Pick a Card, Officer

I was in a minor fender-bender this morning on the way to my real job as a caddie at one of the premier putt-putt golf courses in the Greater Mystic Hollow, Michigan area. I’m just joking, it’s not one of the premier courses but we’re getting a new windmill that should boost us in the ratings.

 

The accident got me thinking about things. In fact, as I write this, I am still in the process that follows any accident and I have plenty of time to think and write about my journey of self-discovery. It is my hope that this may make the Oprah Book Club so I have embellished it slightly to show my spiritual side and included spiritual characters.

 

The rest of the story is essentially true. I have removed the part about my first shower in prison because it seemed unnecessarily embarrassing and yet so true that it is currently the basis of a movie seen only on foreign-registered freighters.

 

If you care to journey into my soul,

…

 

Pick a Card, Officer

I was in a minor fender-bender this morning on the way to my real job as a caddie at one of the premier putt-putt golf courses in the Greater Mystic Hollow, Michigan area. I’m just joking, it’s not one of the premier courses but we’re getting a new windmill that should boost us in the ratings.

 

The accident got me thinking about things. In fact, as I write this, I am still in the process that follows any accident and I have plenty of time to think and write about my journey of self-discovery. It is my hope that this may make the Oprah Book Club so I have embellished it slightly to show my spiritual side and included spiritual characters.

 

The rest of the story is essentially true. I have removed the part about my first shower in prison because it seemed unnecessarily embarrassing and yet so true that it is currently the basis of a movie seen only on foreign-registered freighters.

 

If you care to journey into my soul,

 

Read On . . . 

 

First you should know that the accident was not my fault. The markings on the two vehicles clearly indicated that it was the other driver, who happened to be the local Bishop for the Archdiocese, was in the wrong. And say what you will, but I think there is a prejudice in our society against those of us who are amateur magicians.

 

As many loyal readers know, I normally drive to work blindfolded using the Kuda Bux-style blindfold. I’ve done the blindfold drive test hundreds of times over the years and have never had a problem or even been charged for any of the many alleged ?a hit and run accidents.?

 

But things are different when you are hit by a bishop and you’re the one wearing a blindfold over duct tape over dough over tape over half dollars.

 

You’re suddenly the one who is the suspect. That?s prejudice plain and simple.

 

If I hadn?t appeared to be blind while driving and the other person involved in the accident hadn?t been a bishop but say something lower than a magician — like a mime or a animal-testing scientist ? the chances are I wouldn?t have even been suspected.

 

The officer asked me to take off the blindfold ? even though I was wearing a blindfold in my driver’s license photo ? and to give him my ID.

 

I tried to lighten the moment by making a joke that I thought the Bishop and the officer would like, “What, you want me to give you V.D.?!”

 

Oh, I had a good laugh with that one but was apparently alone. I had to think quickly. It hurt my head.

 

I was at a magic festival once when I met a man in the bathroom ? this ties in to the main story so hang on ? and he said, “hey, are you a magician?”

 

“Yeah,” I said.

 

“Let me feel your pockets, then.”

 

And he proceeded to do exactly that.

 

He taught me a valuable lesson, always be ready to perform a magic trick. Always have a trick on you or nearby so that you can show to the world you are a magician.

 

He also taught me to never talk to strangers in the bathroom or if you do, remember what they look like so you can give a meaningful report.

 

So in producing my ID for the officer, I back-palmed it and plucked it out of the air. I thought it looked cool but when I brought it forward, I accidentally knocked the Bishop’s hat to the ground.

 

Not missing the opportunity, I took the hat and loaded my insurance information in it as I set it back on his bald head.

 

Me in Prison — Not Really. That’s Houdini.

The officer examined my Driver’s License. I think he was noticing that the blindfold in the driver’s license photo was more of Corinda-style or a modified Carter-esque; e.g., no bread dough between the tape and the outer layer of tape.

 

Maybe, I thought, he thinks I’m only qualified to use the type of blindfold I was wearing at the DMV and not the more restrictive Kuda Bux-style.

 

I wanted to read his mind and even thought about asking him to write his thoughts on a billet and doing a center-tear but decided against it.

 

The officer said nothing for a while and then asked for my insurance information. I am glad he did because I was about to burst with excitement — Like a panicking pi?ata.

 

(Ironically, this was the title of my first movie, Panicking Pi?ata.  I used my same blindfold and a fine baseball bat signed by Sammy Sosa in my starring role as ?L?il Kuda the cheating blindfolded baseball bat boy.?  The video (it went straight to video because of the prejudice in Hollywood against independent films) was a hit and has been rented more than seven times at our local Blockbuster.)

 

I knew the trick was going to so impress the Bishop and the officer.

 

“Hmmmm,” I said calmly as I walked around the officer and the Bishop, “you say you want my insurance information. Hmmmm. You know what? I don’t have it.”

 

Now I was going to burst for sure. The suspense was driving everyone crazy.

 

“But maybe the Bishop has it,” I offered with a laugh as I knocked his hat to the ground again and displayed my insurance paper stuck to his now sweaty bald scalp.

 

The officer was clearly impressed but he couldn’t show it ? trying to be all impartial and stuff. The Bishop was clearly amazed as I pealed the paperwork from his skull.

 

The officer asked me to wait in his car and so I did ? it was cooler there behind the thick glass. I watched as he and Bishop spoke and then the Bishop got in his car and drove away.

 

I thought that was strange but figured the Officer was just going to let us both go and find no fault.

 

“Blow up this balloon,” the officer commanded.

 

I took the balloon from him and smiled. I knew a great trick with a balloon. I blew it up and asked the Officer for his ring.

 

He resisted so I pulled it from his pinky and did a French Drop and tossed it invisibly into the balloon where it could be heard bouncing around. I handed him the balloon and instead of bursting it, he put it into an evidence bag.

 

“Sir, your ring is inside the balloon,” I said proudly.

 

“Whatever.”

 

The officer seemed a little down; as if something was bothering him. He pulled out his handcuffs and slapped them on my wrists and pushed me back into the car. He radioed in something about a 13-P at a traffic accident and that he was bringing me in with an “ETOH Sample” and that I had assaulted a Bishop and stolen an officer’s ring. I could tell this was getting out of hand.

 

(Ironically, ?Out of Hand? was my second movie starring me and the woman who played ?Madge? in the 1970?s era Palmolive Dishwashing Liquid commercials.  I was a manicurist on the run and she was the hardened cop bent working for the ?long arm of the law.?  

 

It was a very deep film and the first one I shot with sound and more than one take.  The New York Times praised my incredible ?passion for manicurial arts (I don?t think that?s a word, but they are the New York Times) and incredibly secure looking blindfold.?  

 

My Work with Steve.

?Out of Hand? was also the subject of a lawsuit brought by Steven Spielberg because he said I was ?stealing his Jaws script? and ?bringing dishonor to directors, manicurists and blindfolded magicians.?  We settled out of court when I allowed him to burn the negatives to the film as part of Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom. 

 

My film can be seen burning just below that Nazi with the melted face near the end.  Right after Indy shouts to Miriam, ?Don?t look, whatever you do, keep your eyes closed!? you can see a puff of smoke at the short Nazi guy that was wearing the pince-nez glasses until his face got melted.  That was my film. 

 

I have a call in to Steve, that?s what I call him, to see if he?s interested in some of my later work.  I’m famous.  You can touch me for a nickle.  (Ironically, this is the name of my newest film, but enough about me.  Let’s get back to my story.))

 

I picked the handcuffs (he hadn’t double-locked them and they were the Smith & Wesson without the side channels so I was able to use a shim.

 

By the time we arrived at the police station, and he opened the rear door, I handed him the cuffs with the same pride as Harry Houdini when he escaped from Scotland Yards’ best shackles.

 

He was dumbfounded. I think he was really impressed. As he pushed my face into the gravel driveway, I though him say something about how I was like Houdini and like Houdini, I would soon be dead but not in a “water trick.”

 

My Cellmate, My Friend

I told him that it was a myth that Houdini died in the Chinese Water Torture Chamber and that unfortunately the myth was promoted by the Tony Curtis movie. I don’t know if he heard me because as he tightened the choke-hold I blacked-out.

 

When I woke, I was in a cell with three other guys. I assumed they were magicians. One had a rabbit tattooed on his bicep along with the saying “Mystic Tricksters Motor Cycle Riders.”

 

The rabbit had one eye missing and in its place was an eight-ball. The other two guys were clearly a duo act ? and I’m guessing close-up ? because they were wearing matching outfits and were very well-groomed. They had tight leather pants, boots with chains and bright blue leather vests with no shirts.

 

“You guys do magic?” I asked the duo.

 

The looked at each other and smiled and then looked back at me and smiled.

 

?Cards?? I asked.

 

They looked at each other again and smiled and nodded.

 

?What kind of card tricks?? I asked.

 

The looked at each other, shrugged their shoulders and then looked back at me as if they couldn?t understand me.

 

?Do you guys speaka de Englisha?? I asked slowly and loudly to help them understand.

 

The big guy with the Cyclops rabbit tattoo said, ?They don?t speak English, moron!?

 

I nodded as if I understood but couldn?t figure out why he thought I was a Mormon.

 

?I?m not a Mormon,? I said.

 

?Not ?Mormon,?? he said with a spray of saliva, ?Moron!?

 

?Oh,? I said, ?Moron! Oh, sure moron; not ?Mormon.??

 

I chuckled to myself about the mix-up.

 

?What kind of magic do you do, sir?? I asked.

 

?I turn curious morons into Jello.?

 

I thought about that.

 

?Like a Doll House Illusion in reverse?? I asked.

 

The Big Guy shook his head. His stringy hair moved around like a sweaty horse tail.

 

?Like a Lady to Lion?? I asked.

 

The Big Guy walked over to me and pushed me up against the bars.

 

?What?s wrong with you, moron??

 

I wanted to tell him that the only thing wrong was that for the second time today I was becoming anoxic from a choke-hold but I couldn?t talk. I focused on the one-eyed bunny and hoped a guard would be able to identify my body.

 

When I woke, I was in a private room at the local hospital. My fingers had apparently been broken but reset by some kind orthopedic doctor and my head and back hurt.

 

?What happened?? I asked the LPN who was jabbing me with an I.V.

 

?You a tough time of it in a jail cell. Some former magician was offended by your questions.?

 

I nodded as if I understood. It is hard to be a former magician and meet someone still working in our craft. I could understand the Big Guy?s rage and desire for violence.

 

I?d learned a lot in 24 hours. I learned a lot about people and timing. I turned to the LPN and asked her what she was doing.

 

?I?m trying to give you an I.V.,? she said.

 

Without missing a beat, I was back in form, ?You?re trying to give me V.D.??

 

I laughed and winced as she quickly found a vein and plunged the garden hose size needle and tube into my arm. Soon I was floating away to dream land.  

 

I could barely hear the nurse?s voice as she turned the I.V. flow rate to high and squeezed the bag, ?Take that, Mister Funny Man!?

 

People love magic because it breaks down the walls that separate us. The mystery and wonder we produce ? and unfortunately often take for granted ? really has a wonderful ability to allow the child in the spectator to emerge and, we can only hope, heal.

 

In the words of an old Irish Blessing, “May the Wind atYour Back Be Your Own.”(This part was intentionally thrown in to get on Oprah).

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