ALEXANDER LEWIS
by Katy Grabel
He was a gentlemen and a teacher; an entertainer and a loyal friend.  He could do a shuffle-off-to-buffalo in a friend's kitchen, teach them Cardini's cigarette thumb grip, and then sit down to regale them with funny stories past midnight.  Al was a teacher at Chavez School of Magic in Los Angeles from 1946 -1951 and at one time instructed the following popular magicians: Channing Pollock, Zicarte, Ralph Pierce, Don Alan, Neil Foster, Albert Ching and Nardoni & Nadine.  Under the name, The Great Alexander, he played venues throughout Southern California and toured extensively on the National School Assembly circuit in the 1960s. He died at age 87 on March 13, 2008. (read more)

When I was a kid Al Lewis would often visit my parent's house. He had been their stage manager in their big illusion show in the 1950s. And even though my parents had retired from the road, their friendship never ceased.

Al never told my parents he was coming to town. He and his wife Betty would suddenly appear at our back patio door. Often they were only passing through, driving to LA or to Florida -- always some place warm by the beach.

 A visit from Al and Betty was always special.  Dad came home from work early and mom kicked off her high heels and started to cook. They opened up bottles of beer and sat around the dining room table laughing at Al's WC Fields jokes and old show biz stories.  He was a natural comedian and always had us laughing.  There were so many funny stories, most of them stemming from his tours with my parents in the Lee Grabel magic show.

One such story was one in which dad was suppose to thank the Lady's Historical Society on stage but instead said, "The Lady's Hysterical Society." As Al reminded them of the blunder, they fell over with laughter.  And then Al would imitate a former assistant who each night would get stuck in the string for the floating lady. He stood up from the table, walked, shook his leg, walked, shook his leg.... And that really had them laughing, bent over at the belly, nearly speechless.

Then Al would go into his patter from his drunk act -- the act he often did in the clubs in southern California.  Knocking his eye glasses askew so they sat crooked on his face, he would pick up his beer bottle by two fingers and slur: "Some weasel took the cork out of my lunch!" And they were laughing once again.

I had never seen my parents laugh this hard. They laughed like they had never laughed before, with all their heart, like they'd been waiting just for this one visit from Alexander Lewis so they could laugh.  Each visit the stories were the same-- yet it didn't matter -- they laughed hard and long like it was the first time.

Al's wife Betty -- a short sturdy woman with a round girlish face --  always sat at the table with a cigarette poised between her fingers. Although she was not married to Al when he traveled with the Lee Grabel show, she got swept up in the hilarity of Al's stories.  Betty could be hard-nosed and stubborn, but it was clear that her soft spot belonged to Al.  And if the Great Lee Grabel dare boasted about anything, she was sure to call him "Mr. Wonderful" with a glint of sarcasm in his eye.

Dad had always said how indispensable Al Lewis was in their show. He was a hard worker and consummate professional on stage. "Your mother and I never could have done it without him," Dad would say.

On each visit Al was sure to do a little sleight of hand around the kitchen... a coin through a bottle or produce a fork from a napkin. What I loved most of all was to see him dance. No sloppy steps around the kitchen but with the style and skill of someone who had once been a professional.    

Al Lewis captivated me with his stories and charmed me with his dancing but nothing made him more glamorous to me than the photo he kept in his wallet.  It was a professional studio shot of Al as a young man in a silky tux holding a cigarette. His resemblance to Clark Gable was uncanny.  I always imagined him sitting poolside in Hollywood with his magic cronies like Zacarte -- the man who threw cards -- and Valteen -- the fire eater.

Through the years, as I got older, I learned that Al was more than a magician and comedian -- he was a truly kind person.  Someone who felt more comfortable giving than receiving, who was always willing to help his fellow magicians. He often offered his props or his time helping another magician develop a routine.  Al was fiercely independent and found it easier to help others than to accept help from others. He preferred to be a good friend and not a social climber.

For someone in show business, Al Lewis was unusually modest. He only bragged about his Chavez students. He would say they were proof of his teaching ability. And that was the only time he boasted.

What many friends did not know was that Al served seven tours of duty in the South Pacific during World War II, when it was recommended that soldiers only serve five. While marching across an open field, Al saved his entire platoon from being ambushed and would have received the Congressional Medal of Honor except that his Lt. was killed before he could finalize the report. Only Al and a few others from his original platoon survived.

Before he died, Al and I exchanged letters. His letters always included at least one very good joke that I would share with others. Once, when I visited him in Santa Maria he was writing patter for a friend's new magic routine.  By his side on the table was a framed poem he had written to Betty-- who died in 2001 -- called "Ode to Betty."    During the visit he told me stories about old vaudeville acts and his days on the road, and he still had me laughing.

We will miss him always.

[Katy Grabel is a writer living in New Mexico; she is also daughter of magician, Lee and Helen Grabel]