10,283. RUDIMENTS, pt. 163

RUDIMENTS, pt. 163

(Making Cars)

I always wanted to learn magic,

but never did, and then I realized

I never really wanted to learn it 

anyway. That sounds pretty circular

and stupid, and it probably is. In

my work-days I got to know two

magicians  -  I mean real magicians,

in the 'secret' federation of magicians,

the guild that covers all that. With

secrecy. They have these really

stringent rules and procedures, and

if a 'real' magician is caught giving

out trade secrets or otherwise

compromising the society and its

aims, there's big trouble. They meant

business, as much as Masons or

Knights Templars meant business.

One of these guys is dead; his name

was Martin and he was already 

old when I met him. Old-line and

old-school. But he had a good

reputation within the guild. He

died like a few hours or a day maybe

after a hip-replacement operation.

How many old-time adventures 

and secrets went to the grave with

him, I wish I knew. The other

guy, much younger, like by 40

years or more, was named John.

These two, although they were 

aware of each other, and at the 

the print shop did occasionally

cross paths, there was a dislike

by the old guy for the young guy,

who he felt dishonored the profession

and was a glib fool, by doing kid's

parties and shows, donning clown 

make-ups and costumes, twisting

balloons, and all of that. I never

got in the middle of any of it,

mainly because I didn't care and

I saw it all as generational anyway.

Competitive stuff. The old never

like the young.

-

I used to talk to Martin  -  not so

much to John  -  about magic and

stuff, and it got pretty interesting. 

Martin had these theories and ideas

about the 'screen' of the other world

just beyond the divide of our eyes  - 

a form of 'alchemy' of the natural 

world, which he knew how to tap,

and which was the root of real 'Magic'

anyway. Lead to gold. Dross to

treasure. He said the alchemists of

old, always in the employ of great kings

and/or sorcerers, knew how to transform

the world and had originated magic from

those roots. Only a certain, privileged

number at any one time on Earth alive

could share these secrets. That was one

reason, he said, the Guild protected the

secrets. Too many to know, some not

worthy, had to be killed. It had been

happening for a thousand years. Sorcery.

Magic. Alchemy. Charms. Even raising

the dead. He said Jesus had been a

magician. A carpenter-magician, which

was the cover-story, like Geppetto in

Pinocchio, another cover-story, who

invigorated carved wood objects he'd

first 'make' and imbue with his own

magical spiritualism. Yeah, it was

all pretty deep, and made me look 

twice and again at any rabbit I'd see

jumping out of a hat, white gloves

holding the hat, or not.

-

John, on the other hand, was pretty

much the childish version of his

own persona. Kid-like, round, red,

chubby, cute about things, kiddie

magic-shows in church basements,

Saturday birthday parties for eight

year olds. Sandwiches and cookies.

Smiles. I couldn't ever expect anything

metaphysical crossing his lips. I'd do

some printing for him, always late and

rushed, for a really close-up date (his

lead-times were horrible), and I'd 

nearly every time end up delivering

to him too. He lived in South Plainfield,

and on Park Avenue there was, back

then, an ice-cream shop and stand

called 'Bandy's.' We'd meet there,

amidst sprinkles and sprills, kids

and laughter.

-

It made me think a lot about magic, 

and what any of that was all about. 

I never really knew what these guys 

were up to, the presentation, the 

business, or the seriousness, or not. 

Part of the mystique, I always thought, 

used to be mysteriousness. Thus the 

old-world approach of Martin, against 

the frilly approach of John, and the

vague animosity between the two.

Pretty weird. One thing, also, that

I learned from Martin  -  and I'd

never faced this before, and it threw

me big-time at first exposure : He

could vary, totally and completely,

from one day to the next. One day, a
morning of happiness and greeting, 

a feeling that inside me that I'd

really made it with this guy, gotten 

through; and then the next day, or

another day, he'd be the most mean,

nasty, gruff and unfriendly person

you'd ever meet. Like it was

an imbalanced chemical thing

going on and completely without

any predictability. There used to

be a hardware store chain called

'Rickel's'. One morning, on  a Saturday,

I drove into the parking area there 

and saw Martin with his head under 

the hood of his old, green, '72 Imperial

He drove that for a long time, A real

monster of a car. It had broken down 

and refused to re-start. He was madly 

tinkering away, going at it. I figured,

'what the heck,' and I went over to 

help him. In ten minutes or so, we got 

it going. From that day on, and ever-after,

we were pretty good friends and he was

always in fine fettle around me. If I was

an alchemist, I'd say he was gold.