When the Bug Bites...
Every veteran conjurer should be able to look back along their thread of life and say, “This is the event where the bug bit me,” or, “this is the person who shaped my passion for the art,” or, “When I saw this trick, I knew I had to know more.”
Although those are three different questions, it’s still one single point on my timeline.
On a warm summer day in 1967 my uncle Wally Kemp fooled me badly with the only trick he knew—a nickel that cleverly vanished after being rubbed into his elbow. He offered to teach me the trick on one condition: I had to promise to practice the trick for an hour before showing it to anyone. I was eight years old so, of course, that hour was an eternity…and probably the most important sixty minutes of my career.
When Uncle Wally set the terms of his revelation, my first question was, “Why an hour? Is the trick that hard to do?” His answer was, “Not at all, but if you are going to claim to do a miracle, then I think you should practice in front of a mirror and not on your audience.”
You know, Wally Kemp wasn’t a magician. He only knew one trick (and likely, he learned it in a bar). But even he understood the most basic truth behind a successful magic presentation: “Practice in front of a mirror, not on your audience.”
For the record, I’ve been waiting thirty-five years for better entertainment advice to come along but, so far, my one-trick uncle has everyone beat.
In that hot living room, I sat in front of him and practiced for an hour. Everything that could go wrong did. I screwed up the trick so many times it wasn’t even funny. However, I learned how to deal with the mistakes. I was no longer intimidated by the possibility of a something going amiss. By the time Uncle Wally deemed me ready to go forth and mystify, I was packed with confidence.
I waltzed into the kitchen, borrowed a coin from my mother, screwed the trick up completely and still came out of it on the high side. Thanks to Uncle Wally, the first performance of my first trick was successfull because I used an ‘out’ to convert a mistake into a miracle. My mother was honestly fooled and her surprised reaction provided the fuel for a passionate hobby that later turned into a never-a-dull-moment career.
Nine years later, I was performing and selling magic to tourists for the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! company. It was another hot summer afternoon and I got word from the office to pick up the house phone.
Mom called to tell me some news about her brother. Remember the bar joke earlier? I wasn’t kidding. Wally had a drinking problem. Eventually, my Aunt Caroline separated from Wally because the alcohol made him unpredictable. They still loved each other but the booze made the magic go away.
Now when Wally got drunk he became convinced Caroline would take him back if he just explained a few things. Eventually, Caroline had no choice but to take out a restraining order against her husband.
One night, after a few hours of door-pounding, middle-of-the-night crying and angry shouting, Wally finally made it into the house through one of the windows. A terrified Caroline shot him once. The bullet went straight to his heart and Wally Kemp was dead before he hit the floor.
Their daughter Debi was just thirteen at the time. My cousin watched it from the top of the stairs.
In my forty-six years, I’ve never been a serious drinker. Somewhere in the back of my head, I have this idea that Wally gave me the magic, but that alcohol crap can clearly take it away.
And apparently, when the magic goes away...life is over.
Although those are three different questions, it’s still one single point on my timeline.
On a warm summer day in 1967 my uncle Wally Kemp fooled me badly with the only trick he knew—a nickel that cleverly vanished after being rubbed into his elbow. He offered to teach me the trick on one condition: I had to promise to practice the trick for an hour before showing it to anyone. I was eight years old so, of course, that hour was an eternity…and probably the most important sixty minutes of my career.
When Uncle Wally set the terms of his revelation, my first question was, “Why an hour? Is the trick that hard to do?” His answer was, “Not at all, but if you are going to claim to do a miracle, then I think you should practice in front of a mirror and not on your audience.”
You know, Wally Kemp wasn’t a magician. He only knew one trick (and likely, he learned it in a bar). But even he understood the most basic truth behind a successful magic presentation: “Practice in front of a mirror, not on your audience.”
For the record, I’ve been waiting thirty-five years for better entertainment advice to come along but, so far, my one-trick uncle has everyone beat.
In that hot living room, I sat in front of him and practiced for an hour. Everything that could go wrong did. I screwed up the trick so many times it wasn’t even funny. However, I learned how to deal with the mistakes. I was no longer intimidated by the possibility of a something going amiss. By the time Uncle Wally deemed me ready to go forth and mystify, I was packed with confidence.
I waltzed into the kitchen, borrowed a coin from my mother, screwed the trick up completely and still came out of it on the high side. Thanks to Uncle Wally, the first performance of my first trick was successfull because I used an ‘out’ to convert a mistake into a miracle. My mother was honestly fooled and her surprised reaction provided the fuel for a passionate hobby that later turned into a never-a-dull-moment career.
Nine years later, I was performing and selling magic to tourists for the Ripley’s Believe It or Not! company. It was another hot summer afternoon and I got word from the office to pick up the house phone.
Mom called to tell me some news about her brother. Remember the bar joke earlier? I wasn’t kidding. Wally had a drinking problem. Eventually, my Aunt Caroline separated from Wally because the alcohol made him unpredictable. They still loved each other but the booze made the magic go away.
Now when Wally got drunk he became convinced Caroline would take him back if he just explained a few things. Eventually, Caroline had no choice but to take out a restraining order against her husband.
One night, after a few hours of door-pounding, middle-of-the-night crying and angry shouting, Wally finally made it into the house through one of the windows. A terrified Caroline shot him once. The bullet went straight to his heart and Wally Kemp was dead before he hit the floor.
Their daughter Debi was just thirteen at the time. My cousin watched it from the top of the stairs.
In my forty-six years, I’ve never been a serious drinker. Somewhere in the back of my head, I have this idea that Wally gave me the magic, but that alcohol crap can clearly take it away.
And apparently, when the magic goes away...life is over.
posted by Mick Ayres at 11:39 PM
1 Comments:
My father is an alcoholic. He hasn't had a drink since 1974, but he battles it still.
If I hadn't joined the church in 1990, I would probably be a died-in-the-wool alcoholic now; I was just a few drinks away.
Even more than tobacco (which stole my baby sister from us) booze steals life. It steals your life while you're still "alive" and what could be worse than that?
When someone suggests that I'm hooked on magic (or yo-yos or comics) I'm able to satisfy myself that it's a harmless addiction. And I never let myself forget that I might just be one drink away from losing myself.
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