Nielson, Norm (1934 - 2020)

"Super Star" is a title invented by the Madison Avenue/Television Network complex who set our standards in the world today. They went as far as they could go with the "Star" billing, so they moved it up to "Super Star."

There is only one real way to tell who is a Super Star and who isn't, and that's by the level of the people willing to buy said personality. You can be the greatest, technique-wise, but until your name is up in the right set of lights, you don't count for much among the in crowd.

Norm Nielsen has floated violins at the Riviera and the Dunes, in Las Vegas, Harrah's, Lake Tahoe, the Nugget, Sparks, Nevada. He has delighted audiences with his tuned coin ladder at the Savoy in London, the Casino de Paris, the Tivoli in Copenhagen, the Fiskartorpet in Helsinki, the Neraida in Athens, and the Tamanaco Hotel in Caracas. Everybody who is anybody makes it a point to be seen at the Crazy Horse in Paris, and incidentally to watch the show. Norm Nielsen played that show several times, and has only to agree, to play it again. And what about Tito's -- called the most beautiful club in Europe? The international audience flocks to Tito's, (in Palma, Majorca) because the rest of the beautiful people of the world flock there. This particular show they enjoy very much because it is so unique. The back wall of the restaurant lowers at show time, and the blue Mediterranean, stretching for miles, becomes the back drop of the stage. Norm Nielsen caught fans of cards on that stage, floated and vanished the violin, produced handful s of coins to pour into the tinkling coin ladder, and for one enchanted moment, played his silver flute and vanished it in a shower of sparkle. None of the magnificent clubs he played outdid him in showmanship, splendor of performance, and appeal to the international set. Which is why he could spend the rest of his career moving from one to the other, always in demand, always to the sound of applause.

That, dear reader, is being a Super Star, and it doesn't come easily. In fact, there is no real formula. Even Norm doesn't know quite how he did it -- but here's the story.

Kenosha, Wisconsin, is about 75 miles north of Chicago, right on the lake. Norm Nielsen (it's his real, legal name) was born there on February 17th, 1934. His father was a Danish baker in a day when "Danish" was not synonymous with sugar buns from a Jewish delicatessen. Mr. Nielsen came from three generations of bakers working in Denmark. He broke the chain by stowing away on a ship to America, where he immediately became a baker. When he married and had children, it was in the old tradition that they too should become bakers.

As a boy, Norm obediently took his turn working before and after school at his father's bakery, along with his brothers. He was now a fourth generation baker and should have been more than content. Actually, he hated it sincerely, and longed for the day he could get away from the atmosphere of flour and sugar, of pan washing and minddulling scrubbing. With his temperament, something was bound to catch Norm's attention and lead him into another life, and it was really only chance that that attraction was magic. One part of Norm's life was his work at the bakery. The part that should have been his home life was sadly affected by his mother's illness, so that his father had to put the children in an orphanage from time to time, so that he could continue to work. An older brother was in the Navy, but two other brothers and a sister, plus Norm, were all school children. A local barber, one Herman Raditz, did magic at night in the town bars, and a gas station mechanic (Ralph Pharr) knew a few tricks. Norm discovered and was fascinated by the magic he saw done by these local friends, and even more fascinated when they taught him some tricks He was woefully shy and inclined to be a weak youngster, which made him very anxious to find something of his own to cling to. Magic seemed to be that thing -- his own precious possession that helped to mask the rest of his not-too-happy life.

Even stronger inspiration showed up when a Houdini Club Convention was held in the next town. Norm went, and saw more magic and magicians than he ever thought existed in the whole world. Neil Foster and Al Sharpe were on the show and that did it for Norm. From that moment on, he knew he had to be a magician himself.

He had plenty of handicaps. Besides being shy and not very strong, he stuttered and feared being in front of people. He told his father about his ambitions.,, and, as might be expected, met with instant disapproval. A man trying to raise a family by himself isn't going to think kindly of a son who wants to go into show business. As fate would have it, Norm's brother, who did enjoy the baking business and might have bridged the gap, was killed in a motorcycle accident about that time. Norm took another deep breath and plunged back into working at the bakery before and after school.

But he never let a moment of the rest of his day go by without preparing for his future. He took as many art classes as he could in his four years in high school, he took speech classes to overcome the stutter and to perfect himself in addressing a group. He tried to make himself ready to play a show.

The show, the first one, was a Christmas show at the Masonic Temple - for money! The kids moved very close, as they always do, and Norm's mind kept going back to the rabbit he had in the dove pan, plus the rest of his fifteen minutes of tricks. He suffered during that first show, but he did it. He proved to himself that magic can be made to pay. At the end of high school, with his mother ill, and his father still obdurate on the subject of magic as a life's work, Norm took all his courage in his hands and announced he was going to California. He drove out there with a friend who was going to take some other kind of training, but Norm made for the Chavez School and signed up. He also went to Lockheed and got hired for the graveyard shift. The Chavez School was everything he dreamed of, and his idol, Neil Foster, while not there at that time, was always in his mind as his inspiration.

When he was laid off by Lockheed, he became a busboy in a restaurant. He didn't care what he did, as long as it enabled him to stay and study at the Chavez School. He had several lucky breaks which were most helpful. He auditioned for, and got, a spot on a local TV show. And he picked up some realistic magic experience by working for a time in the school circuits with Chuck Kirkham, an excellent magician. Norm was in the Chavez School for three years, during which time he became a most skillful manipulator. He created a top flight act of cards, coins and cigarettes, and he was ready for the world. The world wasn't ready for him, tho, as an agent told him during an interview.

There were literally hundreds of acts doing the same thing and there was no future in magic for Norm if he just delivered back what he had learned. He began to dream up an act based on his wide knowledge, but very, very different in its final presentation. The draft was hanging over his head, and he applied for Special Services, but the draft came too soon and he was sent to Japan. He found he could manage to do magic even tho in the army, and learned enough Japanese to translate his brief patter. He played some Japanese night clubs and saw his name up in letters, if not in lights, and in Katakana - the language method used for spelling foreign words. Among other things he developed here was a vanishing beer bottle - a speciality not in his present act.

As happened with many other acts, after Norm left his old outfit in the States, they told him he had been called for Special Services, but the actual orders never caught up with him. In his sixteenth month in Japan, the Red Cross arranged for him to return to Kenosha for the funeral of his mother. His tour of duty was almost up, so he remained in the States.

Norm was a man now, able to make his own decisions, and there was only one way he wanted to go -- into show business. He went to work at the Robert's Show Lounge in Chicago, doing a manipulative act, lots of Chavez touches, but beginning to lean toward his dream of what an act could be like. Heritage is a strange thing -- it is not to be denied. Norm came from a family who worked artistically with their hands - no matter what the medium they worked in. He began to feel stirrings of this need to create tangible beauty when he became acquainted with Okito, then living and working in Chicago. Okito made some of the most beautiful magical equipment ever offered, but he had little desire to pass his knowledge and ideas on to anyone else. Now he met this enthusiastic young exsoldier, graduate of a famous magic training school, student of a dozen or more courses in the arts, and he felt that here was the man who might carry on the great Okito tradition.

To further all this, Norm took special courses in wood working, increased his knowledge of tools, and studied all he could at the Extension University at Kenosha. (Another phase of his life slid into place there also, when he met the girl he would later marry. The marriage has since been ended). Norm continued to work with Okito, but the old man was growing older and weaker. A poignant moment was when Norm had to bring a finished "Triangle Mystery" to the nursing home for Okito's keen eyed inspection and final approval. It was the last trick Norm was able to check out with him. Altho Norm had much information on the Okito methods, it was hard working without the master's help. Even so, many beautiful Norm Nielsen/Okito pieces are now held in collections. One can hope there will be more to come.

No magic convention show is complete without at least one "Nielsen" vanishing cage. Some of these are actually "Nielsen" cages - he made a very few, mostly for select customers. All the others are copies, ranging from very bad to fair - and while imitation is a sincere form of flattery, it is unfortunate that this beautiful and breath-taking effect should be turned out like sausage. One can hope there will be more true "Nielsen" cages in the future.

The making of the cage came as a result of the desire of John Thompson (no mean mechanic himself) to have such a cage, the mechanical brains of Louis and Christie, old show biz friends of John's, working on it, and the drafting of the artistic talents of Norm Nielsen to make a Super-Star trick out of it.

All this shop work happened at a time when Norm, now a married man with small children, stilled his yearning to hear his opening music, and started a magic shop and manufacturing plant. He wasn't unhappy, because he thoroughly enjoyed making fine magic. He wasn't thoroughly happy because his destiny lay just outside the sound of the lathe and the stroke of the paint brush.

"There comes a tide in the affairs of men which, taken a flood, leads to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their lives is bound in shallows and in misery." True? It must be.

It was a hot and sticky day in Chicago, summer of 1965. The little theatre of Magic, Inc. boasts no air conditioning, and the fan was no help against the gathering thunder-storm heat. Norm Nielsen was in that theatre, trussed up in a black tail suit, stiff white collar holding his head high, gleaming white shirt front trying hard not to wilt. His throat was dry, his hands fought to be steady.

Seated with the tiny audience was a white haired, slightly over-weight man in shirtsleeves, sweat pouring down his face and the back of his shirt stuck to him. He ignored the heat. He was a pro, doing a job. He was Mark Leddy, agent for the far famed Sullivan Show, come there to privately audition Norm Nielsen. Norm ignored the heat. He was a pro, come to do a job. He wanted to go into show business. He wanted to be what he didn't know existed, at the time - a Super Star.

Six months later, he went to New York to do the Sullivan Show. See how fate plays with an artist like a cat with a mouse. At the rehearsal, they told Norm he had to cut - he was running over to me and thereby throwing off the schedule of the other acts. He only had to cut by a few minutes, but he was set to do the violin sequence, and to cut meant to re-choreograph. He only had 45 minutes to do it. So, he dropped the violin in the dressing room. Not on purpose. Just because that's the way it goes on the way to Super-Stardom.

The bow was split. He had no spares, but he had glue that took 30 minutes to dry. He went into a fast repair job, worked furiously at the new choreography, then went thru the dress rehearsal with flying colors. Everybody went out to eat, to rush back for the evening show, which was live, on the network. Mark met him in the dressing room and explained as kindly as he could that the show was running too long, the powers-that-be were making a decision to choose between Norm and the comedienne, and chances are he would be dropped out of tonight's lineup. The same kick in the stomach Norm felt so many times before took over, and he hardly heard Mark assure him he would be used "in the fall."

Some months passed before he had a call from Mark Leddy. They were putting together a 20th Anniversary Show for Sullivan and Mark could offer a free trip to New York and expenses. "It might lead to something, Norm," the wise old agent coaxed and Norm went. By now he had added the vanish of the violin, which is very, very strong. Norm was hardly back in Kenosha after doing the New York show when Mark Leddy was on the line again. "Come back immediately, the Sullivan Show is yours." Today's readers may not realize that for over twenty years the Ed Sullivan Show was THE place to be. It made a career for almost any act that did well on it - and unless you did well, you didn't have much chance to be on it.

Our boy did well, of course. He went on to the Dean Martin Show, and others, worked with the Mitzi Gaynor Show at the Riviera in Vegas, went to Europe for the Casino de Paris, and on and on, always further into that rarified atmosphere of the act that is in demand. His personal life was a quiet one. For a while his wife and family were with him, and after the divorce, he had the children on occasion during European stays.

One Super Star attracts another - so he worked with Ann Margret at the International Hilton in Las Vegas - and again at the Crazy Horse Saloon in Paris. He has played this top spot three times and will return as soon as he can fit in the time. This spot is one of the best paying in Europe, attracts the international set and the sophisticates among the Parisians. It is owned by Alan Bernadin who, if he likes an act, keeps it on for months. He operates a full house all the time, despite the $35 cover charge, no meals, two drink minimum.

Norm has put a great deal of thought and work into the most unusual floating violin, the bow of which plays a tune as it moves, and the cloth which now reveals and now hides the instrument. The cloth flies into the air in a soft mass when the violin vanishes, and falls to the floor in a gentle heap. It is to the great credit of our profession that nobody has tried to make a cheap copy -- or even an inexpensive one. Don't -- for the love of magic!

Even a Super Star has to enlarge his orgit sometime, there are ruts even in celestial circles. Norm is ready. In 1976 he played a part in a Sidney Pollock movie, which called for a magician. The movie involves racing cars, a crash a Le Mons, a show done for hospital patients, etc. etc. But see it yourself. It is called "Bobby Deerfield" and will be released in April.

During his various movements around the world, Norm has made many friends and renewed acquaintance with various magicians. Last year in Madrid, he located Frakson, whom he first met in Joe Berg's shop in Los Angeles. Frakson is now 84, never goes out at night, but broke the rule to show up three nights in a row at Norm's show, with brother magicians. Here Norm also ran into John Booth, on one of his many lecture expeditions.

As any woman in magic can tell you, Norm Nielsen is one of the most attractive and eligile bachelors in our midst. However, he is conditioned by an occupational hazard. In all those great show rooms we listed at the beginning of this article, besides the variety acts, there are always lines of girls. These dance lines are made up of real pros in the business, beautifully built, long legged, able to wear a pound of beads and a quarter of a yard of white satin and look wonderfully under-dressed. They wear more on their heads, with the massive feather hair-pieces, than on their bodies. These girls don't spend all their time dancing and prancing on expensive stages. Some of them enjoy seeing magic tricks. As Norm pointed out, with an astuteness he didn't get in Kenosha, one gets very used to the flesh on one's own show. The long line of lovelies is all over the place, there every night, just like someone's sister. But the place to appreciate all this femininity is on the other shows -- and a man can just make them if he leaves before his own finale.

Breathtaking Mediterranean, posh audiences, big money, lovely women, Super Star treatment, and still a man wants to come home to America - to Illinois. Norm has bought a home here - a home he has to leave soon to go back to work in Europe, but a home to which he obviously intents to return. Is there anything more I should know, Norm? Are you bringing home a senorita, a Parisian playgirl, an English Countess -- anybody? Will you return to live in the Midwest to find contentment in building beautiful magic again, as so many of your friends hope you will? Or will you abandon this nice little house to again roam world capitals to find new marquees for your name?

Our Super Star only smiles, enigmatically. His future is where it has always been -- in the hands of the gods. And they can lead one into some very interesting places.