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JULY | 2025

Frank’s and I parted on good terms. I sold them the stage curtains we had made for part cash, part restaurant gift vouchers. Not my best move, considering they shut down both locations less than five months later. That said, I'm even more grateful I didn’t sign another contract with them.

The year was 2017. I was performing my show three or four times a week at St. Francis church in San Antonio. The venue was currently occupied by "Frank’s", a hipster hotdog restaurant with a sister location in Austin.

The group put me in touch with the landlord , and I awaited his next trip to San Antonio. I wanted to meet him in person to pitch my idea. He lived in Michigan for most of the year, but travelled to San Antonio to check on things at his Mirror Maze, located on the first floor of the Reuter Building. At that time, the other floors remained empty.

Early in 2018, he came into town and we sat in the empty ballroom and talked through my vision of the space. I could see in his face that he was not crazy about the pitch. I couldn’t understand why. I showed him possible projections and plans for the space, but still, he didn’t seem excited.

We had survived the early months (see "Opening a Theatre: Part 1) and were beginning to see increasing numbers coming through the doors. We shot up from 250th thing to do in San Antonio, to 70th thing to do on TripAdvisor, and I was finally making a little bit of profit.

So, I went back to cruise ships for a bit while I contemplated my next move. Whenever I was back in San Antonio, I used the time to hunt for a new venue.

When I felt I had exhausted my search, I called in reinforcements. My good friend David —owner of City Sightseeing Tours, the premier Hop On, Hop Off bus tour in town—was the kind of guy who never missed a networking event and somehow knew everyone . I asked him to gather a crew of people he thought might be able to help me out. My end of the deal? I supplied the beer.

I would arrive at the venue around 2:30 pm and spend the day setting up for a 7:00 pm show. After the show, we would pack down and get out of there around 10 pm.

Then I pulled out the promo video for my illusion show. Suddenly his mood shifted- he became more engaged and even seemed rather impressed. Apparently, he'd imagined something more along the lines of a kid's birthday party and had not realized the scale of the show or production value we aimed for.

Our contract ended at the end of August and I decided not to renew it. “Why?” you ask. If things were going so well, why wouldn't I renew it?

Now that he could see the bigger picture, he started asking more detailed questions about how I planned to use the space and how he could help make it happen. It real-

Well, like most of us in show business, I am a perfectionist and I like to have full control over every project I do. (I later learned that full control does not exist and there is always something out of your control.)

He made some calls and about a week later, I found myself sitting at the Crockett Hotel with five of the best and brightest in San Antonio’s tourism scene. I shared what I’d built with the show over the past three years and let them know I was on the hunt for a new venue.

I genuinely enjoyed working with the manager at Frank’s, and most of the staff were great about welcoming us into their space. I say most because, well… Frank’s had a very different vibe than what I was aiming for with my shows, and it definitely drew in some colorful personalities as staff.

We started tossing around ideas, and pretty soon into the discussion, one of the group mentioned an empty ballroom on the 4th floor of the historic Reuter Building. It was like a light bulb flicked on over everyone’s heads. They all nodded in agreement. He said he could get the keys and that we should go check it out.

The place leaned hard into its hipster aesthetic , and let’s just say customer service wasn’t always top of the priority list—sometimes to the point where staff came off as downright rude. Meanwhile, I’d trained my team using everything I learned from my time at Disney about creating a magical guest experience. But no matter how hard we worked to make people feel welcome, there always seemed to be that one bartender or server who shattered the illusion.

From the second I stepped into that room I knew it was right. I could see in my mind's eye the stage, the seating, the lighting rig and a sold-out crowd entranced by the show.

I imagined a future where I controlled all aspects of a guest's experience, from the moment they walked in the door to the moment they left. These thoughts kept me up at night and edged me down the path of finding my own venue.

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I had already come up with a number I was comfortable paying for rent, but I also proposed a profit-sharing model: The landlord would receive 25% of ticket sale profits in addition to the monthly rent. This setup allowed me to negotiate a lower base rent, which gave us some breathing room during slower seasons (and ended up being a huge help during COVID). travel plans. With COVID's arrival, tourism disappeared. We closed our doors at the end of March and wouldn't re-open to a full audience for nearly a year.

ly felt like he was sold on the idea- and we hadn’t even talked about money yet.

To be continued.

He seemed happy with the arrangement, but said he’d need to run it by his business partner (his brother) before making anything official.

Two weeks later, I had the first contract in hand. I was eager to sign it and get started. In February of 2018, I signed the agreement; by March, I moved into the building; on June 15th, we opened to a sold out crowd of 65 people.

I lived in the building for the next four years. The theatre was on the fourth floor and there was a small apartment on the third floor which the landlord originally built for when he visited. I managed to write the apartment into the deal so I could be onsite 24/7.

I had $20,000 to open the theatre. $10,000 of my own money and $10,000 from a friend of mine who believed in my vision and was happy to invest. With that $20,000 I was able to build a stage, put up lights, install a sound system, make curtains for the windows, stock the bar, create advertising and buy inventory for the magic shop. When every dollar counted, we had to make it stretch.

Was it perfect? No, but it didn’t need to be. Actually, it was far from perfect. The lighting rig itself was a Home Depot scaffold tower that we had previously used to put up the curtains and paint the walls. It had three lights, and we had two lighting cues: on and off. The Magic Shop was a used trade show booth that I bought for a few bucks and the popcorn machine was donated by a friend.

But on June 15th, the show went on- and people left happy. Actually, they continued to leave happy for the next two and half months. Reviews started pouring in, and we finished the summer still 5-Star Rated and in the Top Ten Things to do in San Antonio on Tripadvisor.

The Magicians Agency Theatre was officially up and running. The landlord and I agreed on a year-to-year lease so we could both keep an eye on the business’s progress and part ways if things didn’t go as planned. But luckily, things did go as planned. I started performing my show every weekend to delighted guests, and the response was overwhelmingly positive.

https://youtu.be/pHZig8YUgNs

I had a team of five, and we ran the venue like a well-oiled machine. Before the show, they'd help manage the front of house. When showtime hit, they'd slip backstage and become part of the production. Each would help out with running the venue before the show began then at showtime, would run backstage and be part of the production. Meanwhile, I was doing everything else - all of the marketing, hiring, training, and creating the shows. I cleaned toilets, made popcorn (after washing my hands, of course), built seating charts. Every night, I also stepped on stage to perform the show.

Word was starting to spread. 2019 was even better year then 2018, and 2020 kicked off as one of the best quarters we had. Then the cancellations started… First a trickle, then a flood as people called off their

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Part 7

ThiThis

Time, time time, see what's become of me While I looked around for my possibilities

—Paul Simon, from A Hazy Shade of Winter

I explained to the man standing in front of me, “By the time the coin drops in the bottle, I’ll have spent about five grand.”

The x-ray technician was helping me out with a prop made by someone in Scotland or England at the turn of the century—that’d be, the 19th becoming the 20th century.

So, here in the 21st, I endeavor to know what happened long ago. If I find out, I’ll spend real money to show it to you sometime. By the way, I charge for seeing what I do, so be prepared to give me all your money before you see my wonders. You buy your ticket; we’ve got your money before the curtain rises. Not internet free; a show you pay to see. “Old school”—not quite.

Ben Robinson has spent a long time doing magic professionally. Since his 2020 autobiography and film The Outlaw Hero , he has been published daily in The New York Times. His new book, reviewed as a “masterpiece” is MAJIKAL —40 stories of true wonder.

The dental technician could not understand where the five grand was spent. “ Well, I had to obtain what you

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“live and above their heads — an upside down man, crucified and resurrected on his own terms.”

They did not want to harm her, they wanted “fix cash.” I coldly said, “Let her go and I’ll let you go.” He threw her at me and ran. A man who wears a smooth black hat isn’t betting much more than a look on what he says — I win more than I lose. So, how did I learn this?

are looking through at auction, expense one. Then, I’ll pay a builder to redesign it with 21st century technology, expense two. Then, travel for me and my assistant to debut it on stage at The Magic Castle. The car to the airport might cost something; overcharges for the special bags I have built to hold the specially blown glass bottle…mounts up.”

Harry Kellar (1849-1922) said a magician was able to deceive (by creating illusions) an audience because they arrived at the theatre ninety minutes before the audience. Kellar also used an effect (today largely unknown) to distract theatre patrons. Later adopted by Luis Bunel in his 1929 film Un Chien Andalou made with Salvador Dali. Not familiar with what I am talking about? You might inquire. Research. Look! Don’t swipe, delete and ghost . Inquire! ( The time-tested rule is to have 3 independent sources each confirming something. If you have that, you are very close to truth.)

And just by coincidence, you can still buy a ticket to HOUDINI’s show at Keith’s vaud-e-ville (a 3-syllable word) theatre in the center of Boston tonight! That’d be around 1908. He’d use the jacket to pack the house for the second to last act; HOUDINI escaping from his water can…death defying. You saw him do it this afternoon for free and he lived. Now, will you dare to buy a ticket for tonight’s show and see if he can outwit the Grim Reaper once more? Irresistible.

“Woah baby, I had no idea.”

I said, “And that’s just the beginning of the adventure. What about all the stuff I don’t even know about yet? You gotta prepare for what you do not know.”

We live in a world of devolved intelligence, the AI eating away at civility with a practical appetite for new information and the spinning of it as if it were———human! Haha, the machine is jealous of the entity it has the capability to wipe out. Evolution; what are you gonna do?

I spoke to Amedeo Vacca, one of Houdini’s last assistants. He told me how “the boss” conducted business. Vacca was a cigarette manipulator and just happened to play the same theatres as his employer; two weeks before. Houdini knew what he was walking into every time because his aides had already been there.

I come from chaos, so I am not disturbed by it. Having survived chaos, I know how to avert it; stand and deliver when you have to. Evading a terrorist attack — albeit covered in glass; cut badly on my head — on the Paris Central police station catty-cornered to Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris in 1986 was a lesson acquired studying Chung Ling Soo. His use of twins aided my escape. Inquire!

Back to magic. Inquiry. Being the better magician. Learning. If you do not read books, ink printed on paper, and only consume your “feed” from what social media mindcontrollers want you to think/read about; consider yourself manipulated. When you need critical thinking, it will not be in your feed. Who will save you? Do you have a personal code? Are you ready for what’s coming?

So—I inquired. I wrote a book about death possibly resulting during a stage feast—it’s happened!

In college I attained a B.A. that taught me how to learn. Four years after my graduation I was a published author by a real publisher with a hard-back book complete with a dust jacket and famous names attached. A bullet; something that became famous later because of the unavailability of the secret. I inquired and searched. Met others along the way. 26 months straight (every day) “digging.” I didn’t ask, as young interlopers with money say, “Hey, can you just give me all your research; you know, send me your files?” Entitlement without accomplishment (“Diritto senza realizzazione”) is a common phrase describing youth in parts of Italy I have visited.

Not dying during your performance may be a noble effort; or it may spell legend if you are willing to risk it all. Is that ego or your bank account speaking? What about spirit?

What do you do during a bank robbery when the robbers have already killed one person? Do you know? Maybe you don’t think it could happen to you?

Real spirit? Inquire with Picasso who said, “I do work that must be done.” Inquire.

I walked into an armed robbery where two men scrappily made off with the cash drawer from the Vietnamese laundry, one meth-high glassy-eyed thug holding a bowie knife to the petite owner ’s throat as they exited, walking directly into me. She emerged unscathed; the bandits disappeared despite an arduous search by cops with me in their patrol car. But, knowing how to stun an audience led me to engage the man with the knife, thwart his claim to murder the nearly-paralyzed woman he held; who lost cash, but kept life.

Really? Owning a Houdini strait jacket and hanging it on your wall for some reporter to comment on (you hope) is what we know as a weak grasp at associative power. There’s a more blunt name for it, but you get the idea. That jacket ain’t gettin’ you nowhere close to what inspired Erik Weisz (pronounced “vice”) to be restrained in that jacket (“used to hold the murderously insane” his posters shouted) and hang upside down, drawing thousands to the free freak show:

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