Thursday, March 1, 2012

Endless Coincidence

In which the Author Utilizes   Artifice, Ruse, and Subterfuge, Mists, Mirrors, Feints, and Shifts of Words,  in an Attempt to Create the Lasting  Impression that  Beauty is Truth and the Truth is Funny.




              

          Back in the early seventies, not long before  Ricky  Jay would   write  his break-out book about "Cards as Weapons " ,  he was  one of my students in a Cornell freshman course  called "Writing from Experience".    He had already experienced  freshman life  at a few other colleges,  and  would spend only slightly longer at  Cornell than Houdini spent  chained  in a  coffin at the bottom of New York Harbor.... but before slipping out,  Richard Jay did submit one piece of writing:  the monologue of a  freak-show barker who pulls us  in,   only to  violate our willing suspension of sympathy, by making  it perfectly clear  that it's WE the drooling  gapers  who are the true  Freaks...  fascinated  by the projections of of our own misshapen souls.     It wouldn't have gone over well at the Freak Show, but the truth  is beautiful enough, so  I read it to the class.     
           Ricky Jay moved on to tending bar and throwing cards  at the Royal Palms in Collegetown,   learned  writing and magic from books and mirrors ;  later published, not only    "Cards as Weapons",  but also scholarly articles and coffee- table books  on magicians, freaks and prodigies,   He appeared occasionally as a writer  and a subject in the New Yorker.  He played  a  card-shark and other under-world devils in the movies.  and advised the movie industry itself about the business of illusion,  through his consulting business, "Deceptive Practices". 
  In fact,  Ricky Jay must be the best known magician after  Harry Potter,  and one the best card handlers ever ........ but his own role model , the magician's magician, and  the ultimate Expert at the card table, seems to be the great and mysterious  S. W. Erdnase.  
         Or rather, the man who, under that name, wrote the classic book on card handling , which is  generally published as "The Expert at the Card table," although the original title was "Artifice, Ruse and Subterfuge at the Card Table  a  Treatise on the Science and Art of Manipulalting Cards......  "  Erdnase enthusiasts in the online magic forums refer to it simply as "The Expert " or   "Erdnase",   as if the book were the man.   In this video Jay mouths the masters own words of artifice, ruse, and subterfuge:


      

   Whoever S.W. Erdnase really  was,   he had a great  cloak of invisibility.  More than a hundred years since the publication of the book ,   magicians have not been able to agree  on just who wrote  it.   That question would be less important if the book itself  were not an extraordinary piece of literature.   
                        The title page is a full spread and leaves absolutely no doubt what it is about.





      The preface of the book takes up where the title left off and  then spills generously into an introduction:  all so sage, wry, and humorous  that some Erdnasians have convinced themselves that the man was actually Mark Twain  .....  Even though  everybody knows , or else should know,  that Mark Twain was actually Sam Clemens;  and Clemens himself was  half  Huck Finn,  and  half Tom Sawyer:   
  "We betray no confidences in publishing this book, having only ourselves to  thank for what we know. Our tuition was received in the cold school of experience. We started in with the trusting nature of a fledgling, and a calm assurance born of overweening faith in our own potency. We bucked the tiger voluntarily, and censure no one for the inevitable result.  A self-satisfied unlicked cub with a fairly fat bank roll was too good a thing to be passed up. We naturally began to imbibe wisdom in copious draughts at the customary sucker rates, but the jars to our pocketbook caused far less anguish than the heartrending jolts to our insufferable conceit.  After the awakening our education progressed through close application and constant study of the game, and the sum of our present knowledge is proffered in this volume, for any purpose it may answer, to friend and foe, to the wise and the foolish, to the good and the bad, to all alike, with but one reservation,--that he has the price"


                

                                            The Detective

     The author can be found right there in his book, unless the book  is artless.   "All art is autobiography",   wrote the Erdnase investigator,  David Alexander,  suggesting that he could cut a decent profile of the Erdnase author from the evidence of the book.      Alexander had actual  L.A. police and private detective experience,  plus many years as a stage  pickpocket,  a card and coin handler, free-hand silhouette cutter , currator,  editor, and writer.  Alexander was  the official biographer of the Star Wars creator Gene Roddenberry.  And he published (under his own name)   a little  book on the art of picking pockets..... not available outside the brotherhood of magicians.     As a volunteer enforcer of professional ethics, he  had spent many years tracking and exposing  various  frauds who  used tricks of the profession to defraud  widows and others willing to suspend disbelief and pay money for messages from the dead..   Magic is a work of fiction and lies are the worst enemy of fiction.    So  a fully qualified and motivated inside expert was on the Erdnase case.

         Others had already observed that Erdnase is  not a real name at all........ but  that S.W. Erdnase spelled  backwards,  is E. S. Andrews.
                  As a matter of fact, an E.S. Andrews did exist in the general area and time in which the Erdnase book was published;  and this person was known to gamble.
                   Many Erdnase seekers have needed to look no further.
                Martin Gardner, the long time Scientific American  puzzle master,  who wrote the introduction to a modern edition of The Expert and co-authored a book with two others on Erdnases,  argued that Erdnase was Milton Franklin Andrews: a small-time gambler   and card-shark  who  had dropped out of school ,  lived with his mother, and at the age of thirty- three,  having been run to ground due to his crooked  dealings,  shot himself .   
     But Alexander insisted, and it is easy to agree,  that a destitute, small time gambler under the age of thirty could NOT have written lines like  this:
 "The vagaries of luck or chance have improved the professional card player with a certain knowledge that his more respected brother of the stock exchange possesses, viz.--manipulation is more profitable than speculation; so to make both ends meet, and incidentally a good living, he also performs his part with the shears when the lambs come to market."


                   Early in his investigations, David came upon   W. E. Sanders,  the son of a Montana  settler and Senator.  He had  studied German, Greek  and Shakespeare in the East, on his way to becoming a mining engineer, mine owner, and oil explorer,  caereering for many years  through the mountain West from Chicago to California
         Notice, as did Alexander, that in the German language, which  likes to join words end to end,   Erdnase  means  "Earth Nose".   
         Read Sanders diaries and you should note one entry that lists the items he has packed for an up-coming trip, including five packs of cards.   
        It seemed to Alexander, as it might to you, that simply writing his name backwards was a bit to obvious for a clever man hoping for a few years of obscurity before taking credit, 
    But shuffle and shift those letters around a while and you should notice, as did Alexander, that S. W.  Erdnase is an anagram  of W.E. Sanders. 
           In nineteen ninety one  Alexander published an article  on the Sanders Erdnase connection in the magicians journal Genii, titled:
 " The Magician as Detective
     New light on Erdnase "  . 
    
         He also presented his conclusions  at a magicians convention in Los Angelos,  profiling a man clever enough to have deliberately made the fake backward shift to lead attention away from the anagram.   Ricky Jay, who himself has said that he   doesn't like to   offer himself around   among clustering magicians....  happened to be there anyway,   came up to David after the talk,  and complemented him on the presentation. 
     But David hadn't convinced all of those  who were partial to an  explanation involving  one of the  Andrews suspects, or believed deeply in  Mark Twain, or just preferred the ongoing mystery.

            David Alexander continued his Erdnase research, his   performing, and putting together what I hear is the finest collection of the silhouette cutters art by his mentor and others.  
      In 2007 he and his wife Cassidy moved to Aurora Illinois,  where a friend had recruited him to help set up a hands-on science museum.    Cassidy is a professional portrait artist, who, as a volunteer, working on short notice , started doing  portraits  of slain  Chicago police officers.   Portraits with an illusion of three dimensionality,  blood in the cheeks, and light in the eyes.  She could do great wanted posters.  
     But no sooner was the science museum up in running, than the Great Recession  hit,  funding was cut....and of course the museum was running and didn't need to be set up anymore anyway.... so David was   freed to pursue Erdnase.
         



                           The Vagaries of Luck

           David Alexander, whom I never actually met,   graduated from  the same high school in the same year as Kristal Forest,  to whom I was once married. 
   Looking at his high school memorial page he noticed that Kristal  was listed as deceased or missing, so he went to Google and  soon came up with my blog post regarding her, which you might read some day :  http://dogs-plot.blogspot.com/2010/08/kristal-forest-dali-lama-and-me.html
    A few years ago, Kristal disappeared out in Arizona, and is presumed to have been murdered. 
But he didn't write to me as Detective/ magician,  about the mystery of her vanishing.  We were already  fairly sure her murderer was in jail already, for other things.   It was as writer to writer, he wrote.   He recognized the difficulty of the subject, and said that he had shared  my blog posts with a few friends students as a model of good writing.  
                 If I wanted to ease up close to a writer and pick his pocket, I might say things like that.   I trusted him anyway,
       That began an exchange of emails  about  family secrets, Manachian  characters, borderline personalities,  writing, and magic. 
      His  emails to me sometimes ended only  because Cassidy had dinner ready.
       

          December 2010 came and    I hadn't heard from David in a month or more,  so I went to his Facebook page. 
      His magician friends had been posting there,  giving bits of information   
         One day David  and Cassidy had driven to a rental property they own where the tenant had reported  a leak in the ceiling,  David  went  up to the attic to investigate, and he didn't come down. 
       It seemed at first that his death might have been from electric shock due to  wet wiring,
  but later it appeared to have been  a heart attack. A meaningless dead end, but hard to get out of my mind........like, if  I was a REAL life  friend and lived in Aurora,  Illinois  instead of Aurora, New York....I could have been on the right side of that roof fixing the leak.  After all, I am a roofer and that is one thing he was not, as far as I know...
     
           All dead end thinking, and  that will be the end of it... but when you die,  you begin to reappear in stories, and after David died he continued to be cited in the Genii Erdnase forum.
     Then recently, Genii magazine published an article  with some new information and an editorial endorsement of our man Wilbur  Sanders. I don't know what the new information may be.  There  is just is not much on line about this Sanders.......although a simple search with his name does now turn up a scanned Montana Historical Society document from his era,  including an essay by him about  the prehistoric origins of Montana,  and a note about him from the editors  indicating he was Librarian of the Montana Historical society (around the same time the Expert   was published)   and was in charge of publishing the society's pamphlets and books.  Yup.     
        W.E. Sanders died in 1935 out in Berkley California,  where he was last involved in oil exploration.
  Somebody should write a book about that Wag.  Here he was as a young man. What are those white dots all over is suit? Is that beard for real?  What arcane symbol is on his tie?





    Occan's Razor

         So how could David Alexander  solve the Erdnase mystery a few years ahead of the Scientific American puzzle master and  way ahead of so many other people who had given a lot of thought to the question?
      David Alexander  claimed that he always used   " Occam's razor " ,  in his investigation.
       Occams razor, as you learned long ago and I recently, is the basis of the scientific method.     A common summation of William from Ockam's alleged rule, is  that the simplest explanation of anything is generally the right one.    But the text by William of Ockam can be dissappointing, because it  mentions no  razor,   and William didn't have just one simple, clean-cutting rule.    As Alexander points out,    when you proceed from a working assumption,  but   encounter anomolies,   you might need a more complex explanation.         
         Seek endless coincidence, says Alexander.  That's  a good and simple rule;  it stands by itself.   
              
     Those are just the rules of common sense and open mindedness, but everyone says and agrees that  common sense and open mindedness are rare.   It takes a strong minded person like you, me, or David,  one who is  "capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason"  ............. as   John Keats said. 
      He called that high tolerance for ambiguity " Negative Capability".      
       But Keats himself pointed out in the same sentence, that when this particular genius is followed closely,   beauty overcomes all other considerations:   "Beauty is truth, truth beauty" said Keats, or at least his Grecian Urn did.....and  anyway  T.S. Eliot  dismissed the line  as a crock of un-poetry,  empty of meaning.          And you wouldn't think it   a particularly useful working basis for  science or police procedure. 
 

     And then you might need to think again.
      It is a  really cool and convenient coincidence that Martin Gardner   ( the math puzzler and Erdnase expert we spoke of, who coauthored the book we have not read, that  proposed one of the  Andrews candidates as the true wizard of Erdnase)  wrote an article in the Scientific American, with the title "Is Beauty Truth and Truth Beauty?"
      In fact, that very question was a long running theme of Gardner's career at the Scientific American.    The idea would seem to violate the traditional separation of Art and Science....but  we learn from Gardener and from the book he reviews that in modern science , as in the  complex simplicity and invisible symmetry of nature, beauty IS truth.
  All is endless fractal coincidence;   the parts continually resemble the whole, as the atom resembles the solar system.  O.M.G ! 
       That Beauty is Truth is good to know,..... even if the meaning keeps clouding into ambiguity, and even  if it is not necessarily ALL you need to know for life here below. 
        







   The Real Alexander

      Who was the real David Alexander?  How should I know?  How should I  who never met him,  know what to make of the fact that his name happens to be a reverse, trans-gender shift of  the name of Alexandra David, who     wrote and published under her married name, Alexandra David Neel, one of my favorite books -- "Magic and Mystery in Tibet " in which she witnesses Yogis who can melt a block of ice by sitting on it and other marvels?  Which makes me wonder who was David Alexander that he he could sit on the couch with  his friend for half an hour,   talking of this and that.... and then suddenly pull a five pound block of ice from under his hat?  And how did he manage, at will,  to pull a bird cage out of his pants?  Was there a bird in it?  Was it alive?
 Why a bird cage of all things? Why did he do magic anyway?
         Well, who wouldn't, except that they couldn't?
         Given a mentor or two, some professional secrets, a lot of practice and  fake confidence, even a shy boy like me might be able to  get a  traveling magician gig and use it as a    cover for  free range secret agent work in ports around the world, making new friends squeal with delight , and making fools of  spies, impostors,  sabatours,  hecklers, and common pests,  all by means of subterfuge, ruse, and artifice........able  to steal the shirt off a man's back,  to  profile  a  suspect with  just scissors and paper,    to communicate across time and space,  and to confront massive ambiguity, without taking it too seriously.





  



          

Monday, November 21, 2011

Garlic Forever

 http://www.facebook.com/david.s.warren  
  Non-stop, Dog's Plot, Scatter-Shot, Orchard crop of November Garlic...... some of which I will keep growing under plastic, some I will eat now, but leave most to grow until the ground freezes...which it hasn't done yet in January....then mulch if it does freeze, and allow it to mature next Spring.
 The weeds then will be mostly garlic, and I will eat them. The deer don't much care to.  The chickens and cats don't eat the garlic unless it is cooked, and then they love it.  And since I eat nothing  without a lot of  garlic( except for beer and ice cream), the deer and wood tics avoid me. 

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Great Great Grandfather's Giant Red Wasps , and Other very brief Historical Recolections of the North Country

  Great Great grandfather Noah Davey, second son of Reverend Severn-Keel Davey, dropped out of Harvard Divnity school, and moved into Rose Cottage: the old home of his  Grandmother...and  he very quickly discovered that Rose Cottage had been taken over by giant, red Wasps, such as you never want to see.  The rest is history.





Serious Falls

 I have seen this falls on the Oswegatchie River ,with deep snow covering those fallen pines... and a deer path all the way across.  
When I was in my twenties or thirties my Dad and I were trout fishing here for the hundredth time.  I was standing about where I stood when I took this picture and watched as he slipped on the rock, into the sluice and got washed down to the pool. 
He shook it off pretty  well and we went on fishing up the river that day ..., but I knew  then that he could die, and ten or twenty years later, he did.







How Mule Deer Came to the Adirondacks


Granddad  and friends went to Texas and Mexico by train around nineteen hundred.... at a time when our Eastern Whitetail Deer were about extinct, and he came back with a a dozen sets of mule deer  horns...which were much bigger than our white tail horns.  He also brought a few set's of long horns and an occelot skin.  He was an ardent hunter-conservationist, when hunters were about the only conservationists, and helped do everything except backpack fawns into the woods, to help bring back the Whitetails.  Now there are more deer there than ever, and turkeys which weren't even there before.   Recently, Cougars have been seen in the Lake Bonaparte area.  
 I myself, haven't been up there for a few years now.


Tuesday, November 1, 2011

Rhinoceros Hills

Years and years ago, there was a story with a very long title, after which it got off to a very slow start, so we used to think would never end......which it nearly did.  See here:
.

Saturday, September 24, 2011

Confrontation in the Basil Patch

We are being watched by a thousand eyes....only some get very close.


Saturday, July 2, 2011

Why I Married a Chicken


   

   When I introduce visitors   to my wife Olive, most of them pretend not to notice that she's a chicken , and are too polite to ask  why   I married outside my species.  So let me explain.            
                    First of all:  our relationship is not about sex.  Get that out of your mind.   Ours is a marriage of   mutual benefits and general convenience.   Of course it is more convenient for Olive than for me, and unfortunately, eggs are not one of the  benefits.   Hens, like other women,  are born with  a limited number of ovaries to let down in a life tIme -  around three hundred and fifty for a hen  - but Olive stopped laying long before reaching that limit, no doubt as a result of her abuse by the other chickens.

    I don't know if it was the roosters or the hens who ganged up on her,  but   one morning during the first year of the flock,   I   found her lying in a corner of the coop, beaten nearly flat.
  She is a Dominker, which is a breed common in the nineteenth century, before Asian varieties were bred into the European stock, and different enough in feathering     and comb that the other   chickens   discriminate, to say the least.  Her several brother Domikers had already been driven by the other roosters to the periphery of the flock, where they have not survived.
    
    I carried  her up to the house and set her in a box on the floor by the chair where I write.
         I put her food in a bowl on the kitchen floor along side the dog dishes, but each evening at roosting time she  insisted on climbing up over my lap to spend the night on the back of my chair,  The gallon can of Olive Oil  sits on the shelf  behind her.  And so, she became Olive.



     After a week or two,   I tried to  reintroduce her into the chicken coop....but the hens immediately attacked her, so I brought her back to the house.
          And  when I put her out among the ranging hens, she  would immediately fly at them in  like a hopped up rooster in a cock fight.  

        She had less of an aversion to the roosters, and would occasionally offer herself to one of the favorites I sometimes allowed into the house.
  She  also started crowing occasionally......never the complete phrasing, but two thirds of it, which is more than I have ever heard from the other hens.
         My mother used to say, "Whistling girls and crowing hens, always come to some bad end." But there isn't much I could do about it.
      The crowing behavior first began when I would leave the house.... or even the room. 
           She would also crow sometimes when I sang.  This first occurred   a couple of years ago when I began doing my weekly video weather report for the Tiny Town Times.  She was usually sitting on the back of my chair when I recorded the sitting down portion of the video, so I incorporated her in it, as Olive the Weather Hen. 
 
           I guess that was a good move.  Olive became  famous, with more fans than  me  in my role as  Davey Weathercock,  and she  aroused more interest than the  substance of my weather comentery.
         For a while ,  before the economic crash, we made a  weekly salary which kept us  in chicken feed and wine, for which Olive has developed a taste.   We entertained a number of eminent Olive seeking pilgrims. 
    

   They don't love her any better than I do.  Olive is an indiscriminate, serial pooper, but a fussy housekeeper otherwise, and spends hours a day poking around, examining small objects and specks of nothing much, and generally policing  the floor.  She even caught a mouse in here once, and always grumbles when one is heard gnawing in the walls or when one flits across the floor. Or imagines that she does. We share meals and maybe a nip of wine.  When I write, she is at my feet or at my head.  Her influence on my writing is obvious.

       Waking mornings, we talk for a while  her language mostly, between my bed and her roost.  If I don't get up soon enough, she will come off her  roost, waddle across the room and fly up onto my stomach.

Then I have about five minutes to roll out and get her some breakfast (chopped cabbage usually)  and if I don't, she takes her morning dump on me.
     Sure I  have some cause for resentment,and I am quite tied down here by my obligations to her,  but it is all by choice and I would have only my own choices to blame.  I could have eaten her long ago,   She sheds feathers on a regular schedule and I collect them in a bread bag.  I already have enough to make the illusion of a replacement Olive, but of course, a bag of feathers, or even a whistling girl could never replace Olive.