As a human being, Bobby left much to be desired. He was stubborn, difficult, and those qualities got worse and worse as time went on. I think he was bitter because he felt the American government didn’t give him the credit he deserved; he felt he’d helped win the cold war, in a small way. And the great tragedy of his life was not defending his world title in 1975 against Russia’s Anatoly Karpov.
But his redeeming quality was his sense of humor. We started on his book in 1967, but after months of work, Bobby withdrew the manuscript. A year or so later, we got a note from the publishers, Simon & Schuster. They wanted to know what to do with the lead plates we used in those days to print books. Bobby was living in a Brooklyn flat at the time, and he said, “Larry, do you think I should store the plates in my apartment?” I looked at him like he was crazy. “Bobby, do you realize how many tons that stuff weighs?” I asked. “It’ll come crashing through the floor and kill the tenants below.” Apparently it was the push he needed: “Well, the world’s coming to an end anyway,” he said. “I guess I should publish the book.”
