A Night at a Seance

Halloween is approaching so I thought this story might be interesting. It's an account of a dark seance. One full of mysterious phenomena including rappings, a flying spirit trumpet, a moving table and a dead dog. This came about because years ago, when doing some research for a TV show, I met Norman Knight, a psychic healer in the UK. He eventually invited me to attend one of his 'dark seances.' It was certainly an evening to remember.

I originally published my account of the event in Stan Allen's Magic magazine. But given the season I thought it deserved a rerun.

It is too large to post here so I've posted it on Medium.com. How appropriate?

Here's the link:
https://medium.com/@djbritland/a-night-at-a-seance-a-true-story-for-halloween-c19d0814845e

Image credit is Elaina Morgan at Pixabay

Malini's Dead Chicken

In The Vernon Touch column in Genii, Dai Vernon mentioned another trick that has become associated with the Malini name:

...Malini did these things that make reputations. It’s possible to hypnotize a chicken by putting its head under its wing and rocking it back and forth. Well, Malini was at this dinner party, and he had a live chicken plucked, and he hypnotized it and put it on a platter, and it was served like a chicken that was cooked. When the host went to carve the chicken, naturally, it jumped up and ran around the table, and everybody thought that Malini brought it back to life again.

 

Ricky Jay gave a more cautious account of the story in Learned Pigs and Fireproof Women.

Jay said Malini:

was fond of relating the stunt he supposedly performed for a well-known English duke. Invited to an elegant dinner party, Max managed to sneak into the kitchen with a live chicken which had had all its feathers plucked. Rocking the fowl under his arm, he hypnotized it, laid it on a platter, and covered it with a paste that made it appear roasted. He also garnished the plate with potatoes, vegetables, and fruit. He then returned to the table and waited for the bird to be served.

Just before the duke was to carve the chicken Malini said, “Meestaire Duke, I show you a leetle trick.” He gestured mysteriously at the chicken just as the duke poked the bird with his fork. The chicken woke up, jumped off the plate, and ran squawking down the table.

On YouTube, David Blaine tells a similar story about Malini, except this time the venue is The White House and the bird a duck. You can watch it here:

As Ricky Jay pointed out, this magical scenario had been described in eighteenth-century conjuring books. You’ll find it in Breslaw’s Last Legacy under the title A Droll Trick Played with a Fowl. In some editions of the book there is an illustration portraying the trick. The plate is titled A Droll Trick by a Cambridge Scholar, this time the venue for the performance was Cambridge and the trick was not an impromptu stunt but an advertised performance.

The method involved plucking the feathers from a live chicken, covering it in sauce and having it lie still on the serving plate. Breslaw explains that the chicken has been trained to lie motionless. Subsequent explanations, like that of Dai Vernon, elaborated on this by claiming the chicken has been ‘hypnotised’ by tucking its head under its wing, an action that often sends a bird into a state of tonic immobility. Plucking a live chicken sounds horrendous but, as Breslaw’s Last Legacy points out, it was common practice until the 18^th century in the production of down feathers. According to reports from PETA it still goes on in certain parts of the world today.

Ricky Jay was cautious about accepting that Malini had actually performed the trick. Vernon had only heard the story from others. But, interestingly, two years before Vernon saw Malini, which might account for Vernon only hearing about the stunt, there is a report of Malini performing this trick.

The stunt took place at The Golden Gate Assembly Banquet at Hotel Bellevue in San Francisco, on December 12^th 1919. 120 people attended and must have been disappointed when they were shown into a small room in which found a ‘table set with torn table cloth and paper plates.’ But not to worry, Malini said a few mystic words, waved a wand and the doors to the real banquet room opened where a feast was to be had.

At the dinner Malini, spoke on the way many great thinkers of the world had turned to magic as their hobby. And at the end of the evening Malini took to the stage and gave a performance of card tricks and his cups and balls routine. Then, he did something special:

‘…while as a climax to his act he called to the chef to bring him a roast dove which he promptly transformed into a living one.’

Not sure roast dove sounds like a meal you’d find at a banquet but this could well be the trick that gave rise to the Malini legend. So the story of the chicken resurrection precedes Malini but Malini did more than talk about it.

You’ll find the report in the MUM magazine (January 1920, Vol 9, No 82) and also The Sphinx January 1920, Vol 18, No 11).

NOTES: If you are considering resurrecting this resurrection, you’ll be please to know that you won’t need to pluck a chicken. Science has now given us the featherless chicken. I look forward to seeing it on the next Netflix magic special. You can check them out the featherless chicken here:

Malini's Forgotten Card Trick

Max Malini made his reputation by performing seemingly impromptu miracles. One of these involved making a card disappear and reappear elsewhere.

It’s described many times in reports of Malini performing. Eric de la Mare, who knew Malini well during the 1930s, said it was his third most performed trick. And yet it’s not mentioned in the one book devoted to Malini, Dai Vernon’s book Malini and his Magic (1962).

Here is a description from a 1902 newspaper, the year Malini came to public attention:

‘Select a card from this pack said, Malini, offering a deck of cards to Senator Hawley. The gentleman from Connecticut did so.

‘Now tear it up,’ commanded the wizard. The card was torn into shreds.

‘Give me all but one piece,’ said Malini.

He folded the shreds of torn card in a newspaper: opened the newspaper: nothing there. Seemingly all that remained of the destroyed card was the torn piece, about one inch square, held by Senator Hawley.

‘Go into the next room,’ said the wizard to Senator Dubois. ‘Climb on the bookcase and on the top shelf of all you will find a volume, number ten in the row. Open the book and turn to page 108. Then bring in the card you find there.’

Senator Dubois departed, amid breathless interest. In a few minutes he returned, bearing the six of hearts, intact, except for a ragged piece torn from one corner. Senator Hawley, amazed, recognised it as the card he selected and torn into shreds.

‘Fit the torn piece to it,’ ordered Malini.

The card was complete when the shred of pasteboard held by Senator Hawley had been fitted in the corner. The ragged edges fitted perfectly.

The trick was not new when Malini performed it. It’s described in Sachs’ Sleight of Hand (1877) under the title of The Missing Link:

This is another very telling card trick, and one that  has  made  the  fame  of  more than  one  amateur conjuror.  A card is chosen from the pack and torn into shreds.  The pieces, with the exception of a single one, which  is given  into  the  custody of  a  spectator, are  then put into a little box, piece of paper, &c., and made to disappear.  The card is then found restored in some part of  the  audience, but  it is noticed that a small portion  of  it  is  missing.  The single piece, which  was  given  to a spectator to hold, will be found  to  be  of  the very size and  shape  required, thus proving that the performer restored the actual card that was destroyed.

Sachs performed the trick himself and gave some advice on reproducing the torn card:

This mutilated card must then be secreted in some out-of-the-way place in the auditorium, or, what is still better, in the pocket of one of the audience, of course some time before the performance begins. I once had it sewn up in  the  lining  of  a  coat,  and  on  another  occasion inserted in the sole of  a boot;  but, in such  instances  as these, care  must be taken that the article containing the card  is to be worn  on the evening of  the  performance  or  a  fiasco will result.

Today we have devices like Gaetan Bloom’s Intercessor or ruses like Daniel Madison’s Angle Zero to make the effect possible. But it still takes guts and preparation to turn a trick into a miracle the way Malini did. I can’t recall where I read it but someone suggested that wherever Malini went he hid corners of playing cards, in books, behind clocks and picture frames. Anywhere they wouldn’t be discovered until he visited again to give a performance. Should you ever find an old corner of a playing card in a place it should not be, it’d be nice to think that maybe Malini was there.

ADDENDUM
Michal Kociolek alerted me to a new device that will also facilitate the Malini effect. I haven't tried it but it looks promising and you can see demo online. It's Juan Pablo's Torn Corner Machine. Take a look:

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The Irishman's Impossible Card Effect

The 1920s was an era of impossibilities, at least if you go by the advertising in magic magazines. One of my favourite ads appeared in The Sphinx (May, 1928). It said that an ‘Irishman’ wanted to sell you an impossible card effect. Failure is impossible. So is detection. Everything else is ‘dead easy. No sleights or palming. Use your own deck. This effect has fooled every Magician who has seen it.’

The Irishman did not elaborate on the effect but one of the magicians who had seen this one dollar miracle was Max Holden. In his column in The Sphinx (June, 1928) he wrote about John Scarne who had impressed him with a four ace trick, Annemann and an envelope reading mystery and Dave Vernon who had a trick so good he wouldn’t sell it. The Irishman found himself listed in this illustrious company when Willie Meyenberg performed the Impossible card trick for Max Holden. ‘I want to say,’ said Holden,’ that this trick is very clever. A card chosen, now a card is removed but is not the card, so it is initialed and placed inside pocket. Chosen card is now named and removed from pocket and the card which was initialed is back in the back.’

Not the clearest of descriptions but it sounds like a card transposition. Thanks to Ask Alexander I found some information on the trick and it is kind of unusual. The solution to the trick was outlined in a letter from Tom Bowyer to an unnamed friend. To be fair the handling seems a little odd but maybe Bowyer left out some details. However, I think the method is interesting and I’ll comment more on that later.

To clarify, the effect is that a card is selected and lost in the deck. The performer attempts to find the card but produces the wrong one. Someone calls out their initials, the performer writes them on the card and places it in his pocket. The deck is placed into the card case. In a moment of inspiration the performer suddenly names the selection. He’s correct. He then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the card he placed there. But on turning it around it is not the initialled card, it is the selection. The initialled card is now back in the cased deck.

The method involves a Si Stebbins stack, a duplicate card, a little bit of wax and a card case with a large square hole cut in the back. You’ll also need a Sharpie. Not quite the impromptu miracle we'd been hoping for.

The duplicate is a wide card so it can easily be located but I suppose any other method of locating it would suffice. The handling Tom Bowyer describes is a little awkward, or perhaps incomplete, so I’ve cleaned it up a little as follows.

There is a set up for the trick. The wide duplicate card, let’s assume it is the five of clubs, is on top of the deck. It has a smear of wax on the back. You can use any modern substitute such as a Glue Pen. The real five of clubs is in the card case, its face against the cut out window.

Begin the trick by spreading the deck face-down between the hands and having a card selected. Square up the deck but take a little finger break at the point from which the card was removed. The spectator looks at and remembers his selection.

Now give the deck a spin cut at the break. This results in the former upper half of the deck being in the palm up left hand, the bottom half in the right hand. Have the spectator drop his noted card on the left hand packet. It’s going on top of the sticky duplicate. Drop the upper half of the deck on top of all and square everything up, giving the cards a little squeeze so the selection sticks to the duplicate.

Hand the deck to the spectator but as you do so glimpse the bottom card. Because of the Si Stebbins stack you now know the identity of the selection. Ask the spectator to give the deck a shuffle. This shouldn’t separate the selection from the duplicate but if you’re nervous about it just ask him to give the cards a few cuts. I do like the idea that the spectator shuffles the deck. It seems very fair.

Take back the deck, maybe give it a shuffle or two and in a suitably impressive manner produce the sticky double from the deck as if it is the selection. It shows as the five of clubs and the spectator tells you it isn’t the selected card. Feign defeat, pick up the card case and rest the five of clubs on the window side. Don't expose the window. Pick up the Sharpie and ask the spectator for his initials. Write the initials on the face of the visible five of clubs. You also write the initials on the five of clubs that is in the card case. You do this by writing through the window cut into the case and directly on the card inside. Sounds tricky and it probably is. Maybe this is the impossible element referred to in the title.

Show the initials on the face of the double card and then put the card(s) into your pocket. Drop the deck into the case manoeuvring it so that the duplicate already in the case is forced into the middle of the deck. Place the cased deck on the table and you’re almost done.

You can now reveal the name of the chosen card. You reach inside your pocket, separate the double and pull out the selection. Take the deck from the case, spread it face-up on the table, locate the five of clubs and push it out of the spread to reveal the initials. An impossible transposition. Or at least that’s what the Irishman would have said.

NOTES: I’m not sure you really need a wide card for this trick. The fact that the two cards are stuck together makes them easy to locate. I don’t think you need the stacked deck either. You can probably work out a way of glimpsing the selection that is stuck to the back of the five of clubs. I haven’t found it easy to write through the window in the card case onto the card inside. Maybe the deck could be placed inside the card case first. The deck presses the five of clubs inside against the window. Now you rest the sticky double on the cased deck. This makes it easier to write on the card. But to finish you’re going to have the remove the deck from the case and execute a pass or give it a cut to centre the signed five of clubs.

Max Holden says he saw the trick performed. But I wouldn’t describe it as easy as the advertisement made out. F Jackson, of Belfast, the originator of the trick, contributed many different ideas to the magazines of the day including Restless Colours which appeared in The Jinx (Issue 48, 1938) and is an early version of Follow The Leader. Another notable item was his Eff Jay telephone test published in The Sphinx (November 1929). Because of the coding method it could only be performed in the evening.

Having proposed a psychic test, you have a card selected and placed face up on the table. Everyone looks at it and concentrates on it. You turn the lights off and everyone sends their thought waves out into the universe. Nothing happens. So you turn the lights back on and begin to talk about some other psychic matter. Suddenly, the phone rings. Scary eh? Someone in the room picks it up and a voice on the other hand tells them the name of the card they’ve been concentrating on.

The method is clever. You and your secret assistant, who back then would be standing outside the building, trying not to look shifty, have synchronised your watches. He is also not far from a public phone box. Switching the lights on and off codes the name of the card to him. First you code the suit by switching the lights off as the second hand of your watch hits a certain quarter of the dial. Later you code the number by switching the lights on. You can code twelve possible cards if you allocate 5 second intervals for each of them. Jackson suggested not using the kings.

Jackson wore his wristwatch with the dial on the inside of his wrist and held a crystal ball to cover his looking at it. I also assume that there was some light to see by and that he wasn’t sat in the pitch dark. Oh, and the business of the experiment not working and the phone call coming unexpectedly is something I’ve added. I think it might feel more authentic and offers a stranger experience than playing it as a standard telepathy test.

The synchronised watches idea was later rediscovered by Graham Reed and described in Step Ten of Corinda’s Thirteen Steps to Mentalism where using a pack of ESP cards (not invented at the time Jackson wrote up his trick) considerably simplified matters.