An Evening of Intimate Magic with Eric DeCamps

I am very happy to announce that my best friend, life-long pal, and all-around nice guy, Eric DeCamps, is starring in his own one-man show, back in my old hometown, The Big Apple.

Over the years I have watched Eric develop many of the routines he is performing in this special limited appearance, and I can promise all that attend that Eric will baffle you and leave you wanting more.

You can catch the show on Wednesday evenings through the month of June, at the 3 West Club, in The Lincoln Room, in Rockefeller Center. For info and to read the latest rave reviews, please go visit Eric's site at http://www.EricDeCamps.com.

And be sure to read the full two-page review of the show, written by Ryan Oakes, in the June issue of Magic Magazine, coming to a magic dealer near you (http://www.magicmagazine.com).

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My Most Memorable Magical Experience

While Eric DeCamps will continue to chide me and say my most memorable magical experience was having Jeff McBride produce my Jumbo Circle of Cards at a Larry Week's convention, my most memorable magical experience was actually with another friend, Scott Morris, when we were vacationing together on the island of St. Martin back in 1984.

We were having dinner and drinks at a little cafe' in Marigot where we were staying. Jean Paul, our waiter, was the perfect audience. When I asked for sugar for my tea, he handed me a packet. I opened and poured it into my fist and transformed it into sugar cubes. Then I said, "Sugar is sweet, but money is sweeter" and transformed the cubes into two dollar bills for a tip.

Jean Paul quickly called over his boss, the chef, the waitresses, and I was put on the spot to perform. I did some card tricks and coin tricks, but then I got an idea for the ultimate magical moment. I removed the flower from the vase on my table and broke the bloom off the stem. Placing it on my palm I then levitated it and had it move from hand to hand a la The Floating Bill. Then I gently pulled the petals from the bloom leaving nothing else for them to find. I handed the petals to the ladies at the table and took my bow.

When we are truly inspired by the moment, we can perform miracles. What about you?

Stage Names

When I did my first public performance in 4th grade at P.S. 162 in Bayside, Queens (NY), I was Houdini, Jr. Not sure if I picked that because of my fascination with Houdini at the time, or if my father or teacher picked it. I wore a black cape and red Fez hat. I even had an assistant.

Then when I started getting serious about doing kids' parties, I changed my name to something my father suggested: Shandu, The Greatest Boy Magician. I later found out that I was spelling it wrong. There was a Chandu and a movie character, too. Among the older Jewish set, I also discovered that there is a similar Yiddish word that means "He's finally here!"

When I got to college, I simply used my name, but during a stint at The Rainy Nighthouse, I found my name written on the marquee as "Secret Steve." They apparently took the word "secret" from a Sidewalk Shuffle routine I did where the Ace always wound up in the “secret spot”, down the front of my pants.

As a more experienced adult, I have frequently contemplated doing shows again, but found my last name difficult for many to pronounce or spell properly, so I think I would just use Steven or Stefan if I wanted to be fancy.

What about you? Do you use a stage name?

Reflections on How I Got Into Magic

Reading Andy Dallas' article this month about how he got into magic reminded me about my early influences.

When my parents took me to the World's Fair in NY around 1962 -- I was probably around 5 or 6 years old -- we saw The Amazing Randi perform a levitation and a straitjacket escape. Years later as a teenager I had the good fortune of meeting Randi at Tannens, and he spent hours chatting with me and entertaining me with his unusual brand of magic. Later that day I bumped into him again at Flosso's, and he told me he was planning a week of special news stories about magic in NY for Channel 4, and he invited me back a week later to the shoot at Flosso's.

I showed up and they shot footage for hours, including me and a few other magical youths Randi had rustled up. We had a blast and it was very exciting. Unfortunately, the kids got edited out of the segment, but Randi did send me several autographed photos and a poster. It was a big thrill for me to hang out with the guy that was an early influence on my interest in magic.

About a year later I was in Tannens looking for a dozen red-backed Aviator decks for a trick I was going to be selling at an upcoming Larry Week' convention. Tannens was all out. Suddenly, Randi walks in and yells out "Skinny Steven Schneiderman!" I was amazed he remembered me. He asked what I was up to and I explained about my search for red backed Aviators.

He then took me all over NY to little, out of the way places, to find these decks. Eventually we wound up at Ace Sporting Goods, a well known underground gambling hang-out. It was a very cool and sinister looking place. Unfortunately, nobody had the decks I needed, but I did get to hang with Randi for another day. Lots of good stories and laughs. He is a warm and congenial man who knows kids look up to him and he does what he can to maintain that awe and respect.

Again about a year later he performed at a local theater in Queens and my friend and I went to see the show. Sure enough, when we went to say "Hi" during intermission, he remembered me by name, and this happened several times again at various conventions year later. I was always flattered when he remembered me by name, and I am still always in awe when I see him.

Who was your influence? Drop me a line and let me know!

P.S.: Bev Bergeron sent me an email to clear up my foggy memories: The World’s Fair in New York was in 1964-65. Mark Wilson had the magic show at the General Cigar place. Mark hired The Amazing Randy as one of the magicians. You may have seen Randy do the straitjacket on another show, but he did not do it on this one. Mark wanted the magician to reach into his upper coat pocket and remove a handkerchief with an appearing cane attached to it. Mark used to close all his shows with this.  Randy reached for the items one show and the cane came shooting into one of his eyes.  So that eye was patched up.  Later he returned to the show with a patch eye and encountered some rough teenagers – big guys I was told, who were yelling up vulgar language at the girl assistants.  Randy yelled to them to see him after the show.  He got poked in the one good eye he had.  I saw him soon afterwards and commented:  Randy we are paying you to do illusions not your blindfold act.  I thought it was funny. See you down the Road, Bev - b

 

What Will History Say About You?

I have been enjoying the historical exchange of letters between the magicians of yesteryear that are being published in MAGIC magazine. I am fascinated by the attitudes of those magicians, and the language they use to describe their acts and issues with magicians of their times. I also enjoy the stories written in The Linking Ring by one of our subscribers, Bev Bergeron. I love getting that slice of history and perspective. And these things make me wonder. What will people say about me when I am long gone?

Unlike many of you, I am not a professional magician. It's always been just a hobby for me, with some occasional performances for friends or small groups, usually free or for a low fee. I've always wanted it to be more, and I've been encouraged by many to make it something more, but until the day comes where I feel I am called to do it, I probably won't. So will anybody even remember me when I am gone? Will they say I was funny, a good manipulator, or the second best card man in New York?

No, my name will probably not be meaningful to anyone in years to come. At least not in magic.

The few books and effects I have had a hand in will be dust in the wind by the time I croak.

Seems like a wasted life: 40+ years in magic and no legacy to leave behind.

But what about the smiles I brought to people's faces? What about those memories I etched in the brains of some people who later became professional or amateur magicians? Nah. Probably nothing.

But I have made a difference to at least one person I know -- and not in magic -- but in teaching.

Many people do not know that I taught college English for three years at Queens College in New York. I was a damned fine teacher and my students loved my classes. I actually had students begging the Chairman of the department to get into my class -- crying even -- and the disappointment when they did not get in was not a pretty sight. I did not realize though that I had made that much of an impression until many years later when I had transitioned to the corporate world and left academia far behind.

I was standing in line at the Fresh Meadows movie theater with fellow magician, Scott Morris, one summer evening. I noticed a very attractive young lady towards the head of the line who kept looking over her shoulder at me. Since things like that never happened to me often, I was very intrigued and surprised. Then to my shock, she walked back to me and asked me if I was Mr. Schneiderman.

I was crushed. Nothing is worse than being called "Mr." by a beautiful young woman. It puts age and respect in the middle of all fantasy.

"Yes, I'm Mr. Schneiderman. Who are you?" I asked.

"You probably don't remember me," she said, "but I took you for college writing classes for two years in a row."

Suddenly her face and voice clicked. Her name was ... Lorraine. She was one of my favorite students. A good writer and a good person.

"You will never know what an impact you had on my life," she said somewhat sheepishly. She looked down and smiled and then lifted her face up. She had turned into a beautiful woman. Her smile was radiant.

"I knew after I took your classes that I wanted to teach writing, and now I do. And it's all because of you. Thank you so much for everything you did."

I was speechless. She asked me where I was teaching, and I told her I had left that career long ago to go into the corporate world to make money.

"That's a shame," she said. "So many people will never have the pleasure of learning how to write from you. I hope you return to teaching someday."

Then we exchanged some small talk, she thanked me again, and rejoined her husband on line.
I was dumbfounded.

I had made an impact on someone. All those years spent trying to make the lightbulb go off over someone's head, and finally, someone got it and validated my value to the world.

It only takes one person to make a difference -- to you -- to them -- to the world.

So what will the world say about you when you're gone?

Who did you touch or inspire?

Think about it. Then go make a difference.

I Stole Mark Wilson's Steak Bone

Well, at least I thought about it.

Back in 1974 I was at a Tannen’s Jubilee in the Catskills, and Mark Wilson was a performer and I think he was receiving the coveted Louie award.

That night I saw him eating a few tables away and I watched him eat his steak.

Wow, there was my idol. For years I had watched Mark and Nani and family on Magic Circus specials. I wanted to do all of his effects and be just like him.

And there was his steak bone.

I waited patiently until most of the dining room had emptied and then I sauntered over to Mark’s table.

I wanted to introduce myself but what was I to say? I was about 14 and pimply faced and could think of nothing unique to say, so I just kind of stood there and smiled.

He smiled back awkwardly and left the table with his wife. I watched him exit the dining room, and then I turned and looked at the table, hopeless looking for some souvenir I could have to remember him.

Nothing.

Then I saw the steak bone with some meat still on it.

I looked over my shoulder. The waiters were hurriedly cleaning tables and moving this way. I panicked. I thought about taking the bone and wrapping it in a napkin, but I knew it would only begin to stink.

How does one preserve a steak-bone in the middle of a magic convention?

I reached for it. Suddenly a waiter appeared and asked me if I was done with my dinner. Yes, I said. He picked up the plate with Mark Wilson’s steak bone and threw it into a basket with other plates and leftover steak bones.

I thought about following him to the kitchen to retrieve the steak bone, but how was I to tell Mark Wilson’s steak bone from another.

No, it was too late.

And life was never the same.

Criss Angel Pulls A Lady Apart

Caught the video of Criss Angel pulling apart a woman on a park bench today. Sorry, I've been out of touch with his series, but when I stumbled upon this video online I just about plotzed. It looked great. Of course, it only took a minute to register that the girl who crawled away was NOT the same girl who first laid down on the bench, meaning the illusion was well orchestrated and the video was well edited.

As I searched online for more info, I found many blogs from laymen who had linked to the video and presented their method for the illusion. Some thought it was voodoo -- interesting thought -- others thought there were robotics -- and others eventually found Ricky Jay's references from The Learned Pig book about The Legless Wonder, Johnny Eck doing a similar illusion with his twin brother.

What this reminded me of more than anything else was Richiardi's Buzzsaw Illusion. The first time I saw this I was about 15 at Madison Square Garden's show in the Felt Forum. The World Festival of Magic and Occult. When the Master did this effect, I was blown away. I walked on stage and was baffled. Close up magic I understood, but stage illusions mystified me and still do.

So is Criss' presentation better or worse. Well, having never seen the Eck presentation of yesteryear, it's hard to say, but having seen Richiardi, I would say Criss' is a lesser illusion because it was not done in front of a live studio audience -- it was staged. Richiardi cut his daughter in half every night in front of a live audience of thousands of people, and when her blood splattered the back drop, everyone screamed, and everyone raced to look at her body on stage.

Good try, Criss, but no cigar. Of course, that's only my opinion.