Seattle Times  - Opinion

Moments of magic in the chaos of the Vietnam War

March 25, 2022 at 11:57 am Updated March 25, 2022 at 11:57 am

  

Charles Kraus entertains three young boys with one of his magic coin tricks in Da Nang, Vietnam, in 1967. (Courtesy of Charles Kraus)

By Charles E. Kraus

Special to The Times

For the past 60 years or so, my calling has been to mystify audiences and make people smile; especially kids. About a year of that time was spent in Vietnam. Officially, the military had me down as an enlisted man who’d signed up for a hitch in the Navy and had gotten himself attached to MCB 71, a Mobile Construction Battalion, the Seabees. 

John Wayne had starred in a movie, “The Fighting Seabees.” The poster showed him with a hammer in one hand and a machine gun in the other. We participated in war by building things rather than destroying them but were trained to do both. Outfitted in military fatigues, we attended Escape and Evasion School, learned to use our M16s, practiced throwing grenades and even took a lesson in firing anti-tank weapons. We honed these skills in Camp Lejeune, training with the Marines. Then, off to Chu Lai. It was 1967. I think I was the only one in the battalion who took along props for a stage show.

These were brutal days, though the horrific Ukraine-Russia war has changed my perspective about what we went through. Some 4,431 Americans were killed in the Iraq War. And 58,220 Americans died in Vietnam. I guess we’ll eventually total up the current conflict. 

I spent much of my time in Vietnam performing shows. Some for military units in the area and some for children. Mostly, I’m a kid-show guy. Born with an ability to help distract children who are enduring traumatic events, getting them to refocus, albeit, for a few moments, on cheerful bewilderment. In this case, my magic tricks.

Some of my in-country entertaining was spontaneous. The streets of Chu Lai were filled with military and civilian vehicles — trucks, motor bikes, transports, rushing about in a nonstop frenzy. Commercial sheds (stores) were mixed in with massive tented areas that serviced troops — bivouacs filled with activity, all day, all night, the pandemonium blending ground-level racket with Skyhawks and other jets taking off and landing every few minutes. The concept of noise abatement had yet to be invented.

Children wandered through this chaos trying to go about their lives. When I could, I’d gather a little crowd and compete with the bedlam. Coins appearing and disappearing. Sponge rubber balls changing color. Silk scarves magically unknotting themselves. Even in Da Nang, which maintained an element of civility, war turned everyone into cautious, suspicious, fearful beings in need of a little diversion. 

I was a delivery man, passing out synthetic wonder to children who would have benefited from actual wonder. My performances provided a touch of relief for the kids and for the magician. Pretty tense times.

Sleight-of-hand magic turned out to be one of those universal art forms. Just as music can be appreciated by people around the world, an illusion that defies the laws of science can create an instinctual “wow!” And so, when orphaned children subjected to a war’s depravity surrounded the platform and watched the impossible being performed with a smile, sometimes the smile got returned.