Abracadabra: by Tom Nussmbaum

By Tom Nussbaum

Idon’t like magic. It freaks me out. Perhaps, it’s because magic is not easily explained and I am one who wants quick, simple answers to my ques-

tions. Or, perhaps, it is because I have been placed under a magic spell that prevents me from appreciating the black art.

My aversion to magic probably began when, as a young child, a family friend would mysteriously pull quarters from my ears on his visits. It drove me crazy. I would retreat to my room, lie on my bed with my head hanging over the edge, and shake my head until something, hopefully another quarter, would fall out. No coins ever fell from my ears. An earwig did, however. And a gross, yellowed wax covered Q-tip. And the missing piece from my Mr. Potato Head set, which was, ironically, an ear. And, most mysteriously, a lottery ticket from Ancient Rome with the numbers III, VII, XIX, XXIV, XXV, and XXXIX on it. I don’t know if they were winning numbers, but I suspect I missed the claim deadline. As the years passed, I would watch famed magicians perform on television and stare with confusion, frustration, and anger. “Dad, how’d he do that?” I would plead on the verge of crying, as a magician would pull a rabbit out of a cracked-open egg and then reach down the rabbit’s throat and pull out another magician. Dad didn’t answer, so I would turn to find him staring in wonder, mesmerized by the devil-work being performed on Ed Sullivan’s stage.

Years later, I asked my mother how she had met my father. Imagine my surprise when she told me it was at a magic show. They apparently had been seated with a large group of people, many of whom did not know each other. While Mom and Dad were not introduced until after the performance, she studied him through the whole show, fascinated by how intently he watched. Mom decided that night she was going to marry Dad. And she then put her spell on him.

It was then I realized that, perhaps, I hated magic because I resented sorcery for introducing my parents. My mother, as anyone who knows me knows, was a difficult woman who had a powerful crippling effect on my sister and myself. Now, one might ask, how could I have subconsciously resented magic for its role in my parents’ meeting if I didn’t know about its role until years after I had developed the dislike? Well, the reason is simple. It must have been magic!

I have made a point to avoid magic acts on TV or in the real world my entire life. I do not watch specials on TV featuring the day’s most famous, most prominent magicians. I have no interest in going to Las Vegas to see Criss Angel, David Copperfield, or David Blaine confound audiences. And I surely never watch Fox News, where misinformation magically becomes reality and lies become truths.

I do not watch magic-themed films. I can’t. I have never seen the 1953 bio-pic Houdini. Likewise, I never saw the 1978 Anthony Hopkins film Magic or the more recent movies Now You See It or The Incredible Burt Wonderstone. My screaming at the screen certainly would ruin the experience for the other theater-goers. But, what’s worse, my tears would ruin my popcorn. Oh, you say, it is the twenty-first century and I can watch films in the privacy of my home. Yes. I could. But my gasping and shrieking would irritate my roommates, Penn and Teller.

I even break out in a cold sweat when I hear songs with the word “magic” in their title, classics like “That Old Black Magic” and “Black Magic Woman.” I have suffered nausea when listening to “This Magic Moment,” “Magic Carpet Ride,” “Puff the Magic Dragon,” and “Every Little Thing She Does is Magic.” But my most severe reaction occurs when I hear the hit song from the film Xanadu, “Magic.” I find myself immediately doubled-over, hurling into the Olivia Newton-John.

On the other hand, I do not respond violently when I hear “Magical Mystery Tour.” The reason should be obvious. There should be no mystery about it. The song and album were, after all, by The Beatles. And their music is pure magic.

And I do not hate my magicJack telephone line. It is my connection to the U.S. It is what I use to call family and friends back home. I use it to make business and 1-800 calls. But most importantly, I use it to vote for the acts on America’s Got Talent who are not magicians.

But, as much as I hate magic, I fervently wish a magic spell could be found to eliminate the partisanship in U.S. politics, the unforgiveable waste and hypocrisy in U.S. government, and the looming downfall of democracy as we know it. If that were to happen, I might look at magic differently.

Tom Nussbaum

By Monty McDannald Mcdannaldproperties@yahoo.com

The air was musty and stale and breathing was

difficult. There were several other kids also under the dome. I had spent a few minutes down there splashing around, spitting water at the other kids and having a grand time. I looked up through the top of the plastic dome and could see people swimming on the surface above and the blue sky and clouds above that.

The dome had been secured at the bottom of the deep end of the Crystal Pool in Houston. Oxygen was pumped into the dome through a rubber hose creating an air pocket that allowed us to breathe underwater. It was a thrilling experience for a boy of eight years in 1952.

I swam out from under the dome to return to the surface for some fresh air. A line of kids was waiting their turn to go down. The experience was a little scary, but I got back in line to go again. We spent hours doing this over and over.

Dangerous, you ask? Sure, but this was before people worried about things like liability issues.

I don’t think my parents knew what I was doing at the pool or they might have objected. My friends and I spent many days there during the summer months.

Unfortunately, there was an especially virulent and mysterious disease that occurred mostly in the summer months. No one knew what caused the disease or how it was transmitted. There was no cure at that time.

I remember the devastation and horror rendered by this disease on those that were unlucky enough to be stricken. Children were especially susceptible. Many were left with paralyzed limbs or other physical deformities like shrunken arms and legs. I saw a newspaper article showing chilling pictures of a facility on Montrose Boulevard that had breathing machines called Iron Lungs for those not able to breathe on their own due to damaged lungs. Also, some people who got the disease and recovered had a recurrence in later life. This disease had a name: polio.

All parents were worried about their children at that time. Since there were no other remedies available, my parents and other parents figured that getting plenty of rest was essential in fighting off the disease. Therefore, my parents required me to take a one-hour nap every day. I hated that.

A little later that summer, authorities closed all of the public pools in Houston, as they had decided that the disease was transmitted in swimming pools. That ended this fun feature of my summer activities until 1955 when Dr. Jonas Salk discovered a vaccine that eradicated the threat of polio. Dr. Salk’s vaccine was replaced by a more effective oral one in 1962 developed by Dr. Albert Sabin.

Lately, I’ve read about anti-vaxxers who didn’t believe in vaccinations for various reasons and are refusing to vaccinate their children for polio and other diseases. Polio, as well as other diseases are beginning to make a comeback in the world which is a real threat to everyone. If today’s anti-vaxxers had lived through the polio epidemic and seen what horrors it caused, I doubt that they would feel like they do.