Rozoff The Magician

I don’t believe I have yet to acknowledge the influence my brother Tom has had on my book, The Amazing Morse. While I had been carrying the plot ideas in my mind for a while I had yet to figure out who the main character was supposed to be. It was not until I realized that my protagonist should be a magician that all of the other elements really came together. Let’s face it, there is something a little spooky about magic and magicians: they’re always cutting people in half, sticking swords through them, decapitating heads, etc. And look at the posters I have on the Magic Posters page: they’re chock full of ghosts, demons, and the macabre. The themes of magic and escape have so fired my imagination that I have made a series out of what began as a single story.

Delving into magic started me delving into my childhood, when I worked as an assistant for my brother as he began his magic career (nearly forty years later, my brother is still earning a living doing magic).

Even before I started writing The Amazing Morse, I wrote this little blog entry for a now dormant website forum. If you are familiar with my book, then you will see how much it was influenced by my real-life experiences. Here is a little reminiscence I did that ended up being a little altered and put into Chapter 4 of The Amazing Morse. The picture I’ve added, since it is referenced:

 

How to Handle a Heckler

 

     Say what you will about Robespierre, he knew how to deal with troublemakers. Abuse of monarchical power? Off with his head. Crimes against the state? Off with his head. Complicity with foreign powers? Off with their heads. A crude but effective way of handling interpersonal relationships. But of course nowadays you can’t use a guillotine to solve your problems. Can you?

     As mentioned previously, I was an assistant for my brother, the magician. We performed for a variety of different audiences, young and old. Adults were generally polite and receptive, but it was the kids that really got into it. They were loud and very interactive, but that was part of the show. My brother Tom would anticipate their outbursts and play off of them. But there was generally one kid in every audience who needed to be the center of attention. Like a drunk at a stand-up comedy club, he could really ruin it for those that just wanted to sit and watch the show. He knew the secret behind every trick, he had seen it done before, and better. Every crowd of children has its Eustace Scrubb. 

     My brother was adept at steering the show away from such children should the need arise, but he would always give these Dudley Dursleys ample amount of time to voices their complaints. And then the moment would arrive when a volunteer was needed from the audience. It was at this point that the skeptic  would suddenly buy into the act. It was always he that would jump the furthest from his chair with his arm straight out, screaming loudly. And he would always be chosen. You could see the look of disappointment on the other children’s faces as this  kid, like Augustus Gloop with a winning Wonka bar, walked proudly to the stage. It is quite a sad thing to see a group of children’s faces as it dawns upon them that life isn’t always fair. When the volunteer came to the stage, my brother and I would prepare for the next trick. Hidden at the back of the stage behind other props stood something tall and imposing covered by a black cloth.  It would take the two of us to carry it to the front. When it was in place, my brother removed the cloth, revealing a guillotine, its blade glistening in the stage lights. At the same time that the confidence ebbed from our volunteer’s face, the disappointment would lift from the those of  the children in the audience who had wanted to help. My brother would then have our volunteer recite after him:

Tom: I, Eustace Scrubb…

Eustace: I, Eustace Scrubb…

Tom: Do hearby give Rozoff the Magician…

Eustace: (Nervously) Do hearby give Rozoff the Magician…

Tom: Permission to sever my cranium…

Eustace: Permission to, uh…

Tom: Sever my cranium…

Eustace: Sever my cranium…

Tom: From the rest of my anatomy.

Eustace: From the rest of my anatomy.

Tom: Now do you know what you just said?

Eustace: Uh, no.

Tom: You have just given me permission to cut off your head.

(Laughter from the audience. The children would be able to maintain their illusions of justice for a while to come, at least.)

     Then Tom unclasped the head stock and invited the volunteer to place his head in the space provided. The look upon the victim’s face was not unlike that of Louis XVI’s some two centuries ago when faced with the same situation. His face would turn pale as though the body was unwilling to supply blood to something that it would not be attached to for much longer.  But Eustace would summon up the courage to kneel before the instrument of death. Each step was another recognition of his own mortality. Placing his head into the jaws of this beast, hearing the clasps being closed, realizing his head is now locked in securely with no chance for escape. But after all, this is just a trick, something for the amusement of the crowd. Something the magician has done many times before. And yet…

     This was, unfortunately, just the beginning of the torture for our poor volunteer. The key for any magical act is to draw out the anticipation of the audience. With Eustace’s head now firmly locked in place, Tom began his banter with the audience, warnings to the audience members up front that they may get splattered. He would instruct Eustace to reach around with both his hands to grab his ears, “just in case”. Then he would move to the guillotine and grab the chain which held the blade. He began the count: “One, Two, 3 days ago…”, he interrupted the count,  “…I tried this trick and it left the stage a bit of a mess. So I’m going to put some newspaper down to keep the floor clean.” He held up the newspaper with a headline that proclaimed: “Magician has accident, head rolls into crowd”. He then placed it under our volunteer’s gaze. Then to the volunteer he would say: “You may get the impression that the ground is suddenly rushing up to your head. It is just an illusion. On the count of three…one, two, three.” With that, the blade came down, little Eustace said his final prayers, and the trick was over. Still alive, Eustace was freed from the guillotine and given a document that stated he was now an official magician’s helper. He would walk slowly and unsteadily back to his seat, and remain unusually quiet for the remainder of the show.

In writing this, I realize that the whole thing sounds a little cruel, but it really didn’t play out as bad as I portray it. After all, I myself was the initial guinea pig for the trick and I came through it just fine (note: please do not look at pictures from the previous blog).