Chan Canasta - A Remarkable Man (Vol 2)

Also by David Britland and published by Martin Breese Psychomancy Equinox Angel Card Rise Cutting Remarks Teanng^a Lady ,n Two

Chan Canasta - A Remarkable Man

Volume Two

DAVID BRITLAND

BREESE BOOKS • LONDON

First published in 2001 by Breese Books Ltd 164 Kensington Park Road London Wll 2ER, England © Martin Breese, 2001 All rights reserved No parts of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval systems or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, except brief extracts for the purposes of review, without prior permission of the publishers. ISBN: 0 947 533 69 9

Typeset in ll/14pt Palatino and Prose Antique by Ann Buchan (Typesetters), Middlesex Printed and bound in Great Britain by Itchen Printers Ltd, Southampton

A hair divides false from true

Contents Publisher's Introduction Further Discoveries by David Britland Chan Canasta Article (reprinted from Magic Magazine)

Chan Canasta © Camera Press, London

9 11 31

Publisher's Introduction After we had gone to press with Chan Canasta - A Remarkable Man we found a considerable amount of material that we would have liked to include in the book. A number of purchasers commented on the number of typographical errors that appeared in the book and we apologise for allowing them to creep into the text. By the time this book goes to press a smaller booklet will have been given to original subscribers to mitigate the proofreading mishap. Should we reprint the first volume, the typographical errors will be corrected. To bring the first volume right up to date we have decided to produce this smaller companion volume which contains stimulating and new information together with several interesting illustrations including an excellent portrait of Chan Canasta which is reproduced with kind permission of Camera Press, London. Many readers found David Britland's article on Chan Canasta, published in Magic Magazine, to be of great interest and with the kind permission of the publishers of Magic Magazine the article is reproduced here in full. To Richard Hatch, Charlie Randall, Doug Gibbard, Roy Walton, Basil Horwitz, Peter Lane, Max Maven and others who have assisted with this project I would like to extend my grateful thanks. The ultimate accolade must go to David Britland for his writing ability and unstinting research. Martin Breese, London, February 2001

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Further Discoveries by David Britland The publication of Chan Canasta - A Remarkable Man raised as many questions as it had answered. I had expected to analyse one videotape of a forgotten performer. Instead I found three tapes, many reviews, articles and newspaper cuttings and cross-referenced them to piece together what I believe to be Canasta's methodology. That was the focus of the book and, as a result, some of the material I had to hand was not included. The book's publication also stimulated further interest and more material suddenly came to light in a flurry of letters and emails all offering fascinating insights into this wonderful performer. With the definitive work yet to be written, this second volume offers a further tantalising selection of Canasta trivia. One American magician who was familiar with Canasta's performances from an early date was Fred Taylor, a keen amateur who later became staff cartoonist on Bruce Elliott's Phoenix magazine. Richard Hatch and Charlie Randall now own his notebooks and it is with their kind permission that the material they contain is used here. Fred was an officer in the US army and remained in Europe after World War II, first in Stuttgart and then in Berlin where he was head of RIAS radio. He told Richard Hatch about several original Canasta items. One of them, which Fred performed, involved laying out a dozen or so cards face up on the table and inviting the spectator to think of one. Without any further 'funny business' he revealed the thought of card. Fred explained the trick, which appeared to be an elaboration of Dai Vernon's Five Card Mental Force (Encyclopaedia of Card Tricks). Page 11

Chan Canasta

Chan Canasta Chan asked the viewers to participate too. Doug recalls thinking of the card at position A (see illustration on page 12). The volunteer in the studio chose position B. Unfortunately they were both wrong, Canasta had placed the card at X. Doug noted at the time that he wasn't impressed. Maybe other viewers guessed correctly. On a later BBC show, 24th February 1960, Canasta tried another variation of the effect, this time with ten cards being laid out on the table in a new arrangement. Again it went wrong, the spectator picking card A instead of X. A couple of weeks later Doug's notebooks record that Canasta had not given up the psychological battle though the number of cards was steadily reducing. This time only eight cards were dealt onto the table, all face down, and one of them was the thought-of selection. Could a second spectator find it? In a slight change of tactics he asked the volunteer to

Canasta was fond of routines that required placing the force item at what he believed to be a psychologically optimum position but the technique was not without considerable risk. A reading of his television reviews reveals many failures. Doug Gibbard of Gloucester loaned me a couple of very interesting notebooks he compiled during the height of Canasta's fame in the UK and they contain a number of references to psychological effects along these lines. On seeing a 1959 BBC show, Doug records Canasta as having a card selected from a pack and then dealing out sixteen cards face down from another pack. The cards were dealt in four rows of four and a second volunteer was invited to think of one, the intention being that he would choose the card matching the selection. Page 12

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Chan Canasta

Chan Canasta

CHAN

SPECTATOR pick up one of the cards. He chose A. Then he asked him to pick up another, and another and another and so on until he had seven cards in his hand and only one on the table. This last card turned out to be the selection. Doug commented, Ts this a miracle or did he have fantastic luck?' Unfortunately we'll never know because Doug didn't note the position of the final card. Perhaps he was too amazed at the time.

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practice among magicians and mentalists and has some basis in psychology. Dr Christopher French of Goldsmith's College in London referred me to a paper written by Frederick Lund of Temple University. It was published in 1939 in the Journal of General Psychology. Lund arranged experiments with ESP cards and discovered that of the five symbols (Circle, Cross, Lines, Rectangle, Star) the Star was most likely to be selected. In a separate study he determined that the order in which the five symbols were presented to the subjects also influenced their choice, the second, third and fourth positions being most likely to be chosen. Dr French believes that the Star placed at the second or fourth position in such an arrangement might further increase the odds of it being chosen. Try it and see.

Canasta clearly thought the experiment worth pursuing, probably spurred on by his success using just four cards in many previous performances. On the 8th of January 1962, this time for the ITV network, he performed a similar effect in which a spectator chose one matchbox from twelve. This time the trick was successful and the designated matchbox, X, was chosen.

During his career Canasta came up with many different variations of this positional force. A number were used in his television shows, often failing, while others were used in his Train Your Brain series in The People newspaper and his Book ofOopses. It's pure speculation but I wonder if these experiments reflect an aspect of Canasta the artist, with an appreciation for the aesthetics of geometry, as well as a well-turned card trick. It's tempting to suggest that they combined everything he loved, magic, art and, of course, risk.

Forcing an object that is second from the end of a row is now common

Virtually nothing has been written about Canasta's artistic endeavours.

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Chan Canasta

Chan Canasta Newspaper clippings reveal that he had an interest in art in the 1950s and that his paintings sold for high prices. But there are some intriguing stories circulating. One, possibly apocryphal, has it that when Canasta found himself in some well-to-do home he would comment on the beautiful decor adding that he had, by chance, a picture in his studio that would hang wonderfully on one wall. The owner, flattered, would insist on seeing it and Canasta, having assimilated the owner's taste, would go home and paint the picture. A sale was virtually certain. Perhaps it's just something we'd like tobelieve, a perfect matchbetween artist and risk-taking magician. Canasta argued the opposite, stating in an interview in The Jerusalem Post Magazine on 6th January 1984 that there was no connection between any of his activities, particularly his painting and his magic. 'I do painting when I want to paint and other things when I want to do other things.' The journalist interviewing him made the point that all these activities involved some kind of control, a point I find rather vague, and Canasta, perhaps not wanting to be pushed into any particular psychological pigeon hole, took pains to deny it. The article, courtesy of Richard Hatch, is very revealing because the journalist, Marsha Pomerantz, and Canasta are at loggerheads throughout. She wrote: During our talk, his power of suggestion verged on intimidation. His other tactics of defence and offence included evasion, personal questions and feigned disinterest [sic]. He was both ornery and charming. For his orneriness, the only revenge can be to forgive him. For his charm, I haven't yet thought of a suitable revenge. She confessed that despite their battle she liked him. The article is peppered with glimpses of Canasta's life outside magic. He claimed to have 'spoken on behalf of fortune magazine', and for Western Oil on 'secondary thermal recovery of oil'. He was, he said, recently divorced, had come to Israel to paint and knew many of the leaders in the armed forces and politics personally, though declined to name any.

PAINTINGS BY

MIFELEW (STH M A R C H - I S T APRIL 1972

O'HANA GALLERY

asked him if he had any slides he could show her. 'I only show slides to those who buy,' he replied. He had one-man shows in London and New York but few magicians have seen his work in this area. I'm grateful to Max Maven for providing a copy of the gallery catalogue cover reproduced above

The conversation turned to Canasta's painting and Marsha Pomerantz

The Book of Oopses was briefly mentioned in the article as too was Canasta's statement that he was working on a second book, a more 'serious' volume devoted to brain exercises. He said that the exercises were, 'not intellectual, not erudite, not educational, but have to do with mental agility.' He offered up 'boustrophedon' as an example.

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Chan Canasta

Boustrophedon, according to the Encyclopaedia Britannica is: 'the writing of alternate lines in opposite directions, one line from left to right and the next from right to left. Some Etruscan texts are written in boustrophedon style, as are some Greek texts from the sixth century BC. The word is from the Greek boustrophedon, meaning literally "to turn like oxen" (in ploughing)'.

he had been blacklisted in America, a pseudonym was used to disguise his involvement with movies that were sold there. Roy tells me that during their early days in London, Cy and Canasta shared a flat together. Both were friends of Harry Stanley. I also understand that it was through Canasta that Cy met his wife, Maureen. Later, following Cy's death, Canasta and Maureen attended the Magic Circle at the invitation of David Berglas.

Canasta demonstrated the technique by writing a sentence, alternate lines of which were written from left to right in mirror image form. It is reproduced in the article but poorly; nevertheless it seems a fascinating bit of business and one can well imagine how impressive it might appear, not that Pomerantz was moved by it. 'What's the advantage of boustrophedon?' she asked. 'There's no advantage,' said Canasta. 'Why do you ask about advantages? It's like asking in America "Do you make any money out of it?" You don't do exercises for the advantage. You do them to be more agile.'

Magic and movie expert William Mcllhany confirmed that Canasta certainly played at least one part in a television drama, a 1954 episode of March of Scotland Yard. Boris Karloff starred and Canasta had a small role as himself in a story called Misguided Missal. Bill says that the episode is still available on video in the US. Again the name of Cy Endfield comes up in connection with this series and he may have had something to do with Canasta's appearance in the episode. But time to get back to the tricks because for all the accusations of repetition, Canasta still manages to surprise. Fred Taylor described an unusual television routine to Richard Hatch in which Canasta demonstrated his ability to gauge the passing of time. Fred described Canasta's face onscreen, framed by a stopwatch second hand. As if to prove the accuracy of his internal clock he would call out 'stop' at freely selected and timed intervals.

Pomerantz responded by saying, 'Well then, that's the advantage, isn't it?' And so the argument continued. Personally I can see it as very advantageous for magicians who want to impress with their mental skills. It's something to add to the date-for-any-date and lightning calculator sector of our craft. Mirror writing can be done very easily in certain circumstances. See Martin Gardner's listing for Mirror in his Encyclopaedia of Impromptu Magic for one method and lots of inspiration. The article also hinted at a connection with theatre in his student days that reminded me of another interview (Evening News, 16th June 1966) in which Canasta said that after playing parts in an RAF repertory company, 'I went into films and TV (that was 1948) playing a German officer. Me a Polish Jew, playing a Nazi, there's a contradiction for you!' I can't find that particular movie but Roy Walton surprised me with the information that Canasta had a bit part as a waiter in a 1953 movie, The Limping Man. Also appearing was Robert Harbin in the role of magician, Harper LeStrade. How these two performers found their way into the movie might be explained by the fact that the director was Charles De Latour. Never heard of him? Well, it was. the pseudonym of Cy Endfield who had come to England following the rise of McCarthyism in the US. As Page 18

Doug Gibbard's notebooks record a similar routine performed by Canasta on his ITV series, 12th February 1962. It began with Canasta asking his guests to choose a time between 30 and 60 seconds. They chose 45 and one of their number, Betty Box, was invited to guess when 45 seconds had passed. She failed, stopping the clock at only 15 seconds. She tried again, this time trying to estimate the passing of 30 seconds. Again she failed, stopping the clock at 22 seconds. Another guest, Donald Peers, tried to estimate 16 seconds and got close, with 13. Then it was Canasta's turn. He was blindfolded when he tried the feat and stopped bang on the chosen 35 seconds. He tried to repeat the effect with 40 seconds but overshot and stopped the clock after 49 seconds. J;

Doug noted that the conditions didn't preclude having access to some Page 19

Chan Canasta

Chan Canasta kind of offstage communication or even a hidden electronic device although if that had been the case you might have expected Canasta to have succeeded on both trials. David Berglas has performed a similar feat in his shows but the method allows the performer to be 100% accurate. This rare effect brings to mind the story of 'The Minute Man', as told by Will Dexter in Famous Magic Secrets (Abbey Library 1955): In Alexandria, Egypt, there used to be a blind beggar who sat by the dusty roadside in the Rue Fouad. For a small coin he would tell you the time - to within a minute each way. That may not seem unusual, but remember this: the old man was totally and completely blind, and indeed, had no eyes whatsoever. He could not, therefore, see a watch or clock, and he certainly possessed no such thing as a Braille watch. I have checked on his powers dozens of times when I lived in Alexandria, and never once was he more than a minute out in his decision. Fred Taylor had a photograph in his collection taken at the 1948 convention in Amsterdam. The photograph shows Fred performing a trick. Canasta is standing second from the left in the photograph. It was during this convention that Canasta first came to the attention of Goodliffe

DENIS WELLESLEY MORRIS HOUSE JERMYN STREET LONDON, S.W.I

ABOUT PSYCHOMAGIC ... The old art of magic and the comparatively new science of modem psychology can hardly be called stranger*, but it has been left to Chan MiTelov, with his creation ol Psychomaflic. to exploit the complementary qualities of both in a novel manner that i* utterly astounding In no other century could such achievements a* he performs have been possible, for even if Ihe magician possessed sdequate technical powers his knowledge of the working* ol the human mind would have been at best empirical, unreliable and insufficient Chan Mifelov's teats have amazed and baffled not only experienced magician* but the learned members ol academic societies as well. Disdaining all abnormal aid* inch a* "telepathy" or clairvoyance, dispensing with any form of deception such a* sleight-of-hand, he depend* for his effects solely upon hi* uncanny power of anticipating the reactions of his audience.'individually or en masse. Ju*t as the ordinary magician relies upon the deftness of his fingers, Chan Mifelov truaia the agility of his mind and his extraordinary ability to penetrate a personal preference m colour*, number* or even quotation* from literature. He uses nothing more than his Bve sense* to achieve tests which seem impossible. It could be said that his performance must be seen to be believed if belief were not ihe one tribute which we date not accord him. Well known at the famous Players' Theatre Club, where he has been dubbed the Player*' Own Magician, acclaimed tor hi* lectures and demonstrations before such bodies as the Umdon Society for Ptychical Research, Chan Mifelov is equally entertaining when performing for the smallest private party or to an audience of hundreds. Hi* act is not seen, it is experienced, and when once experienced it is not eanly forgotten.

Thrilling Entertainment with an Educational Interest ••*••

LECTURES

a

r

CABARETS

CONCERTS

BANQUETS

AT HOMES ETC.

For me the faidnonon of Chan Miftfo*'% act litt in hil tipert manipulation of the mindi of hii aihint lo "" "tore. VICTOR MUSGRAVE

Neale, editor of Abracadabra magazine, who later became a keen admirer of his early television shows. Fred Taylor also possessed one of Canasta's early brochures used during the time when he performed Psychomagic under the name of Chan Mifelov. 'Thrilling Entertainment with an Educational Interest,' boasts the text, Page 20

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Chan Canasta

saying that Chan disdains 'all abnormal aids such as "telepathy" or clairvoyance, dispensing with any form of deception such as sleight-of-hand, he depends for his effects solely upon his uncanny power of anticipating the reactions of his audience, individually or en masse.' It goes on to say that he was well known at the Player's Theatre Club and had given lectures to organisations such as the London Society for Psychical Research. On the back it gives the name and address of Denis Wellesley in London, who must have been his agent at that time.

This is a neat revelation. It gives Canasta three chances to force the target card on the second spectator. Fred's exclamation mark indicates the surprise he must have felt at the boldness of Canasta's discovery. What would have happened had the spectator pulled out some other card? The obvious answer is that a second card is brought out and either it is the one (so Canasta just misses - don't forget that it should be impressive that the spectator has the card at all) or the one remaining behind the spectator's back is the selection and Canasta can turn this into a hit by elimination.

It's tempting to say that Taylor knew Canasta personally to some degree. He refers to Canasta as the 'deadbeat' in his notebooks, suggesting that while he may have admired his work he was not so taken with his lifestyle. Taylor records two of Canasta's performances from 1951, probably in April or May. Most of the effects (sixteen in all) are the same, or variations of, those described in Chan Canasta -A Remarkable Man. I was very happy to see that Fred's guesses as to Chan's methods were similar to my own. However, there are a few points worth noting. First up is Effect 6 from what appears to be the earlier of the two performances. Only minor adjustments have been made to Fred Taylor's notes and his abbreviations have been written out in full for ease of reading.

Effect 6

Doug's notebooks back up this supposition when he recorded a performance of an effect in autumn 1959. On that BBC show a spectator found himself with three cards in his pocket, one of which was the selection. Canasta asked him to pull one out. He did. It was wrong. So he asked him to pull another card out. This time he produced the right one.

I

Canasta flashes pack. Spectator chooses one mentally. Canasta then forces this card on second spectator. Both reveal.

I

Fred uses the term 'flash' when referring to the psychological riffle force that was Canasta's speciality. He believed that Canasta hesitated when making the riffle and the spectator would think of the card briefly stopped at. In a letter to Martin Breese, Basil Horwitz recalled his 1970 meeting with Canasta and his observation of the same effect.

Explanation

m

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Explanation Chan's flash force is coupled with dialogue. He keeps pattering and stops with a slight hesitation at the crucial moment. The same card is then forced upon a second spectator, who reveals.

Chan tells audience which card spectator will choose. Spectator chooses three cards, shuffles behind his back and chooses one. Chan reveals that it is the same.

Chan takes any card and shows to audience, explaining that spectator will choose this card. This card is forced, two are freely selected. Spectator shuffles cards behind his back then reaches in and removes one card. His!

Effect 8

I

1

Andre Boje arranged a meeting for me with Chan Canasta. I asked him if he could do the book effect that climaxed his act, with my book Page 23

Chan Canasta

Chan Canasta and he did it a few times and let my wife read out the line and his confident manner really fooled me with it. He said that he was the first person to do risky things. If they worked that was great but if they went wrong there were no outs. He then did the effect where someone is asked to remember a card while he riffled through the pack and revealed the indices of the cards. He did this a few times and he said that many magicians thought that he stopped for a split moment on just one card that would be seen and remembered but he said that that was not how he did it. I watched him very carefully and that was exactly what he was doing and that effect I have been doing for many years.

complete cut, then to cut pack into three equal piles and to read aloud the names of the cards in the top third. Spectator then shuffles these cards together with those in his pocket and those in pile A [original bottom pile]. Spectator then selects one card from this shuffled pack, places it on top of middle stack [the remaining tabled packet], places rest of cards on top of selected card, cuts entire pack, completes cut and hands magician pack. Under these impossible conditions magician finds card. Where Fred got the trick or its title is not clear. It was certainly marketed by Harry Stanley in 1953 (The Gen, June 1953), the same year that Chan Canasta appeared on British television, under the title of Miracle Card Discovery.

Clearly, despite his denials, Canasta was stopping briefly on one card. The Amazing Canasta film shows that. But does he stop at a predetermined card or glimpse the card that the spectator sees? I'm inclined to believe it is the latter; this being the same method used and acknowledged by him for his book test (see page 71 of Chan Canasta - A Remarkable Man). And I've no reason to believe that he used anything but ordinary cards for this effect nor carried out any preparatory work that the use of a predetermined card would require: for example, establishing a break or the positioning of a short, injogged, thick or other gimmicked card prior to the riffle. One effect that Fred Taylor mentions that I haven't found anywhere else is Effect 13, described as Chan's Poker Deal. No effect or explanation is given and I don't have any other information as to what this might be. In a separate note Fred explained what he described as One of Chan's Best. I've inserted bracketed notes to make it more easily understood. Go through the effect with the cards in hand and you'll get the idea.

..

:

rhuh.,i^,: Effect .V , . V • , '

[•

Magician hands spectator a well-shuffled pack with request that spectator remove from 1 to 3 cards from top and bottom and place these aside or in his pocket. Magician then requests spectator to cut pack and to Page 24

Although the advertisement said that the system was capable of many variations none of them were even hinted at in the brief instructions. A Miracle Discovery was a key-card location and the method tells us a little more about Canasta's abilities because it was necessary to memorise three key-cards to master the routine. The first key-card is positioned simply by glimpsing and memorising the bottom card of the pack, shuffling nine cards into the left hand and then dropping the rest of the pack on top. The shuffle is done in short batches as you talk and it leaves the key-card the tenth card from the face. The new bottom card of the pack is glimpsed and another nine cards shuffled from top to bottom. After that the new bottom card is noted (making three key-cards in total) and a few cards, this time about four or five, shuffled from the top to the bottom of the pack. You now have three key-cards in the lower half of the pack. There are eight cards separating each of the keys. The spectator is asked to cut the pack (behind his back so that you cannot observe the action) and then bring it forward and place it face down on the table. Any fellow magician would note that at this point you could not know the top or bottom cards of the pack. Fred's notes indicate that the spectator removes some cards and places them in his pocket. The spectator now cuts the pack into three equal piles. Again you could Page 25

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Chan Canasta

not know the top or bottom cards of any pile. Point to the pile that was the top portion of the pack and ask the spectator to call out the cards in it, from the top. As he does you listen for the names of any of your keycards. You may hear one or two. As soon as you hear it, start counting until the spectator runs out of cards. What you are doing is calculating the position of the last key-card in that packet from the face of the packet. For instance if it is fourth from the face you know that the next key-card is fifth from the top of the middle packet (remember that eight cards separate each key-card).

It used two packs of cards, one of which was stacked. The spectator selected a card from it and placed it face down, sight unseen, on the table. Canasta then took the second pack and spread it face up between his hands, inviting the spectator to take three cards, one at a time, and place them face up in a row on the table.

The spectator is now asked to shuffle the cards in his hand and add them to the pile of cards that came from the bottom of the pack (and any in his pocket). This combined packet is shuffled. He chooses any card from this packet, notes it, and drops it onto the remaining tabled packet (which has a key-card at a known position from the top). Finally the remaining cards he holds are dropped on top of the tabled packet, all the cards picked up and given several cuts. You take the pack back, run through it to find your key-card and then count the required number from it to reach his selection. Reveal in your usual manner, as they say. It is easier to understand this effect if you read it through whilst following the actual sequence of events with a pack of cards in your hands.

He was then asked to take his face-down selection and drop it on one of the face-up cards. This left two face-up cards. The spectator was asked to pick up one and drop it face down on the other, creating two face-toface pairs side by side on the table. Canasta reached over, extended the first and second fingers of his right hand and slowly drew back the top two face-down cards. This revealed the two face-up cards. Amazingly, they matched exactly. It is a curious coincidence trick and very effective. The first pack was stacked so that Canasta knew which card had been taken. He then spread the second pack face up and, knowing the selection, had three opportunities to Classic Force it on the spectator. I mentioned this face-up Classic Force on page 28 of Chan Canasta - A Remarkable Man. Here we have a trick that depends on it for its success. While it seems likely that someone, somewhere, might have used this technique before Canasta, neither Roy nor I can recall an appropriate reference to it in the literature.

Roy knew Canasta in London, though not well. But later, when Roy had moved to Scotland, he met Canasta completely by chance in Glasgow. This would be some time after 1965. They chatted and Canasta showed him a very unusual card effect, which is described here for the first time.

The finale of the trick depended on several outs. If the spectator dropped the face-down card on the matching face-up card, then the trick ended there and the coincidence was revealed. If not, then as previously described two face-to-face pairs were formed. The problem is that the matching cards need to be the face-up cards of the pairs for the finale to work. To achieve this Canasta would pick up the first face-to-face pair, square it and turn it over before replacing it on the table so that the matching card was face up. The spectator was then asked to pick up one of the remaining face-up cards and drop it face down on the other. Again Canasta picked up the pair, carefully squared it and turned it over if necessary before replacing it on the table. With the minimum of fuss he had manoeuvred the pairs so that the matching cards were face up. It only remained for him to extend the forefinger and second finger of his right hand and, with due ceremony, draw back the upper cards to re-

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It is a tremendous amount of work and you can't help feeling that something is missing in the description. The mental calculation required seems the kind of thing that Canasta would indulge in but the presentation is illogical and not particularly entertaining. Roy Walton recalls seeing Canasta perform the effect, though not for laymen. Perhaps it was something he reserved for fellow magicians who could better appreciate the conditions under which it was performed.

Chan Canasta

Chan Canasta

veal the perfect match. I know this is a brief description but, read in the context of Canasta's performing style, I hope you can see just how powerful this trick can be.

gambling away in one six-hour gaming session the profits from a book he had written. Other people I have talked with say he lost much more and, given the nature of casinos and gaming, I wouldn't be surprised if this was closer to the truth.

When Canasta met Roy he said he was at the Chevalier casino. I asked Roy whether he meant performing there or gaming there. It transpires that Canasta never said. I mention it because there seems little doubt that much of Canasta's time was spent in casinos. In the 1990s several people told me they had seen Canasta in one London casino or another and this eventually led to the meeting I described in Stan Allen's Magic Magazine (April 1999). His connection with gambling spanned some decades. In an article for The People (18th December 1960) Canasta revealed his interest in casino gambling. British gambling laws were about to change and gambling was about to be licensed. He warned that 'newcomers to the game [poker] will run into trouble' if not properly prepared, advising: Never join a game for the sole purpose of making money. Join it for the pleasure you expect to get out of it and set yourself a limit on the amount you are prepared to lose. His obituary in the Daily Telegraph of 8th May 1999 reported that he was drawn to the gaming tables by his love of numbers and study of mathematics. It said he was well known at Aspinall's, the Clermont, Les Ambassadeurs and several other London casinos and that he had advised Mayfair casino owner John Mills on how the rules of roulette, chemin-de-fer and baccarat (all of which favoured the bank) could be adapted to conform to the fair chance regulations of the new Gaming Act. Whenever people asked him about using his skills at cards to make money he would always parlay the question very effectively, saying, 'If I start to win, everyone thinks I am using some unfair advantage. If I lose, they laugh at me.' He added, with his usual dash of charm, 'The one game I will not play, even with my closest friends, is Canasta.'

••

It would be simplistic to draw parallels between the chances Canasta took in his magic and his gambling but I'm sure he sought good fortune in both. With that idea in mind, it seems appropriate to finish this manuscript with a story Canasta told in The People of 11th December 1960. For me it sums up his optimistic attitude towards life and his distinctive risk-laden brand of magic. It is the attempt that counts. Let me illustrate this by way of the story of the king who got so fed up with the horoscopes and predictions that a Wise Man had been giving him and decided to have his head chopped off. The Wise Man did some fast thinking then fell on his knees. 'Your Majesty,' he pleaded, 'I beg you to give me just one more chance and prove my worth. If you will postpone my sentence for only a year I will undertake to do anything, anything that you require... I will even teach your horse to fly.' 'Teach my horse to fly?' said the king. 'I don't believe it,' but he granted a year's grace all the same. Of course the other wise men thought he was mad. 'You don't really think you can make the king's horse fly, do you?' they asked. The Wise Man looked at them calmly. 'Who knows? In one year a lot of things can happen. The king might die. I might die. Or - who knows? That horse might fly. In the meantime I still have my head!'

The obituary also said that his fondness for casinos had led to him Page 28

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Chan Canasta A Remarkable Man by David Britland Reprinted from Magic Magazine, April 1999, with kind permission of the publishers, Stan Allen and Associates.

The meeting took place behind closed doors. It always did. They were the producers of This Is Your Life, the television programme that surprised dozens of unsuspecting celebrities and recounted the details of their lives before an audience of millions. Without secrecy there was no surprise. They had just chosen their next target, television mindreader Chan Canasta. It would be tricky, surprising a man who was so full of surprises himself. Then the phone rang. Someone answered it. 'Hello/ came a voice. 'This is Chan Canasta. I'm afraid I cannot manage the date you have in mind.' Of such stuff legends are born. I was walking through London's King's Cross Underground, against the great tide of commuters making their way home, when I heard someone shouting, 'Dave, Dave.' I turned and saw Dick Fiddi, a film researcher I'd worked with on a show for Channel Four. We shook hands and moved to one side of the corridor to avoid the endless river of briefcase carriers that jostled past us. Dick told me he was working on an A to Z of television and had been holed up in a room watching tapes of archive material, a job he loved doing. T was going to phone you,' he said. 'Have you ever heard of a magician called Chan Canasta?' Certainly, who hadn't? My mother told me about him when I first became interested in magic. Chan Canasta, she said, worked ;

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Chan Canasta wonders. She particularly remembered that he could tell anyone what word they would choose from a book. When I got my first real job, working for an insurance company, the man who interviewed me saw the word 'conjuring' on my CV and proceeded to recall the feats of Chan Canasta. Chan Canasta and his fantastic book trick. You could choose any book from a library, he said, and any word from that book and Chan Canasta could tell you what it was. I swear he only gave me the job in the hope that I would one day reveal Chan's fabulous secret to him. Unfortunately I'd never seen Chan Canasta in his heyday, which was nearly fifteen years earlier. Now here was Dick Fiddi about to tell me another Canasta story but this time it wasn't about the book trick. 'Another researcher told me this,' Dick said, bringing to mind those friend-of-a-friend stories that make up urban folklore. 'It's unbelievable. Listen.' And I listened and this is the story he told. Chan Canasta was a popular figure on British television during the early sixties and it was on one of his shows that he did the following. First he warned the audience that they might choose not to participate in the next test because at a certain point he is going to command their televisions to switch themselves off. That's right, there will be a countdown, from ten to zero, he'll clap his hands and the nation's televisions will flicker no more. He warned them again, saying that if they don't want to participate they should switch the show off right now and do something else. Having got their attention - and who in their right mind wouldn't want to watch what he did next? - Canasta proceeded to count from ten to zero, building the tension as he went. And on zero he clapped his hands together and that clap was the last thing anyone heard as televisions all over the nation blinked off leaving bewildered families sitting in the dark looking at nothing. 'But that wasn't all,' said Dick. 'People sat there for a while thinking it was all a joke, that the BBC was just playing a trick on its viewers. But after a time they got uncomfortable just staring at a blank screen and waiting for Chan to reappear. So they switched over to the other channel. And do you know what? That channel was blank too!' This was not a magical anecdote I'd heard before but it was a Page 32

Chan Canasta good one and reinforced Chan Canasta's status as a performer whose feats were long remembered. But there was more. 'The great thing is,' said Dick, 'I know how it's done.' I must have looked dubious because Dick said, 'It's not just a story. It really happened and there's a way of making it work.' And sure enough Dick had been told not only the effect but the method as well. The BBC had indeed, as most viewers suspected, just offered a blank screen when Chan clapped his hands. The clever bit was that this took place when there was a commercial break on the only other channel available in Britain at that time. When viewers switched over they were confronted by another blank screen, a commercial break purchased by Chan to add finesse to his miracle. Now that was clever. But was it true? I left Dick wondering about the story he had just told me. It sounded plausible but if it happened surely it would have been written up somewhere in some account of magical history? It was but I didn't find it for some years. Nor did I ever dream at that time that I would meet Chan Canasta himself and ask him about the trick first hand. But I did. Of course, if you'd rather not find out how it's done, you can always switch articles right now! First, a little background in order to build the tension. It is September 1949 and Harry Stanley's newsletter, sent to Gen subscribers only, recalls that the International Congress in Amsterdam has been a great success. His collapsible rubber goods (ice cream cones, bottles and assorted fruit) and the Devano Rising Cards were, he reports, a sensation. Of the acts at the convention he praises manipulator and Grand Prix winner Vigo Jahn and Jean Valton. But a new name, that of Chan Mifelov, garners much kudos. 'He starts where others leave off. He shook me and many others. The way he handles cards and situations is nobody's business,' said Harry. Goodliffe Neale, editor oi Abracadabra magazine was similarly impressed with Chan's card work. It had him and his friends 'staggering'. Harry Stanley, who had a knack of bringing the world's finest magicians to England, persuaded Chan to move to London. He made appearances at the Unique Magicians Club and by November 1950 his photograph was on the cover of The Gen. He had also changed Page 33

Chan Canasta his name and was now known professionally as Chan Canasta. James Doolan, writing in the December 1950 issue of The Gen, praised his cardwork and said that his book-test was 'really something to rave about.' He hoped that Al Koran, who was The Gen readers' expert on cards and mentalism, would endorse his statements. Koran's reply is not noted but I wouldn't be surprised if his nose was not put out of joint. Koran was a star of the Unique Magicians Club, a regular contributor to the Gen and a noted performer at magic gatherings but he achieved his success on television only after Canasta retired from the scene some ten years later. During those ten years Chan Canasta succeeded with a brand of mentalism that thrilled audiences and divided magicians. He called it Psychomagic - a term he coined for his personal melding of magic and psychology. It's not clear to me how Chan came about his Psychomagic but it seemed well honed long before he met Harry Stanley. His booktest, his card work were all firmly established before he appeared on British television. In later years he would tell reporters that he developed his skills performing in troop concerts just after the war. If the accounts in The Gen are to be believed, Chan travelled widely performing in India, Pakistan, Israel, Germany and France. He worked gigs in London during 1952; it's not clear how many but mention is made of Ciro's and an appearance in Harry Stanley's Christmas show, Max/fair Magic, at the Victoria Hall. His television career began on 31st January 1953 with a BBC performance that set the benchmark for the rest of Canasta's television career. In his twenty-minute one-man show a celebrity panel chose bunches of cards from a pack and Canasta identified them all with a great deal of panache, charm and intelligence. Then came a taste of the stuff that had amazed magicians in Amsterdam. The use of the psychological riffle force on two of the spectators. And another psychological force when a spectator was asked to nominate which of four tabled cards she thought had been selected by another spectator, a trick that, on this show, only worked on the third attempt. Finally Canasta's unique book-test in which he riffled the pages of a book before the spectator's eyes and asked her to mentally choose a page. From the chosen page she selected one line of text which was read out to the audience. Canasta then revealed that Page 34

Chan Canasta these were the same words he had written on a blackboard moments earlier. Magicians looking for the method realised that the spectator had not revealed the mentally selected page number until after Canasta had written his prediction. Goodliffe, in his review, thought it an excellent show but noted that magicians generally were not as enthusiastic possibly believing the material to be rather elementary; a stacked deck and some risky psychological forces. Viewers thought otherwise and Canasta got a second show a few months later on the 27th May. This time Goodliffe gave over the entire Abracadabra editorial to reviewing the new show in order to do it justice. Clearly Canasta was a magician worth watching. The new show was almost the same as the first, featuring a selection of card tricks and the impossible book-test. Goodliffe praised Canasta's presentation, which was delightfully informal, said the cardwork was once again stunning and that it was 'unquestionably the best magical TV show to date.' The psychological riffle force failed just as it had in the previous programme but Canasta's failures only enhanced his reputation in the eyes of the layman while infuriating many magicians who just couldn't see why Canasta could get away with stuff they couldn't. The book-test continued to be the highlight of Canasta's act, direct, to the point and seemingly impossible. It was, said Goodliffe, 'A beautiful thing. An impromptu paralyses' But he also believed that this second viewing was enough to tip the method to other magicians though doubted that anyone other than Canasta would have the nerve to perform it. Canasta had a unique presentation in which he was neither labelled a magician nor a mindreader. Guests would often attribute telepathic powers to him but Canasta was firm in his denial. When they asked him how he accomplished his miracles he freely admitted that anyone could do what he did and that it was based on psychology rather than dexterity. He openly confessed that he could make people choose certain cards from a deck and control other choices that they may make. He told them almost everything save for the fact he used a stacked deck. His television billing in later years was Chan Canasta: A Remarkable Man and his audience bought into it 100%. Many magicians Page 35

Chan Canasta weren't so sure. For them the most 'remarkable' thing about Canasta was that he had got so far with so few tricks. Television has always been a ferocious consumer of material yet Canasta managed to do the same tricks over and over again and audiences seemed prepared to watch them. The summer of 1953 also saw Canasta doing a short tour of the Halls but with mixed success. His seemingly impromptu small-scale experiments were ideally suited for television but not a theatre such as the Liverpool Empire or the Manchester Hippodrome. However, his television fame ensured he always got good billing. A review in the 15th August 1953 issue of Abra illustrates the difficulties of presenting Canasta's intimate magic before a capacity audience at the Empire Theatre, Newcastle. The performance started badly when Canasta asked for six volunteers to join him on stage and they proved to be slow in coming forth. Things picked up when he identified the cards they had chosen from a pack and he got audible gasps when two spectators chose identical cards from two different decks. Jax, the reviewer, pointed out that here is a lesson for magicians, 'the simpler, the better.' He closed with the book-test and although 'retired to a good hand,' it's clear that Canasta was not the sensation on stage that he was on television. He did make the transfer to the cinema screen in the form of a short film entitled The Amazing Mr Canasta. It's an unusual film, introduced by Donald Waldman and featuring Canasta performing before a celebrity audience. It's all done in a kind of dumb show with not a word from Canasta or his guests. Instead, Waldman narrates his way through the entire film, telling us what is happening as it happens. One unusual feature is Canasta's use of the psychological riffle force as a piece of interactive magic for the cinema audience. The same effect that, nearly 50 years later, David Blaine would use to open his Street Magic television special. Canasta made one or two more appearances on television in 1953 and also performed at Harry Stanley's Unique Day of Magic in December of that year. But then he seemed to disappear from the scene entirely until 1959 when he began his first television series with the BBC. I have no idea what happened to Canasta during those years or why it took six years to give Canasta a television series Page 36

Chan Canasta following two highly successful one-man shows. It's entirely possible that he went travelling again. The six shows, which began in September 1959, were built around the material that magicians were already well acquainted with, cards and books, but there was no doubt that Canasta's presentation had made miracles of effects that his contemporaries had taken for granted. He was the cover personality on the February 1960 issue of The Gen magazine where editor Lewis Ganson provided an insight into Canasta's background saying that he was born Chan Mifelew (note the new spelling) in Cracow, Poland. He studied Philosophy at university in Jerusalem and joined the RAF in the Middle East at the onset of World War II. Later he served in Greece and worked in 'Intelligence.' After the war he returned to Jerusalem and later met Harry Stanley who persuaded him to come to England. England bred an array of famous radio and television mind readers all of whom came under the close scrutiny of the press who simply had one question on their mind: How was it done? How Does Chan Canasta Do It? asked the headline on the front page of The People newspaper for the 28th February 1960. We Know, And On Page 5 We Tell His Secrets, boasted the next line. In previous years The People had run exposure articles about The Piddingtons and Maurice Fogel. Now it was Chan's turn. The People challenged Chan to repeat his feats at their offices and Chan, like Fogel before him, accepted, reiterating that he had no supernatural powers and adding, 'There is no trickery in my act. I use only my five senses.' In retrospect this was quite a clever thing to say. Not only did Chan not claim to be psychic but he also didn't claim to be a magician either and with the exception of Harry Stanley's events he never mingled publicly with other conjurers. The key point of the exposure article was the discussion of Chan's book-test, an elaborate version of which he had performed on a recent television show using ex-CID Superintendent Tom Fallon as the spectator. The People newspaper described the impossible conditions: 'Fallon was then seen sitting miles away from the BBC studio in the Guildhall Library. He chose a book from a shelf. Canasta, in the Page 37

Chan Canasta studio, then asked someone to pick three cards from a pack and use them to make up the number of a page. 'Then another member of the audience was asked to choose the number of a line. Canasta wrote on a blackboard three words. 'In the library miles away, Tom Fallon was seen by viewers opening the book to the page and the line selected. The words were correct.' The People challenged Canasta to repeat the feat in their office. He did and successfully but The People noted that Chan first asked to be allowed to look through the books that were going to be used. And that on air Canasta had said that he had 'Never spent more than 20 minutes in the Guildhall Library in his life.' This might well be true but, they added, 'It became clear that those 20 minutes were spent before the broadcast when the cameras were being put in position and he knew the shelf from which Fallon was to select the book.' Having explained the pre-show work that Canasta used they then explained that he had the uncanny ability to make someone choose the correct three playing cards from a deck and force the spectator to arrange them into the correct number required for the trick. The method for the trick was just as intriguing as the effect and The People could only praise Canasta's skills, saying, that the key to all his feats lay in 'A fabulous memory, intense powers of observation, skill with sorting and forcing cards - and a brilliant and intuitive knowledge of human behaviour.' Which is what Canasta had been saying all along. Canasta raised no objections to The People explaining the book trick (which was not the one that had baffled magicians) saying that anyone could do what he does provided they had the proper training. That training was provided by Canasta himself when a series of articles entitled Train Your Brain with Chan Canasta appeared in the same newspaper later that year. Canasta explained a variety of memory and mathematical feats which readers could learn. Canasta also appeared on the front cover of the Radio Times listings magazine with an interactive psychological experiment in which the reader was invited to think of one card among the many shown. They turned the page to discover whether they were thinking of Page 38

Chan Canasta the same card as Chan Canasta. Usually they were but as with all Canasta's tricks it didn't really matter if they weren't. Canasta continued to be popular with British television audiences for the next year and then flew to the US to appear on the Jack Paar show. Essentially the material remained the same, cards and books, and much of it didn't work. A reading of Gus Southall's reviews of Canasta's British television appearances in The Budget reveal that sometimes the failures were spectacular as in the following case: 'Then on to a mass experiment with four sets of large cards each bearing four words. These were shown quickly to the panel and the studio audience who were invited to compose a sentence from them which should agree with one previously written down by Canasta. Unfortunately it was a total failure. A second test in which everyone chose a wild animal and a number 70-78 should have been 'Tiger-77' but this too was fairly hopeless.' Goodliffe reported that he thought Canasta was taking too many risks and doubted how much longer he could carry on serving up the same tricks. Many others were of a similar view. Harry Stanley responded to such criticisms in The Gen calling them 'cheap swipes' and saying that Canasta's performances had reawakened public interest in magic. He even said that were it not for Canasta, Al Koran (whose first series followed on the heels of Canasta's) would not have received his ownbigbreak on television. Then again Harry Stanley always had close links with Canasta even marketing a manuscript under his name, a key-card location system called A Miracle Discovery. Fortunately the modern magician can judge Canasta's merits for himself for there exists a terrific videotape in the BBC television archive which shows Chan at his peak. It is a live broadcast transmitted on the 23rd of March 1960, which I believe establishes Canasta as one of the leading performers of our age. There have been many remarkable performers who have used a stacked deck but Canasta's handling is unmatched for sheer simplicity and directness of effect. His claim to have harnessed psychology and magic together is perfectly true. Both are necessary for the successful execution of Canasta's routines. My favourite routine on the show involves just two cards. A celebrity spectator, baffled by one of Canasta's feats, sceptically Page 39

Chan Canasta

suggests that when Canasta asks someone if they would like to change their mind about a choice they have made they most likely wouldn't take the opportunity. Sensing an opportunity of his own, Canasta promptly asks him to participate in the next experiment. The spectator chooses two cards from the deck and, sight unseen, places one in his left pocket and one in his right. Canasta points out that despite the conditions, under which the cards were selected, he, Canasta, already knows their identities. They are the Three of Clubs and Ten of Diamonds. But that isn't the trick. The trick is that the spectator has to decide which card is in which pocket. 'Whatever you decide will be,' says Canasta. 'And then, you can change your guess. The onus is on you.' And as you watch the show you realise that the onus really is on the celebrity. He has challenged Canasta by saying that no one ever changes their mind and now Canasta has backed him into a psychological corner. After some very funny byplay the spectator decides that the Ten of Diamonds is in his right pocket and the Three of Clubs in the left. Canasta congratulates him and tells him that he is right. Whatever he wants will be. Now, as promised, the spectator is offered a chance to change his mind. He need not do so but Canasta warns, 'If you do change your mind the cards will change. If you don't change your mind the cards will stay where they are.' What should the spectator do? How can he possibly outwit Canasta? The humour of the situation and the spectator's dilemma are apparent. Canasta announces that the spectator now has seven seconds to change his mind then adds, with a smile, 'You don't have to change your mind by the way.' He looks at his watch and starts to count, 'One, Two, Three,' and the celebrity, unable to take it any longer, shouts, 'Stop! I've changed my mind.' The audience burst into laughter. The man who said no one changes his or her mind just changed his. The spectator pulls the cards from his pocket and finds, as Canasta predicted, that the Three of Clubs is now in the right pocket, the Ten of Diamonds in the left. It's a dramatic and engaging answer to the 'what if?' question and a good example of why television audiences never tired of Canasta's routines. And yet within a couple of years Canasta had left television and Page 40

Chan Canasta

disappeared even from the pages of Abracadabra and The Gen. Today Canasta's name is barely mentioned in magical literature. References to Canasta in Bart Whaley's Who's Who in Magic and T. A. Waters' Encyclopaedia of Magic and Magicians are pitifully small.

They add only that Chan is a shortened form of Chanane and that when he retired from television he became a professional painter and performed his act for a number of charities. When I eventually met Canasta he confirmed this was true. He did paint for a living, had travelled abroad doing performances for charities and had even appeared on television in Israel. It was T. A. Waters who pointed out to me that Canasta had also written a very unusual book of interactive stunts some years after he had retired from television. It was published in 1966 under the title Chan Canasta's Book of Oopses and was billed as the book that read your mind. An 'Oops,' Canasta explained, was a way of saying sorry if the outcome of the interactive mindreading was not wholly successful. Peter Lane, who also helped gather some of the references for this article, kindly let me examine the copy in his collection. The book contains fifteen experiments in all, some psychological, some mathematical. Each experiment covers two pages, one for text, the other for an accompanying diagram. The reader just has to follow the instructions, make a choice and then flip to the rear of the book to discover whether Chan Canasta has predicted the result. Usually he has but if he hasn't, a delightful apology follows. If Canasta couldn't fool you he could always charm you. Magicians didn't see him again until 1971 when he appeared as a guest on The Parkinson Show, a BBC talk show on which magician John Fisher worked as a researcher. Canasta performed his booktest and card routines but it wasn't the sensation it had once been. Canasta was always at his best performing for a panel of celebrities on his own television show rather than guesting on someone else's. His appearance on this high profile show didn't persuade him to leave his painting in favour of a return to the pasteboards. Then, not too many years ago, Roger Crosthwaite told me he had seen Canasta in a London casino. Someone else I knew told me a similar story and it seemed almost certain that Canasta was a member of the club and spent much time there. I passed the name of the Page 41

Chan Canasta club to television producer Sebastian Cody who had long wanted to meet Canasta. He wrote to the casino who passed on his note and Canasta replied. The result was that Sebastian invited both Canasta and myself to join him for lunch at one of the West End's finest hotels, Claridges. In the past I've been more than happy to meet other magicians in pizza parlours and burger joints delighted to believe that I've contributed much to the financial success of McDonald's and Pizza Express over the decades. These places, where an afternoon's chat may be purchased for the price of a coffee, are the natural homes of the Saturday sorcerers. The same is not true of Claridges. On the other hand one might turn down a Big Mac but who could turn down a lunch at Claridges? Not I. And neither, apparently, could Canasta. Canasta looked no different from the image I had seen on videotape. Tall and gaunt with slightly too long hair and a highly animated European manner. His Polish accent testified to his origins and gave him a charming savoir faire few mentalists have. He confirmed that he retired in the sixties and that he became a professional painter, exhibiting now and then, travelling often. I suspect too, from his conversation, that he guests a lot at casinos and is a familiar face on that dusk-to-dawn scene. He had the anecdotes and airs of a sophisticated diner and he teased the waiters mercilessly in their efforts to please him. One asked him what he would like as an aperitif. 'Vodka,' replied Canasta. 'What kind of vodka?' asked the waiter. 'What kind do you have?' said Canasta, and as he said it the image of a spectator trying to outwit Canasta came to mind. 'We have everything,' said the waiter. 'This, sir, is Claridges.' Canasta immediately named an obscure vodka which the waiter was unable to produce. I had the feeling it was a familiar routine. Later, another waiter (the previous one was probably crying somewhere), asked Canasta if he would like tea. 'Do you have English tea?' asked Canasta. 'Certainly,' came the reply. 'We have Darjeeling, or Assam or Jasmin or . . .' And I dare say he would have named a dozen more but Canasta brought him to a halt with, 'But Darjeeling is not in England.' Page 42

Chan Canasta That's two to Canasta, none to Claridges. I ordered coffee. His stories are well told, his interruptions well timed and his verbal tricks with the waiters well practised. Considering that neither Sebastian nor I had met him before he was very open about his presentation and techniques. We talked about his appeal to the public and he told a story which illustrated the point perfectly. It was told to him by film star Michael Rennie, the actor who played Klaatu in The Day the Earth Stood Still and is now immortalised in the lyrics of The Rocky Horror Show.

Apparently Rennie's mother was a big fan of Canasta's. She would always watch Canasta's television shows and wouldn't miss them for the world. Not even for her own son who, one evening, tried to take her out to dinner. The dinner invitation was fine but it would have to wait until Canasta's television show had finished. Rennie couldn't believe it. His mother made him sit and watch Canasta as he went through one experiment after another. Rennie was not impressed. The finale came when Canasta asked his celebrity panel to choose words and arrange those words into a sentence. They did so and came up with something about a yellow dog going shopping. Canasta then unveiled a prediction that had been in view the whole time. It was completely and utterly wrong! Rennie just looked at his mother in disbelief and said, 'You made me stay in for this. He was completely wrong.' 'No,' said his mother, entirely happy with Canasta's performance. 'He wasn't wrong. They were!' I couldn't let the anecdote stop there and I asked Canasta just how he had intended to make the routine work. He shook his head. 'It might have worked,' he said, holding his hands up like a man expecting a miracle, 'but whether it worked or not I knew it would fill seven and a half minutes.' And he was right. The audience was on his side and it was worth the risk. Canasta said that he had long ago discovered that any artistic endeavour worth appreciating was flawed. Art doesn't work every time. Magic does. And the fact that magic worked without flaws made it mechanical: do this, then that and you got the result but you didn't get any respect for it. At least not from the kind of people that Canasta sought respect from. So he decided to do routines Page 43

Chan Canasta in which there was a chance of failure. Some of these routines, like the one Michael Rennie saw, had a higher failure rate than others. The bottom line was that Canasta's magic depended on his ability to manipulate the spectators' choices. He responded to the spectators, paid attention to what they did or said. Most magic goes on regardless of what the spectators do. That's not to denigrate most magic but simply to point out where Canasta was different. His audiences could never predict the outcome of an experiment but he was charming enough to make them hope that things worked out okay and that if they did, happy that they were there to see it. He said he'd been very keen on involving not only the studio panel in his effects but also the audience at home. Not just their emotional involvement in what was going on in the studio but also the continuation of the experience outside of his shows. His use of the card force in the 1953 film, his psychological tricks in newspapers and his interactive Book of Oopses confirm that this was a theme throughout Canasta's performing career. Which brings us to the experiment with the viewers' television sets. Was the story true? Did he really bring a halt to the nation's viewing? It started, Canasta said, as an idea he discussed with his producer. Would it be possible to switch off television sets all around Britain? The producer thought it was a great idea, but how could it be done? Canasta's first method didn't go down too well. He suggested that a masked team invade a transmitting station, hold the staff hostage and just pull the right switch. Canasta assures me he was serious; the effect, after all, is everything. The producers didn't agree despite Canasta's assurances that no one would be harmed during the siege. So the routine became less of a magical effect and more of a hoax in which viewers were duped into believing their television sets weren't working. I told Canasta the story I'd heard about how he bought advertising space on the opposite channel but he just laughed. What really happened was that Canasta showed his audience an unusual looking musical instrument and claimed that when played it would switch off the television set in every viewer's home. There was a suitable build up and a dramatic countdown. The instrument was played and viewers watched the picture on their screens collapse Page 44

Chan Canasta and dwindle to a familiar white dot. It stayed like that for a time, a long time, before the picture was finally restored. When the picture resumed Canasta explained to the audience that it was 'just a leg pull.' And that's all it would have remained except for the fact that lots of viewers had called up and complained to the BBC, believing that their televisions had been broken by Canasta's strange musical instrument. So many in fact that later that same evening the BBC broadcast an apology for any inconvenience the stunt had caused. It also became apparent that some people's televisions never recovered from the incident and the BBC had to explain that, 'If any sets are broken it is purely coincidence.' Just how viewers with broken sets were supposed to see this apology I have yet to fathom. The trick made the newspapers the following morning under the headline, Chan Canasta Joke Angers TV Viewers. Canasta also told me that at the time his television show was broadcast there was a real transmitter failure, as a result of a storm, and a few thousand viewers genuinely did lose their television picture. For them the effect was more real than Canasta intended and the chaos may have helped polish the fable over the years. As a consequence the legend of Canasta's bizarre television stunt continues to circulate. The details may change in the retelling, but the essential truth, that Chan Canasta is a remarkable man, is still intact. The mystery that I'd heard in a London underground was solved at a dinner table in Claridges. Canasta was sparkling company and the time passed quickly. I have no idea what I ate for lunch and the plush surroundings of Claridges and their ever-attentive waiters made little impact on me but the meeting with Canasta was memorable all the same. Eventually lunch came to a close and we drained the last of our coffees and said our farewells. As I left Claridges, my head full of Canasta stories, I wondered whether I should call Dick to tell him the truth behind the television mystery. But I didn't wonder for long. Why spoil a good story?

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