Some board game designers are mathematicians and churn out balanced experiences with finely tuned mechanics. Some are computer scientists whose games are too complicated to contemplate. Klaus Teuber was a dental technician who launched a revolution. He passed this week at 70 from a sudden and severe illness (https://www.npr.org/2023/04/05/1168256131/catan-board-game-klaus-teuber-dies). Allow me to add to the chorus of retrospectives to eulogize and celebrate him.
Klaus entered my life through college neighbors and date nights. Indirect competition was a welcome relief from Monopoly, though its roll-for-resources turns are eerily similar. My copy of Catan still bills itself as “The Settlers of Catan,” with a decidedly colonial illustration on the front. This perspective was all too common in the interregnum between Avalon Hill’s heyday and the very golden age it kicked off, and the switch was a bellwether of larger industry growth and acceptance. It introduced so many people to the hallmarks of the Golden Age to come: A deck of cards replaces the dice to even out the odds of each number showing up, gold salves player frustration over wasted turns, and endless spin-offs for every player-count, taste, and budget allow players to craft their favorite version. Catan was my first truly modern game.
My dad was an old-school war gamer. Hex and chit classics littered the top shelves of our closets. His old lead soldiers mixed in with my Lego (gulp). We played Risk and Hero Quest with him as a child, Warhammer for summers home from college, and Star Realms as his health declined. We played Catan together. We played everything together. Before I knew it, he was gone. He would be turning 70 this May.
Catan shaped my gaming life. I played it again for the first time with my kid in Klaus’ honor. No expansions or house rules. It took ten minutes before someone said, “I’ve got wood for sheep,” and the dice hated me all night, just like old times. Its clunky charm was amplified by memories of games past. I couldn’t imagine a better way to spend the evening.
Klaus won’t be the first titan to leave us. Remember that his most famous creation didn’t become truly great without moving forward. And it never would have woven itself into the fabric of our lives without being worth countless sessions with those we love most. Let’s play one in his honor and keep moving forward.
