Plagues Gone Past

Where are the plagues of yesteryear?

So there I was, reading Fifty Years in the Magic Circle by Signor Blitz (the memoirs of a mid-19th-century magician) when I saw this bit (pp. 58-59):

 

                           Irish Wit. 

During the season, a band of Russian horn-players 
appeared at the Theatre Royal. Their style of music was 
original and novel ; each instrument played one note only, 
all harmonizing correctly and producing the sweetest tones, 
much resembling those of an organ. The horns were of 
various sizes, from one foot to thirty, and the latter were 
supported on trestles. The company numbered nearly 
forty persons, who were said to be the slaves of a prince, 
who had given them permission to leave their country for 
two years. 

They had visited Italy, Germany, France, and England, with much success. At one of their concerts the house was densely crowded, and the band had for some time delighted the audience, when suddenly a person seated in the gallery, in a full Hibernian voice, cried out, " Plaze, play up the Cholera Morbus." Immediately the whole audience in the gallery made the same demand, when the uproar became general, so that ultimately Mr. Calcraft, the manager, found it necessary to make his appearance. After learning their wishes he communicated with the leader, in French, who stated they were not acquainted with the air. On Mr. Cal- craft's repeating this to the audience, the Hibernian in the gallery exclaimed, "Be faith and sure, Mr. Manager, is it not a Russian air, — for did not the cholera come from Rus- sia in a ship laden with hemp?" At this explanation, a gen- eral clapping of hands and laughter took place which lasted several moments, much to the surprise of the Russians, who were of course unable to appreciate the musical capac- ity and ready wit of a fun-loving Irishman. The band shortly afterward sailed for the United States, where they succeeded admirably, but an unfortunate dis- agreement among themselves caused a complete separation.

That sounds like a marvelous orchestra and I wish I could have heard them.

The event would have happened sometime before 1834 (when Blitz sailed for America, never to return). This instantly caused me to wonder, “What’re the words (and music) for Cholera Morbus?”

After many journeys through the Google-indexed web, I found these verses, referring to the cholera outbreak of 1831/32, under the title “The Cobbler o’ Morpeth” (dialect humor!) published in The Tyne Songster, 1840, page 73, and credited to John M’Lellan.

The Cobbler o’ Morpeth myeks sic noise,
He frights the country round, sirs;
That if yen i’ the guts hez pain,
By the Plague they think he’s doom’d, sirs.
It was but just tother day,
A Skipper, when at Sheels, sirs,
Drank yell till he cou’d hardly see,
Or ken his head frae heels, sirs.

Bow, wow, wow, &c.

The song continues for several more verses, which are easily found by those who seek. Morpeth is a town in Northumberland, UK.

Ah, but what was the tune?

By dint of tenuous strings of logic based on “to the tune of” comments here and there, I came to “old English” air, which we find sung (with words other than Cholera Morbus):

Sheet music can be found here: Barney Buntline

If you read the words to Barney Buntline printed there, you find Barney talking with his friend “Billy Bowling.” I suspect that the character’s actual name was “Billy Bowline” (pronounced approximately the same). The bowline (if I could only take one know with me to a desert island, it would be a bowline) and a buntline hitch are kinds of sailor’s knots.

Was this the actual song that the witty Hibernian was calling for from the Russian horn-players?  Darned if I know.  But there it is.

Bowline

Buntline

Blitz, Antonio. Fifty Years in the Magic Circle: being an account of the author’s professional life; his wonderful tricks and feats; with laughable incidents, and adventures as a magician, necromancer, and ventriloquist. Belknap & Bliss, 1871

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A Complete Silk Act

One of the perennial topics in these parts goes something like this: “I’ve signed up for a talent show. What should I do?”

Let me make a suggestion, under the rubric “everything old is new again.”

In Jean Hugard’s Silken Sorcery (1937), the last chapter describes the Stillwell Silk Act. Here’s what Hugard says:

CHAPTER XII

THE STILLWELL SILK ACT

The production of silks from a handkerchief ball after the manner adopted by George Stillwell, who was the first magician to present a complete silk act in vaudeville, is undoubtedly the most artistic method yet devised. Mr. Stillwell issued a pamphlet explaining his routine but this has long been out of print and is now almost unobtainable. I will devote my last chapter to an explanation of the act as I saw it presented by Mr. Stillwell himself. I am told that he joined the ranks of other great magicians in the Halls of Valhalla several years ago.

Thanks to the Miracle of the Internet and on-line archives, that pamphlet that Hugard called “almost unobtainable” is easily obtained by anyone who cares to look for it. This is the link: Stillwell, George. Stillwell’s Handkerchief Manipulation Act (Illustrated) Hamley Brothers, Ltd. 1902

The instruction in Stillwell’s original pamphlet is far clearer and more complete than Hugard’s synopsis, and includes notes on how to manufacture the various gimmicks and fakes needed.

If you need a fully worked-out act, with a beginning, a middle, and an end, I can think of none finer (and it isn’t one that everyone else is doing). I doubt that anyone has performed Stillwell’s routine in a century.

Here are some links to places where you can purchase some of the needed props (I have no financial stake in any of these, BTW):

Stillwell hank balls.

Hank Ball review from My Lovely Assistant.

Silks (from Abbott’s)

Production Flag Staff

Other stuff you’ll need to look around, or go all arts-and-crafts.

Here is how Hugard ended his chapter on the Stillwell Handkerchief Manipulation Act:

Stillwell’s act was successful, partly on account of its novelty, but mainly because he had woven the necessary moves for getting possession of the loads and disposing of the balls, etc., into a routine of natural movements.

That says it all.

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In the Mageworlds

 

So there we were in the Republic of Panama, living in downtown Panama City rather than on base. We were big science fiction fans, and there was only one importer of English language books in the country (Servicio Lewis) and they only got new books once a month, and their SF list was … small. So we started to write our own.

We were working on a story that eventually became The Price of the Stars. To show how new we were, we were at about 200 pages on this one and still referring to it as “The short story.”

As may be. We were coming to the end of the story, about to wrap it all up. We were in a pizza place in downtown Panama City, having a Hawaiian Pizza (and the pineapple in Panama was nice), when I said to Doyle, “I want to blow it up.” “What?” she said. “Open the story out, not shut it down.” And she said, “If you know how to do that….”

This here is where the shift happened. Everything before the line break is heading for a climax and the long-awaited THE END. Everything after the line break was me sending it in another direction, into a big book, and later a big series.


She [Beka Rosselin-Metadi] put Warhammer onto a new course for yet another jump point beyond and astern of the cruiser. Closer and closer she ran, until finally the huge vessel began to turn–but away from Warhammer, not toward her.

Beka frowned. What’s this?

Still frowning, she began the final tick-down for the run to jump. The cruiser finished its long, looping turn, and began accelerating again on a convergent course. The fighters continued to swarm on Warhammer’s ventral side, firing but doing no real damage at the longer range with their light weapons.

She checked the sensor readouts. Not only had Corisydron paralleled Warhammer’s course; the Space Force vessel had also matched speeds with the freighter. Good thing we’re inside the minimum range of his guns-and the fighters don’t dare shoot us for fear of hitting him.

But he’s so close, his field is interfering with my jump. I can’t jump with him so near, I can’t turn without colliding with the little guys–time to see who’s the fastest. She pushed the throttle lever forward again.

Suddenly, warning lights blazed on all over the panel. Alarms began hooting and beeping. Warhammer’s controls vibrated under her hands, and she could feel the whole frame of the spacecraft starting to buck and tremble around her. “Damn,” she said aloud, over the rising howl of the freighter’s oversized engines. “The bastard’s got a tractor beam on me.”

***

“He’s maneuvering again,” said the comptech at the tank terminal. “And he’s fast.”

Gil walked over to the watch officer. “Has he hit us?”

“Not yet.”

Gil took a deep breath. “All right,” he said to the watch officer. “I am ready to relieve you.”

The watch officer stared. “What do you mean? This is my watch!”

Gil met the other man’s incredulous gaze. The maneuvers in the main tank were shaping up as the nicest little space battle Command Control had seen in years-in the watch officer’s shoes, Gil wouldn’t have wanted to let go of it, either. So here I am, about to cycle a perfectly good career out the airlock. Life’s a bitch.

He pushed down the urge to leave the whole thing in the watch officer’s eager hands and asked, instead, “Commander, what’s your lineal number?”

“Seven eight seven two, zero zero two three,” replied the watch officer, in something close to a snarl.

“My number is seven eight seven two, zero zero one six. I’m senior to you, and I’m taking the watch.”

“I protest!”


“Fine. Send a letter to the Board.” Gil raised his voice to carry into the farthest reaches of the space. “In Control, this is Commander Gil. I have the watch.”

The man he’d relieved snapped “Log that!” at the duty comptech. Gil ignored them both and walked over to the battle comm–Space Force’s highest-priority, highest-security communications system.

“Give me the comm.”

The petty officer gave him the handset. Gil keyed it and waited for the double beep of the crypto synchronizing.

Corisydron, this is Space Force Control. Condition White, Weapons Tight. Break off at once, return to base. Acknowledge. Over.”

“Dropped synch, over,” a distorted, faraway voice replied.

Gil’s lips tightened. The CO of the Cory wasn’t any more eager to let go of this one than the watch officer here on Galcen had been. That “dropped synch” was a polite way of asking if the speaker on the other end still had all his synapses firing in order.

“This is Space Force Control,” he repeated. “Break off at once. Return to base. Acknowledge. Over.”

A long pause from the Cory, and then, “Will comply. Out.”

Up in the main battle tank, the blue triangle and the smaller blue pips peeled away from the unknown. The red dot sped on, holding a straight-line accelerating course, then flickered out.

He’s jumped.


That spot, that line break, is the jewel on which the entire plot turns.

The “comm” here is based on Navy HICOM, which does in fact double-beep when the crypto synchronizes.   In this universe it’s a Faster Than Light communications system (and what happens when it goes down is central to the next book in the series, Starpilot’s Grave).   Commander Gil is named for my friend Gil Lott, who had been one of my space-mates on USS Moinester (FF-1097).   Corisydron had been, in the first draft, Coricidin, the cold and flu remedy (we took our fun where we could find it).  Warhammer‘s layout, dimensions, and feel, are based on USS Hawkins (DD-873), my first berth as an officer.

The only change Doyle made in that bit after the line break above was expanding the proword “WILCO” to “Will comply.”  (That’s what WILCO means.  You never, never say “Roger Wilco” because the meaning of “Roger” (“I heard and understand”) is included in “Wilco.”)  Only the commanding officer of a ship or aircraft can say “Wilco.”

If anyone would like to read a couple of Mageworlds short stories, we collected them in Two From the Mageworlds (cover by my son Brendan).

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Circle of Magic

Speaking of which, a bit on the origin of Circle of Magic. Circle of Magic #1: School of Wizardry
Those middle-grade novels started off as paragraphs and pages that Debra and I wrote to each other before we were married while I was in the Navy; she in Philadelphia, me off in the Med on USS Savannah (AOR-4), she in grad school.   (On Savannah I was certified as an “Underway Replenishment Specialist” and was rig captain for Rig 2.)  Anyway, we wrote these little bits to amuse each other.

Later, after we were married, and after I was sent to Norfolk, VA, to serve on USS Plymouth Rock (LSD-29), Debra (as Lady Malkin Grey, her SCA name) became Chronicler of Atlantia.  As such, she put out the kingdom newsletter, the Acorn.  She got pregnant, and I was unexpectedly sent around the Horn on a UNITAS cruise.  (UNITAS is a joint US/Latin American naval thingie–that was the first time I saw the Panama Canal.  It would not be the last.)  By great good luck, I got back before her due date, and, since I was now between ships (I was headed for USS Moinester (FF-1097)) and had a lot of time, was able to participate in her birthing.  And while she was in active labor with our first daughter, on the way to the hospital, we stopped off at the post office to mail the Acorn, so it would go out on time.

After that she had the moral jump on everyone: “If I could get the Acorn out on time, you can damn well get your event announcements to me on time.”

She got her Mistress of the Pelican for her time as Chronicler.

Which gets us back around to Circle of Magic.  Some time later, Debra was about to have twins and we were living in Manchester, NH.  So, after giving birth (and these were full-term, full-size twins, mind you), she was sitting up in her hospital bed with a binder with the current manuscript in it, going over it with her red pencil.  And a nice nurse walked in and said, “Are you sure you should be doing that, dear?”  To which Doyle replied, “Dammit, I have a deadline.”


And here’s a remembrance of Debra from Pippin’s newsletter.

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Pirate Books

After Debra’s death, as you might expect, Google Alerts started going nuts.  I had alerts up for her name and various of our book titles and the hits kept coming.

One such led me to Locus Online:

School of Wizardry (1990) launched the Circle of Magic series and had sequels Tournament and Tower (1990), City by the Sea (1990), The Prince’s Players (1990), The Prisoners of Bell Castle (1990), The High King’s Daughter (1990), Mystery at Wizardry School (2003), and Voice of the Ice (2003).

The surprising things were these two books: Mystery at Wizardry School (2003), and Voice of the Ice (2003). Doyle and I did not write them. They were produced and published without our knowledge, without our permission, without our participation, and, needless to say, without paying us.

The Circle of Magic series has six books, and six books only. It is called “Circle” because the end returns to its beginning, and the plots and characters are carefully braided throughout the series.

Again, Mystery at Wizardry School (2003), and Voice of the Ice (2003) are bogus. They are fake. They do not include my plotting or Doyle’s writing, our knowledge of the Middle Ages, our style, or our skill.

These two are pirate books.

To the best of my knowledge they were never released in the United States.

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Debra Doyle, PhD [30 November 1952-31 October 2020]

It is with great sorrow that I report that Debra Doyle, my beloved bride of 42 years, died this evening at 1841 hours. She died of an apparent cardiac event, at home, in my arms.

Doyle at Hadrian's Wall

Doyle at Hadrian’s Wall


Update, 01NOV20:  GoFundMe for funeral expenses (organized by Pippin)

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Krush the Kaiser!

So there I was, reading the 02 November 1918 issue of The Billboard (which is now called just “Billboard,” originally a newspaper for folks who stuck up handbills on walls), when I saw this ad:

https://archive.org/details/billboard30-1918-11

Krush the Kaiser

“KRUSH THE KAISER”

New York is going wild over this novelty and the craze is spreading all over the country.

700,000 ALREADY SOLD

Made of elastic composition. You can make the Berlin Brute appear as ugly as you like and as often as you wish. Everybody wants to twist the Kaiser’s face. A deaf and dumb man could sell them

FAIR WORKERS, CAMP MEN, NOVELTY DEALERS, DEMONSTRATORS

Order now and be the first in your locality to spring

“KRUSH THE KAISER”

PRICES:

$10.50 per gross, $1.25 per dozen

Sample, 15 cents

Certified check or money order must accompany all orders. We are turning out 25,000 of these novelties daily. Your order leaves our factory the same day received.

GET IN ON THE KILLING

Dark flesh color — patented.

SCULPTURAL ART NOVELTY CO., INC. 636 Dean Street, BROOKLYN, N. Y.


Who wouldn’t want one? Or a dozen?

Alas, the bottom was about to fall out of the Krush the Kaiser market about a week and a half later. (Armistice Day: 11 November 1918). I immediately wanted one, more than I wanted a Kellog’s Pep Gy-Rocket. But alas, I haven’t found any for sale anywhere.

So I’ll leave you with this tune to assuage your sorrow:

THE KAISER’S GOT THE BLUES

By Domer Browne and W. C. Handy

You just even know he has! But if you want to tell your audiences about it in a clever and convincing way, write me for it at once. You don’t have to be a BLUES singer to put this “baby” over. A wonderful satire with plenty of “kick” to it.

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Albacon Afternoon

AlbaconAlbacon (one of our favorite cons) has been postponed due to Corona Virus.  But do not despair!   The nice folks who run Albacon are hosting Albacon Afternoon this Sunday from 1:00 to 3:00 pm.  Doyle and I will do a reading, and maybe a bit of discussion.

Alas, the Ice Cream Social will have to be on an individual at-home basis, so lay in some ice cream and toppings, and come to the Zoom-based mini-con.

The Schedule:

  • 1:00 pm Steve Miller and Sharon Lee
  • 2:00 pm Debra Doyle and James D. Macdonald

Register for Albacon Afternoon.

Sunday, August 30, 1:00-3:00 pm Eastern Daylight Time.

 

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Another Movie: Midsommar

Since we were talking about movies, here’s another I saw recently:

Midsommar, written and directed by Ari Aster.  I’d previously commented on another of his movies, Hereditary.

My review of Midsommar:

A group of young adults are too stupid to live.

They don’t.

The end.

This was a tedious, over-long, incoherent remake of 1973’s The Wicker Man with Christopher Lee. Go see that film instead. (NOTE: Avoid, as you would a case of mumps, the 2006 remake of The Wicker Man with Nicholas Cage.)

I see that Midsommar (like Hereditary before it) got all kinds of glowing reviews. I guess I’m just not the audience for Ari Aster’s films. The only way I’ll watch another of his offerings is if I’m playing The Movie Game by the strict rules.


THE MOVIE GAME:

Go to a multiplex in time for the very first showing of the day.  Buy a ticket for the next movie showing that you haven’t already seen.  When it gets out, go back to the ticket booth and buy a ticket for the next movie showing that you haven’t already seen.  Repeat until the end of the last screening of the day.  See the very next movie even if the poster, the trailers, and everything else about the film screams “I’m gonna hate this movie.”

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My New Favorite Movie

A while back I had some computer problems.  As in Black Screen of Death computer problems.  As in Called-MicroSoft and the Level-One-tech-couldn’t-help-me problems.  So that is how I wound up on the phone with a Level Two tech, a nice young man who lives in Mumbai.  The process took quite a while, what with downloading and installing stuff.  And during all this we talked on the phone.

The conversations went hither and yon, with us showing each other pictures of our home towns (he’s from up north, in the mountains where there’s snow, but there are no jobs up there, which is why he’s in the city).  And we talked about films.  His first James Bond film was with Pierce Brosnan in the role, but we agreed that Sean Connery is the iconic Bond.  And … he mentioned his favorite movie.  Since I love movies, I had to go find it, and that is how I came to see Baahubali 2: The Conclusion.

I hunted down a copy, which wasn’t particularly hard because it’s available on all the usual streaming services.  I saw it as a Hindi dub with English subs (which also taught me that “jungle” is a Hindi loan-word in English).  This was a less than ideal way to see the picture, though, because Baahubali in whole is a complicated set of interlocking flashbacks.  You can think of Baahubali 2 as having a five-act structure, of which Baahubai 1: The Beginning is the fourth act.   Which means that, if you haven’t already seen Part 1, when the last act arrives you’ll be wondering who these people are, what they’re doing, and what’s up.

I make a habit of refraining from reading any reviews of movies I plan to see until after I’ve seen ’em, so I arrive fresh and unspoiled.  After seeing the films I read reviews to compare my reaction to other folks’.  In this case, I read things where reviewers compared Baahubali to a cross between The Ten Commandments and Ben Hur, and calling it India’s Lord of the Rings.   To which I say, yeah, it’s like that.  Another reviewer said that Part 1 is lyrical, while Part 2 is operatic.  Which again, I say, is right on.

The whole  show (the length of two double-features back-to-back) has everything: a vile usurper, a lost heir, true love, loyalty, treason, vast battles between good guys who are really good and bad guys who are really bad, prophecies, faith, a young lady made entirely out of butterflies, a bobsled, a spider god what is a spider god and a swan boat what is a swan boat. Speaking of which, did I mention that it’s all-singing, all-dancing? Everyone is also super-good-looking.

I don’t have the cultural background to even begin to understand or even notice all the references and levels of Stuff that’re going on in this picture.  But I know that there are depths here.

Our hero, Baahubali, is the kind of guy who travels with his own personal weather system.  The wind blows his hair back from his face even indoors, when no one else is being affected, nor are silken hangings moved, nor candle flames disturbed.  He also really rocks a turban. Mere physics doesn’t bother him.  Momentum is not conserved.  The geography makes no sense.  Time and distance are flexible things. Historicity is on the level of Hercules: The Legendary Journeys.  No matter. Just go with it.

Baahubali (a guy who knows how to make an entrance) is one of those force-of-nature characters.  Such that I think about what would happen if he wandered into other movies.

Baahubali vs. Captain America:  It’s a tie, unless it ends with a dance-off, in which case Baahubali wins.

Baahubali vs. The Seven Samurai:  The seven samurai notice that, while Baahubali isn’t Japanese, he nevertheless has the samurai spirit.  They nod to him.  Baahubali notices that the seven samurai are all following their dharma.  He nods back to them.  The bandits, however, are bang in trouble.

Baahubali in Ghostbusters:

Gozer the Gozarian: Are you a god?

Baahubali (actual line from movie): I already told you.  I’m Shiva.

What can I say?  Good movie.  Check it out.

(For people interested in trivia, my previous favorite movie was Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels, and before that it was The Devils.)

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