Philadelphia Weekly

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Photo by Paul F. Montgomery

In the world of Philadelphia magic, Joe Grasso is quite literally the man upstairs. Just below the Old City apartment he shares with his wife, you’ll find a sanctuary for fire-eaters and escape artists. Grasso’s Magic Theatre is a speak-easy for prestidigitation.

Grasso doesn’t have any cards up his sleeves. Frisk him and you won’t find any pigeons or rabbits or spools of multicolored streamers either. That’s because Joe Grasso isn’t a magician. He’s a contractor.

Six years ago he began work on Grasso’s Magic Theatre in a space on Callowhill once used for storing cheese. He salvaged the curtains, sconces and other fixtures from abandoned churches, conjuring a Vaudevillian atmosphere of showmen and spectacle. Framed posters of early 20th-century illusionists like Carter and Thurston are glossy reproductions. The newspaper clippings documenting his son Michael’s appearances as an internationally renowned magician are originals.

Grasso is eager to tell you about Michael’s success in India, where he performed for some 22 thousand spectators, including the country’s president. When Michael isn’t touring, he appears in his father’s Mid Week Magic shows, fusing sinews of rope and summoning playing cards between his fingers. Or at least, that’s what he appears to be doing.

 Michael is the kind of magician who makes you believe, if only for a few minutes, the laws of physics aren’t all that rigid. No smoke. No mirrors. Michael and the performers who take the stage at Grasso’s know their craft like the carefully marked back of a playing card. The stage patter and presentation may be unique to the artists, but many of these vanishes and feats of dexterity are time-honored maneuvers. Traditionally, such skills were passed down in the back rooms of urban magic shops, but specialized retailers have become relatively scarce in most cities.

Philadelphia has seen its share of hole-in-the-wall magic shops over the years, but according to local magician Mike Miller, “They just vanish.” Miller was born in Olney and often performs at Grasso’s. If he’s not on the bill, you can sometimes find him running the lights or observing the fledgling illusionists from the back row. He has a vested interest in their sleight of hand. This summer during an annual conference in Buffalo, Miller will be named president of the Society of American Magicians, a title Harry Houdini carried back in 1917. As president, Miller will travel the world promoting membership in the oldest fraternal organization of both performing magicians and laymen enthusiasts. According to Miller, Philadelphia hosts the second largest S.A.M. branch worldwide, with 100 registered members. If the figures seem small, remember that magic is a trade built around secrecy. The seventh provision of the Society’s charter stipulates that magic shouldn’t be exposed, whether purposefully or through “ill-prepared performance.” So for Miller, nurturing the young talent at Grasso’s—one of only five U.S. theaters of its kind dedicated solely to magic—means the survival of an art form.  

It’s Saturday night, and the magicians are setting up their props. Grasso’s is a small theater with church pews on either side of a center aisle. All that separates the audience from the backstage area is a glittering, fireproof curtain. A handful of patrons shuffle to their seats.  A man and his son test out a trick wand purchased at the front counter. The event’s emcee Francis Menotti paces in the vestibule, double-checking the pockets of his well-pressed suit. Meticulous preparation is crucial for tonight’s performance. If he reaches for a poker chip and it isn’t there, the trick’s a wash.     

“Rudy has the night off,” Miller says as he emerges through the curtains with a small crate. “We just did a children’s show this afternoon and I didn’t want to leave him in the car.” He opens the crate and sets it on an empty seat in the audience so the kids can have a look. Rudy, an albino rabbit, doesn’t flinch as several hands reach out to stroke his ears.

“How long have magicians been pulling rabbits out of hats?” asks a young mother.

Miller considers this, unsure of an exact date. “It’s the second oldest profession,” he answers. The adults chuckle. The mother’s little red-haired girl looks up from the rabbit.

“What’s the oldest?” she asks. A louder chuckle. The adults turn to Miller with uneasy grins.

“Doctor,” the magician replies with little hesitation. He heads off to check the music cues in the booth. “Doctors and then magicians.”

Magic is an old profession, but a persistent one. Each week at Grasso’s, local performers swallow fire and walks barefoot over broken glass. Pigeons and poker chips materialize from the darkness. The audience doesn’t number in the thousands or include India’s ruling class. But the two kids in the third row are beaming so wide it hardly matters. Magic is in it for the long haul.