Richard, the Orlando Street Magician

In November 1963, Walt Disney flew over Orlando, Florida, looking for a possible site for a second Disneyland, and apparently liked what he saw. It’s hard to imagine what he saw because back then, the same year my parents moved to Florida from Venezuela; central Florida was pretty much a swamp and cow pastures.

Using a number of dummy corporations, Disney bought more than 27,000 acres, an area about the size of San Francisco. Under a cloak of secrecy that would rival anything in Harry Potter, he paid about 5 million for land. A paltry sum, considering what Disney is worth today.

The Disney deal opened up central Florida, which until then had been mostly pastures, swamp, and unbearable heat. As of 2010, Orlando is the 26^th largest metropolitan area in the U.S. and the third largest in Florida – after Miami and Jacksonville. And, oh yes, it’s known as the “theme park capital of the world.” In 2014, Disney drew more than 62 million visitors. Its airport is the 13^th busiest in the U.S. and the 29^th busiest in the world. I cite these statistics because I think they explain why the city itself is such a fascinating slice of American life.

Thanks to the Disney stuff, talent pours into this city. Wanna be actors and actresses, designers, animal trainers, engineers, artists and directors and everything in between. As a result, Orlando has its share of colorful characters who have become part of the city’s urban legends. We had the pleasure of meeting one of these characters the night of our daughter’s birthday.

After a great Mexican dinner, we walked downtown to a bar called Casey’s and grabbed a couple of sidewalk tables. Within 10 or 15 minutes, an eccentric-looking dude with a deck of cards stopped on the sidewalk in front of us. He was Richard the Adequate, a magician. “Pick a card, any card,” he said.

“I know you!” Megan exclaimed. “You’re awesome!

“Pick a card, any card,” he repeated, so Rob did.

“Look at your card,”

Rob looked and turned it cupped in his hand so the rest of us could see it. The three of diamonds.

Richard said, “Three of diamonds.”

He performed several more card tricks, one of them involving the tattoos on his arms, and then brought out a single tiny Styrofoam ball and handed it to Megan. At the end of the trick, when she opened her hand, there were two tiny, Styrofoam balls. Megan was floored. And at this point, so were all the rest of us.

Whenever I encounter a person as talented as this, I ask questions. I’m curious about the person’s history, what has led him to this moment in time. Richard said that in 2006, he was working at a magic store in Orlando that was closed and eventually razed to make room for a development. He lost his job, his home, everything, and ended up living under a bridge. But in one of the articles I read, he had worked at Disney, been let off in 2006, and his life tanked. Whatever the truth, the year of 2006 was pivotal for him.

“You’re psychic,” I said after watching one of his mind-blowing magic tricks.

He laughed. “I’m psychotic.”

“Yeah, sure. How’d you do that?”

“Can you keep a secret?” he asked.

“Sure.”

“So can I.”

At one point, a young man approached our group and just watched Richard’s tricks. Then Richard turned to him. “Pick a card, any card.”

The young man chose a card and showed it surreptitiously to the rest of us. The eight of clubs.

Richard said, “You picked the eight of clubs.”

The young man’s eyes widened. We all applauded.

According to an article in The Orlando Sentinel,  “He’s part magician, part comedian, part motivational speaker and all entertainer for downtown Orlando’s nightlife crowd, and he credits the experience of living under a bridge with getting him where he is today.”

His real name is Richard Waddington and he says he got into magic when he was just six years old and saw the movie Houdini with Tony Curtis and Janet Leigh. He came up with his performance name – Richard the Adequate – when he recalled something his grandmother had told him. “Always strive for greatness, but know your limitations and always be humble.”

“I’m not magnificent,” he says. “I’m not spectacular. I’m adequate.”

All of us who saw him that night disagree.

“I have no way of knowing at the beginning of that night what I’m going to make,” he says. “Life without challenges is boring, and I look forward to the challenge. At the beginning of the night, it’s a question mark. At the end of the night, it’s an exclamation point. Street magic got me off the streets. Now that’s poetic justice.”