If Mr. Frederick wasn’t getting laughs, then just like that I could become Mr. Pineda from the religion department or Mr. Rung, my history teacher. I could be anyone. It didn’t matter, as long as heads were turning my way. As long as the laughter kept flowing. As long as the attention was coming toward me, demanding more and more stimulation.
The time would come years later, in therapy, when a counselor would point out to me that this was a highly significant moment. I was playing parts, trying to be someone I wasn’t. I’d continue performing for a number of years and in a number of ways. There was an emptiness at my core—I had no idea who I was—so I could only feel comfortable when I was “being” someone else.
Maybe Keith would have put it this way: The world was made up of those who played real people . . . and those who were real people.
Chapter 3
Just Like Magic
You’ve probably heard about New Orleans during Mardi Gras. Yes, it’s a wild way to bring in the springtime. Mardi Gras is a festival held for a couple of weeks leading up to “Fat Tuesday,” the beginning of Lent. With parades every day, it’s basically one long, citywide party.
If you’re a sixteen-year-old New Orleans male, addicted to activity and stimulation, then you’re right in the middle of the action. There’s color, noise, music, and, of course, more than a little alcohol.
I began drinking moderately the year I turned sixteen, something absolutely normal in Louisiana culture. It’s a bit like England or Germany; alcohol is a part of every social gathering. It wasn’t out of character for me to go to a bar with my fake ID, order a Bloody Mary, and then suit up to play a basketball game for my school.
So my buddy Chris and I were in the French Quarter waiting for the Bacchus parade. It’s one of the highlights of Mardi Gras, held on the Sunday before Fat Tuesday with amazing floats and national celebrities. I walked into Jax Brewery, a historic site that is now more like a shopping and restaurant mall. A little crowd was gathering over to the side, and at the center of it, there was a man performing magic tricks.
I’d seen magic tricks performed on television before, but never in person. This shouldn’t have been any turning point in my life, except it was. My path was about to take a slight but meaningful twist.
I was a sophisticated, worldly-wise junior in high school, right? I rolled my eyes at this little demonstration and the crowd of spectators hanging onto every move. What adult does magic tricks? I thought. Nothing but kid stuff.
Yet that crowd kept growing. As a veteran class clown, I had a healthy respect for anybody who could command attention, however they did it. I couldn’t help but watch, and suddenly the magician was looking right back at me. “Hey, big man, come here,” he said. “I need your help on this next trick.”
Who, me? I looked right and left, but there were no other “big men” around; I was well on my way to six and a half feet tall.
“Yeah, you!” he said. “Come on, let’s go!
I left Chris, walked to his side, and the magician said, “Here’s your job. Guess how I do this trick, and you don’t have to buy it.”
Laughter from the crowd—so that was it. He was selling something. But before I could open my mouth to object, he pulled out a silk cloth, poked it into his left fist, and—hold it, where did it go? He reached over and pulled it across my top button and out of my shirt top pocket. Before I could catch myself, I gasped.
“Did you catch it? How did I do it?”
“Um—”
Laughter again. I was utterly stumped. I hung around until he was finished, trying to figure out at least one of his tricks. I had struck out and stood looking at him sheepishly. He offered his right hand and said, “Jeff Schmidt.”
“Robby Gallaty.” I introduced my friend as well.
“I’m just in from Vegas, Robby—new here, but what do you say we go grab a bite to eat? It’s on me.”
We walked down Decatur Street and had a couple of beers, and Jeff performed tricks all night. Watching the parade was an afterthought at this time.
I could see this was his style; he became the center of attention everywhere he showed up, because magic tricks are so compelling. Who else challenges you to watch with such complete attention? A magician says, “I’m going to fool you, and I dare you to catch me at it!”
Supreme command of a room was something I could get behind. Besides, Jeff had a couple of really cute waitresses practically eating out of his hand. He threw cards on the ceiling, and they’d stick there like glue. He tore cards in twos and threes, and just like that, they were in one piece again. We were all spellbound.
Jeff looked over at us, saw our eyes bulging, and laughed. “Tell you what,” he said. “One trick I can’t do is make a vehicle appear. You guys drive me around town, and I’ll teach you how to do the tricks you’ve seen. Deal?”
We looked at each other, already nodding yes. We had to learn those secrets.
I say we, but I was the one who proved to be his star pupil. I wasted no time incorporating magic tricks into my lifestyle. Before long, I was running for student body president at my high school, putting on magic shows to get votes.
I added my own brand of humor and presentation, and it was a nice fit.
Magic was my new thing, meaning, my new obsession. As I’ve said, if I did something, I did it all out. I became pretty good at these illusions, and
