An Unexpected Disappearing Act

I owe you guys an explanation. It has been almost a month since my last post and I'm starting to get e-mails from some of you concerned citizens.

First, I am fine. Never been better. I haven't had time to blog lately because my schedule at the Disney resort has me performing seven days each week through the high-season (ie. until we get into Fall). On top of that, I'm doing a lot of writing and proofreading for other projects. So, to say the least...my cup is filled.

Until I catch a break, please keep dropping in and checking the board here. I'll have some new material up post haste. I promise to make it up to you.

Again, thank you all for the concern.

Best,
Mick Ayres

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Ethics Among Information-Junkies

While cruising the forums, I've noticed it doesn't take long for conjurers to get up in arms about the rights and wrongs of ethics and morals in the world of magic. To be sure, this is a worthy subject that certainly needs to be aired-out and discussed openly. However, there is one aspect of it that strikes my funny bone. How seriously am I supposed to take people complaining about rampant cheating and hoodwinking when those same folks are professional cheaters and hoodwinkers themselves?

Okay, back in the real world. Like it or not, these issues of ethics and morality in the world of conjuring ARE subjective ones and open to interpretation.

Once upon a time, I created several effects that were putting a lot of food on my table. I thought, "Hey, maybe other conjurers would like to know about these things, too." So, I wrote the trick descriptions out and printed it. When determining the price for this particular manuscript, I based it on two things: 1) what I felt the material was worth; and 2) what the market would bear. I am selling enough to make me content.

Ideally, when someone buys one of my manuscripts or effects, I would prefer that they keep it and treasure it because they feel the material is so valuable they can't bear to part with it (nice fantasy I'm having, isn't it?). But sometimes, for reasons of their own, people will turn around and sell it as a used product. I can't do anything about it because the law IS on their side.

Like it or not, it is perfectly legal for someone to do this sort of thing and...(here's the meat of this particular sandwich)...I knew all this when I put the products on the market in the first place. So, that leaves me no room to complain and I sleep good at night.

That's reality.

Face it. Conjurers (in their heart of hearts) are information-junkies. Each of us loves to collect and disperse information and this means there is a ready market available for whoever wishes to indulge in the practice. I found a way to capitalize on my efforts. Others will find a way to exploit my efforts in a manner I wouldn't consider. But, until the law changes, nothing else about this situation will either.

In a perfect world, I would agree that it would be much better if things were different...but, unfortunately, they are not. If you want to change them, then change the laws. In our country, you have the freedom to do that.

The problem is, it is impossible to make a law that requires a person to have character and integrity. You either own those attributes or you don't.

And THAT is the root of this issue for the art of conjuring.

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How To Make A Living Running Your Mouth

I'm not making this up. Ed Hagins was giving me an example of one of the street pitches he used 'back in his wilder days' and I was seriously tempted to pull out my wallet and part with a few bucks.

Ed is one of the founding members of the Grand Strand Magician's Society in Myrtle Beach, South Carolina. He is usually quite soft-spoken, except when he is running his auction house or making a pitch.

Born in Columbia, South Carolina in 1951, Ed Hagins grew up with a fascination for magic and a willingness to fend for himself. As a young man, he left to seek his fortune by traveling to south Florida. Why there? Ed recalled, "It was far enough away to feel like I had gone somewhere...but not so far that I couldn't get back home if I really needed to."

With a chuckle, Hagins says, "My father's only advice was to tell my friends that I was just going on vacation. That way, if I ended up broke and back home then it didn't look so bad."

Upon arriving in Ft. Lauderdale, Hagins went to Paul Diamonds' Magic & Fun Shop and talked Paul into selling him a quantity of Nickels to Dimes at twenty-five cents each. Hagins bought twelve. Paul Diamond was furious (he thought they were talking about gross amounts). But Paul kept his word and sold the tricks to Ed. Hagins would then go into nearby bars, perform the trick and sell it for five dollars. The next day, he'd go back to Paul and purchase twelve more sets from Paul.

And so Ed made a living.

Later, Hagins learned about street survival from a few hucksters and gadabouts that taught him a variety of techniques for getting money out of people...and they would feel good about giving it to him. Mind you, these weren't illegal cons that bordered on thievery. Instead, they were short-hustles that psychologically tapped into a person's sense of compassion and persuaded them to make a financial 'gift' in Hagins' direction.

According to Ed Hagins, pitchmen came over to America from England, along with the original pioneers. Stating with such ertsatz products as snake-oil medicines, pots, pans and soap, pitchmen would offer any product they could buy cheap and sell high.

Today, in tradeshows, fairs and conventions, their non-stop spiels will convince you that life is not possible "...unless you own one of these unique gravity pens that comes complete with a full set of Ginsu knives!" Hagins is quick to point out, "The client isn't just buying the product...he's paying for the entertainment, too."

Ed remembers life on Bourbon Street in New Orleans, Louisiana. He learned his ropes from men who are considered masters of the 'psychological pitch', a dying art form that is practiced professionally by only four or five people in the United States today. Currently, Ed has one of them working for him at his auction house.

Eventually, Ed relocated back to South Carolina and began presenting the Grand American Magic Show as a fund-raiser for the American Mental Health Association. He promoted magic shows in South Carolina and Georgia for years until he physically burned himself out.

Today, Hagins focuses his gift of gab by hosting weekly auctions in Myrtle Beach. Any of the magicians can tell you how to get there.

If you stop by for a visit, plan to sit down with Ed over a cup of coffee. Prop your feet up and ask him about Pete, "...the 'ooogliest' creature on earth!" That's usually enough to get him started.

Oh...be sure to bring a few extra bucks with you.


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Note: In 1998, I had the honor of founding the Grand Strand Magician's Society (IBM Ring 334) along with the help of a few guys like Ed Hagins. The newsletter was called The Honest Deceiver and every issue sported an article that spotlighted one of the members. The above article was originally published in July 1999. I plan to resurrect a few more stories from back then and will post them here in the near future. It helps me deal with how much I miss those guys.

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"It isn't the years, baby...its the mileage."

What a great movie quote! After a series of non-stop, hair-raising, edge-of-your-seat adventures, Indiana Jones sums up his entire life in that one sentence: "It isn't the years, baby...its the mileage."

Recently I've been making the time to participate in a small on-line forum that is helping me expand my knowledge about the field of mentalism. The thing I appreciate most about the forum is that the focus isn't on how things are done, but on why.

In a recent thread, one fellow queried about the inherent stress of being a successful performer. He described his mental exhaustion and weariness after traveling to present a brief series of lectures and then asked if this lack of energy after a show was common. He then wondered how he would ever be considered a success in magic if this was the case.

After giving my response, I felt it worthwhile and appropriate to present this subject here on Hoodwinkings. So (with a few paraphrasing liberties), here's the answer I posted on the forum, diligently offered for your perusal:

"How does one answer the question: who is the greatest conjurer? Is it the guy with the most tricks? The one who does the most shows? Makes the most money? Is the most popular? Who contributes back to the art the most? For me, that's six different people...and every one of my choices would be justifiably challenged by others who have different opinions.

By the same token, what determines success in conjuring? How many shows you do? How much energy you have at the end of a performance? How much traveling is required? Defining 'entertainment success' is an elusive task done on the personal level.

In my opinion, I have acquired a successful career in entertainment through the pursuit of conjuring, storytelling and music. As a contracted entertainer for the Walt Disney Company, I'm willing to bet that few members of this forum perform as many shows annually as I do (this year alone I will top 1,500).

But all those shows don't define success for me. I don't travel (except on rare occasions). I haven't worked the phones, pounded the pavement, made a cold call or done a mailing campaign since before the turn of the century. My audiences are warm, intimate in size, and best of all...they come to me.

To my eyes, there are plenty of conjurers doing 200 - 300 shows per year who are working a lot harder. They have to go out and find their performance opportunities, travel great distances, spend time away from their families. These fellows are as successful as you or I, just for different reasons.

Like many others, I experience mental burn-out...particularly when breaking in a new show. My wife and kids complain that I snap at trivial things for days. I get convinced the audience will be able to tell my nerves are shot and they'll discover I really don't know what I am doing. During the new shows, it is quite a head-game trying to stay a few steps in front of the spectators. Afterwards, exhaustion sets in as the butterflies leave my gut. Finally, I crash on my bed in a weary state of exhiliration and euphoria. If you told me adrenaline was involved, I wouldn't be surprised.

In other words, it's normal. Believe it or not, over the years I've made friends with the sensations...much like a runner enjoys the endorphin rush.

But, getting back to the hidden question: Are you a success? Ask yourself these questions...do I give as much as I take? Am I providing for my family? Am I passionate about this stuff?

Make sure your priorities of family and life are inseparable. Give at least as much as you take from the art of conjuring and do it all with a well-rounded sense of humor.

Heck, if that ain't success then what is?"

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Eleven Cents of Wonder

On a hot August night in 1978, a group of conjurers gathered in a meeting room of a bank in Ft. Lauderdale. I had recently moved to the area and joined the society. The confusion of new names and faces kept me from knowing anyone very well.

During the meeting, new members were encouraged to stand up and share a bit of background along with an effect or two. I informed the group that I was a photojournalist in the U. S. Coast Guard and had been recently assigned to the Miami area. If memory serves, I auditioned with a simple one-coin routine I call Dust To Dust.

After the meeting closed, a short gray-haired man wearing a worn, plaid coat and a crooked grin stopped me in the hallway. He quietly said, "I like coin magic, too. Would you like to see my favorite one? It's really nothing, but you might like it. Do you have any loose change?"

I reached into my pocket and found some coins. This fellow removed two, a penny and a dime, and held one in each hand, pinched between the fingers and thumb. He asked, "Which one should I start with...the penny or the dime?"

Since it apparently didn't make a difference, I indicated the penny in his right hand.

The gentleman held the penny up to eye-level and began rubbing it gently between his thumb and fingers. After a few seconds, he paused and began rubbing the coin again. Nothing happened. He frowned and mumbled, "I don't get it. Usually the penny is the easiest of the two. Mind if I start with the dime?"

I shrugged my shoulders and nodded.

The fellow raised his left hand up to eye-level and began rubbing the dime between his fingers and thumb just as before. Suddenly, the man smiled and said, "This is much better...see?"

No, I didn't see. The dime had melted away at his fingertips. His hand was empty. To put it simply, it was there...and then it was not.

While I was reeling from this delicate miracle, the man raised his right hand and said, "Allow me to try the penny again?" By the time I looked over at his right hand, his fingers were rubbing the penny gently. There was nothing rushed or hurried about any of his actions. The old man behaved as if he had all the time in the world. His fingers slowly opened and this hand was empty, too.

I know this may sound cliche', but I had never seen anything like it. In that moment, I knew the definition of the word astonished. I looked at the man square in the eye and silently mouthed the word, "How?" His impish grin told me I wasn't going to find out anytime soon. But he shrugged his shoulders and said, "Here's the hard part."

He rubbed the fingers of his left hand together and I watched as the dime slowly rematerialized at the tips. He looked over at his right hand and the penny gradually reappeared there as well. To say I was dumbfounded would be appropriate.

This curious old man smiled and said, "It was nice meeting you...thanks for letting me use these." He handed my coins back and strolled out the door into the warm south Florida night air.

For me, there was simply no explanation. The man had not made one unnecessary motion. The coins were not tucked away, clipped or palmed anywhere in his hands. I had just been dazzled, bamboozled and flabbergasted...with eleven cents from my own pocket.

And that's how I met my friend Kirk Stiles, the quietly reserved master of understated magic.

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HEY! HOW MUCH FOR THE FREE STUFF?!

I have a love/hate relationship with the internet. I love the value of the internet as a communication tool and a research tool but, at the same time, I hate the 'spoon-fed-no-effort-just-ask-and-it's-yours' accessibility to valuable information...information that is important to me.

I fully realize this sounds like a self-centered position...but here's why I think this position is valid: Like many of my peers, in our younger days, we paid a much higher price for knowledge than kids today who get pretty much all of it with the click of a mouse button.

The selection of magic books at the local library was limited and quickly exhausted. Unless you lived in or near a major city, the chances of visiting a magic shop were slim. For me anyway, all purchases were made via mail-order (please wait 4 - 6 weeks for delivery). By the time I was twelve, I was on a first-name basis with every employee at the post office...and every one of those kind souls considered me to be quite the pest. Also, since publishing a book to such a limited market was a financially risky proposition, enjoying a new book or manuscript was a rare, usually annual, treat.

However, today the art of conjuring is both enjoying and suffering from a glut of easily-accessed information. Technology will continue to progress and wonderworkers shall adapt like the rest of the world. Now, I understand that information helps make the world go 'round...but, in the world of conjuring, is this necessarily a good thing?

The fact that it took considerably more effort to learn secrets and methods thirty years ago gave that information more value to me personally. Today, because these secrets and methods are so easily acquired, the recipients place little value upon them. This results in a lack of respect for the creative work of others...and therein lies the rub. It didn't cost you anything so why should you care?

To be fair, in the field of sleight-of-hand, young magicians of today often have unbelievable technique. I truly wish I had that level of skill when I was their age. But, while we're being honest with each other, it is one thing to know a move...it is another thing completely to wrap a good presentation around it. Every secret and method in conjuring won't do you a bit of good if you can't entertain someone with that knowledge.

That is the price our art is paying...too many guys with plenty of knowledge but a sad lack of performance skills. I know a lot of you fellows may disagree with me about the current information-boom in conjuring; but I'll say it anyway:

Just because it's out there for the taking, doesn't mean you shouldn't be finding a way to pay for it.

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Defining 'professionalism'...

I have a question for you. If you are reading this post, then you either perform magic for a living or enjoy it as a serious hobby. Either way, you’re qualified to answer, so here goes...what exactly is it that makes a magician a professional?

Now do yourself a favor and think a moment before you answer. Bear in mind, I’ve seen this question break up magic meetings. Not long ago, it was the center of a much-publicized debate in one of our national trade journals. Worse, I’ve seen this become such an issue between magic acquaintances that it has ended long-time relationships. Why?

There are a good many magicians who argue that a professional is defined by how much of his or her total income is derived from the performance of magic. Admittedly, I enjoy being able to say that I make my living as a conjurer...it gets startled looks more often than not. But is it correct to take on the title of professional simply because you make money at it?

Balderdash. To use money as the yardstick by which one defines professionalism is like saying a particular novel is great simply because it has a lot of words in it. Truly, professionalism in magic is characterized by one’s conduct, attitudes and mannerisms on and off the stage, period.

Let’s say you have the ability to flawlessly perform a difficult and impressive act which gets you standing ovations, a solid paycheck and future bookings in Vegas. But, the moment you leave the stage, your ego kicks in and you treat people with impatience, indifference and rude intolerance. What have you truly gained? Sure, your admirers respect your ability now. But one day the novelty will wear off or you’ll get older and won’t be able to perform as smoothly, then where are you? Okay, you get a paycheck. Well, for one who defines his professionalism by monetary standards, that may be enough. But not for me.

A true professional should want people to measure him by more than his ability to put an act together. A healthy on-stage goal should be to showcase talent and character at the same time. When you are sitting in the audience, don’t you appreciate a performer’s talent more when it is complimented by a warm, friendly nature? Sure you do. And it doesn’t matter whether the entertainer is singing, dancing, acting or doing card tricks, does it? Not a bit.

If you can, review some of the taped performances of the late great Mike Skinner. He was right, you know; presentation is everything. But the tapes prove Mr. Skinner knew that without character a presentation could never be great, only mediocre.

And mediocrity, of course, is unacceptable.

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"...Made by the Devil hisself."

Murphy's Law loves to attack the art of conjuring. In fact, if you haven't had something go wrong in one of your shows, I have to assume you haven't been performing long.

Several times a week, I perform in a hall that overlooks a resort swimming pool. During the summer season, resort guests will sometimes attend the show looking as if they just stepped out of the water...because they did.

One evening, a small group of children were sitting up front. The children were fresh out of the pool and had been dressed in oversized t-shirts that covered their bathing suits. Mom and Dad wanted a date-night so they had hired a nanny to watch their children...but the nanny left the kids unattended during the show so she could go outside and smoke a cigarette. Big mistake. During her absence, the children began acting up and quickly became a distraction to the rest of the audience.

When this sort of thing occurs, I will joke with the audience lightly, giving the attending parents a chance to take the hint and corral their children. But that wasn't going to happen this time.

Finally I had no choice but to stop the show and tell the children that they would have to go sit with their parents. The kids laughed and said, "Mom and Dad aren't here." Then, they explained about the location of their smoking nanny. Just my luck.

So I pulled out a roll of duct tape and managed to secure two of the kids to the floor. I used an industrial staple gun on his clothes to strap another child to his wooden chair. A few bungee cords suspended a child from the ceiling fan...but the last one, a two-year old, slipped my grasp.

Okay, I'm kidding about all that...well, except for the part about the duct tape and the two-year old.

I do keep a roll of duct tape in my bag for comedy purposes. When a child is so hyperactive that even his parents can't control him, I look at Mom and Dad sympathetically and say, "It's okay...I fully understand. My own mother used to wag her finger at me all the time and say, 'The good lookin' ones are made by the devil hisself.' But my daddy, being a professional southerner, dealt with my antics in the only way he knew how." I reach into the bag, pull out the gray adhesive and proudly display it. "Duct Tape! Fixes everything!" A three-foot strip is noisily pulled away from the roll. The sound alone gets plenty of extra laughs. I hand the strip to one of the parents and say, "Use it with discretion, please." Then I look at the child and say, "It won't hurt...as long as you don't move."

By that time, every child in the room has gotten the message to sit still and be polite 'cause this is one conjurer who is ready to arm the parents.

But now, back to my story: I couldn't use the duct-tape gag because an authority figure for this group of kids wasn't available. So I simply asked the children to go to the back of the room and sit with one of the castmembers until their nanny returned. They all cooperated except for the two-year old. He just didn't want to go to the back of the room. In his mind, being up front with all the attention was far better.

This toddler was in a superlative mood. As I repeatedly asked him to join his siblings, he ignored me as he laughed and danced at my feet. The boy's cuteness was clearly overwhelming and, understandably, the audience began laughing at my dilemma. This served to encourage the lad further. I bent over and reached for the boy, thinking, "I'll just carry you to the back of the room." I never got the chance. The laughing boy saw me move, realized that I was serious and pulled his oversized t-shirt up high over his head to hide a squeal of delight.

He was absolutely sans swimsuit beneath that shirt. Buck-naked.

I stood right back up in startled surprise. Pandemonium reigned as the audience roared in laughter. I was dumbfounded. With his shirt held high, the child continued his free-spirited fun.

What do you do? There was no way I was gonna touch the kid at that point.

At that moment, the nanny finally came back inside to investigate all the commotion. To this day, I have no idea what she thought when she saw one of her charges dancing naked on the stage in front of a hundred resort guests. But (and that one-word pun is fully intended), the toddler spotted her immediately and shamelessly took off down the aisle to join his brethren.

Once everything settled down, I continued my show. Now, you know as well as I do that it is important to try to learn at least one thing from every experience. Well, here's my lesson:

It ain't easy to follow a full-monte from a two-year old with a card trick.

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