The Magician Who Never Told A Lie

In the town of Albany, Oregon you can find this unique-looking house with the keyhole windows. It was built in 1893, just ten years after the founding of the town in which it sits. Partly due to its unique architecture, an imitation of Victorian tastes, the home is counted on the National Register of Historic Places.

It is significantly more unique for what happened on the other side of those windows. In 1928 a ten-year-old boy arrived on the doorstep of what would become known as the Castle of Chaos; a laboratory, archive, and home for one of the most trail-blazingly original minds to ever explore the art of magic.

Jerry Andrus imitated no one. While most creative people are working by adaptation and incremental improvements, Andrus was a genuine inventor with leaps and bounds of innovation, springing forth from a lifelong effort of scientific curiosity.

I don’t think Jerry would approve of such effusive praise. He’d rather just show you what he was working on. This two part video from David Saltman has Jerry demonstrating a few of his most famous inventions.

In the foreword to a collection of Andrus Notes (2004) Stephen Minch writes that Andrus was “deliberately detached from what is going on in the magic scene around him.” Most magicians aim to elevate our magic with what we generally call ‘showmanship’ whereas Jerry would present his demonstrations rather matter-of-factly, with neither razzle nor dazzle.

His effects took no more than a minute or two each, presented with a remarkably natural handling. There are no moments of misdirection. No jokes to subvert your attention. He would encourage you to watch as close as possible, even tell you what he was about to do, then do it. Impossibly.

I find the most remarkable thing about the magic of Jerry Andrus is one particular thing lacking in his presentations; there are no lies. Magicians are supposed to lie. “Here I have a perfectly ordinary paper lunch bag,” you might say while hoping the audience doesn’t catch a whiff of fresh glue. Jerry would never lie. He would, however, use very specifically worded phrases to, perhaps, omit some critical details. He doesn’t make a statement to say “those pins are solidly linked,” but rather asks an innocent question “wouldn’t you swear those pins are solidly linked?”

This wasn’t just a game of wordplay. This was his guiding philosophy. Absolute honesty in all things, with an ironclad set of ethics. In his job as working on electric transmission line maintenance, he would forbid any swearing on his crew. He always stuck to the rules.

In his Take Two column, Jamy Ian Swiss recalls;

“Jerry was the most compulsively honest man I’ve ever known, committed to never telling a lie, or breaking a law or even a rule. When you crossed the streets with him in New York City, you had to wait for the light to change, because he would not cross against the red. Or you would forget and suddenly find yourself talking to empty space, and when you turned around, there he was at the street corner, offering a polite and gently smiling wave.”

He found dishonesty abhorrent, and the bombastic claims of The Amazing Kreskin were a particularly irksome topic. On one of his visits to the Castle of Chaos magician Steve Aldrich picked up a copy of Kreskin’s book thoroughly marked in red. Jerry had underlined every line where Kreskin was making false statements.

Another day Steve got an invitation to go out for a hike with Jerry, his brother George and a mechanic friend, “if you think you can keep up with a bunch of 60-year-olds," Jerry added.

The four of them were on the trail when the Oregon weather turned cloudy and wet. They decided to set up camp. George and the mechanic started work on lunch while Steve assisted Jerry in starting a fire

While Jerry was preparing the kindling the topic of Kreskin was on his mind again. Steve vividly remembers Jerry laid out on the ground, cheek pressed into the mud blowing on the first sparks of his wet campfire in the making. “Kreskin says he invented the Linking Finger Rings,” Jerry exclaimed between puffs, “but I know for a fact Persi Diaconis created it!” Jerry huffed and puffed in the dirt, “…and Kreskin claims he created the coin in bottle, too!”

Steve chimed in “yeah, I’m pretty sure Hoffmann wrote about a folding coin.” Still laying in the mud, Jerry’s eyes went wide as he boomed, “PLEASE! THERE ARE LAYMEN PRESENT!”

On another occasion Jerry Andrus attended a performance by The Amazing Kreskin, and he brought along a catalogue from Tannen’s Magic. As he lined up for the post-show meet-and-greet Jerry slipped his pinky into the pages of the catalogue. “Mr. Kreskin,” the always polite Andrus inquired, “is it true you created the Linking Finger Rings illusion?” Kreskin nods, “oh yes! No other magician knows how I do it, and I intend to take the secret to my grave!” Jerry then asks for an autograph, flips open the Tannen’s catalog, and points to the advertisement for the Himber Linking Finger Ring Routine. “Sign here, please.”

Like any genuine artist, the work was a product of the person. The magic of Jerry Andrus is direct, visual, and, to borrow a phrase from David Devant, all done by kindness. Here is a transcript from his performance in the Magic Castle Close-Up Gallery which explains his philosophy to the crowd;

If more of us embodied such a philosophy perhaps the general public wouldn’t have such disdain for magicians.

Jerry Andrus had another guiding principle about his magic; he would only perform original tricks. Further than that, all but the most basic of sleights in his repertoire were also original to him.

His quest for originality runs deep. Steve recalls a visit wherein Jerry was showing him a nature documentary featuring Jerry’s own landscape photographs, with a recorded narration by himself, with background music of his own composition, played on an electric organ of his own design, played from a slide projector he had built from spare parts.

Jerry’s remarkable life and legacy is the result of letting curiosity take the wheel, exploring ideas as far as they can take you, and never compromising on one’s beliefs. Thankfully he was very generous with his gifts and, if you’re not so strict about your own original routines, you can benefit from the creativity, curiosity, and kindness of Jerry Andrus.

To nudge you towards reading more, here’s a performance of Twinpipes from Up Close with Andrus (1957)

P.S. Jerry was always even-tempered, and often philosophical, but not without a sense of humour. To leave you with a laugh, take a look at a young Jerry Andrus performing a comedy act.