{"id":327,"date":"2007-04-12T23:50:00","date_gmt":"2007-04-12T15:50:00","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/shah2u.com\/blog\/2007\/04\/magician-disillusioned\/"},"modified":"2007-04-12T23:50:00","modified_gmt":"2007-04-12T15:50:00","slug":"magician-disillusioned","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/magician-disillusioned\/","title":{"rendered":"Magician Disillusioned"},"content":{"rendered":"
\"\"<\/a> The Lumache Mansion in Colon, Michigan<\/div>\n

For decades, his name was a household word, like Kleenex or Chapstick. Millions of people around the world had watched mystified as he defied physical laws and ordinances, performing remarkable magic tricks that were of equal delight to children, adults, and precocious horses. Today, in one of the great tragedies of modern necromancy, The Great Lumache is a broken man\u2014lost, hopeless\u2014bereft of illusions. An Avant News exclusive interview.<\/p>\n

I meet Ralph Sheffield Zucker, the real name of The Great Lumache, at his palatial, dilapidated mansion overlooking Palmer Lake in Colon, Michigan. Our appointment is set for 11:00 am, but I arrive some minutes early, intending to photograph the grounds. The spacious expanse, formerly famous for its roaming lions, cavorting white tigers, card-playing chimpanzees and hacksaw-wielding toucans is now barren, desolate, and pocked with the bodies of live rats and dead rabbits, grim reminders of the barren and desolate mind of the once great illusionist I was about to meet. I decide to skip the snapshots.<\/p>\n

I am reminded of the first time I saw The Great Lumache in my childhood home of Tightwad, Missouri. It was the high point of life for almost everyone in the town, a one-day performance anticipated with breathless expectation for months, and Lumache did not disappoint. Appearing as from nowhere on the main stage of the Tightwad Elderly Persons Containment Facility (now a Wal-Mart) in a huge cloud of green smoke, Lumache took us on a whirlwind tour from classical sleight of hand through his own special brand of avant-garde magic. We gasped with astonishment, gaped in terror, cried with delight and retched from the green smoke, which turned out to be toxic. My lung capacity remains at 80% to this day, as the scarring was unfortunately permanent. It\u2019s a memento I cherish every waking moment.<\/p>\n

I am cautious as I approach the front door and prepare to ring the bell, half-expecting to encounter some high-tech wizardry that will either startle or seriously injure me, or both, but it is only a regular doorbell. I hear synthetic Windsor bells chime deep within the flecked-paint structure and try to inflate my lungs to their full, reduced capacity to counter my involuntary nervousness. Also some of the voluntary nervousness.<\/p>\n

There is a long wait while my heart thumps like a hollow, muscular organ responsible for pumping blood through the blood vessels of vertebrates by repeated, rhythmic contractions. Behind me, a torn flag flaps on a rusty flagpole while the wind seems to sing a solemn dirge in the leafless trees. Then, as if by magic, the front door swings open of its own accord. At the same time a voice croaks in my ear, making me leap two feet in the air straight into a sharp wooden crossbeam, which is painful.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re early,\u201d croaks the voice. When my breathing starts again, I see Lumache, the great magician, standing beside me. He looks much shorter than I remember.<\/p>\n

He seems to sense my shock and consternation, and points as if by way of explanation to the cellar trap-door from which he had just emerged carrying a screwdriver and some WD-40, then gestures at the mysterious front door. \u201cIt always swings open of its own accord when there\u2019s wind,\u201d he says, and shrugs. \u201cBad latch.\u201d<\/p>\n

I do not know exactly what I expected, but I am nonetheless saddened by the sight that smites my sibilant eyes. Gone is the extravagant, signature star-strewn cape; gone the long, pointed, pom-pom topped cap; gone the spotless white gloves, the flawless bow tie, the unlaced canvas sneakers. Perhaps anticipating the dramatic husk of a burned-out cultural icon, I find instead a small, elderly man in jeans and flannel with watery blue eyes and a stubble like hoar frost on his chin. We push through the door into the drafty interior, Lumache pausing to place the oil and tools on a window ledge by the door. \u201cI\u2019ll fix it later,\u201d he says, and guides me inside.<\/p>\n

\u201cI only have a few minutes,\u201d The Great Lumache says. \u201cThe Dating Game is on.\u201d He leads me swiftly through the house, strangely decorated with tasteful Scandinavian furniture and apparently random posters from the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Everything is covered by a thick patina of yellow-gray dust, ages old, smelling of decay, despair, the dismal plod of time\u2019s Clydesdales.<\/p>\n

\u201cI\u2019m sorry about the thick patina of dust,\u201d Lumache says, and briskly brushes off a wicker chair, motioning me to sit. \u201cI just sanded the floors.\u201d He looks me in the eye. \u201cWhat do you want to know?\u201d<\/p>\n

My active mind, so full of eagerness and anticipation, goes swiftly, incomprehensibly blank, and I glare back at Lumache, suspecting he had performed some rapid, unseen act of hypnosis. He sits there placidly, eying the television and checking his watch, and I realize my mind is only blank because I am a lazy journalist. I kick myself for not looking the great man up on Wikipedia prior to the interview.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhy,\u201d I ask at last, grabbing a sudden lifeline of inspiration, \u201chave you retired from the public eye? Why have you let down your millions of adoring fans?\u201d<\/p>\n

The Great Lumache smiles as though he had anticipated the question.<\/p>\n

\u201cI thought you\u2019d ask me that,\u201d he says, and folds the tips of his fingers together in a Zeppelin bend configuration, which is quite a feat. Lumache leans back in his chair, closes his eyes in a gesture of inner harmony and strength, and breathes softly and regularly. I poke him with a stick to wake him up.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s simple,\u201d he says, blinking. \u201cI lost my illusions\u2014both literally and figuratively.\u201d Lumache rises in his seat and takes a furtive glance at the TV, but it\u2019s still showing commercials.
\n\u201cMy trade, my calling, my God-given talent was\u2014is\u2014illusion. Deception. Misdirection. The creation of things where nothing is there. The disappearance of things you know to be there. The essence, the fundamentals of magic. What makes magic, or any kind of fictive entertainment enjoyable?\u201d he asks me.<\/p>\n

I ponder for a few moments, but Lumache grows impatient.<\/p>\n

\u201cSuspension of disbelief,\u201d he says. \u201cYou must know\u2014know\u2014that what you are seeing is not real\u2014otherwise you would go insane. But you must be willing to suspend your disbelief\u2014to temporarily turn the rational, inquisitive parts of your mind off\u2014to enjoy the spectacle. Otherwise it\u2019s just science and mechanics, and that you can see on the Discovery channel. Some magic, also.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cAnd so your audience has lost its capacity to suspend its disbelief?\u201d I ask rather glibly.
\n\u201cNo, that is not the problem. My audience\u2014the world\u2014has not lost, but rather extended its capacity to the breaking point. The problem is that the audience must use every ounce of that capacity to simply cope with what the world is like today.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLook around. Everything is illusion\u2014and that which isn\u2019t illusion is appalling. If you don\u2019t allow yourself to believe the world isn\u2019t in as awful shape as you know\u2014you know!\u2014it actually is, you will go insane. You must suspend your disbelief simply to survive from day to day. In that environment, there is no room for magic. There is no room for magicians. There is no room for me.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cPlus the suitcase containing all my magic tricks was lost at baggage claim,\u201d he adds. \u201cDon\u2019t fly Delta.\u201d<\/p>\n

Lumache sighs heavily and rises, scanning the floor and furniture as though hunting for something\u2014a ray of hope, perhaps? A bittersweet scent of promise in a bleak and uncompromising future?<\/p>\n

\u201cThe remote,\u201d he says, finding it under a TV Guide. \u201cIf you don\u2019t mind\u2014\u201d He gestures at the television with the clicker and flops heavily into an armchair. I pause for a few moments, torn, then nod farewell and make my way back outside to the rats and bunny corpses. I am shaken, but with comprehension and understanding seeping into my throbbing skull I drive slowly through the tight, twisting turns of Colon to finally emerge into the great expanse of questionable promise and fleeting hope that is today\u2019s America.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

The Lumache Mansion in Colon, Michigan For decades, his name was a household word, like Kleenex or Chapstick. Millions of people around the world had watched mystified as he defied physical laws and ordinances, performing remarkable magic tricks that were of equal delight to children, adults, and precocious horses. Today, in one of the great […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[12],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-327","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-paparazzis-corner"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/327","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=327"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/327\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=327"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=327"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/spmodels.net\/entertainment\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=327"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}