Like many another great performer, he made a superb actor. For he understood the essence of the thing was no different from any other performance: “You’re there for one purpose only: to please the audience. Come on, say the stupid effing words, and get off.”

In his off-hours he wrote on magic and allied subjects: “Learned Pigs & Fireproof Women,” “Cards as Weapons,” “Jay’s Journal of Anomalies,” “The Magic Magic Book.” He lectured on the theory and practice of deception; on the confidence game for law enforcement; on concealment for the C.I.A. And that’s not all you get: He collected and curated one of the world’s great libraries of magic and allied arts — books, posters, prints, and broadsides.

He was the truest friend, and practiced in the best friend’s best response: “You bet.”

I was invited by William H. Macy to a picnic at his joint in Vermont. I called Ricky for ideas for a gag or effect one could do outside.

“Come on,” he said. “Where would I find such a thing?” Pause pause. “Well, of course, there’s ‘Divertissements et Illusions Champêtres,’ 1791.” And then he named three more sources.

I called him, too, when I was making my porno film.

I was doing a bunch of gags for Funny or Die in 2010, and came up with “June Crenshaw, Sex Kitten to the Supreme Court.” The title, of course, suggested the need of a project to accompany it, so I called Kristen Bell and Ed O’Neill and asked them to show up for a 10-minute gag, a black-and-white, grainy, faux skin flick, supposedly shot in 1938.

Ed played the Chief Justice, Kristen played June Crenshaw, the great Bob Elswit shot it.

But on the set, it occurred to me we needed an intro. So I called Ricky, waking him up. He grumbled, came right over, and I handed him the penciled script. He glanced at it, and portrayed the Narrator of the series “Lost Masterpieces of Pornography,” introducing “these films, discovered in the woodworking shop of a Beverly Hills dentist.” Do check it out.