by Keith Arnold
Haskell “Hal” Small, the father of the US Go Congress, passed away on Saturday, June 1st, two days shy of his 77th birthday. He leaves behind his wife Betsy, his two daughters, Sarah and Rachel and a legacy of joy, competition and friendship that will never end.
Hal brought us together, he connected the entire country, converting a moyo into territory.
I met him back in 1980, at the Greater Washington Go Club, but it was only after I had finished school that I was able to attend regularly. Although that coincided with the planning of the first US Go Congress in 1985, I was not on the planning team, can take no credit and in fact, had it not been held at my undergraduate school, Western Maryland (now McDaniel) College, I probably would not have even attended.
Looking back, however, I can easily imagine Hal’s role in the creation of our national event. Many of you might picture a Congress Director hunched over a laptop like Sam Zimmerman, making endless announcements, or running around putting out fires like so many of us.
This was not Hal’s way. Working with him on the planning of the later two DC Congresses and the establishment of the National Go Center, Hal was like a tidal force - not a hurricane of activity - but a slow and steady ebb and flow, a guiding current. When he decided to do something, it somehow simply became inevitable. Everything began with an invitation to his home, good food and Go boards. Gently but inexorably, Hal guided us in what needed to be done. All who worked for him became extensions of his vision.
One wonders if this ability to put together the big picture, to orchestrate these efforts, came from his day job - a composer, pianist and teacher. I cannot do justice to the breadth and true meaning of his musical career, but I can say, when my rather limited musical knowledge had some touchstones to aid my understanding, it was transformative.
Above all, his piece for two pianos “A Game of Go” was exhilarating. I had the good fortune to experience it three times; at the third Congress in Holyoke, the fourth in Berkeley and later in DC. Hal’s biting atonal music featured one piano “playing” Shusaku’s black moves, while another “played” Ota Yuzo’s white moves, each appearing on a video screen in time with the music. The piece interpreted the mood and pace - what folks today call “temperature” - of the game perfectly.
I will also never forget hearing him perform his “Lullaby of War” in Baltimore. A series of piano accompaniments and interludes matching historical poems about war. Hal’s play and his moving readings brought home a visceral anti-war sentiment. Even more unforgettable was hearing him play, one handed after his 2021 stroke, in a small church outside of Baltimore. He embraced his temporary limitations with fascination, and played with an enthusiasm fit for Carnegie Hall.
But for me, Hal will forever be the first of my great Go rivals to leave me. We Go players are nothing without each other, and in the days before the internet, it was rivals that sent us to joseki books, spurred our improvement and propelled us to new strengths. Recently, I came across some old notes in which I tracked the ratings of four or five players, including myself - a ranking of rivals - and Hal was one of them.
We were hopeful imitations of Takemiya Masaki and Kobayshi Koichi, Hal with his moyos and me with my greedy territory. His opening was perhaps slightly better than mine, and his sense of timing in the middle game was certainly superior, while I humbly submit I was the better fighter. Although I outpaced Haskell, who achieved 4 dan, while I reached 5 dan for a couple of years, I am not sure Hal ever admitted defeat, and indeed, since many of my wins seemed “lucky”, who could blame him? And while I always enjoyed our games, Hal Small was never a tournament pairing I took lightly.
One shameful memory I feel compelled to share dates back to the height of our rivalry. Accustomed to reading better than him, I remember my arrogant thoughts when he would sometimes shut his eyes as he was reading out fights. In my hubris, it seemed ridiculous; I could outfight him with his eyes open, what chance would he have with his eyes shut? It was only later that I learned that he was dyslexic. I never had a chance to ask, but I suspect shutting his eyes was a way to bring order to the board. I cannot help but admire all the more his achievements in music and Go.
In more recent years, I think of Hal and Betsy, seemingly always together, quietly enjoying the Congresses. His pride in Betsy’s enthusiasm as a Go player was palpable, as was his pride in his daughters when they would make their frequent Congress appearances. Perhaps his favorite day of each Congress was Pair Go with Betsy and I will never forget the year they traded clothes and waited for people to notice.
In contrast to his Go player’s competitiveness, and his powerful music, this was a man who seemed quietly and truly content.
A memorial service will be planned in the future. But any memorial service should be a celebration of life and legacy. And Hal will have one every summer.
flowing strong and sure
steady, small ideas leave
beautiful aji
-hka; photos by Phil Straus, except bottom right, by John Pinkerton