An Appreciation of the Amazing Randi

An Appreciation of the Amazing Randi

By Charles Kraus

Jame Randi died a few days ago at the age of 92.  According to his New York Times obit, which ran 25 paragraphs, he was a debunker, an author, MacArthur award-winning magician and then some.  At a personal level, he was someone I knew and appreciated when I was a teen.

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We ran into Randi constantly.  It was the 1960's.  

We were teen magicians in a New York City Parks & Rec group called FAME (this is long before the television show).  Our acronym stood for Future American Magical Entertainers.  The Amazing Randi was a regular within the New York magician's social scene.

FAME would meet on Saturday mornings, then once adjourned, members made their way to 42nd street, took the elevator to the 14th floor of the Wurlitzer Building and entered Tannens, the city's premier magician's supply store.  The shop would be crowded with dozens of prestidigitators.  Perhaps an act that was starring on Ed Sullivan's TV show that week, locals like Harry Lorayne and Dia Vernon.  The crowd often included Randi.  He was always encouraging to our club members.  Friendly, informal, informative, and very funny.

When the shop closed at 3pm, the crowd descended to the 42nd Street automat.   Here, leading magicians sat for hours performing and out performing one another.  As teens, we were allowed to watch and appreciate.  Randi was much more than an escape artist, though that was his speciality within the magic trade.  He was equally good with a deck of cards or a piece of rope.

There were endless gatherings and magic shows in the city, as well as an annual Catskill Mountain Jubilee sponsored by Tannens.  You'd find Randi at many of these events.  I recall one of his shows in particular because it demonstrated his quick thinking and showmanship.  Randi was performing a trick that required him to secretly place a large wooden block into a hat.  For some reason he'd failed to situate the prop in that location, a mistake he only realized while in the midst of presenting the routine. Some magicians would have put the effect aside and gone on to another, Randi was too quick and talented to abandon the effect in front of this audience of fellow magicians.

The hat was on his stand; the cube resting behind another effect.  He had to find a way to move it into the hat without anyone noticing.

"God, look at her!" he shouted, an expression of astonishment on his face.   Simultaneously, he thrusted out his arm, pointing his finger towards the back of the auditorium.  What he was doing is called misdirection.  Heads turned.  Eyes searched for the woman Randi had spotted.  There was no one there, but while attention was diverted, he'd secured the cube in the hat.  He was not only amazing and resourceful.  He was also pretty nervy.

"That was my sister," he explained, as he continued with his routine.

During the 1964 World's Fair, White Owl Cigars featured magicians in their pavilion. Randi was a regular.  I'd taken a date to the fair and was doing my best to impress her.  When we reached the pavilion, I managed to convince the house manager I was a friend of Randi's and that if he knew I was there, he'd let me in -- for free, of course.   Randi was summoned.  He recognized me as one of the FAME boys, and not only invited us to see the show, but talked me up to my companion.

Decades later, Randi made an appearance on a television program I was watching, and  I decided to email and say how much I'd enjoyed seeing him.  You probably don't remember me, I said.  I was a FAME boy. You got me into your White Owl show at the World's Fair.

"Ah ... he replied.  I've been searching for you for years.  You own me five bucks for the tickets."

He was kind.  Helpful and as I say, a very funny guy.

Making America Americian Again

Making America American Again

By Charles E. Kraus

My father rarely voted.  Once for Kennedy.  Once for Regan.  Once for anybody but Regan.  He was a contrarian with strongly held political beliefs that shifted.  Were he alive today, he'd be sealing the envelope right now, pounding the stamp into place and marching his ballot, his message of dissatisfaction, to the postal box.  If he could locate a postal box.

My generation really does want to make America great again.  Great meaning normal.  These past four years have been anything but that.  When you've been around for decades (I've been handicapping Presidents since 1968; prior to that I was allowed to share my father's opinions with anybody who would listen), you've obviously developed a sense of the American process.  

Wasn't there a time when politicians avoided scandal, or at least the appearance of scandal?  Didn't we go for long stretches without news events so riveting that they competed with one another for headline prominence and space in our heads?   Weren't there clear cut ways of doing things?  Holding elections, for example?  Yes, the world had dangerous rough edges.  We knew this.  We were working on it.

Seniors have the kind of perspective that allows them to understand how off course we've gone.  We are veterans of history.  Of wars and depressions, recessions, polio epidemics and assassinations.  Of Presidential elections that were landslides and others that were squeakers. In each instance, the country found itself on solid footing and was able to absorb the dilemma.

We've benefited from Social Security.  Medicare.  Civil Rights.  Healthier foods, better medicines, safer cars.  A sense of advancing.   Eisenhower, Kennedy, Johnson,  even Nixon.  Left, right and center. 

Living in Washington State, where voting has been accomplished exclusively by mail for many years, it is easy for me to urge distant friends to cast ballots.  

        In the oldest of jokes, the wealthy matron hears a beggar say, "I haven't eaten in days," and responds, "My good man, you should force yourself."  Sure friends, I can advise you to stand in your Covid infested lines, in the rain, in the snow, with vigilantes stalking, pardon me, closely observing the voting process.  Or, if you live in California, urge you to do your best when it comes to distinguishing between real collection boxes and actual collection boxes.  

Fortunately, I don't have to rally seniors to turn out the vote. The necessary energy and stamina is being accessed from the same well that feeds fight or flight responses.  Everyone I know is angry.  Real angry.  And that is leading to action.  They are upset enough to withstand the discomforts and dangers, submitting their ballots as a kind of scream.  A demand for common sense.

We are seniors.  We look back and see what the current administration has dismantled.  Seems to me there are competing approaches to making American Great Again.  One is fake.  One is not.  We know the difference, and we'll vote accordingly.

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