The best blade.

My grandfather had a aunt. And she had probably the best job in the entire USSR. Namely, before the war, she traded beer in the spill near the Music Hall (it is in Leningrad, almost opposite the Petropavlovsk fortress). Work is fun and monetary, but still hard, especially when the day is hot and the turn for beer is big. And she stuck my grandfather in assistants, well there the baskets to wash off, the cakes to wrap, the garbage to clean up, help to close, etc. For such a job, the grandfather had beer and cookies from the blade, and the comrades brought a couple of liters at the end of the day forever. With money she almost never joked, but one day she gave him a truly royal gift.

One beautiful May day of 1940, there was a column building in the park. There were tables, folding chairs, and about 30 chess boards. There was a battle for places, someone was recorded, knocked out, placed in a row, someone convinced the organizer in something, and someone loudly knocked the right. It was right next to the beer barrel, which facilitated the trade. Grandfather played good (and played) chess and he looked eagerly at the row. Apparently there was an interesting session of the simultaneous game, but there was no chance to get a worthy place, and the aunt had to help.

She noticed his gaze, breathed and said, "look out for the barrel," and without hesitation approached the organizer (it turns out that she knew this park massively-shutdown). And a dozen minutes later, when the smiling organizer finished dealing with the candidates for the seats, it turned out to be a miracle that there was one free seat and my grandfather was on it.

So he had to play and honestly lose the party of the champion of the USSR and the world M. M. Botvinnik.