Clayton Rawson’s pictures on the adjoining page illustrate what we call “good” publicity for magic. It’s a far cry from “here’s how it’s done” stuff. A bit of study will show that such a picture strip has just about everything to gain reader interest and leave them wondering how it could be possible. Isn’t it better than having one say, after reading a solution, “Isn’t that silly?” We were messing around with a cooling welsh rarebit after the last S.A.M. meeting where Rawson presented it, and John Mulholland beat us to the wire by many lengths in securing that and several other ideas for publication. The stunt of having a card rise through an obstructing finger will be in the February Sphinx. Next time we’ll order only clear soup and a large spoon.
Wonder how many copies of Look, dated Jan. 30, that Jack bought? The issue with Anne Gwynne’s picture on the front cover? — And don’t forget to send a birthday card to Hardeen, c/o Hellzapoppin, New York City, the last of this month. He’ll be 16 — on the 29th of February. A fellow ought to have a birthday more often though. — Ed. Litzau received a nice spread with pics lately in the Milwaukee Journal re his being one of the best card men in the world. He was quoted as having met most of the 25,000 magicians in the U.S. I wonder if they all buy magic mags? Most exhilarating line was “In one hour’s time he renders a new pack worthless for playing because of his constant shuffling, riffling, fanning and crimping.” Is that any way for a good card man to treat a deck? Especially some hostess’ favorite bridge set? — Household hint for wives of magi: When putting curtains onto rods, slip a thumb tip over the end before pushing it through and it won’t catch or tear the cloth. (Hello, Gerry!)
The recent death of Ralph Hitz, National Hotels prexy, reminds of a story. His made his headquarters in New York, liked tricks, and Stewart Jules had a room of magic on the 10th floor of the Hotel New Yorker. A fellow came up one night during a Hitz party, looking for novelties. Jules did the “Sleight-of-Foot” trick using a bit of salt on the cards. It “hit” the customer so hard that he paid the price, $10, for the effect and received two little bottles. One contained fine red sand for red backed cards, the other blue sand for blue backs! Perfectly satisfied the customer departed. An hour later Hitz rushed in. He had been fooled with a trick where the cards were kicked to locate his chosen one. Did Jules have it? Jules had it. $10 more. Hitz was satisfied. The payoff, though, is that a few nights before, Keith Clark and Jules had sat up late coloring fine white sand taken by the cup full from the cigar and cigarette extinguishing jar in front of the elevators in Ralph Hitz’ own hotel!
John Booth called and we had lunch together before he sailed on a boat trip. It’s amazing how John has changed from a too serious mien into a person you appreciate knowing.
Ten years of junketing through North and South America have given him plenty depth. Few know that John is a student of economics and his scrapbook attests to many articles, entirely away from magic, that he has sold newspapers regarding the conditions of countries in which he has found himself. And most of us spend our spare moments trying to invent a pass we can’t see ourselves, won’t know we’ve made, and after which the spectator will probably say he’s forgotten his card.
Wandering through pages of The City of Brass from Arabian Nights we read about the Ifrits and Jinn (bad hobgoblins and demons of the desert) and were attracted by a statement from one character to another, to wit; “But they are stupid for all their command of magic. There are those who say that the jinn learned their magic from the wise men of old and only know the forms. —, and they cannot seem to act in orderly accord, being always at war with one another, never able to organize any attack methods in a body. Individualists, you might say.” Does that sound familiar? Could it apply to the magi of today?
Edmund Younger, whose Chinese magic act graced the shows presented by the English contingent who came over last summer for the I.B.M. convention, has built a private theatre and den adjoining his house at Newcastle-on-Tyne, England. The theatre floor is of polished oak, 25 by 21 feet and about 12 feet high. The stage at one end has a proscenium opening of 14 feet and a depth of 8 feet. Lights dim out and on as desired, controlled from the stage. Settings are hung aloft in best theatre style, ready to be lowered and raised. They include a movie screen and there are two projectors, silent and sound. A Staircase leads to a 21 foot square magic den with shelves for quite a library and lots of room for apparatus. Doors at one end open into the flies of the stage so such apparatus as is required may be lowered onto the stage or taken up when not in use. Reports are that the settings, curtains, and decorations throughout are the very best. It’s something like that which makes our wand jump around and smash all of the paper shells in sheer envy.
You may get an idea from several effects that are being used on the Isles right now. Mr. A. G. Hemming presents a cut rope trick wherein the pieces are wrapped in paper and the scissors inside another parcel. When opened, the articles have changed places and the rope is again whole. Mr. Will Stanley wraps a number of small bells and a length of ribbon into a silk handkerchief. A volunteer assistant opens the bundle to find bells attached to the ribbon, and, I presume, they are shaken very hard in an effort to match the applause. Mr. George Wroe has a patter scheme for the giant four-ace trick which could be used over here at the moment. The 4 Aces are 4 R.A.F. (Royal Air Force) (Ace) Pilots and the envelope is the plane. These daredevils go out on a leaflet raid and decide to land and push leaflets under doors, when they are captured and brought up for trial (on display stand). The German high command order a triple guard on each of the Aces, three cards being placed over each Ace, but one daredevil escapes, taking his three guards along with him (fake pile into envelope) into the plane and flies away. The other Aces disappear in the usual manner and it is finally discovered that all four Aces are safely flying home to Picadilly.
The best way to find out if your words are read is to write something wrong. You’ll never get praise as readily as anathema. Our “proudly poked laugh,” as one writer put it, at the Winston Freer levitation (Jinx #76) seems to be bounding back like a lusty yodel’s echo in the Swiss Alps. But if anyone, including Frank Lane, thinks I’m going to leap from precipice to precipice in an attempt to escape the earsplitting reverberations of my own shouting, he had better climb onto the floating gadget and thank his stars that Freer, and no one else, is operating the controls. In short, it seems that the stunt is actually possible and we are out on a limb at such an angle that seven hoops may be passed around us in as many directions. We have been informed of the “fact” that Mr. Freer does do the trick as stated and that he is wont to perform the feat in night clubs while standing on the table. All well and good. We may as well be consistent by asserting that we do not consider it of practical value, at least to any person other than Mr. Freer. One would necessarily have to be built like a brick warehouse in order to perform the feat under the conditions given, that is, without assuming the features of a Quasimodo or looking like the victim of a Torquemada auto de fé. At any rate we have but one last stand. The letters of recrimination so far received have said it could be done, but only one has said he actually saw it performed. Undoubtedly there are others who have seen the miracle but in the five months since Tops first pictured the levitation, and during the height of a new season, a vast silence has ensued.
