Some things need to be done quickly, but they also need to be done correctly. In the photo above, our high-hurdlers need to be sure to clear the barriers, but they have no time to lose. Needless to say, these two requirements are not always compatible and can cause considerable stress.

This month's speed problem allows for a quick solution, but making a move without a little thought can lead to trouble. So, do it fast, but do it right--- we think 15 seconds is enough time for what seems like a simple 2x2 ending. Click on the link below to display the problem and start the clock. Then come back here and click on Read More to see the solution and notes.

May Speed Problem (not so hard)

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From time to time we feature an article of checker fiction, often an original piece of our own; but once in a while we reprint something that we've come across in an old publication. The following is part essay and part story, and was first published around 75 years ago. As it's now in the public domain, we're running it here for your enjoyment. It may seem a bit long, but it's a delight to read.

THE COUNTRY DOCTOR Devises New Therapeutic System--- Plain Checkers

We live in an age of specialization. All things are built with an eye to quantity of production, or to special excellence of quality. "The specialist" is the cry of the hour.

We had occasion recently to ask an acquaintance what his trade might be. "Mechanic," was the laconic reply. And when we inquired the particular branch of his trade, he confided that he was "Bolt 319 man" at the F--- factory. All day he slips an octagon shaped bolt on a steel rod, pulls it abruptly into position and turns it swiftly with a light hand wrench.

He is a mechanic par excellence. Yesterday there was a leak in the roof trough of his home. Immediately the tinner was called. The kitchen hydrant became frozen on a zero February day. Mechanic "319 bolt" at once summoned the neighborhood plumber. When the hinge on the cellar door works loose, it is the carpenter who is pressed into service. And so on, ad infinitum ... for we live in an age of specialization, and a mechanic is a mechanic a la specialist.

In the treatment of human ills and chills we also find the specialist filling his niche, ready to accept this patient but not the other, a "liver" man but not a "heart" man, or knowing the ways of lung cells but unversed in the pitfalls of digestion. Well nigh every human organ has its following of devoted analysts, diagnosticians and surgeons. The day of the general practitioner is rapidly fading. Even in the smaller cities and villages is seen the enameled or brass sign 'Specialist in ----", following in careful letters the name of the physician. And that old time figure of consolation, the country doctor, well beloved and laden with many cares, with his rig or his Ford and his small leather case--- thermometer, stethoscope, pill and potion--- is gradually drifting away among forgotten presences. In a few more generations he may have become extinct.

There is a lonely village in the northwest corner of the state of Ohio that harbors a general practitioner of the species known as the Country Doctor. He is the village physician, but since the greater number of his calls are made at farm homes within a radius of from five to ten miles, the more fitting name is given him by his city friends. Also he is known variously as the C. J. R., the collector of art treasures, and the Rajah. These are titles imposed upon him by his friends. The C. J. R. is adapted from some obscure passage of Omar, the exact meaning of which has never been revealed. It has the suggestion of some far-away Genie emerging from an Arabian garden, for he is also a lover of plant life. The Rajah is meant to typify an insular imperialism and was bestowed upon the kindly doctor by an acquaintance who came out of the Orient, and found among rare prints and books in his study the memory of an olden ruler, whose authority was unspoken and whose influence was spread about through his power of humanizing abstract and fearful philosophies. Besides, when you come to think about it, a country doctor has a unique position of authority. He is removed from the public glare; his word about the condition or treatment of his patient is law, and he can err fatally or achieve miracles and little will be heard in one case or another beyond the rural circle of his practice. Rajah, then, is one of the surnames of this country doctor.

But what we are getting to is that he is a Rajah of Checkers more than anything else. Quiet, unassuming, a sly humor trickling out for occasion, he has two checker boards ready for play at any hour of the day. One board is kept in his anteroom, one in his examination room. Patients who come to him are usually invited to a game, if no other callers are waiting. He draws slowly at his mild Havana as he meditates his moves. And with each move lie lifts his eyes to observe the effect upon his patient. Often he studies his patients to better advantage over the checkerboard, when they are relaxed and away from the thought of their ailment, than when tapping and sounding them as to their symptoms.

And there are times when he carries a checkerboard with him on his rounds to the sick. For him, the game is a help in diverting the minds of the ailing. Unable to concentrate upon books, his patients often become occupied and even absorbed in the combinations on the board. The doctor plays a strong game and succeeds in winning most of the time, but there are games when he goes down to unexpected defeat, following a sudden lapse of form, due perhaps to a habit of occupying his mind with his patient.

Checker therapeutics is probably an amusing fancy of this country doctor, yet he has accomplished seeming wonders in the treatment of many of his patients, some of them chronic sufferers for years. And they are grateful to him, and come not always to talk of their infirmities, or to pay their bills, but to "let's see what we can do in a game today, doctor."

There are busy periods in the winter months when the checkerboards are not opened for many days, when this kindly, rustic physician is in demand every hour, when the telephone rings on blizzard swept nights and alone over the dark roads he must drive to some house of pain. He knows the people of this community, knows their hearts, and knows, too, their fighting strength, in life and over the board alike. He has seen them tested in both games. To them he is a pillar of support and comfort in time of need. They feel his helping urge. They do not always understand him, but they recognize kindness and assurance in his words.

"There are some games one just can't win", said the country doctor to the writer one day, a little sadly, "some situations that have advanced too far to recover from, but it's really surprising how many apparently lost games can be pulled out into the clear. I've seen them--- I've seen them right . . . well, right over this board."

He drew at his Havana thoughtfully and studied the combination we had developed in our game. Here is a diagram of it:

I was ready to concede a loss. But his remark suddenly aroused me to thought, and almost in a flash I caught sight of a chance for a break from Square 21 to 25. I viewed the situation for a half minute and then went boldly into my plan. True enough, it was a success. The doctor followed with 30-21, and I went on from 22 to 26. From then on it was 27-23, 26-31, 23-19, 31-27, 4-8, 27-24, 19-15, 24-19, 8-4, 19-23, 15-11, 23-18, and I found I had retrieved my game and earned a comfortable draw. His easy comment had saved me.

On one of my visits to the country I found the Rajah in a close game with a patient whom he introduced to me as Mr. V----. Later the doctor remarked that his patient was a very nervous subject. "He comes with his head full of dreads, and his heart beating like a trip-hammer. Not much wrong with him though. And somehow he soothes down after a game or two of checkers. Of course, 1 forget some of my moves and he gets me into tight situations. Wins this one, loses the next. Generally has the edge on me. It's remarkable how he forgets his nerves as we play. I've watched him for the past three weeks. Comes in every day for a game or two. And he's improving--- improving."

That's the Checker Rajah--- the country doctor. A man of quiet reveries, of affection for the slight things in life, understood by few, loved by many, and a sustaining force in his community.

Over his door one might well write, "Specialist in--- Checkers."

Editor's Note: This is a great story and a great endgame, but unfortunately it's flawed. In the days before powerful computers, sometimes deep endgame subtleties were overlooked. Though it's anything but easy, can you correct White's play and find the win? In other words, can you cure this position, or will it give you a headache?

Don't get worried sick over it; healing is at hand by clicking your mouse on Read More to see what the KingsRow engine has to say.

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Spring in North America, after a long winter of snow, cold, and darkness, is a welcome time. And although the photograph above is a little beyond the very first stroke of spring, it's an apt illustration of how beautiful the season can be.

Today, we present you, in checkeristic terms, with the first stroke (problem) of the spring season. We know that many of you would rather be outdoors at long last, and not seated indoors at the checkerboard, so we suggest that you have the best of both by taking your checkerboard out on the porch or patio and working on today's remarkable problem.

Keen powers of visualization are needed to see how to do this one, but we assure you it's worth the effort; the solution is as spectacular as the new blooms of the season. Do give it a go, and then spring your mouse over to Read More to see the solution.

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By the time this article appears, winter should be coming to an end in much of North America, and a welcome thing that will be for those who endured repeated blizzards and lasting cold. The coming of spring will bring a huge sigh of relief to winter-weary Americans and Canadians.

Here at our Honolulu editorial office, we too experienced winter cold spells with temperatures that dropped as low as 63 F, though we don't expect much in the way of sympathy from our readers.

But wherever you live, let's celebrate spring together (if you're in the southern hemisphere, let's welcome the advent of fall; we've heard that Australia was mighty hot during some of the austral summer), and let's do it with a challenging checker problem authored long ago by George King.

Forces are even, but White has a really limited choice of moves and could be in serious difficulty. But, just as you would clear a path through the blizzard's snow, there is a way out of White's predicament here. Can you find it and secure the draw?

Shovel your way through the complications and find the path, then dig your mouse on Read More to see the solution.

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February, the shortest month of the year, speeds by and gives no quarter. 28 days instead of 30 or 31? Don't tell the bank, who wants the same, full mortgage payment. Likewise, don't complain to the landlord, who will only say: Pay the rent--- all of it---- or else. In this short month, it seems we draw the short straw.

In the same spirit of speed and brevity--- though we'd rather skip the unfriendly, uncaring part--- we offer a speed problem that's certainly not very hard, but may be difficult to analyze quickly enough. We're imposing a 28 second time limit, in honor of the month of February. Probably you'll solve it much more quickly, of course--- or will you?

Click below to reveal the problem and start the clock; then come back and click on Read More to see the solution.

February Speed Problem (easy, 28 seconds)

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Happy New Year to everyone! 2010 is history and 2011 has arrived. The Checker Maven hopes this year will be everything that you might wish it to be; and to start our year off with a bang, we've chosen a problem that isn't too hard if you can figure out the first move--- but then again, that's the hard part!

Here's the situation.

Things seem fairly tame until you take a closer look and realize that Black is suffering from a definite lack of moves that don't lose! But there is one ... can you find it?

Clicking on Read More will show you the surprising solution. Enjoy the holiday and once again, Happy New Year!

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Christmas Day 2010 falls on a Saturday, so most everyone will have a long weekend to celebrate or just relax according to your own traditions and preferences. It's time for family and friends and lots of activities, but we know that if you're a checker player, you'll be looking for something from The Checker Maven to make checkers part of your holiday weekend.

To that end, we've chosen a special problem that is very engaging (often this is another word for 'difficult') and bound to hold your interest. It requires skill and considerable planning, but we think you're up to the challenge.

Black has more mobility than White; that's always an advantage in checkers, but is it enough to turn into a win? We'll warn you; definitively proving the win is a long process and requires very careful play. It's something you might want to take on when dinner is over and the company has left, when you might have an hour or so to devote to checkers.

Clicking on Read More will as usual show you the solution. Happy Holidays to one and all from The Checker Maven.

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This weekend we celebrate six years of continuous publication of The Checker Maven. As we reach each new annual milestone, we marvel at how far we've come, and we know that it's all due to the support of our readers, without whom we would have gone out of business long ago.

It's become our tradition to try to offer a new work of checker fiction at each anniversary date. This year, we're happy to present a 1,900 word short story called Inferno. You'll understand why when you read the story and solve the associated checker problem.

We won't keep you waiting any longer. Here's our latest little story.

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Billy and Joey had escaped from the house after lunch; the two cousins didn't want to remain under the watchful eye of old Aunt Edith, who seemed to automatically disapprove of anything they did. Now, they hadn't exactly sneaked out; it was more like they forgot to ask permission. At least, that's what they had agreed their story would be when the eventual reckoning with their respective parents, not to mention Aunt Edith, would take place.

But for now it was freedom, and for a couple of hours if their luck held, for the adults would surely be staying in the farmhouse and playing cards for the rest of the afternoon. Billy and Joey scurried across the farmyard and pulled up, out of sight of the house, behind the big barn on the other side.

"Whatcha wanna do?" asked Billy. He was a year older than his cousin, and it was his parent's farm, so he always acted like the one in charge and the one who knew what was going on, even though that was a fair distance from being correct.

"What about that spooky old house?" Joey asked. "You know, the one ..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, 'course I know," Billy interrupted, "you always been wantin' to go over there. Pretty strange lookin' place if you ask me, an' I don't think you're up to it."

They were talking about one of the neighboring farmsteads, this one abandoned for many years since the death of the owners. Rumor was their estate had been in dispute for a long time, with little prospect of ever getting sorted out, so meanwhile, the farm had become more and more dilapidated as the years passed.

And the truth was, Billy was mighty scared of the place, though he would never admit that to his younger cousin. Billy had heard a lot of the stories that people in town told, and though at eleven years old he thought himself grown up, he still was more than a bit spooked.

But Joey was pushing him, and he had to appear brave, even nonchalant, if he wasn't to lose face.

"C'mon, Billy, I ain't scared, really I ain't, why can't we go there?" he complained. He could see that Billy was relenting.

Billy was clearly in a corner, with no way out. "Okay, okay," he said, trying not to let his voice show his inner fears, "we'll go. C'mon!"

It was nearly three-quarters of a mile to the old farmstead, and the afternoon sun was unrelenting. Joey looked pretty hot and tired, but he tried bravely not to complain. Billy almost asked Joey if he was too beat to go on, and if he wanted to turn back--- Billy certainly did, though he would never say as much--- but he thought it might show a crack in his facade, so he trudged on in silence.

They stopped a minute to rest under a small grove of birch at the side of the road. "It's just 'round the bend," Billy said, while snapping twigs off a dead branch lying amidst the scruffy grass of the grove's floor. Joey was wiping sweat from his eyes and drying his hands on the legs of his shorts. "You ready yet?"

In answer, Joey stood up, brushed off leaves and debris from the seat of his pants, and resolutely headed back to the dusty road, Billy scrambling to follow him and regain leadership of the little expedition.

They were around the bend in a couple of minutes, and the old farmstead lay before them. What a sight it was. There was a large barn that had collapsed in upon itself, the roof failing and pulling down most of the walls with it. There were a few small outbuildings, all of them in a similar dilapidated state. There was the farmhouse itself, which, while much the worse for years of exposure to the elements and neglect, was at least still standing. It might even be possible to get inside without too much risk or danger.

"Hey, betcha there's a bunch of cool old stuff in that house over there," Joey said, once again stealing Billy's thunder.

"Na," replied Billy, "lots a kids been in there and there ain't nothin' left. Anyhow," he continued, trying to dissuade Joey from further speculation, "they say, you know, bad stuff happens in there."

"I don't believe none of that," Joey said. "I wanna go take a look." And again, he was the one to lead the way across the dusty, weedy ground, over the litter-strewn front yard, and up to the porch of the farmhouse.

The portico over the entryway had long since fallen. Rusted rain gutters, broken away from the eaves, lay around the ground. The floor of the porch was broken in places, but it looked solid enough at the foot of the front door. All of the clapboard walls had a gray, weathered look, the paint long since faded and peeled.

The front door looked to be ajar by just and inch or two.

"Careful!" shouted Billy but Joey was already by the door, the floor creaking and groaning but holding his weight. "Help me open this" Joey cried as he put the fingers of both hands around the edge of the door and tugged as hard as he good. The hinges were rusted and he wasn't strong enough to break the door loose.

Billy joined him and together they pulled. "One, two, three, PULL!" Billy shouted and all at once they were on their backs on the ground in front of the house, as the door yielded and they were thrown off by the force of their efforts.

Joey was already up, dusting off his shorts and tee shirt, and heading for the dark opening into the house, Billy following more slowly behind him. The light was dim just inside the door, a rectangle of light from the doorway illuminating a faded and tattered carpet, some furniture that smelled musty and looked even worse, and an old table with what looked like a checkerboard on it. Everything was covered in dust but that didn't hide the water damage, no doubt due to occasional prairie rainstorms sending torrents of water through holes in the roof and ceiling.

They stood and looked, waiting as their eyes adjusted from bright outdoor sunshine to the weak indoor light. About the only thing still fully standing was the old wooden table and a couple of chairs. Everything else was so broken down as to be completely unusable, and showed signs of vandalism: seat cushions were shredded, the walls were gouged in places and covered with graffiti nearly everywhere.

"I wonder," Billy said, "why nobody stole the checkerboard?"

Indeed, a checkerboard did sit on the table, with a faded set of red and white wooden checkers, all coated with dust. The board was of the leather folding type. The leather had peeled in many places; most of the squares had water stains, but it was otherwise intact.

"I dunno," said Joey, "maybe kids like to play here."

"You crazy or what?" replied Billy. "Kids ain't gonna come to this creepy old dump to play checkers, fer cryin' out loud! What's wrong with you?"

"Aw, c'mon, let's play! Won't it be cool tellin' the kids at school how we played checkers in the old haunted place?"

Billy was getting more nervous by the minute, and trying hard to keep his cool. "Hey, don't be makin' up stuff like that!" he said. "Whaddya, scared?" Joey asked. "Let's play! Show me you ain't a-scared!"

It was too much for Billy. Having lost the lead already to his younger cousin, he wasn't about to act frightened, even though he was pretty close to scared witless. They both pulled rickety wooden chairs across the floor and up to the wooden table. They dusted off the checker pieces and the board, coughing in the billowing dust cloud they created. But everything soon settled down and they both found themselves sitting in front of a ready checkerboard, Joey grinning and wiggling in his chair, Billy looking something more than mildly annoyed and sitting stock still.

His mother was calling from the kitchen. "Bobby and Jimmy," she sang, "dinner's ready, come here and eat!"

"Aw, gee, Jimmy, I wanna just finish this game," Bobby said, looking down at the brightly-painted checkers on the brand new folding checkerboard.

"Nah, you know your mom gets impatient when food's gettin' cold," Jimmy replied, "we better go an' eat an' then play some more checkers later."

Just then there was a crash and a scream from the kitchen. "The gas tank!" they heard Bobby's mother cry out. "Run, boys!" and then there was the deafening roar of an explosion and hot flames streaming out the kitchen door.

"Mom, mom!" Bobby cried, and Jimmy was tugging on his arm, dragging him to the door and away from the heat of the flames. "No, no, I gotta get Mom!" Bobby screamed, and with a violent move, wrenched himself away and ran to the kitchen, blindly charging into the flaming inferno that raged there.

Jimmy had already run out yelling for help. The adults on the farm were fast to respond, pouring buckets of water and sand on the flames in a desperate effort to get into the kitchen. But it was too late. Though they had saved the rest of the house, the kitchen was completely destroyed. They found two badly charred bodies, one an adult female, the other that of a twelve-year old boy.

Billy was shaking Joey violently. "Wake up, wake up, are you OK, what's happening?" Joey's eyes opened slowly as he returned to awareness. "Huh?" Joey said. "The fire ... it was so hot ... I couldn't get away ...."

"What are you talking about, Joey?" asked Billy. "There ain't no fire ... we was goin' to play checkers an' you passed out an' fell on the floor. You was screamin' like you was havin' some kind of nightmare and I couldn't wake you up. You scared me Joey, don't do that!"

Joey was sitting up on the floor now, rubbing his eyes. "There was a fire," he kept saying. "In the kitchen ... and I ran in there to get Mom ..."

"Joey, come here, look, there ain't no fire!" Billy shouted. He pulled Joey to his feet and dragged him away from the table toward the kitchen. "Look, see ...." Billy didn't finish his sentence, his jaw agape as they both took in the sight of the charred floors and walls and the burned ceiling. There had certainly been a fire here long ago, and by the looks of it, a bad one.

There wasn't much left of the floor, but there were two large, ominous dark spots, as if the heat of the flames had burned two sizable objects.

"L..let's getta outta here," Joey said, and Billy didn't have to be told twice. Joey leaned on Billy for support and they made their way back through the living room.

"Look!" Joey shouted. "Look, there!" and his arm was pointing arrow straight to the old table and checkerboard.

There was no dust on the table, and the board and checkers looked like new. The checkers had been moved as if someone had been playing and had been interrupted in mid-game. But Billy was tugging again on Joey's arm, pulling him to the door and out into the yard.

They started to run, and they didn't stop until they were back to Billy's house.

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Click on Read More to see the solution to the position shown above.

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All across America, from Hawai`i to Maine, from Alaska to Florida, it's Thanksgiving weekend, surely one of our favorite times of the year. It's an opportunity for families both large and small to gather together to celebrate all that's good in our lives, and of course, to enjoy the usual fabulous Thanksgiving dinner.

As checkerists, we also have much in addition to be thankful for, such as the many fine players who have gone before us and made our game richer and more enjoyable. And with such thoughts in our minds, how can we help but turn to the master himself, Tom Wiswell, for this week's problem?

As usual, before you have that second helping of pie, we invite you to take a look at the diagram below.

Can you work it out? Would you bet your slice of pie on it? Give it a try, then click on Read More to see the solution. And enjoy your weekend. Happy Thanksgiving from The Checker Maven to one and all.

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Winter is often thought of as a time of slowing down, and for some large animals, the deep sleep of hibernation. Well, winter is arriving in much of the North American continent, but there's certainly no slowdown, let alone hibernation, of checker activity. And with today's speed problem, snoozing will not be an option, because you've only got 15 seconds to pull off a solution.

Put on your indoor running shoes and get ready for a real wake-up call, When you're ready, click on the link below; then come back and awaken the Read More button to check your solution. Solve now, sleep later!

November 2010 Speed Problem (easy)

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