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Del Ray would not like this book. It lifts the veil. Secrecy was of supreme importance to Del Ray. Throughout his life, he guarded the secrets of both his professional and personal affairs with a passion. He constantly declined requests for interviews and preferred to have absolutely nothing written in the literature of magic about his achievements. He was steadfast in his refusal to discuss his magic or his ingenuity with anyone. He led a magical life that was, even to his closest of friends, enigmatic. Del Ray passed away on November 18, 2003, after experiencing over five decades of unparalleled show-business successes. He was the magician for his time. Secretly intermingling technology with traditional trickery, he performed miracles of magic that were unique. He was considered the most innovative magician of the 20th century. Believing that the legacy of Del Ray should be perpetuated, three of his friends — Dr. Robert A. Escher, David M. Baldwin, and William E. Spooner — have published the volume that you hold in your hands. It is not an exposé on how to do Del Ray’s magic or emulate his style. The book’s purpose is to preserve the master’s work for you and future generations to admire, respect, study, and hopefully learn from his secrets.

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The notion of publishing a Del Ray book came about soon after Bob Escher, a retired orthodontist and Past International President of the Inter-national Brotherhood of Magicians, discovered he was the recipient of Del Ray’s magic collection. Before he died, Del had expressed his wishes that Bob have everything in the magic room of his house at 2923 Pioneer Avenue in Pittsburgh. This included all the props for Del’s stage and close-up acts, all the magic that he’d built and accumulated over the years, his workshop tools and electronics equipment, boxes upon boxes of motors and magnets, his research library, the scrapbooks and albums stuffed with memorabilia, and even the two harmonicas that accompanied Del on his long, lonely drives across America. (His fondness for playing polkas on his harmonica was a secret he kept from most.) Several days after Del Ray’s funeral, where Bob Escher delivered the eulogy, Bob returned to Pittsburgh to start packing and moving the magic collection. It was at this time that he first met David Baldwin. Bob was more than familiar with Dave, having heard Del talk of him frequently as “the retired businessman and magic collector in New Jersey that I love to build stuff for.” Dave had come to Pittsburgh at the invitation of Del Ray’s niece, Patricia McDermott, who lived in the house on Pioneer Avenue and took care of Del during the last months of his life. Pat told Bob that Del had been insistent that his friend Dave have a “Butch,” one of the drinking bear automatons he’d used in his stage and nightclub act. From the four radio-controlled bears that existed in the collection, Bob was insistent that Dave have the white Butch that Del was using for his final performances. It had the most up-to-date electronics and special effects. That evening, Bob, Dave, and Pat’s husband Bill, sat down to a won-derful dinner Pat had prepared. The conversation, of course, was filled with favorite Uncle Del stories, most of which had grown funnier and even more incredible over the years of retelling. Amid the laughter and tears, Bob Escher made the statement, “I want to write a book about Del Ray.” Dave Baldwin chimed in, “I’m no writer, but if you want a publishing partner count me in.” Bob admitted he was not a writer either, but together they should be able to find one. The rest of the evening was spent exploring the possibili-ties of a Del Ray book. Realizing that technical assistance would be needed to archive the electronics in the Del Ray collection, Escher suggested they give a call to his friend Bill Spooner, a retired science educator (and also a Past International President of the I.B.M.). Having been a fan and friend of Del Ray since 1958, Bill was more than eager to join in the book project. The triumvirate conducted regular conference calls, discussing not only how they’d get the Del Ray book written, but also what its content should be.

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They felt it should not divulge Del’s secrets. But at the same time, it should reveal his genius. He was, in fact, the pioneer performer of magic with elec-tronics. And there could not be a better place than their book to acknowledge his miraculous inventions. As the team continued what would become a two-year search for a writ-er, their pursuits turned “archeological.” With Escher as the point man, the Del Ray equipment was organized, photographed, and inventoried. Spooner analyzed the electronics and summarized his findings in an eighty-page pa-per titled The Magic of Del Ray. Baldwin sought out every frame of Del Ray film and video existent, entering it into a computer database. When the team did find their wordsmith, the research would be ready and waiting.

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I started work on this book in May of 2009. Earlier that spring, I’d visited Bill Spooner at his summer home in Blowing Rock, North Carolina, where he’d told me that the Del Ray book project was at “somewhat of a standstill.” David Ben had agreed to write the book, but had taken on the task with the understanding he wouldn’t have to promise a completion date until he got involved in the project. Over a year had passed and David hadn’t worked on the book enough to provide a deadline. He said that he had too many other jobs, writing and otherwise, in the works to give Del Ray his full attention. “We’d reached the point where we simply had to have a deadline,” Spooner said. “Bob Escher, David Baldwin, and myself wanted to see the book written and published while the three of us were still alive.” About a week after my visit to North Carolina, I got a conference call from Bob, Dave, and Bill. They told me that they’d spoken with David Ben and because he was still unable to give them a deadline, they had mutu-ally agreed to terminate their deal. They asked if I’d be interested in writing the book. I said yes.

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I didn’t have the opportunity to see Del Ray perform until late in his career. He was sixty-six years old, and the occasion was the 1993 Magic Collectors’ Association Weekend, where he was the star of the convention’s opening night show. Naturally, my expectations were high. For years, I’d read and heard nothing but praise for the incomparable magic of Del Ray. However, Jay Marshall,

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who was sitting in the row behind me, forewarned, “You won’t be seeing the Del Ray of yore; the man’s having issues with his health.” Del Ray’s stage act ran a little ragged that night, yet it was marvelous. The magic was impactful, actually stronger than the performer. Jay was right. Del was not feeling well. His wheezing and gasping while performing was disconcerting, and when we were told that he’d collapsed backstage after he finished his act, I honestly feared we’d just witnessed Del Ray’s final curtain. But, fortunately, that was not so. The man was resilient. Despite his chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (COPD), he would continue doing shows and taking big curtain calls for five or six more years. When I first heard of Del Ray’s death in 2003, I was working as the editor of MAGIC magazine. Publisher Stan Allen came into my office and gave me the bad news, saying that he guessed it meant we finally had “clear-ance” to do a cover story on Del Ray. Stan explained by telling about a time in 1994 when he had a discussion with Del about doing an article on him and met with resistance. “Our readers are interested in you,” Stan had told Del. “Come on, let us do a story.” “No, I don’t want a story,” was Del’s reply. “Well, we’re going to do a story,” Stan said. “The question is, are you going to be around to read it or not?” “That’s okay with me,” Del said with a smile. “When I’m not around, you can write your story.” When the time finally did come around, Max Maven penned a won-derful tribute to Del Ray — “the shy dreamer who learned how to manifest the impossible” — for the January 2004 issue of MAGIC. Max’s story was highly personal. It described his first encounter with Del and the influence his close-up act had on him: “It wasn’t a long set; probably fifteen minutes at most. But in that brief amount of time, my life was transformed.” While Max touched on what made Del Ray’s magic real, there was little information about the man behind the magic. That’s because these were the facts of his life that Del Ray never cared to share. It was as if his intent was to keep his background as much of a mystery as was his magic.

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In telling the Del Ray story I have relied heavily on the documentation of his career that had appeared in the magic magazines of the time. The stories and articles from such periodicals as The Linking Ring, Genii, and Hugard’s Magic Monthly were supplemented with the numerous reviews that ran in

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the trade papers, namely Variety and The Billboard. These sources were augmented with information drawn from interviews with almost fifty of Del Ray’s friends and acquaintances. The reminiscenc-es ranged from Bob Filips’ story of two teenagers attending their first magic club meeting together to Dave Baldwin’s recounting of his last phone call from Del two days before he died. The mix of these spoken words with the printed words of the past resulted in the chronological narrative. There was another resource resorted to when necessary, and that was the imagination. However, this was done with judicious care, supposing only what was known to be likely, and even then only when informed speculation could put certain occurrences into their proper context. Where I was unable to explain events or motivations, they were left unexplained, out of respect for their hidden realities. I would like to think Del Ray might have appreciated this approach to telling his story.

— John Moehring July 2010

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More than five hundred magicians and their families and aficionados of the art checked into Philadelphia’s Bellevue Stratford Hotel, June 11th through 13th, 1953. The I.B.M.’s Thursday-through-Saturday convention was packed with stage shows, close-up shows, a carnival game night, an auction, two deal-ers shows, contests, and lectures that ran from nine in the morning till past midnight. In addition, there were showings of General Electric’s “House of Magic” attraction and a preview screening of Paramount Films’ soon-to-be-released Houdini, starring Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh. “There were so many events that only a pair of twins could see everything,” wrote Milbourne Christopher in Hugard’s Magic Monthly. “Memorable were the elegance and slickness of Channing Pollock, the lectures of Fred Keating and John Mulholland, and the ingenuities of Del Ray.” Del Ray was not scheduled to perform until the last day of the convention. The souvenir program listed him appearing on the Saturday afternoon close-up show called Miracles and that evening’s Farewell Stage Spectacular. This was not to say that Del had to wait until the last day to show conventioneers his latest feats of card conjuring. Ever since Thursday, he could be found hang-ing out in the Card Room on the 18th floor of the hotel, where he was part

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of the round-robin performances given by the likes of Slydini, Bert Allerton, Francis Carlyle, Bill Simon, Frank Garcia, Lu Brent, Eddie Fechter, and Dai Vernon (who surprised the convention committee by showing up as a last-minute registrant). Featured on the Miracles show were four masters of close-up who moved from table to table presenting their individual acts: Dr. Jacob Daley with cards and Cups and Balls in “Unforgettable Magic by an Amateur,” Eddie Fechter with dice and coins in “Cyclopean Hands that do Wonders,” Joe Berg whose card effects were “Solid Magic,” and Del Ray with “Magic That’s Indelible.” The hour-and-a-half presentation was a hit, and Del Ray drew the highest acclaim. “What we saw there, especially Del Ray’s mechanical bird, will call for con-versation for years to come,” wrote The Linking Ring editor Alvin R. Plough. “The highlight of the convention,” reported Linking Ring columnist Walter Essman, “was the close-up show that featured Del Ray with a dice routine and card work with a small mechanical bird that was the talk of the convention.” “Del Ray created the most talk with his remote-control singing bird in cage stunt,” agreed Milbourne Christopher in his “Backstage with Frank Joglar” column in Hugard’s Magic Monthly. Talking about Del Ray’s singing bird took up a half page of J.G. Thompson Jr.’s “Focus on Hocus” column in the July Linking Ring:

“A bird in the hand is worth a couple of feathered friends chirping in the bushes, or so the old saw goes. But Del Ray has learned that a bird in the cage is a real asset. One of the best tricks at the conven-tion was not being marketed, and it is doubtful whether a price tag will be attached to it for a long time. It completely captivated everyone by sagely disclosing in dulcet tones what cards had been selected, what the numbers on covered dice were, and other fascinating bits of infor-mation — all upon command of Del Ray, of course, who appeared to be just another onlooker. “Del Ray, about whose superlative close-up act everybody was thrilled, devoted four years to perfecting his mechanical canary to the point where it will sing upon anyone’s command, or turn his head, or close its mouth — a truly amazing performance. The clincher came when Del Ray placed the cage inside a wooden carrying case and gave it to Fred Keating to carry to another close-up table. At a dis-tance of approximately twenty feet, Del Ray stopped Fred and told him to ask the bird to sing. Fred did. The bird did. And Keating’s ex-clamation of “I’ll be *#@xed!” adequately expressed the feelings of all of us.”

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J.G. Thompson’s assertion that Del Ray had “devoted four years to per-fecting his mechanical canary” supports the assumption that the prototype for Del’s singing bird was the Swiss birdcage automaton he’d purchased from Bill Dodson in 1949 (which would have been four years prior to the Philadelphia convention). Del had reinstalled the Secret Invention’s re-ceiver into the base of a larger rectangular birdcage automaton (possibly of German make), but in all probability little of his time was spent modify-ing the remote-control technologies that Dodson had already developed. Instead, his creative energies were devoted to perfecting a “learned bird” routine that was distinctively original. Del Ray’s talkative canary was much like the infamous Learned (pro-nounced lern-ed) Pig of the early 19th century — a creature that seemed able to count and intelligently answer questions. But instead of being a barn-yard animal trained to respond to secret verbal or gestural cues, it was a me-chanical bird that was secretly controlled by radio frequencies. Hidden in the base of the cage was a receiver that actuated the spring-wound motor, which animated the bird and caused it to start and stop singing. The transmitter was concealed on Del Ray’s body and was operated by a toe switch. Remote controlling a mechanical device via radio frequencies was no great mystery in the 1950s. People were more than familiar with radio-con-trolled model airplanes, garage door openers, and guided missiles for example. However, if radio control was used in a subtle manner, so that the notion of technology was not associated with the cause of an effect, it had the potential to create mystery.

By the time of the Philadelphia IBM convention, Del Ray had replaced Dodson’s Swiss-made birdcage with a larger radio-controlled Singing Bird of his own devising.

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What made Del Ray’s birdcage effect a mystery was not how he disguised the method for controlling the bird; instead, how he controlled the artificial intelligence of the bird. It appeared that Del Ray could read the bird’s mind and, in turn, the bird seemed to know exactly what he was thinking. It was about brainwaves, not radio waves. Del Ray’s Singing Bird routine was a mod-ern-day Second Sight act.

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Though the Singing Bird had made auspicious appearances with Del Ray in early 1953 — when he worked close-up at the Ankara nightclub and at Jackie Heller’s Carousel in Pittsburgh, and at Leon & Eddie’s in New York City — the Philadelphia I.B.M. convention that summer was the first time the routine was unveiled for audiences of magicians only. When Del Ray was introduced to an audience he had a disarming yet disconcerting way of keeping his head down and averted. He avoided eye-to- eye confrontation with the people clustered around the close-up table and focused his attention on getting his props in place before uttering a word. He unlocked a walnut-stained wooden box from which he removed an eight-inch-high gilded cage containing a small feathered bird. He tossed a pack of playing cards onto the table and rather than ad-dressing the audience he asked the bird, “Do you want to show these folks a little trick?” The bird ruffled his feathers and chirped three times. “He says he does.” Then turning to the bird Del said, “You got to remem-ber to always keep your tail up.” The bird cocked his head, quickly pointed his tail upward, and chirped twice. “Now he says he’s really ready.” Two cards were picked. One of them was removed from the deck and hidden in a spectator’s pocket. The other was a card that was merely thought of (actually peeked at). As two fans of cards were shuffled together with a flourish, the bird was challenged to reveal the card’s identities. “It’s your job to find the cards. Do you understand?” Two warbles and a chirp emanated from the cage. “He says no problem.” The uncanny antics of the bird were getting laughs, but it was Del’s unique manner of expression that had the audience thoroughly amused. He had the husky voice of a longshoreman. His diction was far from polished and reflected his working-class background. Yet there was warmth and charm in

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his deliberate humor. And from the way he talked, Del Ray was the last person on the planet you would suspect of employing technology to trick you. Del then removed a $50 bill from his pocket and told the audience, “If the bird doesn’t find your card, fifty dollars comes your way, compliments of me.” Packets of cards were cut from the deck and fanned in front of the bird-cage until the bird broke into a short singsong. “The bird thinks the card’s in this part of the deck.” Then Del told the bird, “That’s my fifty dollars that’s on the line, but remember, Buster, it’s your neck.” The bird turned his head, raised his tail, and chirped loudly. “He says it was a red card.” More chirps. “A Heart? Yeah?” Another prolonged chirp. “The bird says you are thinking of the Queen of Hearts.” The spectator took the card from his pocket. It was the Queen. The other chosen card was found when a dozen or so cards were spread faces down on the table. “Point to the backs of the cards one at a time and the bird will tell you when you touch your card. And, remember, if the bird is wrong, the fifty dollars is yours, compliments of me.” The spectator put her finger on the backs of the different cards until the bird sang out. “Hold it! Keep your finger right there.” More chirps. “Keep in mind… if the bird misses, he’s only human.” The bird whistled loudly. “He’s telling me you peeked at the Three of Clubs.” The card was turned over and it was indeed the Three of Clubs. There was a chirp of glee from the cage, to which Del Ray replied, “Thank you.” He gave the deck a couple of flourishy shuffles (“Don’t ever try this in a game… it might arouse suspicion.”) and went into a two-card transposi-tion where the $50 bill again came into play. No matter which of the two cards a spectator placed his “bet” on it was the wrong one. “This fifty-dollar bill is getting a little shabby… I’ve had it eleven years.” Del’s four-Ace routine, which was a hybrid derived from McDonald’s Aces and Brother John Hamman’s Final Aces, confounded the cognoscenti, as both of these effects were not published or on the market yet. A razzle-dazzle routine of dice stacking was next. Four different colored dice were tossed onto the table. Del inverted a leather dice cup and proceed-ed to sweep up the dice one at a time with the mouth of upside-down cup. When the cup glided to a stop on the tabletop and it was lifted, all four dice were balanced one atop the other. The spotted cubes were swiftly picked up by pairs, then by colors called for, and always when the cup was lifted they were neatly stacked four high. Del asked a spectator to call a number between one and six. The dice were rapidly swept into the cup, and when it was lifted, on the face of the top die was the very number chosen. Dice

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then started penetrating the tabletop one, two, and three at a time, and just when everybody was sure the dice were rattling around underneath the cup they all disappeared. “No dice!” Del produced a fresh pair of ivories and gave the bird a chance to get back into the act. Handing the dice to a man on the front row, he asked the bird, “Can you tell us what number this gentleman is going to roll?” The bird turned his head and chirped. “He says it’s nooo problem.” Then, by responding to Del’s questions the bird not only predicted the number that would be rolled — a five — but also predicted the combina-tion of the spots — a two and a three — that would make up the five. And the bird even let another spectator pick how many times the dice would be rolled out — four times — before the spots on the dice would total five. Sure enough, on the fourth try the gentleman rolled out a two and a three. And the bird continued to know exactly what numbers would come up when a half-dozen other rollers tried their hand at winning the $50 bill. For his final effect Del Ray announced, “Somebody will get a chance to win the singing bird, the birdcage and the wooden carrying case, and fifty dollars, all compliments of me.” Del put the cage with the bird in the wooden box and counted out six keys, telling the audience that only one of the six keys would open the lock. In other words, there were five “bad” keys and only one “good” one. He asked a lady on the front row, “Try all the keys on the lock. Put the bad ones aside, and when you come to the one that opens the box keep it separate.” Once the good key was found it was dropped into a glass. Then Del asked her to add all the bad keys to the glass and mix them up. “Remember only one of them works… Dump them all out on the table... Whoever picks the right key gets a chance at the bird, the box, and the $50 bill... compliments of me. “Oh, I forgot to tell you I get a chance too,” Del said with a grin. He informed that after five people had selected a key, the sixth key that was left would be his. And, as they picked their keys, any one of the partici-pants could switch keys with one another or with Del, and they could switch as many times as they wished. Once everybody was satisfied with their picks, Del’s leftover key was dropped into the glass and pushed to the center of the table. One at a time, each person tried his or her key. And one at a time, each could not open the lock. Finally, Del asked someone to take his key from the glass and try it. It opened the box. “Hey, I won the bird!” Del said with a coy smile. The audience jumped to their feet and gave Del a rousing ovation. “You made that little bird very happy… Me, too,” he said as he furtively gathered up his props and

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headed for the next close-up table.

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Del Ray was given the penultimate spot on Saturday’s Farewell Stage Spec-tacular at the Philadelphia convention. The other performers on the two-and-a-half-hour show were Fred Keating, Johnny Giordmaine, Henri, Doris Faye, Nivelli, The Mystics (telepathy act), and A’ree. In his review of the show, Genii editor Bill Larsen Sr. wrote: “If all I said was that you missed the best magic show that was ever assembled, I would be telling the truth and no one who was present would doubt me. Fred Keating emceed and sparked the show right along with Del Ray stealing the thunder from all the acts from all of the shows. He has the most mod-ern and most unusual magic act that you or anyone will ever see. Mark my words, Del Ray’s act will be the most imitated and copied act in the busi-ness within five years. Why? Because Del Ray has given his act plenty of thought and built it right. I say it is the magic act of tomorrow!” “Mark up a real hit!” wrote Milbourne Christopher in his Hugard’s Magic Monthly review. “Del Ray worked smoother than he did a few weeks ago at the N.Y. Palace. His many original touches and novelties knocked the boys for a loop, including emcee Keating, who gave him a glowing testimonial. Add to the Palace review from two months ago a strong–selling Rising Cards feat, with Del Ray in the audience and the cards on his table on the stage. Top notch!” Distinguished magic writer John Mulholland, who had lectured at the convention on the first day, would never have the opportunity to review or comment on Del Ray’s performance in The Sphinx, the prestigious magic magazine he’d edited and published since 1930. That was because Mulholland had announced, “As of June 1, 1953, publication of The Sphinx was suspended.” However, some months later Mulholland would tell Jay Marshall that he considered Del Ray to be “the Robert-Houdin of the 20th century.” Beginning in the 1840s, Eugene Robert-Houdin (called the “Father of Mod-ern Magic” by John Northern Hilliard) had employed electrical mecha-nisms and electromagnets to actuate trigger releases in his Shower of Coins, Crystal Casket, and the Light and Heavy Chest. He also used an electromag-net to operate his Spirit Bell, which would ring out answers to questions. Mulholland marveled that Del Ray had eliminated the concealed electrical wires that were necessary in Robert-Houdin’s day by making use of (then) modern vacuum-tube radio control technologies.

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In Hugard’s Magic Monthly, the nicest compliments paid a magician were the “Hu-Gardenias” that editor Jean Hugard awarded to those he felt merited distinction for their efforts in furthering the art of magic. In the July 1953 issue of the magazine, Del Ray was singled out for his I.B.M. con-vention appearances and was honored with a gracious and sincere tribute:

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AcknowledgementsThe first thank you goes to the publishing team of David Baldwin, Bob Escher, and Bill Spooner for providing the opportunity to write a book about Del Ray. Enough gratitude cannot be given to Del Ray’s close friend Bob Filips for sharing the important facts of life that made me a believer in his conviction that “magic was the only thing in Del Ray’s life that really mattered.” Del Ray’s niece, Pat McDermott, and her husband Bill provided answers to questions about Del, the “gentle man,” and his relationship with Anne King, his wife and booking agent. This volume owes a big debt to Ask Alexander, the online database of Bill Kalush’s Conjuring Arts Research Center. By the time I got involved in the book project, Bill Spooner had already printed out over 500 of Alex-ander’s pages referencing Del Ray. These pages were chronologically linked to create a timeline that became the backbone of the biographical portion of the book. Those helpful with research were David Ben, George Daily, Michael Perovich, Ken Price (Palmer House Archives), Don Wiberg, and James Klodzen (curator of the American Museum of Magic). James B. Alfredson, Ken Klosterman, Frank Furkey, and Mike Caveney’s Egyptian Hall provided access to their files of Bill Dodson correspondence referencing Del Ray. Milbourne Christopher and Frances Ireland Marshall must be recog-nized as the first writers to give Del Ray a place in the pages of magic history with their detailed reviews that appeared in Hugard’s Magic Monthly and The Linking Ring. Thanks go to The Linking Ring editor Samuel Patrick Smith and Genii editor Richard Kaufman for permission to excerpt Del Ray material from their publications. Among the many who shared their personal experiences and reminiscences of Del Ray were Stan Allen, Stephen Bargatze, Bev Bergeron, Walter Blaney, Dr. Bradley J. Brown, David Brumble, Chuck Caputo, Paul W. Chellgren, Tim Conover, Oran B. Dent, Paul Diamond, Gus Freitag, Don Greenberg,

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Jack Greenberg, Denny Haney, Max Howard, David Kleiber, Bob Kohler, Bill Miesel, Hank Moorehouse, Amado “Sonny” Narvaez, Rick Neiswonger, Sherrell Nunnelley, Jon Racherbaumer, Adele Friel Rhindress, Harry Riser, Terry Roses, Nick Ruggiero, John Slicer, Stan Spence, David Stahl, Joe Stevens, Dan Stapleton, John Thompson, and Dr. Randall Valentine. A special acknowledgement goes to Paul Gertner, who suggested contact-ing his first magic teacher, Ron Slanina. As it turned out, Ron was a good friend of Del’s and one of the few magicians, if not the only one, invited to Del’s home in Pittsburgh, where he witnessed confidential demonstrations of the Close-up Table as it was being developed. Thanks to the late Jay Marshall for his candid opinions expressed during a night-before-Halloween interview in 1999. Jay felt Del Ray was bipolar, “as all great magicians should be,” he said, citing how Del was compassionate and caring on one hand, yet guarded and always suspicious on the other. Bill Spooner thanks Devin Lushbaugh for his assistance with the elec-tronic analysis of major items in the Del Ray collection, as well as recognizes Lynn Covey for his sharing of early Del Ray apparatus and other materials. Bill also acknowledges Dr. Henry T. Perkins, internist, for his medical opin-ion of Del Ray’s respiratory difficulties after viewing various videos, citing chronic obstructive pulmonary disease as the problem, noting that direct and second-hand smoke from a lifetime of work in smoke-filled environments con-tributed heavily to the disease. David Baldwin wishes to acknowledge the contributions of video mate-rial from Tom Craven, Marc DeSouza, George Franzen, Geoffrey Hansen, Michael Kam, Joseph Long, Bill McIlhany, Dr. Bill Nagler, Obie O’Brien, Gary Plants, George Robinson Jr., Jeff Spiller, and Bill Wells. Bob Escher thanks Kenna Thompson for his assistance in wrangling the Del Ray collection (all the magic including the Butches, Singing Birds, table for Little Willie, and the boxes of rabbits, frogs, and other talented toys) from Pittsburgh to Louisville. The majority of the photos and graphics used in the book are from Del’s personal scrapbooks. Supplying additional photography were Eddie Ace (Pacacha), H. Rick Bamman, Paul Capito, Irving Desfor, Richard Hughes, Jim Morrison, Gary Plants, Paul Smith, Bill Spooner, Ken Trombly, Scott Wells, and Larry Wilfong. A special thanks goes to my brother-in-law, Frank Haley, who did the illustrative photography for the trick section. Lindsay Smith proofread the final manuscript. Dexter Cleveland copy-edited Gary Plant’s trick write-ups and helped cobble together the Index. Chuck Romano, author of The Art of Deception, created the layout and book design.