Cards were desired to go missing and then reappear obeying their plump, mystifying master. A button neatly fastened was ripped loose from the vest of Senator Mark Hanna. As quickly, it mended to the original cloth untainted by it's miraculous trip through time and space. Another Senator, Holly, had a ripped card reappear and restore whole in minutes.

At the time, Malini was 32 years old and had a full hear of hair. Miraculous? Not really, it's just that most pictures of him show him with a hat or later in life when he had less hair. The cigar was most always present. They said he had an endless variety of tricks. He was a one man circus. He fraternized little with magicians, his methods being to sly for amateurs' understanding. His was a misdirection (the art of getting you to look in the wrong place at the right time) of showmanship and acting: tenets rarely visited by the less-than-regular conjurer.

In 1902 he was addressed as a "wizard" who did not "juggle" the cards. Such words are more the lexicon of Malini's recently past 19th century. Malini was a 19th century man.

The first word for magician in English is "joglar." It comes from the French "jongleur." It means, appropriately enough, to "juggle." To move things around. Many cup and ball workers were called "cup and ball jugglers" in many parts of the world before the word "magician" ever had common parlance.

Another word that described Malini, from his self definition, was "mountebank."

It means, quite literally, "to mount a bank." Or, to seek the higher ground. Why would one seek higher ground? Simple. So they could be seen, like standing on a stage. Malini was a mountebank. He mounted the banks of J. P. Morgan, Cornelius Vanderbilt and John D. Rockefeller as well as nearly every other magnate of the Industrial Age. Among J. P. Morgan's papers from 1913 I found a check written to "Malini the magician" for two thousand dollars. That is the equivalent of $12,500 dollars in today's currency. There is no notation in Morgan's ledger concerning the great expense, though it is likely Malini entertained Morgan and his guests.

At the Saratoga Springs Hotel in upstate New York, the little conjurer stood with the motion picture mogul, Jack L. Warner. They spied the horse track. Each drank whiskey. "From Poland to Polo, not so bad Max " Warner opined. Malini sighed.

Malini literally traveled the world. He gave more command performances before royalty and world leaders than any magician of the 20th century. He also gave the appearance of having made alot of money, even if he were broke. He blithely laughed that "if one wanted to make money, one had to fraternize with those who had money." Simple enough. Like many in the times he lived, it was feast or famine for him. John Booth writes that Mailini lived well because he was the guest of welathy people, but as a man of means, he lived the showmans salary -- profitable when working, greatly conservative in lesser earning periods.

Malini died shortly after entertaining American troupes in 1942. He was seated in a chair in Honolulu, having been too weak to stand. A genuine legend has grown up around this titan of conjuring. Unlike those who only have the hype (such as today's instant celebrities), Malini actually deserves the laurels of praise.

There will never be another like him, for he was a character who capatilized on the innocence of the times in which he lived. Malini had an enigmatic personality and methods well ahead of his time. His work can be truly appreciated today, nearly a hundred years after his hey day because his magic has stood the test of time; a feat distinctly Malini.

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