Nothing Is Impossible: The Real-Life Adventures of a Street Magician (12 page)

I was surrounded by a ‘who’s who’ of modern magic. What had I got myself into?

They’re both good friends of mine now, so whoever wants to take the credit, I thank you!

WHILE I WAS
at the centenary celebrations, I got to meet David Copperfield’s assistant and a few of his people, though I didn’t meet the man himself on that trip. A year or so later, I went back to Vegas and connected with Chris Kenner, who is Copperfield’s business partner and right-hand man. Even though I wouldn’t see the man himself again, Chris still had some great plans up his sleeve. ‘So, do you want to come to Copperfield’s place?’ he asked. David wouldn’t actually be there, but I decided that just hanging out in the great man’s lair would be insightful enough for me. I bet you could absorb the magic by osmosis! I jumped at the chance.

To me, David Copperfield is like the Michael Jackson of magic. Copperfield was from the same era as Michael and they are both on a level as performers – true entertainers. Copperfield has won the most awards and has sold more tickets to his own shows than anyone else in the world, ever. He still does over 500 shows a year, sometimes performing two in one night. His wealth is vast; he owns eleven islands and is the world’s largest private collector of magical artefacts.

Although I’d never felt inclined to be like Copperfield in terms of the style of magic that I do, I was certainly inspired by the manner in which he had achieved such greatness. His love for magic was so obvious. It had never been about the money, power
and fame for him; that was just a by-product of his hard work, determination and passion for magic.

I didn’t need to be asked twice to experience a glimpse inside the mind of one of the greatest entertainers of the twenty-first century, so, along with a couple of people, including Danny Garcia, a magician who now works closely with me and who I had met at a conference in Vegas, we arranged to meet Kenner later that evening.

We arrived at a very nondescript-looking street, on the outskirts of Sin City, and all we could see were lots of warehouses. Kenner was waiting for us outside a bra shop, of all places. ‘Welcome, everybody,’ he said, ushering us in through the doors of the lingerie emporium. It turned out that in order to enter Copperfield’s cavern, you had to walk through the lingerie store. When you leave, everyone who has been invited to David’s studio is given a mug from the bra shop! Only those who are in the know, know. I still have that cup in my kitchen today.

We walked through the store, bras and topless mannequins everywhere, until we came to a door. Like the back of the wardrobe leading to Narnia, the entrance opened up into a magician’s box of delights.

Everywhere I looked in the cavernous warehouse were antique posters, original artwork, letters from Houdini, Houdini’s straitjacket, incredible props that had been used by the greats over the years, as well as vast sets from Copperfield’s elaborate shows. What was apparent was how deep his love and respect, for magic went. Going to the warehouse inspired me to read up much more on the history of magic. I don’t know that I’d pass a GCSE in it today, but I left there determined to find out much more about my chosen career.

I finally met the man himself in 2012 when he invited me to see his show in Las Vegas. My friend and I were given front-row seats and treated like royalty. ‘Thanks so much for coming,’ he said when we were introduced after the show, his blue eyes as piercing as I had imagined. It’s funny, people always say that I have unusual eyes too; perhaps it’s the sign of a great magician! ‘Thank you also for telling your Twitter followers,’ he continued.

Apparently they’d had a spike in British bookings because I’d tweeted that I was going. It was just after
Dynamo: Magician Impossible
had been on in America, and I had around 250,000 followers on Twitter. We took a picture together and he not only tweeted me, but he also tweeted links to some clips of my show online. I could only hope to be so gracious and charming when I’ve been in the game for as long as he has.

Never in a million years would I have pictured meeting David Copperfield, let alone winning his respect.

WHENEVER I’VE MET
one of my heroes, it often seems to have happened by chance. Maybe us magicians are all cosmically connected in some weird way? Back in New York, at the Hilton Hotel where I was staying for the conference, I was standing outside when I heard the screech of tyres and the gasp of the crowd. ‘Is that David Blaine?’ squealed a tourist who happened to be passing by.

I looked to where everyone was pointing as Blaine skidded up on his motorbike. His show,
Street Magic
, had been on American television for about a year and he was a total and utter rock star back then. Dressed head to toe in black leather, he got off this gigantic Harley, helping his passenger – the actress, Daryl Hannah – to dismount. I looked at him in awe – not only was he
a famous and respected magician, but he had a hot actress on his arm too. My eyes and mouth were wide open.

‘David, David, can I get a picture?’ Everyone was hassling him for a photo, but I decided to try something a little more subtle. I’d already impressed him with my magic back in the Hilton’s stuffy conference room; here was my chance to show him I was always ready and waiting. He spotted me doing my special shuffle and laughed. ‘OK, kid, let’s see what you got today,’ he grinned. I showed him something new that I was working on, involving a series of complex card effects that he seemed impressed by. He called over his rock star-style friends who were waiting for him in the hotel lobby. ‘Man, this kid’s good,’ he said in his deep rumble, shaking his head. ‘He really knows what he is doing.’ Years later, he kindly allowed me to use those very words on the cover of my first DVD,
Underground Magic
.

And those words will stay with me forever too. For him to say something like that about me was an incredible moment. Like magic, I found it hard to believe.

On that first trip to New York, I not only found my name, but I also learnt that real magic comes from the heart. Without passion and self-belief, I could end up like any of the other thousands of struggling magicians out there. Instead, while everyone else stood around taking pictures of Blaine, I did what I had gone to New York to do: learn the art of magic.

CHAPTER 6

REMEMBER MY NAME

‘I DIDN’T ASK
you to come every day,’ I moaned, hating myself the second the words were out of my mouth. My mum and Nan looked down at me with a mixture of confusion and hurt. ‘Well, fine by us,’ snapped Mum. ‘We won’t bother to come again then.’

As I watched Mum and Nan leave the ward, I felt more miserable and more alone than I’d ever felt in my whole life. I was facing a life-saving, and potentially life-threatening, operation and I’d just pushed away two of the people closest to me.

Just after returning to Bradford from the Houdini celebrations in New York, my Crohn’s worsened. I had been managing it with limited success; I was often very sick and would struggle to get through even a week without some kind of complication. I was constantly in pain and always felt weak.

It got so bad; the pain was so severe that one day I simply couldn’t get out of bed. I lay there, unable to move, trying to deal with the pain that no amount of painkillers seemed able to control. My mum took one look at me and left the room straightaway. ‘I’m calling an ambulance’ she said.

A few minutes later the paramedics arrived. My mum explained my condition and with grave faces they carried me into the ambulance and sped off in the direction of Bradford Royal Infirmary.

It took weeks for the doctors to figure out what was wrong with me. They knew it was my Crohn’s, but they couldn’t work out what was making it so bad. I lay in bed for days on end in serious pain. They put cameras down, cameras up, gave me barium meals, scans and all sorts of tests and drinks, poking and prodding me relentlessly. Finally, after four and a half months of pretty much staring at a ceiling, I was diagnosed with a stomach abscess.

At first I was relieved; they had pinpointed the problem. But then, as the doctor continued to explain the complexities of my condition, fear started to build. ‘You’re in a serious situation, Steven,’ he said. ‘We only really have two options. We can put you on a dialysis machine, which will mean you’ll be in hospital for months to come. That is still being tested, though, so we’re still unsure how successful the procedure will be. It’s a lengthy process and one we’re still not sure will even work. The other option we have is major surgery to remove the abscess and a portion of your small bowel.’