It’s always amazing how the most carefully laid plans turn to waste matter.
As a fund raiser my church decided to put on an “America’s Got Talent” type variety show. Makes sense too. It’s a pretty good sized church with nice facilities and no shortage of talent. The place is packed with singers, dancers, musicians and good ‘ol story tellers. There’s a juggler and his routines are so sharp, he could have come from Las Vegas. It had recently been discovered that back in the day I could pull off a decent magic trick or two. When the organizer for the event asked if I would participate I responded with a quick “You Bet”.
I was asked to perform something during the announcements on the first Sunday of promotion for the show. Later that day I pulled down my old trunk from the attic. The nostalgia and memories pounded my soul like red spongy waves. Wow. Canes, candles, nickel-plated 10” rings, long sharp needles hungry for a balloon to pierce after 20 years of suspend animation. There were multiplying rhinestone-studded billiard balls, dove harnesses and look; my dented and beat-up old Zombie ball. Scarves of every color, ropes, chains, locks and cards. More cards than car salesman at an O.C. anonymous convention.
Now let’s see, what would be short, snappy and highly visible? Of course! The old dancing cane! For an added punch I could make it vanish at the end. Perfect.
That Saturday I practiced for hours. Over and over I practiced with more discipline than ever before. I was filled with excitement as it floated in circles beneath my hands, thrilled as it followed my commands from side to side, and bursting with elation as it sailed over my head and spun around my body! This was going to be great!
Sunday morning. I get the nod from the choir director as he was making the morning’s announcements. Down the isle I walk with cane in hand like a young society man on his way to the opera. I take my stance in front of the entire congregation. As I raise my hands, the cane floats up my fingertips. A brief dramatic pause and the cane begins its circular dance in front of my body. And then…PLOP! The dad blamed thing falls to the floor! I had to bend over to pick it up (in a special way) which took way too long. I remember thinking to myself “don’t panic”. “Just keep going”. After what seemed like two weeks I was standing and threw the cane toward the choir director. It changed direction and began its side to side motion. Then just as it was about to make its first orbit around my body, it collides with my right elbow. This sent it flying off end over end. This can’t be happening! I reached out and caught it before it could get away from me. I held it high in the air and did the vanish. Pop. It was now two silk scarves. I gave them a gentle crumple, took a bow, placed the scarves in my breast pocket and made my way back down the isle tense and visibly shaken. When I got to the foyer I made my way down the stairs and into the copier room where I had a quiet but enthusiastic melt down. A silent freak out, as it were.
I don’t know how I lost control of the cane. I was doing it all day Saturday in the garage and all night in my sleep. Not only did I feel like a total idiot, but I forgot a cardinal rule of performing. Never, never, never take things too seriously. I should have picked the bloody cane back up and said in a loud and clear voice…”I meant to do that” and made a face. Instead I allowed myself to get inside my own head. When I finally made my way back upstairs to join my family in the congregation, I was sweating profusely. My first performance in 20 years and I totally choked. What made matters worse was that this was not a gathering of strangers, but a group of people I see regularly. It was now that I remembered why I always took a couple of tequila shots before going on stage. Now that I don’t drink (not a fun guy anymore) this was no longer an option.
I began to regret pulling that old trunk from the attic, or showing my old business card to the pastor. Had I made a huge mistake? I was already committed to the talent show so I couldn’t back out. I would have to press on.
Then I was reminded of the famous story about Robert-Houdin. He was 40 years old when he gave his first major performance in Paris July 3rd, 1845. He suffered from stage fright (as I do) and by his own account that first show was a disaster. He was so upset he stayed in bed for a month after the show. He vowed never to perform magic again. But he did. Robert Houdin now is considered by most to have been the greatest magician of the 19th century. So great was his fame that a young Hungarian Immigrant Named Eric Weiss took Houdin’s name and added an “i” to the end, meaning “like” or “similar to”.
No turning back. I must continue. I may make a fool of myself, but this thing is taking on a life of its own. I have to finish what I started. The big show is coming up in a couple of days. Stay tuned…
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