Never show a magic trick twice to the same audience.

We know the rule and the reason for the rule and yet we broke the rule. Breaking the rule also broke the magical moment for those entertained by the first presentation. It was a simple trick – a coin through the table – just a throw-away slight that wasn’t part of a bigger show or routine.

Our friends at the far end of the table saw me perform it and then friends at the other end of the table wanted to see it as well.

We weren’t thinking about the rule, we just wanted to entertain more people with the effect.

Unfortunately, in doing so, the first group were able to catch our sleight. The folks in the second group did not know what to look for and were entertained about as much as the first group.

As we understand the rules they are:

1. Practice, Practice and Practice before performing for any audience;
2. Never do the same trick twice for an audience; and,
3. Never expose the secret.

By performing the trick a second time we violated rules numbers two and three. The secret was exposed to those who saw the trick a second time.

So why did we do it. We knew it was wrong and yet we broke the rule. It was our vanity and desire to perform what seemed to be an amazing feat of legerdemain. Vanity was our enemy and a positive audience reaction was our drug.

Looking back, we should have used a different sleight for the second group. That would have helped to hide the secret to the effect.

We took it hard; apparently hard enough that we are writing about it now. We’ve been doing magic for more than a couple of years or decades and, know the rules and why they are there. By performing it a second time, using the same sleight, we not only exposed the secret, we also exposed a method that other magicians may use.

There was no excuse for the transgression but there was a real lesson learned.

Li’l Pete was not a part of the magic act right away. He showed a reluctance to participate at all. He seemed more content in the cage or fluttering around the house. To the 14-year-old magician, this was frustrating and sad.

Li’l Pete was named after a miniature version of Pete Rose the Cincinnati Red’s star. Both the dove and its namesake moved quickly, flew towards objects (bases and plates for big Pete, narrow dowels of wood or homemade roosts, for Li’l Pete) and both seemed undisciplined or said more politely, independent.

Li’l Pete’s owner did not have a magic trick in mind when he purchased the bird for $5.00 from a shopper at the local magic store. He could not wait for the bird’s arrival and imagined it would be well-trained in the art of stealth and production. He was neither and he was not a male pigeon as his new owner learned shortly after building a large cage.

The state magic convention was about nine months from the day of Li’l Pete’s arrival. His owner’s competition act was based on handkerchiefs or streamers – both called “silks” by magicians. He wanted a finale after his last grand production of silks. The routine was beautiful on its own – performed in rhythm with the Beatles’ Magical Mystery Tour song.

The magician took time to train Li’l Pete on being hidden; then being hidden and suddenly appearing; then being hidden, suddenly appearing, and not flying away. After two months, Li’l Pete graduated from amateur to professional as a magic flying assistant. Li’l Pete did not coo much while being hidden, did not take off for a trip around the room when produced, and welcomed her master’s petting and positioning on the glitter covered roost.

Time moved quickly as the magician prepared for the state magic convention and the stage magic competition. Li’l Pete and her owner were coordinated with the music, the magic and the performance.

A week before leaving town for the big city location of the magic convention, the magician performed a final public show with his pal. The audience were fellow high school students. They were rowdy and occasionally loud. The magician began his production of a beautiful fountain of silks. The silks appeared to emerge in a steady stream from one silk to another and more.

At the end and on the Beatles’ cue, the magician reached into the overflowing festoon to produce Li’l Pete. The dove was a surprise to the audience. For a brief time, the kids were silent. The effect, the act and Li’l Pete worked perfectly.

“Let me see him,” one of the audience members yelled. “That’s not a real bird!”

The magician let Li’l Pete flutter to his shoulder as the girl approached the stage.

She was angry. She moved quickly and hoped to snatch Li’l Pete from the magician’s care. He reached forward to block her grasping hands. She pulled his fingers quickly and they both heard a snap as his middle finger broke. With his other hand, the magician pushed the stunned girl from the stage. She was immediately aware of the damage she caused.

“Sorry,” she murmured as the magician and Li’l Pete walked off stage.

A week later, at the state convention, the magician and his friend walked the dealers’ booths, watched the shows and the magician helped his friend practice for the competition. His friend’s act lacked so much of the grace and practice the magician created and honed. The magician’s finger, now in a cast covering much of his hand, was broken and he felt the same emotionally.

Li’l Pete seemed excited to see her master return home after the convention. She fluttered and landed on his shoulder before moving to his cast-covered finger. She cooed and stared at him with a slight angular move of her head.

In the years that followed, Li’l Pete performed flawlessly for the magician. She produced her own magical offspring with the help of the magician’s second dove. As she aged and cared for her chicks, she spent less time in secret compartments and more time hopping from cage to furniture and back to her nest in the cage.

One Saturday, many years later, long after the magician ended that part of his life where performing magic was the sole focus, Li’l Pete passed away. She was surrounded by her children; her partner having died a year earlier. The former magician cried and tried to catch his breath. He took her to the sunny backyard of the house they shared with the magician’s human family and buried her with a silent prayer and gentle rain of tears.

In keeping with the tradition pertaining to the burial of all magicians, he broke the magic wand that served as her roost for so many years. He set each half on the side of his partner and covered it all with dirt.

He could not stop the tears or hide his smile.

We had a chance to chance upon a puzzle the other day.  We love puzzles and seek them out, so maybe it wasn’t a chance situation.

We found a box at an antique shop here in Los Angeles.  It was plain on the outside, looked like it was made of oak or some sturdy wood.  We don’t know our woods well but what we do know is the difference between what we would call “Oak” and “Pine.”  It wasn’t Pine so, in our book, it had to be Oak.

It was exactly square and had a small hasp with a small lock but the lock had no keyhole.  It apparently was keeping the box shut but there were no lines in the wood indicating that the box opened at the location of the hasp and lock.

There were seams and lines on the bottom of the box and on one side.  The rest appeared to be carved or derived from one piece of wood, Oak-type wood.

We asked the dealer about it and he said he was told  it was from a salvage done at some place in the Arizona desert.  We asked what was in it and he said he didn’t know because he had never played with it enough to try to open it. We asked how much he wanted for it and that’s when it got interesting.

He said $250 for the box sounded about right.

We said we were thinking more about $10 bucks.  We asked how he could justify $250?

He said that because it could be holding gold coins from the Old West or at least silver coins.

We shook the box but heard no rattles and certainly no clings or clangs indicating coins were within.

The box was relatively heavy, about five pounds.  We figured that Oak — if it was really Oak and not just our binary classification of all woods — would not weigh five pounds by itself.  That caused us to think there must be something inside with the weight of at least a pound.

Gold could weigh at least a pound, silver was less likely and lead could weigh more than a pound.

We mentioned to the bespectacled antique store owner that because neither one of us knew what was in the box — if anything — we should probably try to figure a price that includes the risk that it would contain nothing of value.

He countered that we should figure a price that includes the risk that it probably had something of tremendous value.

We asked that if he thought it had tremendous value, why would he price it at only $250?  Why not $2,000?

He said he didn’t think he could sell it at $2,000 but at $250, it was priced right to match the risk.

How could we be sure that he hadn’t already opened the box and thus knew its contents.

He said he didn’t have time to do something like that, he wasn’t good at puzzles, and his store dealt mostly in furniture and artwork.  This was a strange item he picked up but hadn’t “messed with.”

His store was filled with chairs of different eras, quality, fabric and evidence of use.  He had beautifully framed paintings hung on the walls of his small but maneuverable space.

We offered $15.00 and hoped he would come down.  He didn’t budge.  He did, however, lift his glasses and wiped them with the tail of his shirt, conveniently not tucked into his jeans.  He replaced his glasses and gestured to take the box back for an inspection.  Still saying nothing.

“I could let it go for $200, I suppose,” he said without looking at us.

He handed the box back to us and kept his eyes down.  We thought he might wipe his glasses again.  But he didn’t.  He was just waiting for our response.

“$200 is way out of what we would call a ballpark,” we said.  “How about $30?”

He shook his head and said $200 was the best he could do.  He reminded us again that it might contain gold and that he had never opened it.

“If it could contain gold, why not open it and see?” we asked.

“It would ruin it,” he said.

We were amazed he had this much time to dedicate to this philosophical negotiation.  He had other customers in the shop and while they didn’t look like they needed his help, we imagined that part of being a shopkeeper was helping people find items they didn’t know they needed to buy.

“How would it ruin it?” we asked.  “Right now it is just a box that could contain gold or could contain sand and rocks.  But when we shake it, there are no sounds.”

“Well,” he said, finally looking at us, “it’s your choice.  $200 is my last and best offer.”

We had $200 on us — we just returned from the Poker Room at the Bicycle Club and had a good day.  But we didn’t want to waste it on something that could be nothing.  We didn’t think there was gold in it and we couldn’t see a way to open it without destroying it.  We figured we should just pass on it.  It would make for an interesting story one day; maybe today.

So those were our thoughts and deeply held beliefs.  We were going to pass.  But what we heard us say was, “How about $100.00?”

He extended his hand, we shook it, he gave us the box and we gave him a freshly minted $100 bill.  We looked at the image of Benjamin Franklin as we handed it to the antique store owner.  Mr. Franklin seemed to shaking his head in disapproval or maybe it was just our hands shaking the bill.

We walked out of the store into the bright southern California sunshine and squinted.  The store was apparently much darker than we thought.  We looked at the box in the light, hoping to find the secret to opening it without destroying it.

Then we started thinking crazy things.  Maybe there was gold in it.  Opening it would answer the question but not knowing for sure had value as well.

We got on the Santa Monica bus with the box in our lap.  A woman next to us asked about it.

“It is a box from an archaeological dig.  I was told there might be gold in it.”

“Oh, that’s nice,” she said and reached out to feel the wood.  “Is that maple?”

“Could be,” we said.  “Maybe oak.”

“We’ll its very pretty.  Where did you get it?”

“Right over there at that store,” we said as we turned to point out the shop but as we did we couldn’t find it.  There were so many stores in the strip mall, it could have been that we lost track of it.