(679) CONCLUSION (I Was Tortured In The Pasadena Jailhouse) TBN-Oct. 18-24, 2010

CONCLUSION AND PART 4 OF "I WAS TORTURED IN THE PASADENA JAILHOUSE"
                                                                           By Bobby Fischer
                                                                      The World Chess Champion

                                                            Copyright (c) 1982 by Bobby Fischer
                                                                      All rights reserved
                                                         
                                                                          Published by
                                                                       BOBBY FISCHER


PART 1 --Post No. 570             Posted on July 30, 2013
PART 2 --Post No. 571             Posted on Aug. 01, 2013
PART 3 --Post No. 572             Posted on Aug. 01, 2013

                      ---CONCLUSION---

       "I WAS TORTURED IN THE PASADENA JAILHOUSE"
                                  By Bobby Fischer 

No Written Charges...
The charges made against me until now, two weeks later, are still all verbal. All they gave was two receipts for $500.00 bail on each one. No accusations on them, and as a matter of fact no clear command to appear anywhere.

(No) Money Back...
Finally I was taken back to the desk where I had checked in at and had left my personal belongings in my pockets. I noticed that my wallet was empty of money. I remembered that when I left home that Tuesday that I have nine dollars in cash and well over another dollar in change. I also distinctly remembered counting out the bills when I was checked into the jail and they took my belongings. I remembered clearly the arresting officer snickering as he counted out the bills, "Six, seven, eight, nine dollars," snicker.
   So now I said to the chief jailer, "Hey, where's my money? I had ten bucks." He shouted, "No, you didn't! You had no money when you came in here!" I said, "What are you talking about? I had ten dollars." Some kind of eye communication went on between the chief jailer and the man behind the desk. The chief jailer quickly changed his attitude and ask the man behind the desk if I came in there with the money. He nodded and said, "Yes," or something, and chief jailer quickly gave me a ten dollar bill and marked something on a piece of paper, or made as if he were marking something on a piece of paper.
   Incidentally, I had given them when I checked in either a five dollar bill and four ones plus well over a dollar in change or nine ones plus well over a dollar in change (I'm 99% sure it was the former). What happened to those bills and change is an interesting question in itself. I had previously been given three dimes by the chief jailer for my phone calls so I didn't bother arguing about the exact change that might still be due me, especially since it looked like I was actually about to get out of that hell hole.
   That afternoon I was told I could go, and an electronically operated gate was opened and I took the elevator down and left the jailhouse. A while later I noticed several pills of mine had been stolen by the police/jailers. I presume they destroyed the pills hoping to find that they were illegal. When they found nothing - well, bye-bye pills.
   
Sham...
Legality is a sham at the jailhouse. There are No Smoking signs everywhere, and no smoking is rigidly enforced - for the prisoners. But I noticed a light-skinned colored cop/ jailer smoking whenever he pleased.
   Numerous interesting and curious questions arise regarding why I was stopped by the policeman as "a bank robbery suspect." The first officer who stopped me said, "There's just been a bank robbery..." etc. Then a few minutes later in the police car on the way to the police station, an officer told me that they'd just picked up the bank robber. My question is how could the police have had a photocopy of an artist's rendition of what the bank robbery suspect looked like in the short time that presumably had occurred between the time of the bank robbery and the time the first officer (photocopy of the artist's rendition of the bank robber in hand) had approached me?

Unasked Questions...
Why wasn't I asked any questions about the bank robbery if that were the real reason I was stopped? I was never asked where I'd been in the last few minutes, never told what bank had been robbed, how much had been taken, etc. I was not out of breath from running, had no weapon, only a little cash on me. They never bothered to check my face against that of the artist's rendition of the bank robber until I was already arrested. To say the whole thing stinks and is a frame up and set up is to put it mildly.

True events... 
The foregoing text was written between about June 5 and June 8, 1981, then later typed, edited, slightly revised, corrected, etc. However, no attempt has been made to bring it up to date or to incorporate later information or events, etc. It is a brief outline, a hastily written sketch, of the horrendous and incredible but absolutely true events that occurred to me in my life between about 2:00pm Tuesday, May 26, 1981, and about 1:30pm Thursday, May 28, 1981. I do not pretend that this is literature. However, it is absolutely accurate in all of the main points, at least a thousand times more accurate and truthful than anything you will hear from the other side - i.e., the policemen and the jailers and all the rest of the law enforcement authorities. Perhaps in the future when I have more time to devote to it I will write a revised and expanded and even more accurate and painstakingly written account of these events.

Sincerely,

Robert D. James (professionally known as Robert J. Fischer
                           or Bobby Fischer,
                           The World Chess Champion)


Source: Chessmate by Roberto Hernandez
            Tia Belau Newspaper
            Pages 13-14
            Volume 19
            Issue 42
            October 18-24, 2010
    

(642) CHESSMATE FIRST ISSUE (Tia Belau Dec. 29, 2002 - Jan. 04, 2003)

                           CHESS MATE
                                                      By Roberto Hernandez


THREE years ago, I was approached by Tutii Joe Chilton, the most active Palauan chess player today, to form a chess club.

Without hesitation, I agreed to donate my free time, chess books, use of my chess clock, and experience to develop chess in Palau.

The idea didn't materialize but in the middle of this year, TFCP (The Filipino Community In Palau) Vice President Sergio Alemania asked me if there were enough chess players in Palau to hold the first-ever chess tournament in Palau.

He assigned me to be the chairman of the tilt that drew 20 contestants including four women.

An All-Filipino tournament was held early this year, followed by an open competition on Sept. 15, 2002 in which Tutii Joe Chilton, who was the first contestant I invited to participate, acted as my co-chairman.

The tournament was participated in by 28 chess players including four Palauans and two Americans, the rest being Filipinos.

The youngest competitors were a 9- and an 11-year-old Palauans.

On January 12, 2003, another open chess tournament will be held which will be categorized into Class A and Class B championships after a 5-round classification games.

Anyone who wishes his or her chess savvy by testing one's skills in a real chess tournament is invited to participate.

I would like to start this column with two instructional chess quizzes. The solution to the quiz on the left is written upside down; to the one on the right will be revealed next week.

If you have questions about chess and the next open chess tournament, please call me at 488-3694. #

Source: Chessmate by Roberto Hernandez
             Tia Belau Newspaper
             Page 12
             Volume 12
             Issue 52
             December 29, 2002 - January 04, 2003 



I was given a free copy of Tia Belau newspaper since I started writing for them in Dec. 29, 2002.

But it will be given to me when I will submit my next report so I always buy it on Friday and I get my copy on Wednesday or Tuesday.

I was able to collect all 52 copies for the year 2003. When me and my wife rented a room in Topside in 2006, I put all those 52 copies of Tia Belau in an empty sack of rice and put it under the rented room's open space (on the ground with a plywood under it).

SOMEBODY THROW AWAY THAT WHOLE SACK WITHOUT PERMISSION FROM ME OR MY WIFE.

When I started to make a scrap book out of those old newspapers, I'm missing the whole year of 2003 with the exception of a few xerox copies that I posted in the bulletin board of Palau High School Gym. 

When I was allowed to check the publisher's copies (all originals), the whole year of 2003 is also missing!

One of the graphics designers of Tia Belau told me that I should have been the only person in the world to have that entire 2003 copies of Tia Belau had it's not thrown away by someone who doesn't care about history.

ANYWAY, I WAS ABLE TO PRODUCE A 2-HOUR VIDEO ENTITLED "CHESS IN PALAU 2002-2004" WHERE ALL THE FIRST 6 MAJOR CHESS TOURNAMENTS IN PALAU WERE DOCUMENTED THROUGH THAT VIDEO AND THROUGH TIA BELAU, PALAU'S FIRST NEWSPAPER.


Source: Chessmate by Roberto Hernandez
            Tia Belau Newspaper
            Page 12
            December 29, 2002 - January 04, 2003
    


       

(530) "I WAS TORTURED IN THE PASADENA JAILHOUSE (By Bobby Fischer) Part 1

     "I WAS TORTURED IN THE PASADENA JAILHOUSE"
                                           PART 1
                                                           By Robert James Fischer 


***This was published in Tia Belau Newspaper while me and Tito Cabunagan are representing Palau in the 2010 World Chess Olympiad in Khanty-Mansiysk, Russia together with our Australian Team Captain Jamie Kenmure and Swedish Delegate Jan Berglund.

ABOUT 2:00 pm Tuesday afternoon, May 26, 1981, as I was peacefully and lawfully walking towards Lake Street in Pasadena across from the Kaiser Permanente medical offices, a policeman in a car suddenly pulled up alongside the curb and said he wanted to talk to me because I fitted perfectly the description of a man who has just committed a bank robbery. I politely told him that he had the wrong man and I hadn’t committed any bank robbery, and that I didn’t know anything about it whatsoever.

                The policeman then proceeded to ask me a number of questions regarding my name, residence, age, etc. I answered all of these questions politely and truthfully. He then began to repeat the questions over and over again. I answered them over and over again. He asked for my identification and I showed it to him. He asked me how long I’ve lived in the area, and where I was from originally. I told him. He asked what I did for a living and I told him.

                Suddenly a second police car pulled alongside and I was soon surrounded by at least 3 or 4 policemen. On at least 3 or more separate occasions I was asked where I lived, and I told them that I didn’t have the exact street address but since it was only a block or 2 away I would show them where it was. They showed no interest whatsoever in this reasonable suggestion. The policeman who had just arrived in the second car began to repeat the same questions that the policeman in the first car had asked. I told him I’d already answered those questions. I was asked for my driver’s license and I told them I didn’t drive.

                The policemen became extremely hostile and threatening in their manner. They began to say among themselves, “He’s probably wanted out of state.” –“You think we should arrest him?”-“Yeah, I think so, let’s take him down to headquarters,” etc;

                At one point early in the questioning by the first officer before the second car had arrived I was told, “This is serious”. This simple statement spilled the beans on the entire police operation and clearly revealed it to be the filthy stinking set up it was. If the officer really believed I had just robbed a bank, the officer would know that I damn well knew it was “serious” and he wouldn’t make such a stupid statement. As I stated earlier, the officers began to repeat the same questions over and over again, interspersing comments among themselves that they’d have to take me to the station. I said, “I don’t know anything about this bank robbery and I’ve already answered your questions and I don’t have to give you any further answers to the same questions. “ I said, “I have the right to remain silent after giving you basic information about myself.” The officer said, “Well, you’re thinking of New York state. The laws are different out here.”

                The questions and threats to arrest me continued, I said, “I’m not answering any more questions. If you want to arrest me, arrest me-that’s it.” The one officer from the second car who was obviously the leader of the pack said, “Arrest him!”

                I was immediately handcuffed in a brutal fashion, the police pushing my hands way, way up behind my back and causing me considerable discomfort and pain. Later I saw that the metal had torn into the flesh of both my wrists. I was put into a police car but was unable to move in far enough for them to close the door because there is some kind of a hump in the middle of the back seat. After several attempts to shut the door by brutally pushing my right leg with his right leg, the officer finally succeeded in closing the door by pushing my leg in with the door itself. Later I saw that my right knee had turned black and blue.

                At one point as there were leading me into the car after they had arrested me, I saw that officer that had first approached me continue the bank robbery charade. He showed the leader of the pack officer what appeared to be a photocopy of an artist’s rendition of the supposed bank robbery suspect. I also saw the picture. With the exception of the fact that we both wear beards, the picture didn’t look in the least bit like me. The man in the picture wore glasses, his face was completely different from mine, the hair on his head was different, etc. etc.

                It was absolutely impossible to mistake me for him. And if after honestly (which was definitely not the case here) mistaking me for the man in the picture, it could not possibly take more than a few seconds at most by comparing the picture with my face to realize the mistake.

                But obviously the bank robbery bit was just a lying transparent pretext for approaching and arresting me. The officers never had the slightest question in their minds that I might be the so-called “bank robber”. The officer who showed him the picture said, “It looks just like him, doesn’t it?” The leader of the pack officer said, “Naw, that’s not him.” On the way to the police station an announcement came over the police car radio on the police band. One officer said, “That’s it—they just caught the bank robber!”

                On the way to the station, I was insulted several times, called an asshole, etc. At some point (perhaps it was already at the jailhouse) the police said, if I wasn’t such an asshole they wouldn’t have arrested me. After we got to the police station and I got out of the car, I said, “Well, you’ve got the bank robber. What do you want with me now? He said, “We just want to talk to you inside”. I said, “About what?” Answer-“Let’s just talk inside.” Inside they began repeating the same questions again. I was seated and still had my hands handcuffed behind my back. When I refused to give them anymore information I was physically attacked.

                The leader of the pack officer said, “We want to find out what this is all about!” Without any provocation of any kind on my part, he grabbed my throat with one hand and started choking me by the neck, pushing me backward in the chair (throughout all this “interrogation”, savagery and physical assault, I was seated and with my hands handcuffed behind my back) and putting his face close up to mine grimaced and shouted, “Talk!”

                As he was choking me a woman who apparently worked there walked by. She quickly turned her head to the left to look in the room to see what the commotion was all about. When she saw that I was being choked by the neck she quickly turned her head away and continued walking down the hallway. She obviously didn’t want to see something she shouldn’t see and get involved on my behalf to save my life—it could cost her job, you know. The crazed officer saw that I refused to talk or cringe and whine and beg for mercy, he released my throat and jumped back with a fearful look in his face like he’d just seen a ghost.

                I said, “I don’t believe this—being choked by the neck with my hands handcuffed behind my back by a policeman at the station to get me to talk. I thought this was only in the comic books!” A couple of the officers chuckled at the naivete. The leader of the pack crazed officer snapped, “Book him!” and took off.

                

Source: Chessmate by Roberto Hernandez

             Tia Belau Newspaper

             September 20-26, 2010