Yesterday via Facebook by Robert Wachtel
Epitaph
The heartfelt grief that so many in our community have expressed at Paul Magriel’s death is a testament to how deeply he was loved. I would like here to do my part––
not in mourning him, but in explaining just who I think he was.
When asked, late in life, the secret of his astonishing genius, Isaac Newton answered with a vision as beautiful as the laws of nature he had conceived: “I do not know what I may appear to the world, but to myself I seem to have been only like a boy playing on the seashore, diverting myself in now and then finding a smoother pebble or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me.”
Magriel was backgammon’s Newton. His 1976 book brought order to the cosmos of dice, checkers, and cube; and to enter New York City’s Mayfair Club, where he taught and theorized, was like being allowed to sit in on an exquisitely stimulating PhD-level backgammon seminar. Though they abandoned the game for other pursuits earlier rather than later, his protégés––Billy Horan; Eric Seidel; Roger Low; and Jason Lester––were each scintillatingly brilliant and daringly competitive players. To them, the sensei was not “Paul,” not “Magriel,” not even “X-22,” but “X.” Just “X.” So let’s use that honorific.
In an earlier life, X had been a math professor. Then he discovered the backgammon universe and strayed from academia to explore its marvels. For a while he prospered. But no matter how learned the backgammon scholar, there exist no distinguished Lucasian professorships to cocoon and sustain him while he pursues the truth. X loved to teach, and never lacked for students, but the scientific mind is not always a practical one. His game had leaks. He neglected his health, had bad habits and was a bad gambler. But even so, his luck held: there were generous souls––they know who they are––who recognized his value. They cared for him.
Like Newton, X remained childish throughout his life. His essential trait was playfulness. We are told that there are “old souls” born into this world, but his was a very young one. His spirit was light, and I cannot remember ever seeing him, whatever setback he faced, petulant or cranky. Nor did he promote himself, demand attention, or exhibit the petty jealousies that taint so many lives. Curious about a thousand topics and inexhaustibly enthusiastic, you would always find him happily chasing down the solution to this or that backgammon puzzle or poker strategy.
These are character traits and attitudes so admirable that most of us can only wonder at them; but to him they came naturally. Perhaps, even more than his lessons and gaming achievements, they reflected his highest talents.
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I have many memories of X-22. In 1976 he autographed my copy of his magnum opus, direct from a crate, at the Mayfair Club on East 57th ST in Manhattan. That was the East Coast clubhouse for A.P's in the 1970's. Every Friday night we had a $25 "chouette" which broke up on Monday morning as all of the Wall St. guys, commodities traders, etc. returned to their 9-5's. Generally, this meant between 10 and 25 players at any given time. Celebrities abounded. Huge amounts of money changed hands. Half the players were Pros and half were 'fishcakes', me among them. BUT I did well. My play was linked to a pair of fine players who were high-level actuaries. X-22 "never saw a cube he didn't like" and as often as he was a winner he was a loser.
Paul was known to play individually against oil sheiks and industrialists who loved the chance to play against the best player who ever shook the dice.
Here is a tale for the ages. In backgammon, a non-descript roll of 6-2 was entitled a "Joe Schwartz", (or a "Schwartz" for short.) Joe had 'taken a 16 cube 'in the box', having bought out his 'box partners' and was facing about 20 opponents. It looked like he was going to be "gammoned" for 16 X 2 X 20 X $25 = $16,000. That was in the mid 70's, so converting to 2018 dollars - that was a potential loss of $80,000. Joe was in deep water when a narrow window of light opened. A virtual last-chance roll emerged. If Joe could roll precisely 6-2 he would "snatch victory from the jaws of defeat." The odds: 17-1. The players could have 'hedged' by offering > 17-1 on that roll. 20-1 would have brought a lot of action I suppose. Nobody did. Sure enough, Joe rolled the magic 6-2 to win $8,000. A 'swing' of $24,000. When the moaning and gnashing of teeth subsided, Joe, ever a card, said "Of course I took (the 16 cube). All I needed to do was roll 6-2 and since 8 is the average roll it was a no-brainer." Joe's laughter echoed only for Joe.
The best tournament match that I ever played was in Flint Michigan, back in the early 80's.
Paul eliminated me, (as I had expected he would), when I made a 'cube blunder', giving away 'cube ownership' when I should not have. Paul pounced and the rest was history, as we say. Paul's flattering comment made me happy. He said that that was my sole blunder. I will never forget that.
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Originally Posted by BigJer
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