Mild-looking little Samuel Reshevsky hunched over the chess board, prodded his temples, thoughtfully munched a finger. His opponent, Olaf Ulvestad, paced the floor between moves like an expectant father. A few doors away, in an auditorium safely insulated from the ears of the players, fans watched the progress of the game on a huge chess board, happily kibitzed: "No, no, the bishop!" "Now, I would have played it this way. . . ."
After six hours of grueling play, Reshevsky was two pawns to the good. Suddenly, after the 66th move, Ulvestad resigned. To the parlor chess player, who doesn't know when...
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