Harry and I had planned to meet at his home at the end of Miller Road and row their canoe northeast through the lily pads toward Davis Lake. I was ten years old, while Harry was only seven; but he was precocious, perhaps from military boarding school while his parents were making magic across the country.
Many of the 700 or so people in Colon, Michigan were somehow involved in the “business”. My mother stitched silks to appear by the dozens on stage while my sister fashioned flowers that burst into bloom at the hands of magicians around the world. My father, a local pastor, was also the Township Treasurer who waited (and waited) every year for Pete Bouton to pay the taxes for his brother’s property on the island.
When theaters (with no air conditioning) got too hot for the public and performers, two large train cars would come to a happy halt down by what is now the Community Park. Out would come the cast and crew including the bevy of beautiful assistants. Better yet, just like magic, there suddenly appeared a parade of animals large and small marching to the island and up the hill to the barns where they’d be retrained for next season.
Meanwhile, Percy Abbott was preparing for one of the first of what would become the Annual Get-Together. You could find me there, as much for the outdoor lunch across from the building with skeletons as for the collections of magicians impressing each other and hypnotists helping people recall reading Billy Goats Gruff. Honest. Right there in the middle of Canal Street.
Dozens and dozens of magicians grew to hundreds coming for the get-together, many making the pilgrimage to Blackstone’s Island where Harry held court. He and Percy had briefly been partners in the sale of magical paraphernalia for professionals and amateurs alike, but bonds were broken over breaking the secret silence surrounding an important part of their magical inventory.
Even though the younger Harry had proven his ability by making the caps for my cap gun disappear, I was on the road again. I had trekked from home down by the marsh on Franklin to half-way along the old dirt road near Miller’s Landing when a beautiful black car pulled up beside me. Always the magician, Harry’s dad motioned to me that his son was hiding in the back, pulled out a deck of cards and proceeded to entertain me with his sleight of hand while wife Inez watched. Then “The World’s Greatest Magician” drove slowly as I walked along to their home and prepared for the next adventure.
It’s the first week of August, time for “Abbott’s Get-Together”. Years ago, Greg Bordner took charge. Adding to the fun now are the shop and magic of John Sterlini along with Rick Fisher’s FAB Magic. This year Mary and I will drive to and stay at the The Retreat at Millers Landing as I recall, “What a pair to draw to”! Two Harrys in One Day.