In 1975, on the most magical day of my fourteenth year, my father took me to New York. First, we went to Tannen’s, the largest magic shop on the east coast, where I got the birthday present of a hippie puppet with long yellow hair and flowered clothing. After a turkey sandwich at Howard Johnson’s, we went to the Cort Theater and saw a matinee performance of The Magic Show, a musical comedy starring the amazing Doug Henning.

How do you explain Doug Henning today? At a time in the 20th century when magic was all about men in formalwear doing classic tricks the way they had been done since vaudeville, Henning appeared out of nowhere — a hippie with long hair and a ludicrous mustache, who, in a tee shirt and jeans flew across the stage with infectious joy and wonder. Henning seemed to be absolutely sincere — it was as if he believed in real magic and would scale tall buildings to make you believe it too. 

The slight, silly show was built around Henning’s large-scale illusions: a lady magically produced from a transparent box, ladies divided into halves, thirds, and fourths, a lady transformed into a mountain lion, and a lady levitated on the point of a sword. But despite the grand illusions, the dopey story, and a few winning songs by Stephen Schwartz (whose other two shows, Godspell and Pippin played at the same time as The Magic Show), the scene I remember best was a relatively small trick with a newspaper. Henning displayed a section of the New York Times and pattered about reality and illusion. The newspaper was real, he explained, but his ripping of the newspaper was an illusion. As he said this, he ripped the paper very fairly and slowly and into many pieces, wadded them up and held them in front of his chest. Then, with no suspicious moves, the newspaper instantaneously restored to its original condition. The audience gasped.

Doug Henning did bigger tricks in that show, but I remember the newspaper best. When he did that one, it was the first time he spoke directly to the audience and it was as if he were speaking directly to me. It was as if he were saying, “Fred, someday YOU will be… a magician!” Doug Henning was correct; while I don’t make my living as a magician I have performed magic, read about magic, and thought about magic every day for over 40 years. I don’t think I’ll ever stop.

In 1983, Henning returned to Broadway with a second show, Merlin, co-starring the fabulous Chita Rivera as an evil queen and featuring the foppish and funny newcomer Nathan Lane as the comic foil. The magic was stronger and more elaborate, but the magical Doug was lost in all the pageantry. Still, at the end of Act One Doug Henning flew around the stage, very much like Peter Pan but apparently without the wires. This illusion would be perfected in subsequent years by David Copperfield, but still, what I saw there was magical and liberating and tear-inducing, perhaps because it is based on real fantasies of unfettered flight.

This brings us to the ironic ending of the Doug Henning story. Henning could have kept his career going but his heart was no longer in it. Why?  His involvement with the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi and the Transcendental Meditation movement became the primary force in his life. He ran for office on the TM political ticket and gave up his career to focus on planning for Maharishi Vedaland, a theme park dedicated to enlightenment. After a career of simulating miracles on stages for the amusement of audiences, Henning sought real miracles. After creating the illusion of levitation on stages, Henning followed the Maharishi and put great effort into his attempt to actually levitate. Seriously. See this video on Yogic Flying and decide for yourself. 

Towards the end of the 20th century, magicians started to hear tales of Doug Henning sightings in magic shops. Apparently, Henning was returning to magic — our kind of magic. Sadly, though, it did not last long. Henning was stricken with liver cancer and neither our kind of magic, the magic of medical science, nor the magic of the Maharishi could save him. Henning died in February of 2000.

Here is how I like to remember him:

Last Week’s Broadway Fred Quiz

In last week’s installment of Broadway Fred there was an obscure reference to Lemonjello. Besides being a corruption of the star’s name, Langella, what is the significance of lemon Jello? 

Answer: Peter Lemongello is a pop singer who was well-known at the time but whom we rarely hear about today. The cranky audience member confused the names.

“Broadway Fred” appears every Wednesday.

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