I Lie for Money

by Steve Spill

  I carefully read the manuscript, thought about it, loved it, but saw problems for me to overcome in order to do it at the scout show. First, the opening monologue of the script was two pages of stuff that just did not sound like it could come out of my mouth. At least that problem, I thought, I could deal with. But the Dr. Q hypnotic method was a complete fakeroo that didn’t seem suited to my circumstance.

  The manuscript said to have five volunteers stand on the stage in a row about two feet apart. And under cover of the sound of the orchestra playing, the magician was to stand in front of the volunteer on the left end of the line, turn his back to the audience, and make mystical gestures in front of his face, while saying, “We are going to have a good laugh on the audience and fool them, so when I tell you to do some funny things, do exactly as I say. Okay? Swell!” Then it said to go down the line repeating this to each volunteer.

  Well, that was also a problem. There was no sound system for this gig—not even a microphone, or a turntable or eight-track player to cover the sound of the secret talk. And there was no stage. The audience would be close and surrounding the performance. I’d be busted even if I whispered the secret instructions to a volunteer. Plus I felt five would be too many volunteers to manage at one time.

  Still, I wanted to make this fake hypnosis demonstration work, and I did.

  Cut to my hypnosis demonstration at the annual Cub Scout Blue & Gold Banquet, in front of the piano at Shakey’s Pizza Parlor in 1969.

  “Recently I had the pleasure of seeing the great Dr. Q’s hypnosis show and I wanted to share what it was like if you were sitting next to me in the front row,” I announced. “I’m going to need three cubs to hypnotize. If you are extremely intelligent, have a big imagination, and can focus enough to cooperate with me, please raise your hand now.”

  I picked Robert, David, and James as volunteers, and had them stand a few feet apart, facing the audience. I went to the one on the left end of the line, Robert, and faced him, deliberately turning my back on most of the audience, and placed my left hand on the back of his neck, at the base of the brain, and squeezed gently.

  According to the manuscript, the psychological effect of this was to render the helper a “willing dupe.” The stance, with the pressure upon his neck, put you in a position of dominance. This, coupled with my position as “master of the stage,” was supposed to make the helper amenable to do exactly what I told him.

  At the same time, my free right hand reached into my right jacket coat pocket and took out a marble and held it in front of him and I said, “Robert, stare into this tiny crystal ball,” and I continued saying the sort of stuff you might hear a real hypnotist say—“Robert, your eyelids are getting heavy. Robert, you’re getting sleepy. Robert, it’s hard to keep your eyes open . . .”

  What the audience couldn’t see, is that in the hand holding the marble, I also held a small card—secretly holding stuff in your hand is what we magic types call palming—so while Robert was looking at the marble, he was also staring at the card hidden in the palm of my hand. Neatly typed on that palmed business-sized card were written these words:

  We are going to have a good laugh on the audience and fool them, so when I tell you to do some funny things, do exactly as I say.

  Although my secret message was written, and not spoken as outlined in the manuscript, it was still presented in the form of a confidence of producing laughs on the rest of the spectators in the audience. According to the manuscript, this would make the volunteer feel important that he was in on the secret, and that he was to become “part of the show.”

  As Robert read the secret message, I boldly said, “Okay, swell,” which seemed to imply his automatic willingness to follow my written instructions, and then I winked at him in a friendly way. The wink clinched the spirit of “good fellowship” between us. I handled everything as outlined in the manuscript, which stated . . .

  “Handled thus, any spectator that happens to come up on the stage quickly becomes a ‘perfect hypnotic subject’ for your demonstrations.” Dr. Q is certainly to be commended for developing this perfectly brilliant psychological method of “handling” the subjects.

  I snapped my fingers, and guess what? Robert closed his eyes and slumped forward. Perfect. If he really were hypnotized, he probably would have done the exact same thing.

  I proceeded to David. I took the same stance with him, showed him the palmed secret message under the guise of having him stare at the marble in my hand, and said the same words as I had done with Robert. David caught on even quicker than Robert; before I even snapped my fingers he shut his eyes, allowed his arms to dangle, and tilted his head to one side.

  To the audience, it looked like I had hypnotized these cubs, and since that’s what they were expecting me to do, it all passed naturally. They saw my stern position as I gazed into the eyes of the boys who were focused on the marble, and even the fact that David’s lips moved while he read the secret note—that mumbling seemed to add to the expected “hypnotic formula” used in hypnotizing.

  Then came James. I did my thing, but he just stood there with his arms crossed across his chest in a defiant sort of pose. He wasn’t willing to get with the program. We just stared at one another, as if we were both stunned for a moment. I snapped out of it, put the marble and hidden message back in my pocket, left James standing there with his arms folded, and went back to my first helper Robert.

  “Robert, in a moment I’m going to count to three. When you hear the number three, I’m going to snap my fingers. When I snap, you will open your eyes and become a world famous rodeo champion. Next to you is a piano bench; when I snap my fingers that piano bench will look like a wild bucking bull. Jump on that bull and ride ’em cowboy! Show us what you’re made of!”

  On my command Robert hopped on the piano bench, bounced up and down, waved his hand in the air, and the entire scout troop was in hysterics. “Robert, when I clap my hands, you will go back into a deep hypnotic sleep,” when I did, he suddenly went limp, and I stepped in front of David. James was still standing on the end with his arms folded and his eyes wide open in a defiant pose.

  “David, in a moment I’m going to count to three. When you hear the number three, I’m going to snap my fingers. When I snap, you will be a fisherman. I want you to cast your reel and catch a big one, struggle with the fish, and then I want you to dive in and swim.” On my command David obeyed and again the cubs were wild with laughter. “David, when I clap my hands, you will go back into a deep hypnotic sleep.” I did and he did.

  Before I could say another word, my third volunteer, James, shouted, “You’re not going to make a monkey out of me!” There were a few snickers and giggles; then the entire crowd started chanting, “James! James! James! James! James . . .”

  I did some quick thinking. With all the noise from the hollered chanting, no one but James could hear me, “James, just play along and I’ll give you a dollar.” I put a hand over my heart and two fingers in the air, “Scouts honor.” All of a sudden he was docile, and willing to follow my instructions. At the top of my lungs I screamed, “James you are a monkey!”

  James hunched over, jumped up and down, scratched under his arms, loudly grunted chimp noises, and the audience roared with laughter. Then I shouted loudly, “Sleep,” and he dropped to the floor in a heap.

  Before I go any further, it would be prudent to point out the value of a dollar in 1969. It was a lot of money for a boy in that long-ago time. At the Shakey’s banquet the ticket cost a single dollar per person, and included pizza, salad, soda, and a scoop of ice cream.

  By this time, so much attention had been heaped on the boys, and the audience was laughing so loudly. My volunteers had so caught on to what was expected of them and were having such a swell time making the audience laugh, that they probably would have done anything I suggested at the slightest provocation.

  Bluntly speaking, at this point the cubs and I were co-conspirators, and certainly felt they were in on the scam.
The manuscript suggested finishing with some post-hypnotic suggestions, specified actions to be performed after the cubs awakened from their deep hypnotic trances.

  “I’d like to thank each of you for volunteering to help with the demonstrations. When I clap my hands, you will awaken. Robert, when you awaken I want you to beat your chest and holler like Tarzan. David, give a quick acceptance speech for the best actor 1969 Oscar you just won. James, you will be convinced I owe you money. It all happens now, when I clap my hands . . .”

  Robert beat his chest and gave a Tarzan holler. David said he’d like to thank his parents for making it all possible. James looked at me and screamed, “You owe me a dollar!” When I sent the Cubs back to their seats they got a crazy humongous ovation. “Young man,” the Scoutmaster said, breaking into a smile, “I liked what I saw tonight, and I want you to perform at my Rotary Club meeting.” Wow! Ka-Ching! Another seven dollars!

  Between that night and the Rotary Club, the Scoutmaster told his buddies I could hypnotize anyone. “Not me,” said a fellow Rotarian named Bernard. Unbeknownst to me a bottle of scotch was bet, riding on my ability to hypnotize the skeptic. Turns out the Rotary Club met at the same Shakey’s. As I was having my three selected Rotarian volunteers join me in front of the piano, a fourth Rotarian who I didn’t select also stepped up—Bernard.

  Not knowing about the bet, I assumed Bernard to be a willing participant, and accepted him as an extra helper ready to have some fun.

  When I asked Bernard to stare at the marble, he grabbed the hidden palmed card with the neatly typed secret message out of my hand, and ran to show it to the Scoutmaster. Bernard won his bottle of scotch. Fortunately the Scoutmaster seemed only slightly annoyed that his wager had gone sour. He told me I’d shown everyone a good time, and that’s what really counted, even if it cost him a little hooch. I was a little ashamed when I sheepishly accepted my seven bucks for the show, but felt that all is well that ends well.

  About two weeks after I wrote this chapter, for some nostalgic fun, I made a new secret card, palmed it, and tried Dr. Q’s Hypnotic Method for a couple weeks in my Magicopolis show. This time, as an adult with a lot of shows under my belt, I felt comfortable experimenting. I started with a half-dozen subjects, and then, for a finish, trimmed the herd down to the two who to that point gave the very best performances. Whether it was two men, two women, or one of each, the two remaining were the best of the best.

  “You two are on your honeymoon . . . on a desert island. The moon is shining its magical glow, and you two are deeply, deeply, in love. When I snap my fingers you will awaken from your hypnotic trance, and be in your romantic tropical paradise . . .”

  When I snapped my fingers, it was always a surprise. The funniest was when two men played paddy cake, then exchanged shirts and waltzed together, before I woke them from their trance and sent them back to their seats to a thunderous applause. Not long after, my personal fun with the bit faded and I dumped the hypnosis. Besides the fun aspect, frankly, the bit really wasn’t up to the level of the other material in the show.

  A couple months later, I got a call from a party planner offering to hire me to perform at a retirement party. The only stipulation was that the act ended with my hypnosis demonstration. No problem, the gig was booked. The big bash was held around the corner from Magicopolis at the Viceroy Hotel. Upon my arrival, the party planner gave me a list of names she wanted to assist me with the hypnosis demonstration. I started to explain how the spontaneous selection of volunteers worked best for me, but she was insistent, and demanded that the two names circled in red be the honeymooners, so naturally, I said “no worries,” and that was that.

  There was the usual buffet, drinks, etc. When it came time to do the show, the retiree whom the soiree was thrown for, a career radio exec, introduced me with a big buildup. I walked out a bit nervously; for some reason the audience seemed like it might be a tough one, but very sharp. I relaxed quickly and after I did my stuff, I got an ovation!

  The crowd kept applauding and shouting, “more, more,” which was great since I still hadn’t done the hypnosis, but also not so great, since I felt the hypnosis was my weakest material. Nevertheless, I forged ahead, right down to the last two hypnotic volunteers, two extraordinarily beautiful girls. One looked like a Victoria’s Secret model, the other like a Playboy centerfold.

  “You two are on your honeymoon . . . on a deserted desert island . . .”

  In a fraction of an instant both girls were totally naked and engaged in full-on super-hot lesbian lovemaking. The crowd went wild out of control, and suddenly there were naked girls everywhere. I guess that party planner knew what she was doing.

  WORLD’S GREATEST MAGICIANS AT THE MAGIC CASTLE

  Chronologically speaking, this chapter is out of order, but I’m including it here so it will be closer to my Magic Castle era stuff. The title above was the title of a CBS TV special that was broadcast in September 1990. It’s easy for me to jump ahead seventeen years from 1973 in this book, but in real life I don’t want to jump ahead ten seconds . . . what am I talking about, make that five. Anyway, the host was a magic fan, Peter Scolari, who was/is best known for his roles in the television shows Newhart, Honey, I Shrunk the Kids: The TV Show, and Bosom Buddies, the last of which he co-starred in with a then-little-known Tom Hanks.

  As the title implies, the location was the Magic Castle and the show featured a who’s who of top-notch late eighties magicians performing illusions and close-up magic. A guy with dark sunglasses and a goose was also in the cast. I was the guy with the goose. The program was filmed between 3:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m. to avoid the Castle’s normal operating ours. My call time was 4:30 a.m.

  Upon arrival I was directed to the parking lot, where I found my very own trailer dressing room. I unloaded my stuff and had a look around. The lights worked, the toilet flushed, and there was even hot water, real flowers, and a basket of fruit. Next stop, the brightly lit makeup and hair trailer. My face was their business and they had a big job disguising my every wart, scar, and blemish. I slept through the glamour treatment. Drooling was an issue and I was told I snored. Between arrival and makeup, two and a half hours had elapsed.

  At 7:00 a.m. I emerged from my trailer wearing dark sunglasses and an electric-blue silk suit, and held under my arm was a life-size stuffed animal puppet goose. At 7:15 a.m. I was in my performance space, the Parlor of Prestidigitation, and someone shouted “Okay, here we go!” The crew went through its pre-take gyrations, “All right—three, two, one, action!”

  “This is Geyser, the world’s only clairvoyant goose. He’s a mind reader . . . he’s gonna be reading some minds and I’m here to prove it to you.” I pointed to someone in the audience, “What’s your name?” It looked like the goose whispered in my ear, and I said, “The goose knew that . . . don’t worry, it gets better.”

  Hey, which one do you think is me?

  “I’d like you to please think of any number from one to ten. Concentrate . . . the goose is getting an impression . . .” I put a felt tip marker in the goose’s beak, and the goose wrote a number on a pad of paper. No one could see what number he’d written. “The goose has made his decision. Tell everyone, what number were you thinking of? Nine? Excellent, if the goose got it, he’ll expect thunderous applause to ensue.”

  I turned around the pad of paper and sure enough, written in bold magic marker was the number nine. “Not bad for a goose.”

  “We’re going to take this a step further. If you would, Sir, please point to some woman in the audience, someone that you don’t know. I think he means you Madam. If you would, please, think of any letter in the alphabet. The goose is going to read your mind. Concentrate. The goose is getting an impression.”

  Suddenly, the goose let loose with an unexpected stream of urine. “Oh gee whizz. He’s just a goose. He doesn’t know any better. Were you thinking of the letter P? Of course you were. That explains it. Good the first fella didn’t think number two.

  “
Now, if you would, Miss, please point to a fella, someone you don’t know, we’re going to take this a step further . . .”

  I asked the guy picked, “Do you have any change in your pocket? Excellent. Concentrate on the amount you have. Time for some high powered mind reading now.” I put shades on the goose that matched the ones I was wearing. Instantly the stuffed animal got an impression and wrote a number. “The goose has made his decision. How much change you got there? Thirty-six cents? Take a look.” Sure enough, the goose had written thirty-six cents. “Not bad for a goose!”

  At the director’s request I ran through the routine twice more, interacting with new audience members each time, each time changing up the dialogue with ad-libs and various bits in the goose’s repertoire. Next the director turned his attention to the audience.

  To sell the idea that the Castle was filled with real people being entertained—normally not the case between 3:00 a.m. and 3:00 p.m.—the production had employed an audience of extras. You know all of those people you see wandering around the background of your favorite movies and television shows—those are extras. These particular extras were provided with white tie and tails, tuxedos, long elegant gowns, and professional hair and makeup. At a glance, they looked like opening night opera attendees.

  Extras aren’t always professional actors, or they are actors who probably wouldn’t ever make it. In fact, most extras are just regular folk who want to be a part of the film and television industry. When they assisted me and my goose they weren’t on camera and they seemed somewhat natural and unrehearsed.

  That all changed when the camera was pointed at them, they were miked, in the spotlight, and asked to reenact their comments and reactions. Fake laughs, exaggerated expressions, and simple answers like, “yeah” became sentences like “Yes. That. Is. Correct. Sir. Ha. Ha. Ha.”