This is the story of how I was sexually harassed during a magic show.

For context, about two weeks ago on a Monday night, I had the opportunity to go to the Magic Castle in LA, as my friend Tyler’s +1. He, along with other students from Harvey Mudd College, got to attend. The Magic Castle is self-defined as “the private clubhouse for the Academy of Magical Arts, Inc, a very special organization devoted to the advancement of the ancient art of magic.” If invited by a member, you can come dine and watch five different magic shows in three different venues throughout the castle. Formal attire is mandatory, e.g. their website tells gentlemen that, “While removing one’s jacket to watch a performance, dine or to wrap a female guest is acceptable, walking through the Castle sans jacket is not.”

(In retrospect, I really should’ve taken that comment as more of a red flag.)

I attended numerous shows, wandered through the castle, and dined with my friends. At 10 pm, we moved to the “Palace of Mystery” for the headliner of the night — Michael Finney (with a sort of “intermission act” whose name I cannot currently remember).

The following is my account of the events from that night, written the day after it happened. I have not edited it since (much), so the names are all names of my friends.

~~~

I was really tired before this show, and felt decently out of it. I had Tyler get me a Shirley Temple from the bar, because sugar, right? I was carrying the (empty) bottle of wine from dinner. We entered the large hall, which probably had about 10 rows of 8, on either side of the aisle. It was full. So 160 people?

I slid into a row, and Ari sat next to me, Tyler next to him.

The show started, and the magician came out. He’s an older, white-haired man. He started his show, did some good tricks, and turned some cards into glitter. He was funny. He made good quips. I decided I liked his humor.

After that bit, he asked for a female volunteer from the audience. I was feeling silly since I was so tired, and shot my hand up into the air. He was looking in my direction, so said, “that was the hand I saw first, ok you.”

As I walked on stage he said “Oh you’re even wearing red. I couldn’t have picked a better volunteer.” (Context: it’s a tight, short, red dress. I was wearing heels.)

Once I got onstage, our interactions started innocently enough.

I looked out into the audience, and realized I couldn’t see the faces of literally ANYONE in the audience. It was so bright.

He asked my name.

He asked where I was from. I answered “Seattle?” because

I didn’t know if he wanted the local/Claremont colleges answer I’m not actually from Seattle

He said, “The questions only get harder from here on out” or something like that, causing the audience to laugh

He asked what brought me there, and I paused, then went on a bit of a long-winded explanation of how a group of Harvey Mudd college students were there, but I went to Pomona College. He made fun of my answer saying, “Oh thank you for that explanation, I was so confused.”

He asked what my goal of college was, and I said that “We’re all actually graduating in 6 days.”

He made fun of me again, asking “who’s this ‘we’ you keep talking about? are you sure all of you are going to be graduating?” and I was like, “yes.”

He said, “Ok, so you’re about to graduate, what’s the goal after that?”

Me- “like what am I going to be doing in the real world?”

Him- “Yes, the real world, the one I’ve been in for 30 years.”

Me- “I’m going to work at Google. … as a Software Engineer.” (I wanted to bite any stereotyped female roles in the butt and assert my intelligence.)

He was like “ok wow” or something, and then we moved into magic.

He asked if I liked card tricks, and I said yes. He said, “Good, because we’re doing a rope trick. Do you like rope tricks?”

me- “sure.”

him- “I bet you do.” (bondage joke)

…and then it went downhill from there.

He gave me the rope to inspect, and I ran my fingers all along it.

him- “Wow ok are you a rope inspector? You look pretty comfortable with that rope…” (bondage joke)

Then he had me inspect the scissors, and asked me to check if they were real. I looked around for something to test cut, and he suggested my strap. He then made a comment that I don’t quite remember, but I remember not really understanding it. Some people in the audience laughed. I knew it was something about cutting my strap, and probably inappropriately sexual.

I was getting increasingly unamused.

He then held up the rope for me to cut in half. We had some exchanges, and when I’d pause and answer a question not completely confidently, he’d joke and say “Google’s gonna love you.” It was funny.

Then I had to cut the rope, and it was supposed to be in half. He held them up, showing that they were not the same length, chastising me for failing to cut it appropriately. I said, “you never told me to cut it in half.” He said, “oh, so length matters to you?” (penis joke)

It was then that I considered being like “I’m a lesbian I don’t care about penises.” (Context: I’m not a lesbian, but would be fine with people thinking that.)

But of course, I was onstage and a lot of things were happening very quickly, so I didn’t say anything.

So he continued with the rope tricks. I cut the rope in a lot of places, and at some point had two short pieces in my hand. He didn’t tell me what to do with them, so I just dropped them on the floor. He looked at them as if he was annoyed, and didn’t want me to do that. I don’t actually remember if he bent down to pick them up, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to bend over in my short/tight skirt on that stage.

At one point, he asked me to move toward the center of the stage, closer to him, to look out toward the camera, or fit in its view or something, “for liability reasons.”

I think this was a “ploy” to make me stand closer to him My immediate thought was “this isn’t being recorded you’re stupid that doesn’t make sense” “liability”? For what, like if I sue you for sexual harassment?

I had stepped toward him, but after he finished saying these things, I took a step away from him right after the “liability” comment.

Then, he asked me to stand in front of him, I did. I was wary. I had no idea what he was going to do. Then he held out the rope (with 3 knots on it) in his left hand on my left side. He told me he was going to hold out the rope in front of me, and I was going to blow off the knots. I was like “ok,” and then he reaches over with his right hand, placing it on my left hip and patting around.

I was like “what the hell is this man doing to me I’m so confused what does this have to do with the rope” and I just kind of looked at his hand.

I think I stepped away. I said “I’m not ok with this” very clearly.

He paused, and said, “Oh, I’m sorry, I was just trying to get the rope! Most people just hand it to me! I don’t have my eyes right now, just my hands.”

So I stepped back in place, then handed him the rope in front of me. So he was standing in back of me, holding the rope taut in front of my face. He asked me to blow the knots off. I blew the one farthest left, but he popped the one on the right. whoops?

Then he let me step out, popped the second knot, and as I was now standing to his left, held out the rope with the one in the middle still knotted. He asked me to blow on it. So I did, but he didn’t pop it. He told me to blow harder, so I did, only realizing too late where this was going. I stopped blowing pretty quickly. The knot still didn’t pop, and he said, “I don’t know why that didn’t work, I would’ve been off by now.” (blow job joke SO FUNNY NOT)

*my reaction to all these jokes was to just purse my lips and glare (at least, that’s what I was trying to do. to not laugh, especially. I did not at all want to indulge him.)

He said, “here” and just slid the knot toward my end, as if to make it easier for me. I sassily just slid it back to the middle. I was pretty done with this. He popped the final knot, revealing one full piece of rope. That was the finale. He handed me the last knot as a souvenir, then the applause started. He thanked me, and I half curtsied. He helped me down the stairs, though I tried aggressively not to need help. (but I was on heels and a little shaky [from the heels and the experience])

I got back to my seat, and Ari leaned over and said “I’m sorry.”

Jordan was two rows ahead to the right, and looked back at me and raised her eyebrows.

The magician went off stage, and the other act of the woman came on. In the middle of that act, Jordan looked back again and mouthed “are you ok?” I came her a thumbs up (or something). To be honest, I was just reeling. I was still processing everything that had just happened. I was trying to figure out if there was something else I could’ve done. Should I have refused more violently? Called him out and left the stage? Said I was a lesbian?

He came back after the woman’s act finished, and called up an older gentleman for the next trick. He made fun of how oblivious he was. I didn’t want to laugh, because this magician had just been so terrible to me. But he still actually had some good jokes and tricks. So I laughed a little.

The show ended. We stood up and started heading out the theater.

Some other women who go to Mudd saw me and someone said “Shannon you’re my hero.” Someone else said “I’m really glad you were the one up there to handle that well.” Someone else said “Yeah this was definitely the wrong audience for that.” Jordan mouthed at me if I was ok again, I said yes.

We then went to wait in line for the close up magic show. I was just still processing. No one really talked about it. I think Nathan said he was sorry. But then we talked about other things. And I realized that no one there knew me well enough to know that all I needed was comfort. That I wasn’t actually ok, that I was reeling and needed to talk about what just happened to figure out how I felt about it. Sometimes I think I do too good a job of masking my emotions and pretending everything’s just fine. When I had this thought, I teared up, but quickly blinked those tears away. As I write this now, I’m crying a bit. I still don’t quite know why this upsets me so much, but I thought writing it down might help.

When we finally got in the line in the small room for the close up magic show, a Harvey Mudd professor moved to sit next to me. He looked at me and said “You handled yourself well earlier.” I made a wry comment like, “well, from his perspective I could’ve probably handled myself better.” Nathan (to my right) said, “You could’ve also handled yourself much worse and would’ve been justified in that.” I didn’t really say much else, and neither did the professor. He didn’t really say anything else either, and just did a horrible job of comforting me. Yeah, I know he’s a Mudd prof, but he doesn’t know anything about me, and he’s also a part of this sexist magician society.

I was sitting there, still just thinking about it over and over again, thinking that magic was ruined for me forever, that I never wanted to wear that red dress again, that I wanted to burn the knot I had as a souvenir in my purse.

When we finally got inside the room, I sat in the front row with Priya on my left and Tyler on my right. I was acting so normal. I had this weird out-of-body knowledge that I was acting really normal on the outside, and that seemed weird to how I was feeling and thinking.

The next magician came out. He was hilarious. I couldn’t get over the tiny plunger. I couldn’t get over when he had to “warm it up” to pick up more than one card off the deck. The man was incredible. He was so funny. His tricks were so good. He showed an awareness of sexual harassment/comments on stage. (e.g. To the woman who was sitting up there: “you look bored.” Her: “sorry, it’s just resting Asian bitch face.” He looked a bit flabbergasted for a second and said, “That is something I could never ever say.”)

He seemed very smart and very well-informed. I liked him a lot. I think he single-handedly might have kept the night from ruining all magic for me. Him and his tiny plunger.

His name is Jon Armstrong, and he was voted best close up magician of the year.

~~~

UPDATE:

On Thursday, 5/14, I wrote Jon Armstrong the following email:

Hi there!

I saw your show on Monday night at the Magic Castle, around midnight. Completely understandable if you don’t remember me, but I was the girl in the red dress in the front row with the really loud laugh. I wanted to contact you to thank you. Earlier that evening, I had gone on stage to help one of the performers, and he had made sexual comments that made me incredibly uncomfortable. After his show, I was thinking very disgusted thoughts about magicians and their rather misogynistic culture. I was worried that that interaction had ruined ever enjoying magic again for me. I saw your show right after that experience, and it might have singlehandedly redeemed the night, and magic in general, for me. You demonstrated an awareness of the comments you could and could not make (like about “resting Asian bitch face”), and made tasteful and amusing jokes. Plus, your tricks were incredible. I’d never seen anything like them before. So, I just wanted to thank you, and compliment you. You seem like an intelligent and critical person within the magic community, and I respect that. You deserve recognition for your awareness and your skills.

Again, thank you (and the tiny plunger).

~~~

He replied:

Shannon,

Thanks first off, for taking the time to write me and describe your experience you had that night. I’m glad to know I was able to brighten what could have been a totally unpleasant evening.

As well as being a magician I am the chairman of the board of trustees of the Magic Castle so your thoughts about acts mean a lot to me. Do you remember the performers name who brought you up? Or which room you were in? This would help so that we can review the act and make sure others don’t have the experience you had.

A brighter note, I’m performing till Saturday and you are welcome [to come] see the show again. Or please come back anytime you would like to the Magic Castle as my guest. Let me know and I will set up for you.

Tiny Plunger I’m sure would be happy to see you.

Best,

Jon Armstrong

His message meant the world to me. I literally was so touched. (eww bad word choice)

Also, he’s the CHAIRMAN OF THE BOARD? Shit I wasn’t even really trying to get the other guy in trouble…

~~~

So I responded:

Jon,

Thank you so much for your response. Your kindness means a lot to me.

I remember practically everything from that interaction. It was the 10 o’clock showing in the Palace, and Michael Finney brought me up onstage. (Of course, I volunteered.) I participated in a rope trick segment, and there was a lot of innuendo involving bondage jokes, and other crude references. At one point he patted his hand on my waist, and I stepped away and said “I’m not okay with this.”

Thank you so much for your offer to come back to the Magic Castle. I’m actually graduating from college this weekend, so am a bit busy, but will keep that in mind for the future.

~~~



And then Friday, 5/15, I get the following email with the subject line “APOLOGY” (Seriously the all caps had me thinking it was spam):

!!!!!!!!!

Sorry all, as of 10/23, this email has been removed by request of the author. I’m all for transparency, but I was asked to remove it. Also, I thought it presented a pretty good image of the author, and improved my experience, and I’m sorry if he did not feel that way. Essentially, it said things along the lines of “We’re sorry you had a negative experience … we’re trying to make the act not as offensive in the future …”

!!!!!!!!!

~~~

I wonder how many emails like that the general manager has had to send…

But hey, maybe they actually improved things. And now I have an in at Magic Castle whenever I want (if I ever actually want to go back).

~~~

Friday 5/15

I told my parents and sister (and aunt) at dinner, and thought I could make it through the story level-headedly. Turns out I thought myself too strong. My throat got tight in the middle of it, and I had to stop talking and just cry for a moment. Then I continued. They just kind of listened. There’s nothing else really to do.

~~~

Saturday 5/16

I emailed the Mudd professor to ask about the legality of me writing something.

My email:

Hi Prof!

So after thinking about my experience at the Magic Castle, I’ve decided it’s something I’d like to write about, in a public sphere. I was wondering if there are any legal attachments to going to the magic castle that would prevent me from doing so. As in, by entering, do we implicitly agree to not talk about or not publicly share anything that happens inside? That would seem a little extreme to me, but I thought I’d check before doing so, to be safe.

If this is not allowed, I can definitely share my story

without naming the Magic Castle without naming any magicians

Also, I know you’re invested in the Magic Castle, and I hope this doesn’t influence your response to me. I wouldn’t want to get you or Mudd in trouble or anything, which is why I’m checking in.

~~~

His response (and the reason his name is not explicitly used in this post):

Hi Shannon,

As long as you don’t use pictures taken inside the Castle, then I don’t think there is any rule preventing you from writing an article about your experience.

I hope you had a good time, but if you plan to be critical, then I would probably prefer not to have my name mentioned in the article. I apologize if the magician on stage made you uncomfortable, and agree that some of his remarks and actions were in bad taste, or more suitable for a Vegas lounge than a classy joint like the Castle.

Feel free to send me a copy of your writeup, if you’d like.

~~~

Sunday 5/17

I graduated in the morning, then attended Harvey Mudd’s graduation in the afternoon. At the reception for Mudd’s graduation, I saw my friend Priya. I made my way over to her to say hi, but got sidetracked by running into the Mudd professor from the above emails. He said to me, “Hey, I got your email.” My response, “I know” or “yes” or something. He asks, “what were you planning on writing about? Your on-stage experience?” As if that’s a question. Of course my onstage experience. Him- “Do you know what exactly you’d say?” Me- “Not quite, it was just a thought because I’d heard that people at Mudd were talking about it, and I wanted to give everyone a writeup of the experience from my perspective.”

Him – *nods “I’m sorry the jokes made you uncomfortable. I feel like those jokes would work for (60-90, i don’t quite remember the number)% of his audiences, more suited for some place like Vegas than a classy place like the magic castle.”

Me- “Those jokes and comments shouldn’t be acceptable anywhere. It’s a problem if anyone in our society accepts and propagates those jokes.”

Him- *nods. “Well, audiences 40 years ago were probably more accepting… by that I mean the nature of society was such that those jokes were more acceptable…”

I’m not sure I responded. I was upset. The whole point of society now is that we’re WAY more tolerant and way less misogynistic. We don’t WANT to go back to 40 years ago. I did point out that “there were a lot of things at play, like, the fact that it was a 60 year old man with a 21 year old girl. That is a weird power dynamic.”

He looked a little confused through that statement, “well, I’m sorry that happened. You should send me your write up before you post it anywhere.” Uhm, hell no.

I then told him that I’d emailed Jon Armstrong about my negative experience, and he’d told me that he was the chairman of the board of trustees. I could just be projecting, but I feel like his face got a little concerned at that point, presumably for what I’d said, and what the ramifications might be for him. I then explained that Jon Armstrong had gotten in contact with someone else, who said that Michael Finney had been talked to, and the offensive lines taken out of his performance.

The professor was like, “oh good! Then it looks like it turned out well for everyone!”

Here was this man who would’ve probably never thought to suggest I contact anyone at the Magic Castle and complain. But I’m a Pomona College graduate, we’re taught to question and take action and actually enact change. Sorry that this Harvey Mudd professor who’s a member of the group of magicians I was complaining about didn’t understand.

Oh, and yes, I definitely wanted to talk about this on my graduation day.

~~~

So there’s the story. The story of how I was sexually harassed on-stage during a magic show. As my sister puts it, this was “verbal harassment of an implied sexual nature that was unsolicited and done in a public manner so that any protestation on your part was difficult and uncomfortable.”

I tried to handle it as best I could, and move on with my life. I’ve still been cringing at the word “magic.”