The original incarnation of this short story was written in October of last year, and this version underwent some changes this past week. Here’s the result.                                                                                  Word Count; 4641

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Your Average, Nonconformist Sorcerer

 

   “Good evening good radio listeners, and welcome to another in a series of adventures exploring the fields of mind expansion and magical illusionism, “Atypical Sorcery.” As always I’ll be your host, Calvin Asymmetrical, for the next three hours as we delve deeply into this weird and wonderful aspect of the universe. With me as always is my trusted sidekick and protégé, Maxamillion “Dreamtime” Townsend.”

And with that, another exciting Saturday night glued to the sofa in front of the radio kicked in for Washington Welch. Unlike almost all Gen. Zs, he’d been listening to the Atypical Sorcery broadcast on a regular basis for over five years now, and Washington couldn’t remember a time when he didn’t feel like his week was complete unless he ended it by listening to the show. Some might disagree, but Washington also felt quite strongly that his life was just that stimulating because of the fact.

Atypical Sorcery could always be counted on to give its radio listeners an in-depth, totally out there perspective on the world. Washington also found the magic tricks they discussed on the show to be extremely helpful for his own aspirations to one day become a full fledged, professional, magician/illusionist. He’d been not so secretly pursuing a career in magic, and performed whatever, whenever, and wherever people would agree to put up with his act.

Not such an easy thing to pull off, since most folks didn’t put much stock in the world of magic, and what a lot of them referred to under their breath as “crass illusionism.” Many was the time when Washington would perform his show, pull off a flawless act of mind/eye trickery, only to look out and see the looks of skepticism painted all over the faces of the majority of his audience. Extremely frustrating to say the least. Then again, very few of the good things in life aren’t analogous to continually bashing one’s head against a brick wall. Theoretically one day you’ll break through, right? That is if you don’t sustain massive brain damage in the process.

This latest predicament sort of had something to do with magic, but then again, it sort of didn’t either. Washington’s trusted assistant and sister Audrey, was in the process of potentially jeopardizing the entire future of the act. Worst of all, she probably didn’t even realize the type of irrefutable harm she could do to Washington’s performances through her selfish actions.

Downstairs in Washington’s inner sanctum of magic, which coincidentally also happened to be the basement of the Welch family residence:

“You don’t even have the slightest clue about the sort of mental anguish you’re inflicting upon me,” said Washington as the panic meter really started to ramp up. “I seriously doubt that I’ll be able to get a good night’s sleep in order to perform to the utmost of my untapped capabilities this coming weekend. That doesn’t really bother you, does it?”

“Give me a break pseudo-Houdini,” said Audrey, who took a less apocalyptic view of the consequences of her actions. “All I’m asking for is an up tick in the amount of money you’re giving to me at the end of your so-called “magic extravaganza,” and a bit more billing in the promo. posters for the show. Why not bend a little bit on this one your Excellency.”

Washington actually started contemplating the ramifications if he acquiesced to his sister’s demands. “Maybe, but we must remember that my untapped reservoir of talent could be

seriously damaged if I mention your involvement in this performance of mine. Also don’t forget, I’m the lynchpin that makes this entire act legitimate.”

“Damn, I knew it was a mistake not wearing my hip waders to this little negotiation. Okay bro. here’s what I’m going to do; from now on at the end of each performance, we split the pot 70%-30%, instead of the old slave take 80%-20%. Me being the lower of the figures.”

Washington felt a bit like your typical Middle-Eastern President-for-Life Dictator after extensive negotiations with the rebels. “Oh, alright, but this will be a very difficult task for me to agree upon. It’ll take some time for my fragile psyche to adapt. ”

“No it won’t. I am after all, easier on the eyes than you happen to be.”

Washington’s facial expression then shifted to visible offense. “Oh, so now you’re being catty about my elegantly manicured goatee, and my deeply hypnotic emerald-green eyes.”

“Not to mention the fact that you’re at least 6” shorter than me,” said Audrey. ”Even though you’re supposedly six minutes older. Wearing those goofy platform shoes doesn’t really help by the way. Makes you look like a 70’s Disco Throwback.”

“I shall seriously contemplate the merits of your comments concerning my footwear.”

“Maybe you should. Consider yourself lucky this time a round Merlin. I’m not going to ask you to change the posters, since that’s too much extra time and money to pull off.”

 

Audrey got up and unceremoniously left the room with what appeared to be a gruff defiance to Washington’s authority. This left him standing there in the center of the inner sanctum looking a bit lost and uncomfortable. He knew that some might consider her demands legitimate, but that still didn’t detract from the fact that Washington felt very strongly he was indeed the lynchpin for the entire act. The straw that stirred that morning cup of coffee as it were.

Receiving his Certificate of Excellence & Achievement from The Harry W. Houdini School of Magical Illusionism would soon legitimize his august distinction. He’d been in regular contact with the institute for the past two years, and had even sent them various amounts of money, test results, and documentation. Washington felt quite confidently that once they received written receipts certifying this most recent set of performances, and the final transfer of funds; it would indeed bring him one very big step closer to achieving excellence in the realm of magic.

So far, Washington still hadn’t chanced upon any other colleges or universities in which you could study the art of illusionism, one day obtaining an advanced degree in the science. All indications were that it seemed to take years of hard earned practice, endless performances on a modern day vaudeville circuit (like the great one himself) plus lots, and lots of trial and error. How is this possible when trying to achieve excellence in such a great field?

Then again, he’d only been practicing for the past five years. Owing of course to the fact that Washington was still a relative young pup at the age of 16. Expectations kept telling him that he was definitely moving in the right direction with his career aspirations.

A small part of him did wonder about the legitimacy of the school though. Washington vaguely remembered attending a workshop on mastering card trick deceptions and eves-dropping in on a conversation between two older gentlemen. Didn’t one of them say this Houdini School of Illusion was some sort of bogus fly-by-night operation? Piloted out of a third floor apartment in downtown Newark, New Jersey? Totally preposterous.

For one thing, it was hard to remember what exactly was being said. The conversation happened in the middle of another person’s performance, lots of other people were standing around, and the background music was as usual extremely loud and chaotic sounding? Overhearing the conversation itself happened almost too fast too.

The present situation called for him to painstakingly prepare for Friday night’s performance. Everything needed to look effortless and fascinating too. The manager of that outer I-270 Columbus Ramada Inn did mention off-handily that his act needed to completely capture, and hold the audience’s attention. Like a rabid dog biting into your butt as he put it. Therefore it was essential that the production be a grand display of illusionism for all to witness.

Washington felt relieved that he’d straightened out this messy situation with Audrey. Thankfully that wouldn’t be hanging over his head anymore, and the hope was that now she’d quietly assist him without trying to upstage things. Like she unfortunately did during those last two performances at the Herbert H. Hoover Middle School.

 

The Interstate #270 Ramada Inn of Columbus, Ohio, just south of Richenbaker International Airport happened to be balancing precariously on the verge of destruction. Its location, south of the Jack Nicklaus Freeway circled the outer edge of downtown, and sat squarely in a section of the city slowly slipping into crack numbing decay. This pretty much guaranteed that it would be up for wholesale urban renewal within the next few years, and city planners crossed their fingers in the hopes that something might happen. Best-case scenario had it taking place yesterday.

In the meantime, Interstate #270 Ramada management was making a mild attempt to keep things together. Maintain appearances for the business by pretending to undertake some sort of positive activity. At least until local or state government could kick in some much needed bucks for “Las Vegas style deconstruction & renovation” they didn’t have.

One way to drum up commerce was to book entertainment that would somehow challenge people to drive out to Ramada South’s neighborhood. Amongst the various acts manager Nelson Selby had convinced to sign a performance contract was a speed metal rock-n-roll outfit known as “Touch Me, Abuse me.” This was followed in quick succession by a Rap duo called “The Chosen Boyz,” an impressionist named “Ricardo Dixon,” and finally a beat poet out of New York City who used the quirky pseudonym, “Horatio Ginsberg.” Clearly Washington’s magic act was following in the footsteps of some extremely important, and influential theatrical ensembles.

Getting set up to perform at his best, Washington was faced with two major obstacles. Both vital to the success of the act, with one being more crucial than the other. Since it involved an aspect of illusion, in his eyes it was obviously the most important problem to solve.

He’d been practicing a milk urn escape similar in scope to the same feat of daring performed by the great one. Unfortunately, Washington still hadn’t mastered the getting out of the container phase of the illusion, and time and again Audrey kept having to fish him out whenever things got a bit dicey. Which as it turns out, was every time he tried to master the trick.

“Practice makes perfect,” they always say, and Washington had four more days to perfect the trick. Maybe he was being a bit over-confident, but he had a good feeling he’d master the major pretext of deception before Friday. Possibly update it by using a modified shipping crate?

Obstacle #2 involved getting to the venue itself. The ’84 Ford Cargo Van the Welch twins inherited from their uncle Waldo wasn’t exactly a model of roadster efficiency. In point of fact, if a former Yugoslav were forced to pick between it and his own highly practical Yugo, picking the national vehicle would probably prove to be a better decision.

The first time the Cargo van blew a head gasket was coming home from a semi-successful gig north of the Ohio St. University campus. Since neither of them had a cell phone, Audrey was forced to walk to a service station, call home for help, then beg the tow truck driver to assist them. The begging behavior occurring because neither of them had a credit card or cash to pay for the service tow.

Then Washington tried to impress the people at the gas station with one of his card tricks.

When that didn’t work due to the fact that he scattered all 52 of them directly in the face of a short-tempered former professional wrestler, things went from the frying pan, directly into the heart of the fire from there.

Cargo van Engine over-heat #2 took place before they even reached the Columbus Animal Hospital field day gig. Fortunately in this case, they broke down near a service station with a direct contact to home. Luck was even more on their side when it was soon discovered that the operator of the station, one Riley Conway, happened to have worked on James (their father) Welch’s auto at an earlier date.

It wasn’t on their side when they called the landline though. No one was home the moment Audrey dialed the number, and neither of the twins could remember their mother’s new cell phone code. Washington was of course supposed to have written it down on a piece of paper, but since it involved something that wasn’t magic related, he chose not to do this. Audrey’s verbal chastisement of her brother was quite colorful right at that precise moment.

Five hours after doing a detailed examination of the walls at Conway’s Sonoco, Audrey was able to get their parents that afternoon after they’d returned home from shopping. The Cargo van got repaired, but only after it sat at the station for another three weeks. Washington commented that things just didn’t add up, since this Conway guy’s profession made him in greater demand than what he was doing with his magic. His career aspirations being a more of “an integral element to the cultural landscape,” as Washington put it.

The present status of the Cargo van had it undergoing engine repair #7, with a promise from the mechanic that it would actually run for an extended period of time once it got fixed. Audrey was encouraged to hear this tid-bit of good news, but Washington not so much. The auto had been in the shop for almost two weeks now, and the service technician also told the Welch’s

repairs could take another few days before the van would be back and running on the road.

At first when she heard this, Audrey was relieved, and thought about calling her buddies to tell them they should plan on going to the movies that Friday. Then she realized her brother might be emotionally devastated if he couldn’t carry out his performance, and decided not too. A small part of her was actually rooting for Washington to succeed with his career as a magician. That way if she slowly, but surely eased herself out of the picture, she wouldn’t have to put up with his daily eccentricities any more.

A solution to this “lack of transport” dilemma came in the form of assistance from their next-door neighbor, Wiley Huntsman. Washington had visited Mr. Huntsman on numerous occasions in the past, and actually pulled off one of his more elaborate card tricks once. This led to an extremely effervescent case of enthusiasm on the part of Huntsman, and a promise to assist Washington wherever and whenever he needed help with his magic act. That Friday afternoon, he mentioned that he’d lend them the use of his truck to transport all the props across town for that evening’s performance. Washington couldn’t stop smiling when he heard the news.

 

They decided to give themselves plenty of time to set up for the Southern Jack Nicklaus Fwy. Ramada Inn gig, and left the house late that afternoon. Upon arriving at the venue, Audrey excused herself to grab a quick bite to eat. Washington meanwhile started setting up. He’d already eaten a late lunch while demonstrating additional magic skills to Mr. Huntsman, and wasn’t that hungry at the time.

Serendipity played a crucial roll in three conversations Washington would have over the course of that weekend. The first was with the Ramada’s janitor. Ironically enough, while

cleaning his props, and making sure they performed exactly the way they were supposed to.

 

The stage of the I-270 Ramada convention auditorium;

“You sure you know what you’re doing kid?” asked Birch Barlow as he sauntered into the hall “You look a little bit lost trying to assemble that stuff, need some help?”

Washington was slightly offended, but managed to do a good job of hiding it. “I assure you, I know exactly what I’m doing (at least I thought he did). “Thanks for your offer of assistance though.”

“No problem. So what are you, some sort of magician?”

“Not just any old run-of-the-mill magic act my dear fellow, but the greatest illusionist this city will probably ever see.” Another thing Washington didn’t suffered from was a surplus of modesty.

“Then what are you doing here? Old man Selby doesn’t exactly book the highest quality when it comes to entertainment acts.”

“Honing my craft as it were. I also need the money too.”

“Don’t we all,” said Birch.

“I’ve been delving into this world of sorcery for quite some time now, so I’ve become fairly familiar with the ins and outs of the game. This probably shouldn’t be considered a child’s folly though. Far from it actually.”

“And you’re here because you’re still young, fairly unknown, and need the money. Even though you’re getting paid peanuts. Welcome to the club.”

“You’re an illusionist too?”

“Nope, an actor. Trying to do anything and everything related to the subject I can round up around this city, but also working menial jobs here and there to put food on the table. Looking towards saving up enough money to move to The Big Apple too. Since I’m Black that might act to my advantage. Probably sounds like the same old tired cliché to you doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know. As soon as I graduate from high school, my folks already know I’m planning on moving there or Los Angeles.”

“Got to go where the action in one’s field is, right?”

Washington smiled broadly in total agreement with the guy. “Right.”

“Well I won’t bother you anymore while you’re setting up. What time does your act go on stage by the way? If I get off early this evening, I’ll try to catch it.”

“Your management wants us to begin at 8:00 p.m.”

“I’ll be there. Figure I should support the other starving artists just like me.”

 

That night’s performance garnered greater audience response than the previous weekend’s act, “The C-Span Mascots,” a political comedy troupe out of Atlanta. While taking in the pleasant afterglow of pulling off a successful gig and cleaning up backstage, Washington was paid a surprise visit by a fellow Midwestern illusionist.

The hallway between the Ramada’s dressing room and stage;

“The great illusionist Washington Welch?” asked Nolan.

One way to always endure yourself to that Welch magician was to compliment him on his prolific abilities. This strategy worked to perfection. “Speaking.”

“My name is Nolan Eastwood and I’ve been peripherally following your career as a magician for quite some time now. Just caught your latest performance, really good by the way.”

“Your compliments are greatly appreciated. All my illusions came off without a hitch, didn’t they? So you’ve been keeping a record of my career have you?”

“I’ve been a member of the Greater Chicago Magician’s Cooperative for a number of years. That being the case, I’m fairly close to ground level when it comes keeping tabs on fellow magicians. You’ve improved your craft quite a bit as an illusionist, by the way.”

“Thanks. I guess it helps doing my act whenever I can book a performance.”

“Yes, yes it does. Gives you a chance to practice when you’re directly in the line of fire.”

“I’ve also been in contact with an entity that should enhance my status as a magician,” said a proud Washington as he pumped out his chest.

“Oh really,” said Nolan. “Who’s that?”

“The Harry W. Houdini School of Magical Illusion. I’m sure you’re quite familiar with them, being a magician yourself.”

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Washington looked at Eastwood with a perplexed look painted all over his face. “Why do you say that?”

“Their reputation isn’t exactly one of total integrity. In fact, you might say if they attended a lawyers convention, guess which side of the morality aisle they’d plant themselves on?”

Right as Eastwood made this smart-### assessment of the Harry Houdini School, another impudent individual entered into the conversation with the entrance of Audrey.

“How so?” She had to find out why this was the case.

Washington looked directly at Mr. Eastwood. “My sister. Audrey-Nolan. Nolan-Audrey.“

“Have you sent them any money yet Washington?”

“A little bit.”

“How much?”

“Let’s see, $500 last year. $300 back in March. They want me to send them $400 when I mail the school the documentation papers for this latest set of performances.”

“What?!” said Audrey. “You didn’t tell me or mom and dad you were doing this? You told us you were putting all the money you’re making in the bank, what gives?”

“They’ve tapped into a steady source of revenue, that’s what gives Andrea. You’ve probably heard that old P.T. Barnum quote, “A sucker born every minute.” Sorry to inform you Washington, but it looks like you’ve landed yourself squarely in that category.”

Flies would’ve had easy, unencumbered, access to the inside of Washington’s mouth right at that precise moment. He was just that stunned. “Damn.”

“They want you to keep sending them money and groveling up to them about three or four times a year. That’s how they stay in business, taking advantage of people like you and me who are desperate to succeed as magicians.”

“So we’re wondering bro., just how is life these days in the wallowing lane?” asked Audrey.

“Don’t feel bad Washington,” said Mr. Eastwood. “If it’s any consolation, I went through the exact same thing as you when I was first getting into the business. Lost a lot of money before my brother put a stop to it.”

“How’d he do that?” asked Washington.

“Made me quit sending them checks, or else he told me he’d sabotage my act. Then he wrote a letter to the school threatening to expose their little scam. They went by a different name at that time, The Institute of Merlin Mysticism.”

“Almost sounds halfway legitimate,” said Audrey.

Nolan elaborated a bit more. “The industry isn’t very well monitored. It’s sort of like a lot of other creative endeavors. Acting, music, writing, the arts. Fly-by-night outfits in those fields as well.”

“Doesn’t anyone put a stop to this sort of thing?” asked Washington.

“Things are slightly better in certain professions. There are guilds to keep this sort of stuff from happening. Unfortunately, the field of Magic is like the wild, wild, west; one big, unchecked, free for all in our field. That’s where my group comes in.”

“You mean this magician’s cooperative out of Chicago?” asked Washington.

“We’re doing our best, but situations like yours keep slipping through the system all the time. We’ve tried to institute all sorts of safeguards. That’s part of the reason why I’m here tonight.”

“To try and fix a crack in the dyke with crazy glue?” said Audrey.

“Not quite that bad fortunately. I’m glad I caught things when I did in your particular situation Washington.”

“So are we,” said Audrey, who then looked directly at Nolan Eastwood. “What is the best way for my brother to reach the pinnacle of this figment-of-the-imagination stuff?”

Nolan frowned slightly. “Unfortunately the only way to get to the top is through lots of hard work. That, and performing whenever, and wherever you can. Perfecting your craft.”

“Guess that Albert Einstein quote is really true,”

Washington hesitated slightly in anticipation of what he was about to hear. “Which one’s that Audrey?”

“Genius is 1% inspiration, and 99% perspiration.” Get ready to keep busting your ### bro.”

“I was anticipating that.”

“You’re on the right track kid,” said Nolan. “Keep working hard and sooner or later, you’ll succeed. That’s the great thing about delving into the world of magic, its full of nice surprises.”

 

Except for lots of soul-searching on Washington’s part, the drive home was uneventful and the following day he walked next door to thank Wiley Huntsman for the loan of his truck. Their

conversation clinched it as far as Washington wanting to stay focused on succeeding in the world of creating illusions. Huntsman’s comments had a lot to do with that:

The kitchen table of Wiley Huntsman’s house;

“We came this close to getting a standing ovation,” said Washington, demonstrating with his fore finger and thumb the miniscule gap that separated him from a mediocre performance and God-like celebrity worship. “Audrey even had a genuine smile on her face instead of the usual smirk.”

“Really,” said Wiley. “Why didn’t they just go ahead and give you some standing applause?”

“Audrey said afterwards they didn’t stand up and applaud because the I-270 Ramada auditorium is located right next to the hotel’s bar. She mentioned that large segments of our audience didn’t even look like they could stand up, let alone perform two separate tasks that would require total dexterity on their part.”

“I’ll bet all the way home you were wishing the majority of your audiences could be so enthusiastic. Makes for some nice dreams about the future, doesn’t it?”

“Well actually, while we were driving home I kept contemplating all the stuff that magician from Chicago told me. I even had some second thoughts about this whole illusionist path I’m taking with my career.”

“Don’t.”

Washington was mildly shocked to see Wiley Huntsman being so demonstrative. “You’re really adamant about that aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes I am. I’ve got a very good reason for feeling that way Washington.”

“What’s that?”

“I’ve never told you this, but when I was in my formative years I really wanted to pursue a career as a political cartoonist. I figured it’s a good way to stick it to the political opposition.”

“Even legal too.”

“I practiced my drawing skills all the time, spent countless hours figuring out how to draw caricatures of various politicians, and read every newspaper and magazine I could get.”

“Good strategy I suppose.”

“Used to watch the nightly news faithfully just so I could get a handle on what’s going on all over the world too.”

“What happened?”

“I took a job working in the press room of the local newspaper. One thing led to another, and pretty soon I found myself moving up the ladder. Eventually I ended up working on the printing press, and looking longingly into the editorial department of the paper every once in awhile.”

“So in the back of your mind you still wanted to do the cartooning?”

“Precisely. I’m too old to change at this point, and since I’m doing all right financially in the pressroom, there isn’t much incentive to give that up. Should’ve though, since I’ve never really been passionate about printing newspapers. In fact, since those early years, it’s gotten to be downright boring. Feel like I’m assembling parts in a North Korean bomb factory sometimes.”

“You still draw once in awhile though. I’ve noticed that table down in your basement?”

“Mostly doodling these days. I do draw the occasional congressman with horns on their head whenever I read something that raises my blood pressure a notch or two.”

“What’s this got to do with me and the magic?”

“Everything. Passion is the key to being happy in a person’s life. You ever heard of a guy named Winston Churchill?”

Since he was never a magician, Washington had of course never come across his name.

“Nope. Why?”

“He was the prime minister of England during World War II. Famous for a lot of things, first and foremost, keeping his country together while Hitler’s Nazis were trying to bomb it back into the Stone Age. One of my favorite quotes he made totally relates to this whole work and passion thing you’ve gotten yourself into.”

“What’s that?”

“If you can make a living doing something you really love, you’ll never have to work another day in your life.”

“I definitely love almost every aspect of creating illusions.”

“Ta daaah.”