FIDE Master Jimmy Adams, who has died aged 79 after a long illness, was one of the great chess storytellers. He was cast in the mould of Irving Chernev and Fred Reinfeld – lively, versatile and cultured writers he admired, emulated, and surpassed.

He honed his craft writing for CHESS and the British Chess Magazine in the 1970s and 80s before becoming the editor of CHESS, one of the game’s oldest and most popular publications. Over a career of more than half a century, he wrote, edited, translated, commissioned and published hundreds of chess books, ranging across opening theory, games collections, tournament books, instructional works and historical biographies.

Jimmy was proud of his work for CHESS, building a brand that reflected his personality and passion for the game. The magazine was at once breezy and instructive, modern and yet steeped in the game’s history; it looked good too, under the eye of photographer Mark Huba, who became a close friend. While Jimmy was at the helm, CHESS drew some of world’s leading chess players, writers and personalities as both readers and contributors. He was a vital part of the 80s chess boom known as ‘The English Chess Explosion’.

He is perhaps best known for several acclaimed historical biographies of chess masters, all deeply researched and written in his affably accessible style. He wore his learning lightly, which is a rare gift. He made chess history fun.

One of his proudest achievements was Gyula Breyer: The Chess Revolutionary (New in Chess, 2017), the product of 30 years’ research. He would immerse himself in his subject and, in his quest for material and insight, go to great lengths to squirrel out obscure sources in various languages. He would trace and charm the master’s descendants to unearth priceless specimens of primary research and rare photographs. Gyula Breyer is a remarkably vivid portrait of a unique talent and his short, dramatic life. ‘For a few years I was obsessed by Breyer,’ he once said, ‘I imagined myself as him and experimented with his ideas and openings in my own games.’ You might call that ‘method biography’.

In recent years he edited and self-published, under his Chess Supreme imprint, a monumental and beautifully produced collection of the games and writing of his boyhood hero Paul Keres. He was comforted to receive, in the weeks before he died, advance copies of his last book, Salo Flohr: From Chess Fighter to Chess Writer. Flohr, like Breyer, is another unsung hero whose legacy he unlocked from the archives.

I came to know Jimmy in the 1990s, a few years after Kingpin launched. Ever since, he was an unfailingly jovial source of support and knowledge. It was a privilege to publish his articles, always rich in anecdote, humour and insight – and they can all be read on this website (see the links below). A particular favourite is his two-part tribute to friend and clubmate Ron Harman, which plunges the reader into London’s chess scene of the 60s and 70s.

Jimmy would never accept money for this work, despite my best efforts – selflessness, humility and a sense of mission were marks of his character. In return I’d usually buy him a dinner or send him a book he was after. When I told him I was working on a chess biography, he was typically generous with his time and advice. He would alert me to unusual sources, people to contact, and send me material and illustrations, even after illness had restricted his mobility.

Gatherings with Jimmy and friends were always celebrations. We would usually meet at Christmas with the journalist Sarah Hurst, Mark Huba, and sometimes chess writer/actor IM Gary Lane. Jimmy’s natural warmth and zest made him excellent company.  A long Italian lunch would flow inevitably into dinner, fuelled by Chianti and his fund of stories about the chess people he had known or researched. We had never met anyone with such passion for the history and culture of chess, and so driven to communicate it.

Lunch at the Sherlock Holmes pub, London, July 2013

Left to right: Sarah Hurst, Jimmy Adams, Graham Hillyard, Gary Lane, Mark Huba

A story he told me only last year says much about the roots of his career path. He was 12 or 13 and browsing in Solosy’s on London’s Charing Cross Road. Solosy’s was a newsagent specialising in foreign newspapers and periodicals. A copy of the British Chess Magazine caught his eye and he started reading. He needed to find out more about this interesting publication. Noting down the magazine’s address printed on the cover, he took the No.12 bus from Trafalgar Square to the BCM’s office at 20 Chestnut Road, West Norwood. A bemused lady in her middle years answered the door and, at a loss as to what to do or say to the boy, showed him in to the packing room and left him there. Twenty minutes later, she returned to find that the rascal had undone all the parcels. A curious fellow.

Our last conversation might have been sad but somehow it wasn’t. ‘Who do you think should write my obituary, Jon?’ (said boldly, with that quizzical half-smile of his). I pitched some names, he seemed to nod approval. He would have been touched that most of them, and many others, have already paid warm tribute.

Chess stories will never be quite the same.

James Bernard Adams (7 February 1947 – 6 June 2026)

 

Obituary by Sarah Hurst, Guardian, 7 July 2026

 

Jimmy’s articles for Kingpin

Pub Chat with Jimmy Adams – Part 1

Pub Chat with Jimmy Adams – Part 2

Jimmy discusses his life in chess and 19 years editing one of the world’s most popular chess magazines

Gyula Breyer, Part 1: The Resourceful Revolutionary

Gyula Breyer, Part 2: A Source of Inspiration

Gyula Breyer, Part 3: The Last Throes

Gyula Breyer, Part 4: Credo, quia absurdum

Diamond Cut Diamond: Tal v Keres – the untold story

Ron Harman (1938–2014) – A Champion of the Chess Club
Part 1: A memorable introduction

Ron Harman (1938–2014) – A Champion of the Chess Club
Part 2: Bayswater – Tales from the Crypt

“Please chessgames.com … can I have my game back?”

 

Display photograph © Charlotte Adams