Chess Men

The shortcut back to work took me through a less than prosperous section of town and it was on a run down block of brick fourplexes that I saw the chess game. On either side of a rickety card table on the broken sidewalk, two old black men sat on overturned vegetable crates. They were scarred and chipped like the board and the chess men and I immediately cursed myself for not having my camera with me but I stopped anyway.

Both smiled at me and asked if I knew the game - I said no, I'd been struck by the image of the sidewalk game and wondered if I might come back and take their picture another day. Without looking much away from the game, they both nodded and one asked if it would be in the paper. I said probably not but I'd be happy to give them each a print, and they laughed. Their names were Eustis and Johnny Mac, two old friends since childhood. They had both been in the war together where Eustis had lost his leg - that was when I noticed the crutches - and had come back together to work for the railroad, marry and raise families, and now with their children grown and both their wives "passed on", they were retired and passing the time with pensions and chess. We just be waitin', Miss, Johnny Mac told me, waitin' for our time to go. Eustis carefully moved a pawn and agreed, Ain't much else to be done at our age and place.

Johnny Mac had eleven grandkids, Eustis only nine, but the children had moved away to Tulsa, Birmingham, New Orleans, San Antonio. They rarely visited having their own lives and problems but they kept in touch, The oldest, she calls every Christmas, Johnny Mac said proudly, Works for some big lawyer firm outside the Quarter. Eustis looked thoughtfully at the board, hesitated, then made a move with a sideways glance at me, Least ain't not a one in jail, he said defiantly, and Johnny Mac laughed and slapped his thigh, Least not no more! And then with a gleeful shout,
Checkmate! Eustis narrowed his eyes and muttered Shut up, you ol' fool, you ain't won a game all day. Johnny Mac began gathering up and rearranging the pieces, Tide's turning now though, ain't it, he crowed.

I left them to their opening moves and though I often drive down that block with my camera in tow, I've yet to see them again. Two old men, old soldiers, old game players, passing the time with pensions and chess and waiting.