NOTE: This is slightly modified from my blog which is Memphis-centric. The Target House is a wonderful classy hotel that provides free long term room and board to families of children that are striken with cancer and being treated at the world famous St. Jude's Hospital. I volunteer one night a month (usually)
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A couple of months ago while doing magic at the Target House in Memphis I encountered a young man. I later discovered he was 17 years old. He wore a T-shirt that said “Cancer Sucks”.

Boy did I feel for that kid. The t-shirt was such a stark declaration. It was simple characters, no special font. The whole point to the shirt was the message and that message was itself so very simple that I can’t even remember the color of the shirt - just the words.

Cancer Sucks

Well, when I saw the kid it was like a slap in the face. I knew I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t alleviate one iota of pain or frustration or rage or anything. I am just a magician and a mediocre one at best. I did have a silver dollar though and a little routine that I’ve been working on for a couple of years. Not much of anything. Magicians call it a “coin flurry”. There’s not much to it, the coin vanishes, reappears, then vanishes, appears somewhere else, all done quickly. The idea is to get past the brain trying to figure out the trick and just let the trick happen. You basically overload the mind so it gives up and just enjoys the esperience.

I can’t stress this enough, every vocalization, every chuckle was rehearsed. It is done exactly the same way every single time. For all this time I’ve been watching the spectator’s face and I’ve kept all the stuff that made spectators gasp and left out the stuff that I couldn’t do well so it bored them. What was left is about 30 seconds of hard hitting magic.

There was a vanish, he looked surprised but immediately the coin appeared back in my hand. Then another vanish. He gasped and smiled. As the coin kept dancing his smile got bigger. I was encouraged. I played harder.

All through the night he brought other people up and asked me to do the ‘coin trick’. I gladly did it but after that first time I sort of positioned the lad at an angle where I was most protected so he couldn’t see what I was doing. Flurries get easier to figure out when you’ve seen them a bunch of times. He never caught me. He smiled and laughed and had a great time.

So did I.

I got a call from my daughter the next week. I was volunteering under the sponsorship of her company. She said that one of her friends at work was close friends with the family of the young man with the t-shirt. Her friend said that the family wanted her to pass along their thanks because my show was the first time that boy had smiled in months. I was profoundly humbled.

That was several months ago. I just got a telephone call today. The family of the lad had asked my daughter’s company to pass a message to me. They repeated the story of how he hadn’t smiled in months before that day and they wanted to thank me for that day.

Then they said that today is his last day. He slipped out of consciousness a few days ago and he will not survive the day.

My whole world just collapsed.

Here I was having a nice day and now…

Listen, I don’t care about Barak and his preacher and politics.
I don’t care about liberal and conservative.
I don’t care about McCain.
I don’t care about race.

There’s a spot in my chest, I don’t know what it is. There’s a feeling. I can’t describe it. I don’t know - it feels like panic or something. I don’t know. The kid only was in my life for a couple of minutes.

I can’t describe what I’m feeling and I don’t know what it is but it’s bitter-sweet.

and it makes all the petty finger-pointing arguments in which we indulge, well, just seem childish right now.

Thanks for the story Rik. I hope to progress to the point that I can feel brave enough to start doing similar volunteer work. Currently, the extent of my volunteer work is helping my wife with the different events that she plans for her blind and visually impaired students. Your stories are always an inspiration.

Mike

I'm not that good Mike. Just work up a 10 minute show and start. If it's volunteer your audience won't ask for their money back if you accidently flub a double lift. You both just laugh about it and you say, "Here, maybe I'll do better with this one."

Before you know it you're pretty good - just like me.

Rik,

Thank you for sharing your experiences here. You're a more eloquent writer than I, and reading your words brought back some of the same feelings I've felt in the past.

I've had the joy of sharing brighter, new smiles as a result of working with several patients at a hospital I've volunteered at for the past several years. I've also had to ensure the grief as five of them couldn't hold on because of their illness and slipped away. The emotional pain is as real as any physical injury when we learn such news. Young children, adults - it's not fair that anyone should be struck with the illnesses we've encountered. I remember visiting a friend's mother who was in the hospital, who later passed away. She was always amazed by the torn and restored bill, never could figure out how it worked. At the funeral, my friend told me how much our time performing and talking had meant to her mother's spirits.

I would never say that our work as magicians in the hospital is a cure. But, it can help ease their pain. It's those good days where I know I've made someone feel better and forget where they are, if just for a little while, that I believe keeps us coming back and taking the risk of getting to know someone who may be so sick that we will lose them soon after our first meeting.

I enjoy performing in other places, but it's always been when I perform for someone who really needs it that I am no longer playing a role; I genuinely feel like a real magician.

Wow, what a great quote!

I was booked to perform 2 shows shortly after the 3 1/2 inch mass was discovered between my lung and my heart when I was 30 years old, which was later diagnosed to be cancer. Rather than cancel the shows, I went ahead and performed and forgot completely about myself and my problems while performing. As Merlin in the local Renaissance Fair I led the parade and kids were hanging onto me as I smiled and walked the grounds. Right after the show the reality of my situation came back with all of the emotional impact, and I realized just how important magic is for me. We are in the moment when we perform. All other things disappear except the communication between audience and performer, and the shared sense of wonder that is created. Later on while treating at the hospital I came across a young boy who had no hair and was obviously another cancer patient. Magic lit up his face too and we both shared our mutual joy of the experience.

Life is short. Magic is special and real if we appreciate what it does both for ourselves and for others. I learned a lot of lessons 18 years ago when I went through my cancer experience and I am still alive today to enjoy this extra time on earth. In the 1950s everyone died from my disease within 18 months. Everyone. Truly a miracle.

:magicrabbit:

Great job, Rik. That is what makes magic worth doing.

When I do a trick at a hospital there's a special moment I love to see. That moment when the trick astonishes the sick kid and the concerned parent. They both look at me with an open mouth and then they look at each other hoping that the other person may be able to explain what just happened. I call it a gift of distraction - that moment when the sick child and the concerned parent has a bond between them that isn't a sickness but astonishment instead. That's the real magic - making the disease disappear for a moment and replacing it with a moment of amazement.

I see that look all the time! I never thought of it quite that way though. I like that. I've always looked for that moment to tell me that it was a successfull show. I call it 'the money look'. It's what I'd be charging for if it wasn't volunteer. Once I get it I know I've touched them.

Hi Mike,

Ditto on Rik's comment, I've never thought of it that way before, but it is an interesting perspective. For patients who have been in the hospital longer, it's also interesting to hear them talk about a particular routine you did with the same astonishment as when they first saw you do it.

Yeah, it's 'that look'. That's something about hospital work that I don't find anywhere else, they almost never 'try to bust me'. It's like they are READY for something magical and when they see it they love it. I can't remember a patient ever asking me how I did something.

When I see that open-mouthed joyful look I usually chuckle and shrug my shoulder's as if to say, "I don't know how that happened either".

That really is a fantastic story Rik . I must say that did bring a tear to my eye, as the more I read it just panned out into a movie moment (very sad, albeit) but nevertheless very touching. I say it to myself far too often at funerals and the like, but I think the real tragedy would have been to never know that person... The very person who you COULD HAVE made a difference to. Whether that process took 50 years or five minutes, you made a difference to that kid... So no matter how much grief you feel having known that person, awful as the situation is... you really did showed them something that made them feel great against the odds of the situation.

I am looking to do some work in some hospitals soon enough, and your story has only encouraged that initiative. Thanks for posting mate!

Coming into this thread a little late, but Rik had definitely experienced the real humanity which his art was able to reach. You gave that boy something no one else had. You took him for those moments to new place where anything can happen, and his troubles were totally forgotten for a time. Well done.

Just one more thing Rick - Keep up the great work!

Just one more thing Rick - Keep up the great work!

Rick, good deed brother,I just know the spot you have will be alright, I have dealt a lot with cancer , Lost mom, lost dad lost my 26 year daughter who would be 29 this the 7 th gay og July of 08. What you have done my freind was real magic, and there is no payment better than a smile, I am poor monitarily and rich in many other ways, I forget this too many times.God Bless you Rick I will see you in the Big Master Castle in the LORDS kingdom.

Rik ,keep up the good work. you probably help more people than you realize.
Angel

You know magic is such a powerful emotional tool. We have in our hands the ability to affect someone on levels that they may not have allowed themselves to go in varying lengths of time.

Rik's story reminded me of when I went to visit my uncle in the hospital after he had a kidney transplant. When I got there he had a guest. Another patient who had been in the hospital for 4 motnths and was waiting to have a test to see if his cancer was recurring and he had already had a kidney transplant as well.

Well he left the room and before doing so asked us to stop by his room and sign his guestbook. At the time I did not mention I did any magic. I wound up entertaining my uncle, aunt, and my cousin and then went to get dinner with them leaving my uncle there to rest.

When I came back I was getting ready to leave but we decided to stop by and visit this nice old gentleman we had met earlier. He greeted us with a warm smile and shook our hands. I asked him if he like magic and he answered in the affirmative. I proceeded to show him a little magic with cards rubber bands and coins. I use walking liberty halves. When I started the coin routine he saw the coin and immediately asked if he could see it closer. I gave it to him to examine and the look on his face was priceless. He said he would gladly give me a couple quarters for it if I wouldnt mind giving it to him. I apologized and explained that it was for my show but I told him you never know what can happen. He thanked me for making him forget about what he was going through and asked me to sign his guestbook which I did.

As I was walking to my car with my aunt and cousin I asked them to come with me to my car. I opened up my briefcase and pulled out a silver dollar that I had been hanging on to for about 10 years but never really did much with it. It was a tip from a client at a club I used to work at in MN. I handed it to my aunt and asked her to give it to the gentleman when she saw him the next day.

I spoke to her a few days later and she told me when she gave it to him it was like he received a million dollars. he couldn't stop smiling. That is truly something that makes me want to be a magician. We really can touch people. I could not have thought of a better person to give that coin to.

Rik, take comfort knowing that you had a truly positive influence on him and that if only for a moment he was cured from all he was going through.

Magicially,
Max