both sat minding their own business. Finally, to break the monotony, Harold spoke.

“Hey Stanley, let’s play." Stanley just smiled back, not sure how to answer.

“Come on, dude don’t play me like you don’t know, hanging out for years watching. Come on. I’ll go easy on you.”

Stanley looked around as if looking for permission, but there wasn’t anyone there to approve or not. Stanley had always thought of playing but was too terrified to do so. Not to mention that no one had ever asked him to play. In a fit of bravery, Stanley stepped forward with a shy grin and took a seat.

“Now don’t you worry about a thing, Stanley. We’ll go real slow,” Harold offered. “You go first.”

“No, you go first,” Stanley said.

Harold looked a bit surprised. “Okay, big man I’ll go first.”

Harold moved his King pawn two steps ahead, and with a second of hesitation, hit the timer box. Stanley smiled and took a quick glance at Harold, excited about his first move. He mirrored Harold's move with his Queen pawn.

"Monkey see, Monkey do."

Harold countered by moving his King-side bishop out one space and waited. Stanley then moved his King pawn up one. Harold looked puzzled but let Stanley do his thing.

The game began to pick up pace.

A horse was moved into a defensive position. A bishop was poised to pounce. A horse was lost... a rook was lost... as blood began to pour from both sides.

Before they new it a whole crowd had gathered around the table watching the action. And just like that there was a pause. It was Harold's move. Only a scattering of pieces remained. Stanley's smiling face was fixed on the board. Harold was frantic.

"Ain't you gonna say anything! You gotta say something!" Harold shouted.

Stanley looked up about to explode with excitiment and quietly muttered "checkmate."

From that day forward, Stanley wasn't afraid to play. And on most days, rain or shine, you'll find Stanley Frankle on the northwest corner of Washington Square Park, looking for action.