I first saw Hikaru Nakamura in person at a U.S. Junior event in either '02 or '03. I'm pretty sure it was in Tulsa. I played in the Open section and finished fifth in my class, but what really stayed with me was the U.S. Junior Closed, which Hikaru was competing in at the time. That event included several strong American juniors, among them Daniel Hernandez, Vinay Baht, I think, some tall guy from Texas with a beard and long hair who was really strong, David Pruess ,and others who would go on to shape the next generation of U.S. chess.

What made the experience unforgettable was the setting. The Junior Closed games were played in a small room, and spectators were permitted to stand close. Very close. Absurd to think of now. I remember leaning in, almost breathing down Hikaru's neck, watching his eyes move around the board , calculating in real time. I still remember the physical details: a polished board with ebony and maple squares, glossy under the lights, and heavily weighted boxwood pieces, possibly ebony or ebonized. You could hear the thud when a player moved a piece.

I also remember David Pruess at that event, along with his coach, a tall, unmistakable figure with long white hair and a long white beard. Both men carried themselves with quiet dignity. In a competitive environment often marked by tension and ego, they embodied the word gentleman, leaving a lasting impression on me.

I had seen Hikaru’s name before. He had already won the Kansas City SuperNationals, though I had not seen him play there in person. This Junior Closed was different. It was the first time I observed, from only a few feet away, Hikaru's intensity that would later define his public chess identity.

Hikaru Nakamura needs little introduction in the context of American chess history. His results, longevity, and influence speak for themselves. But for me, his story begins not with titles or rankings, but in a small tournament room in Tulsa, watching a young player think faster and more deeply than everyone else around him.