The Cerebral Nature of the West Wing

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Sam (Rob Lowe): I don't know how you do it.

President (Martin Sheen): You have a lot of help. You listen to everybody and then you call the play. Sam, you're going to run for president one day. Don't be scared. You can do it. I believe in you. [moves chess piece] That's checkmate.

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I was a fan of West Wing when it was on the air, seldom missed an episode. I liked them all, but the episode that was first shown on this night in 2002, "Hartsfield's Landing," has always been a special favorite of mine, probably because it was so cerebral.

After 15 years, I would say it has aged well.

West Wing was always a cerebral show, but the episode "Hartsfield's Landing" was especially so. It was also a great illustration of how effective presidents gather information to make decisions.

Presidents don't do that in the same way, of course. Each president has been an individual and thus has had his own way of doing things. America being the diverse country it is, no president's approach is going to be favored by everyone — nor will one president's approach necessarily work for another president — and, of course, times change, circumstances change, people change. Still there are always lessons to be learned from presidencies that are judged to have been successes — as well as presidencies that are judged to have been failures.

Jed Bartlet (Martin Sheen) was a complex president, and he used a variety of methods to make decisions, but they always boiled down to what he told Sam (Rob Lowe) in this episode: "You listen to everybody and then you call the play."

He picked Sam's brain and Toby's (Richard Schiff) over a couple of games of chess in this episode. He had just returned from a trip to India, where he had been given some chess boards. He had decided to give them to the staffers as gifts and proposed to play them simultaneously, Sam in his office and Toby in the Oval Office.

As I say, the president picked their brains but on different matters. It kept him aware of things he may have forgotten. It was his way of "seeing the whole board" — a good chess analogy. With Sam, he discussed a standoff between China and Taiwan. With Toby, he discussed their recent conversation about whether the president was still trying to live up to his deceased father's expectations.

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Seen from the perspective of the 2016 election and its aftermath, this episode that was written more than a decade earlier offered some bad advice to future Democrats, particularly those who may have heeded it last year.

As they discussed the president's likely opponents in the upcoming general election, Toby told Bartlet, "Make this election about smart and not. Make it about engaged and not, qualified and not."

In general, that is good advice, but, with the benefit of recent hindsight, I would add to that, "Don't think for a second that excuses you from having to put forth an agenda for the future."

The West Wing was a busy place, as I have no doubt the real one is, and there were always minor stories going on. "Hartsfield's Landing" was no exception.

While the president was having these power chess games with Sam and Toby, Josh (Bradley Whitford) was aware of the fact that New Hampshire was holding its first–in–the–nation primary that day, and a tiny town called Hartsfield's Landing (clearly inspired by Dixville Notch) would be announcing its vote total shortly after midnight. The handful of votes cast in that tiny hamlet would dominate the national news for more than 20 hours — until the votes in the rest of New Hampshire were counted.

With New Hampshire being the president's home state, Josh wanted the president to score a comfortable victory in Hartsfield's Landing so he instructed his assistant Donna (Janel Moloney) to call a couple she knew who had been supporters of the president the first time but were against him this time. He wanted them to change their votes to improve the president's showing in Hartsfield's Landing.

Donna couldn't call from the West Wing since it was federal property so she took a cell phone out into the freezing February night and called New Hampshire from the park across the street, lobbying for the president right up until the time the couple left to cast their midnight votes.

In the end, Josh gave in. "Let 'em vote," he came outside to tell Donna, and they went back to the White House to await the returns from Hartsfield's Landing.

There was also a feud between C.J. (Allison Janney) and Charlie (Dule Hill) over a missing copy of the presidential schedule that is better watched than described. If you haven't seen it, do so. Trust me.

Speaking of C.J. ...

One of the things I really liked about the West Wing was its devotion to detail. Oh, it was always possible to nitpick, but it was usually on tiny points that wouldn't be obvious to most people. For example, in this episode, which featured chess so prominently, only chess experts would have been able to tell if Bartlet referred to chess moves that were real or fictional or if he used terminology that was real or fictional. To a non–aficionado, if it sounds legitimate, that is enough.

My father loves to play chess, but he wouldn't know if the "Evans Gambit" is real (it is) or if there is such a thing as the "Fibonacci opening" (there isn't). For that matter, I didn't either until I did some research — and Dad was the one who taught me to play.

Sometimes when I was watching West Wing I couldn't tell if I was watching a dramatization or a documentary. None of the events on the West Wing were real, of course, but the show's depictions of events and TV broadcasts were always perfect.

"Hartsfield's Landing" provided an ideal example at the very end, one that was foretold by C.J. earlier in the episode when she spoke of how she liked the tradition of the people of that little town gathering together to cast their votes at midnight.

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"They all gather at once ... it's nice. There's a registrar of voters. The names are called in alphabetical order. They put a folded piece of paper into a box. ... Those 42 people are teaching us something about ourselves, that freedom is the glory of God, that democracy is its birthright and that our vote matters."

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As the activity continued to swirl and percolate in the West Wing, even at midnight, the television monitors showed the proceedings in Hartsfield's Landing.

On the screen the name of an obviously young woman was called by the registrar. As she brought forth her ballot, the onlookers were told that she was 18 and was voting for the first time. The room burst into applause.

The Agony of Victory

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Niles (David Hyde Pierce): Maris and I used to play chess every Thursday night. Oh, how she loved the game.

Frasier (Kelsey Grammer): No wonder. The king is stationary while the queen has all the power.

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The relationship between fathers and sons can be a complicated thing. I suppose the paternal relationship can be complicated for daughters, too, but I have no experience with that. I had one brother, and that was it. We have each had our challenging times with Dad — but at different times and for decidedly different reasons.

There seems to be more of a tendency to have a generational barrier between fathers and their children than mothers and their children — although, again, I have to plead ignorance when it comes to relationships between mothers and daughters.

Maybe it has something to do with the bond that forms between mother and child during the mother's pregnancy, but, in my experience, my peers' relationships with their mothers have usually been more relaxed than the relationships they have had with their fathers.

As a general rule. There are exceptions, of course.

The viewers never saw Frasier interact with his mother — except for one episode in which she was part of Frasier's fantasy (and an episode during the run of Cheers! when Frasier's mother made an appearance) — but it is not hard to conclude that both he and Niles had very loving relationships with their mother. They idolized her so much they followed her into psychiatry instead of following their father into detective work. In fact, in every conceivable way, they seemed to take after their mother.

They were both trying, almost all the time, to bond with their father, and they were always trying to outdo each other. What seemed to have come easily with their mother was like pulling teeth with their father. (How well I know that feeling.) In the episode of Frasier that aired on this night in 1996, "Chess Pains," Frasier had to deal with the mixed emotions sons often feel when they are in some kind of competition with their fathers — and they win.

Winning, though, wasn't Frasier's problem. Let me explain.

Initially Frasier wanted someone to play chess with him on an antique chess set he had acquired. But then after he got Martin (John Mahoney) to play with him, Frasier's focus changed when Martin started winning every time. Frasier couldn't understand it. He was clearly smarter than his father, and he was convinced that he was a superior player. How could he lose every time?

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If you ever watched Frasier, you know how obsessive he could be, and he began to obsess about why his father won all the time. At first, he thought it was blind luck. But the more he thought about it — and the more input he got from his brother — the more convinced he became that he had been deliberately — albeit subconsciously — losing.

As Niles observed, it is a widely accepted belief that the moment of a boy's greatest joy — and his greatest sorrow — is when he beats his father for the first time.

But even armed with that knowledge and determined to finally win, Frasier still lost, making him more frustrated and more determined to defeat his father.

It got so bad that Frasier set off the smoke alarm late one night just to wake up his father so he could get him to play one more game. Martin was reluctant to do so, especially once he realized that Frasier's obsession wasn't just about losing. It was about losing to Martin.

Martin defended his success by pointing out that he had honed many of the skills that are valuable in chess through his work as a detective — such as analyzing clues and trying to stay a step ahead of the other guy.

He wasn't going to give Frasier another game — until Frasier said he would give Martin $5,000 if he won again.

That set up a high–stakes game in which both Frasier and Martin tried to distract the other into making bad moves. Ultimately, Frasier claimed his victory — and almost immediately began obsessing over whether the outcome was on the level.

Martin assured him he had given it his best shot and that Frasier had won fair and square. Frasier left his father's room for a few seconds, then peeked back in the doorway and, in a small, almost inaudible voice, he said, "I'm sorry I beat you, Dad."

In what has to be one of my favorite sub–plots in Frasier's 11–year run, Daphne (Jane Leeves) suggested to the recently separated Niles (David Hyde Pierce) that he might be less lonely if he got a dog. So he did — a rather high–strung greyhound that apparently bore a striking resemblance to Maris.

Frasier and Martin (John Mahoney) saw the resemblance, of course, but Niles didn't. All he knew was that the dog struck a familiar chord within him. Nevertheless, the way Niles doted on the dog and the way she ignored him truly was Niles' marriage in miniature. Even a casual Frasier fan must have seen that.

When Niles and the dog left, the three stood and stared at the doorway where he had been only seconds before.

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"Am I the only one?" Daphne wanted to know.

"No," Frasier and Martin replied in unison.

"Does Dr. Crane have any idea?" Daphne asked.

Again, Martin and Frasier replied in unison. "No."

I thought it was a brilliant touch.

Had the episode focused strictly on the Martin–Frasier chess matches, it would have dissolved into a one–joke story. But the introduction of the Maris substitute kept interest from flagging.

In many ways, I thought "Chess Pains" was the best episode of what may have been Frasier's best season.

The Fischer Phenomenon

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My father was a college professor — and when your father is a college professor, it's almost a given that he will teach you how to play chess.

Well, that's how it was in my case, anyway. Perhaps the risk of that decreases, depending on the subject your father teaches — and my father taught religion and philosophy.

It was in the stars for me, I suppose.

Most of my other friends had fathers who taught them the finer points of hitting and throwing baseballs, shooting basketballs and kicking footballs. Mine taught me to play chess.

That's nothing against my father. He was — still is — a wonderful father in many respects.

But chess wasn't cool when I learned to play. It became a little cooler because of Bobby Fischer.

I already knew how to play chess when Fischer won the world chess championship on this day in 1972. I don't remember how old I was when Dad taught me to play, but it seems to me that I must have known how to play for a year, maybe two, by the time that Fischer took the world chess championship from Russian Boris Spassky.

I always heard that cameras were on hand, but perhaps they provided closed–circuit coverage (the predecessor to pay–per–view) or filmed sequences for a movie.

I don't have any recollection of commercial TV providing coverage of any of the chess games, and my guess is that wouldn't have bothered me. I do recall seeing news accounts, with brief clips of Fischer and Spassky walking to the venue where the games were played, but, at the time, I probably couldn't have imagined anything less interesting than watching two people play a board game.

(I'm much older now, but I still can't see the appeal in something like watching people play poker. Poker isn't a board game, of course, but I was no more interested in watching people play cards.)

But the media of 1972 followed the championship, which was played in Reykjavík, Iceland, and Fischer's triumph over the supposedly unbeatable Spassky virtually made him the Tiger Woods of his day.

True, being a chess player did not make one an athlete like Woods. But Fischer's victory set off a wave of chess hysteria in the United States — not unlike the mini–explosion of interest in golf after Tiger won his first Masters.

Chess probably was more accessible to most people than golf. To play golf, one needs special clothes and a set of clubs, but all chess required was a chess set, no matter how small. My father gave me a small chess set with magnetized pieces that I carried with me everywhere, always prepared for a game.

Until Fischer came along, I guess I sort of thought I was the only one in my grade at school — except, of course, for anyone else whose father was a college professor (and there were a few of those) — who played chess.

But, astonishingly, when Fischer beat Spassky, many of my friends in school suddenly learned how to play the game, even the ones whose fathers were not professors, and some began carrying around small sets like mine.

They may have already known how to play long before Fischer's showdown with Spassky, but, like me, they remained in the closet until Fischer made chess cool.

For much of the next year, we played chess during our lunch breaks and whenever the weather was too nasty for us to play in the schoolyard at recess.

One of the best–selling books of that time was a kind of a chess workbook called "Bobby Fischer Teaches Chess."

Looking back on it, it was a kind of elementary book designed to teach beginners how to play chess and provide some rudimentary instruction in strategy. Fischer apparently allowed his name to be on the book, but, from what I have heard, he had very little to do with its authorship.

That wasn't known at the time, of course. I had a copy of that book, as did most of my friends, and I was proud of it. That book was one of my most prized possessions — until I learned a ghost writer had written most of it.

I really felt let down by that. I believed Fischer was sharing strategic secrets that helped him win the chess championship. Imagine!

Even so, his victory over Spassky really was a sincere — and unique — moment of great national pride.

I wouldn't necessarily rule out the influence of the Cold War — and the sometimes friendly but mostly deadly serious rivalry between the United States and the Soviet Union — nor would I overlook the Russians' basketball victory over the Americans in the 1972 Summer Olympics, even though that actually happened after Fischer wrapped up the chess title.

The competition between the United States and the Soviet Union was constant in those days, and nationalism always played a role in it.

It was really unavoidable. But, somehow, it seemed there was more to it.

As Stephen Carter writes for Bloomberg, "the story of Fischer and Spassky ... captured our attention in a way that no struggle of intellect has since."