It’s 2 p.m on Oct. 1 in Clyde Coffee, where 78-year-old Greg Nowak is crouched over a small tournament-style chessboard folded out into three worn sections across the table.  He studies an old game that had been played by Tigran Petrosian, by playing through the game over and over, while guessing each next move.  He’ll then compare his moves against the Armenian-Soviet grandmaster’s, who has inspired him nearly his entire life.

Each Sunday, Nowak will walk from his small apartment off of Broadway St, down the Hip Strip to Clyde Coffee.  He carries a blue worn-out bag that faintly reads the words, “A bag of Books, B & Noble.”  Inside the contents float loosely— a half-eaten Ziploc bag of Triscuits, his “old fashioned laptop” (the folding chessboard), several chess books, including Svetozar Gligorić’s “I play against pieces,” and miscellaneous handwritten chess game records from an old tournament.  He’ll order a regular sized drip coffee that he’ll pour three packets of sugar in.  It will turn cold before he drains it.  From here, Nowak might try to take the number six bus to Rosauers Supermarket off of Reserve to eat a dinner from the hot bar, or go to Mustard Seed to get a box of fried rice.  Some nights he’ll meet an acquaintance to play a game of chess.  Other nights, he’ll return to his two-windowed apartment to retire for the day.

Nowak is a familiar face in Missoula.  He is semi-balding and wears square, tortoiseshell glasses, above an array of decaying teeth.  In his left dress pocket, lives a multitude of pens and an ancient handkerchief, thats covered by a knock-off Burburry woolen plaid scarf, ridden with holes.  He is usually found playing a game of chess or studying a game in solitude at various cafes and restaurants around town.

For seven decades, Nowak has studied what feels like an infinite range of possibilities across a 64-square board.  Through this time spent learning about calculated decisions, one may grow to deny the idealism of luck and fate, believing instead that personal decisive moves determine the future.  However, Nowak has carried the belief that fate has carefully governed each move for him.

What began as an escape for him when his home life wasn’t very good, became a game that allowed him to secure a sense of control.  “God’s hand was at play,” says Nowak.  “The help from God, religion, and chess— fate helped me.”   

Today, Nowak is a local legend in Montana.  To most, he is known as the Octopus, Montana’s only chess master.

The Bog’s Opening

Black Pawn to E6

The very beginning

It was in the late summer of 1947 in Milwaukee Wisconsin, when Nowak suspected God advanced his own pawn to set fate in motion.  Nowak had just been born.  He was wailing with a high pitched cry in this mother’s arms in a stale hospital room.  His parents had just undergone a shotgun wedding after his mother was feeling heavy financial pressure, and needed the help from his father, Arnold.  Even so, Nowak’s father still wasn’t paying bills and due to a recent court case, wasn’t allowed to enter the hospital room.

This didn’t the man.  His father had busted through the doors.  Amidst the chaos that ensued, he gave his mother a head injury that left her concussed, and Nowak was tipped over the side of the bed.  The sudden fall caused Nowak to stop crying all together— a moment doctors later feared might have caused serious neurological issues.  But the injury was never followed up by Nowak’s parents, leaving the mystery of the repercussions to linger in the back of Nowak’s head for the rest of his life.  He would soon gain an unusual accent, foreign to the rest of his family.  “I get a notion that I lived before,” said Nowak.  “Probably in Eastern Europe or Russia.  People ask me about my accent, that’s probably where it came from.”  Nowak would eventually fall in love with the later decades of the 19th century, and the soviet Grandmasters that ruled.  This era was known as the Golden Age, introducing a new level of mastery that reshaped the game of chess entirely.

Black to D6

A child prodigy

Nowak grew up in an unstable home in Milwaukee Wisconsin, and also had a passion to become a master chess player.  This wasn’t exactly the ideal combination to create the life that he wanted.  Chess, however, became his outlet when things got bad.

After taking a chess set that was meant to be a gift for his cousin, he immediately was drawn to the game.

He began playing all the time.  He read chess books, studied the strategies of previous grandmasters, and then used those strategies to start winning.  Instead of homework, Nowak would sneak chess books and read those instead.

“I studied chess when I was supposed to study school,” Nowak said.  “I went to the average public school where I put up with kids.  Can you imagine?  I was a lot more advanced than they were.  I wasn’t very popular because I was different.”

Nowak was a chess prodigy at the age of 9.  “I was scoring in the upper 1% in pattern recognition and I had a 110 IQ,” he said.  “Pattern recognition and attention to detail helped me in chess.”

After beating his classmates in chess too many times, his teacher sent him to adult club, where he began beating them as well.  “They thought I was going to be another Bobby Fisher,” said Nowak.  As a junior in high school, he would eventually play Fisher, meeting at a draw.  But beyond being blessed with an analytical mind, he was also profoundly religious.

Nowak was named after St. Gregory, a pivotal Pope that was known for his reformative work in the church.  The name was chosen by his mother, who laid Nowak’s foundation of religion.  “I read the Bible, but I think by myself,” Nowak said.  “Now I’m a Christian and an independent thinker.”

At the time he was living with his parents because he didn’t have to pay rent, although he wanted out.  His dad was an alcoholic  He didn’t want to work, and was violent towards Nowak and his mother throughout the time that Nowak lived at home.  His grandmother refused to call Nowak by his first name, and instead used the phrase Arnold’s son.  “I was a very unwelcome addition to the family,” said Nowak.  “Chess was my escape.”

For years, Nowak traveled to chess tournaments via bus and train, in hopes that he would eventually become a grandmaster.  However, he couldn’t always afford to go to tournaments, making his quest difficult.  “Things were a lot cheaper when I was younger,” said Nowak.  “Trains and buses and hotels were way cheaper.  The dollar was king.”

To become a grandmaster, chess becomes your full time job.  You must earn an official FIDE (Federation Internationale des Echeces in French) rating of 2500 or more, as well as earn multiple other achievements, and then be approved from FIDE.

Years later, his grandmother passed away, giving him a portion of her inheritance.  “Fate helped me,” said Nowak.  “I got some money and split to New York.  My parents stayed in misery bondage, for better or for worse.”  He was relieved to finally escape the chains that held him in place.  He would call his mother on the phone time to time, but he never went back to visit until his father died.

Knight to the Queen’s Rook 3

The accident

It was late in the year of 1989 in New York.  Greg Nowak, 42 at the time, had just left a casual Chinese restaurant with his friend Bob, where they had spent the afternoon playing a game of chess.  The weather was cold but pleasant, and as usual, Nowak was on foot.  He was only six blocks away from his apartment— only a few feet away from reaching the sidewalk across the street, when he says fate changed the course of his life again.

Out of nowhere, Nowak was struck by a small Toyota driven by a drunk driver.  He laid there on the pavement, unaware of what to do.  Eventually he stood up, and limped his way back to his silent apartment.  That following day, Nowak’s right knee had grown to twice its size, so he dragged himself to a nearby hospital.

Nowak was instructed to proceed with knee surgery— leading him into a recovery state that would cost him his job at a clock-and-watch company where he’d worked for the past 15 years.  He would then decide to never drive again.  He didn’t want to put anyone else in danger due to lingering back and leg issues and a “surprising lead foot.”

Having just traveled to Missoula for a recent chess tournament the month prior, Nowak found the quaint town to have a “favorable impression on him.”  He decided that he would leave his life in New York.  “It was totally fate to get hit by an automobile and bring me to Missoula,” he said.  So jumping on another chance at change, he made the move out west on April Fools Day of 1991.

Knight to Bishop 2

The Octopus

Nowak’s final move to Missoula, was a  turning point for him and for the game of chess in the small town.  Nowak would eventually become Montana’s only chess master in the year of 2005, and would earn the nickname, “The Octopus,” after proving capable of playing over 60 chess opponents at once.

Nowak noticed Missoula lacked chess players, so he started the Clandestine Chess Club, which met in the back of a dark hallway in 100 West main st.  He eventually would see about 20 regular members each week.  Nowak has spent the last 32 years putting on chess tournaments, most of which are as affordable as $5 for those who want to start competing.  Tournaments cost him about $150 each time and he barely breaks even from the competitors.  To offset these costs, he’s started to sell tournament style chess boards for $10.

“There’s a void on chess tournaments in Missoula.  I fill that void,” said Nowak.  “There’s a void in chess sets.  I fill that void.  I keep chess alive when there’s too much internet.”

Having a lacking internet presence has put Nowak at a disadvantage in chess today.  There are over 200 million members on chess.com, and many are practicing by playing way more games than Nowak has access the to, as well as learning new strategies by AI bots.

Nowak retired in his late 50’s after a couple miscellaneous jobs in Missoula.  He’s been living off of money from chess tournaments, SNAP benefits, and left over social security.   “I’m not a chess bum,” said Nowak.  “I’m not lazy.  I’ve put in many decades of work.  In Missoula, I barely survived off of chess.”

In the back of the VFW

Wilton Strickland, the vice president of the Montana Chess Association, which meets every Wednesday night in the VFW, along with the rest of the Missoula Chess Club.  Nowak is known to meander over from his apartment—just a few blocks away— to join a few games, although his appearance has become more infrequent over the years.

On a cold Wednesday in November, Strickland, one of Nowak’s few friends, plays a match while sipping on an NA beer.  Chess is more of a social hour for Strickland, rather than a competitive game.  Even so, he has managed to reach a peak rating of 1950, a score just below expert level in chess, but well above a beginner.  Chess ratings typically range from anywhere from a few hundred to around 2800 at the world’s best.  This puts Strickland roughly at the top 5-10% of all rated chess players in the world.

Strickland met Nowak in 2010 when he moved from Florida to Missoula with his fiancee.  He stumbled upon a flier that Nowak had put up, for one of his bi-annual tournaments.  Strickland, not having played very recently but still being very good at chess, decided to go to the tournament to meet new people.  Given that he was new to town, he didn’t pose a threat to Nowak.  So Nowak put him against someone else in the bracket, and Strickland swept the entire tournament, winning all four games.

After this Strickland decided to join The Clandestine Chess Club that met at Bernices each week.  He would occasionally play Nowak, and would even win every once and a while.  He describes Nowak as someone who loves what he does.  “There’s nothing arrogant about him at all.  He’s the salt of the Earth,” says Strickland.  “Some people who are really good are hyper-competitive and arrogant.  But Nowak is an unusual combination.  Not what you’d expect.”

Nowak has given Strickland the community of chess in Missoula, and has even become a mentor to him.  “I try to be a mentor to him as well—he’s naive to the world,” says Strickland.  Strickland describes Nowak as eccentric— he’s known to say what is on his mind, but he doesn’t quite know what is going on in the world.  “I’ve never seen him depressed,” Strickland says.  “He’s very comfortable being alone. I envy that.”

Strickland will sometimes receive a call from Nowak, asking for a ride or they’ll just have a few minutes to catch up.  They’ll talk chess until the conversation fades.  Sometimes once this happens, they’ll talk politics, and Nowak will share his unease with the current office.

“It feels good to be close with him,” Strickland says.  “No one else seems to be close to him.”

A common misconception of Nowak is how he received the name The Octopus, says Strickland.  It’s not because of his ability to conquer many players at once.  “If he plays in any particular game, he’ll strangle the life of his opponent,” he says.  “He controls the whole board.  He sucks the oxygen from the other player.”

Matthew Guthrie, who in 1981 became Montana’s youngest state champion at 17, sits at an adjacent table to Strickland, playing a game of his own.  Guthrie, now 61, competed against Nowak for the first time in 1995.  “As a player, Greg is very stylistically interesting,” says Guthrie.  “He has a slow gradual style—influenced by Tigran Petrosian and Vasily Smyslov— both Soviet players.”  While Nowak plays, he lets the clock run, unlike most other players.  His slow style would eventually cause his rating to nose dive below the Master level threshold, after timed speed games became popular.  But his title remains intact.  In chess, a Master Title is for life once its earned

Present day

At 4 pm on Oct. 1, Nowak leaves Clyde Coffee to meander home.  His Barnes and Noble bag hangs in his right hand, and his shoulders are draped with a brown barn jacket.  Nowak limps along the Hip Strip, a gait he acquired after his accident in New York.  “Decades of walking in a slant has thrown me out of alignment,” He says,

After Nowak makes it to his apartment and climbs three flights of stairs, he pushes through a door affixed with a piece of paper that reads WARNING— Bubonic Plague HERE!, in hopes that it would keep people away from his apartment door.

His floors are buried beneath a crust of chess and travel books, old tournament game scorecards, and several bags of chips.  The smell of stale garbage lingers in the air, wafting from the culprit in the kitchen— four full trash bags that line the baseboards of his cupboards.  On the wall Nowak has taped hundreds of old magazine clippings, each with a different glamour-styled portrait of a beautiful woman staring back at him.

Nowak, hobbling towards his fridge, steps over a pile of Then and Now Travel books.  The top one is  from “Milwaukee”, where he grew up.  It’s 5:00, time for his evening meal, which he pulls out of the fridge.  Nowak unwraps a Break Espresso tuna-fish sandwich and sits beside his bed, that is naked of sheets, in an old wooden chair.  He dumps three tablespoons of salt into the sandwich that will expire today and washes each bite down with flat Coca Cola, that he’s poured into a red plastic wine glass that reads Life Happens, Wine Helps.  Meanwhile, Gwyneth Paltrow’s blue eyes twinkle at Nowak from a large poster that advertises her 2003 film, Sylvia.  His bedside dresser is covered with equal parts dust and alarm clocks.  He has neglected to to get rid of any of his seven clocks that don’t work.

“I’ve dubbed myself as a sociable Christian loner,” says Nowak.  “If you say you’re just a loner, people think you’re going to assassinate the president.”

Nowak enjoys company when he plays chess, but doesn’t have the desire to spend time with people elsewhere.  This is instead replaced with the presence of 1,000 different eyeballs staring at him—fulfilling  his fascination with women.  “They’re nice to look at— I don’t have any fantasies.  It’s all just eye candy,” Nowak says.  “I love beautiful architecture too.”

He hasn’t had a a romantic partner since he was in his early twenties, when he found the first young lady who peaked his interest beyond just being a chess partner.  Although this didn’t last longer than a few weeks.

“I’m a professional bachelor,” says Nowak.  He lives a steady and clean life that is absent of substances, alcohol or gambling.

Nowak wakes hours after the sun, usually around noon.  Having this routine has debilitated his chances of joining other chess tournaments around town.  Instead, he enjoys the later chess hours that he’s created in his own tournaments.  “No one has to get up early for chess.  It should be entertainment, not work,” says Nowak.  “We’re done by 6:30— I just call it age.  Chess affects my brain, it takes a lot of emotional energy.”

Today, the Clandestine Chess Club has naturally met its end, but Nowak will still meet a small group of people at Dog Wash Cafe.  “I’m receding into chess retirement,” he says.  “I still play Grandmaster’s games and read my chess books.  I don’t travel anymore, but lots of people still think I’m a legend.”

But stepping back from competition hasn’t softened his opinion on the game.  “My advice for everyone who wants to play chess is you’re objecting yourself into something way bigger than you,” said Nowak.  “It’ll consume you.  It won’t bring you any money.”

After 69 years of studying other’s games, Nowak has invented his own defense opening.  “I’ve put my own take into The Bog Defense,” he said.  “The Octopus Opening— It’s super swampy, really indefinite.”  The unpredictable opening is so new that people don’t know what to do, proving he hasn’t lost his chess abilities.  “I’m not the habitual type.  People shear at my Bog Defense.”

Through all of the changes in Nowak’s life, the only constant is the game of chess.  “I’m in total control of my life,” he says.  “I get company when I’m playing chess.”  For the past 69 years, he has studied the small miscalculations of various Grandmasters before him, teaching him the luck of the game.   

“Life is part luck,” says Nowak.  “You get lucky or unlucky.  But I’m just a survivor.”