THE PRINCE OF SWAGGERS.

Auckland Star, Volume LXVIII, Issue 7, 9 January 1937, Page 6 (Supplement)

THE PRINCE OF SWAGGERS.

A New Zealand Vagabond in Australia.

"OLD MAORI" AND HIS "MAGIC BEANS."

(By L. P.

MEET "Old Maori,'' picturesque, vaga bond of "Anywhere in Australia!'

I first saw him just before the opening of the Queensland Exhibition, in Brisbane, last August. For weeks I had heard rumours of a man calling himself "Old Maori," who lectured on Sunday afternoons, out at the popular beach resort of Sangate, and had caused much discontent among the ranks of religious folk who disapproved of his subtle rivalry. It appeared that immediately this super-swagger drove on to the beach in his weather-beaten car, the precious "flock" of the ethical clan simply faded away! Under those circumstances It was most diverting to learn more of this cultured "man on the road." And one fact stands ironically clear—just as Harry Bridges, an Aus-

tralian, is the headserang of most Shipping disturbances on the Pacific seaboard of U.S.A., so is "Old Maori," a New Zealander, the Prince of Swaggers in Australia!

CRAGO.)

vagabond camera man, he went there in quest of travelogues. How he rode on oainels, dined with hostile natives, tamed them to become his friends and with their help explored hundreds of miles of what then was known as "Unknown Australia-—Dangerous." Preparing the Soil. After this whimsical palaver he gives a pithy discussion on the difference between the Aboriginals and the inen of his country, the Maoris . . . He says: "I am 'Old Maori': you all have heard of me, and you know that I believe in my heart that Australians are the greatest race on earth to-day! (Oi! Oi! from the audience), and that I go from State to State in your fair country, giving you for nothing my lectures, my ideas and thoughts. You listen to me once and you always come again! Why? because I put faith and hope into your hearts, where previously there was

His real name is Bert Wilson, and his home town, which he has not seen for over 15 years, is Wanganui. When the motion picture business was in its infancy he was roaming around the globe making a reputation for himself as the taker of Vagabond Travelogues. And to-day his "line of goods" is as quixotie as Ilk personality and present appearance. r , A Hocua-Pocus Merchant. Go statu to Victoria and youll find him at the Melbourne show every year, running an attraction of a startling nature. Maybe it will be the lady ' wrestler or Chan Hi La, the Indian fakir, direct' from Calcutta triumphs. . Go, to the Royal Sydney show and you'll meet him there in another roll picked from his amazing store. Come up to , Brisbane and youll discover that he is billed all over the town as the "magic ' nan and snake artist, just arrived from Rangoon!" And in between times, if you pass through many backblock towns, youll find him nonchalantly ply- ; ing, what' he calls hie "iill-up" trade, during the earning out of which he - slips in to the role of an itinerant magi/cian and seller of magic Maori beans! Prom one part of Australia to the other he is not known by his neat card . 'hearing his Maoriland name, but by the sobriquet of "Old Maori." .. . Not more than 6ft 6in. in height he has a stpcky figure, sun-tanned face, bushy moustache and a heavy black beard. Yes—he's an imposing chap, all right, especially after one has been his assistant for a while, and on occasion, been his guest at shows, dinners and theatre parties. He possesses, too, a soft, maybe cultivated, Westralian drawl, which at times becomes almost hypnotising in its attraction! . And what follows i* « sketch of how he work* his "fill-up" jobs. Many Dlscorerles. , Time—about 8 p.m. any afternoon prior to the Queensland show opening; along Melbournd Street, just a couple of hundred yard* from the Victoria Street bridge, youll find that he has parked his battered car; youll also observe that the window curtains are very tattered, and that the back of the car is cluttered up with-all the clap-trap of roaming showmen and magicians! "Old Maori" squeezes his bulky frame out of the front neat, bows to his waiting patrons and utters a line or two of miimbo jumbo linjro—reminding' his listener* somewhat of a high priest, calling the faithful to prayer from the sanctity of an Indian temple. Put «in? Fake? You'd be surprised! But it draws the crowd. Then, from a red velvet bag, elung ' over his shoulders, he produces a pair of tin funnels and four tiny ivory balls. These, together with a tambourine, he places ou the ground in front of him. He then kneels and clears with his hands a small space of earth, talking rapidly all the while on politics, from which subject he shifts suavely into a fiery discourse on big business in Australia. Secrets, alleged, of the way in Which powerful combines manipulate .their affairs. He knows all the direc--1 tors by their first names, knows their pet hobbies and all of their idiosyncrasies. . i-ir Thence he'll chat about . vthe adventurou* years he lias-spent on ;*;the World's greatest "mystery river," tThi famous Sepifc. away in darkest New fiititiea. Also telling of the manner in \vhicTij not long ago, when he was a

nought but gloom. I try to help you lift up your city-weary eyes and see the blue eky of this Brisbane, which is the reality!—when your very minds and bodies are grovelling in the immoralisation and the filth and slime of your street gutters! I plead with you to listen to me a while and not hasten away with sarcastic grins on your faces! Whatever you desire I dare to give ft to you—and shortly you shall have the opportunity to possess, my magic Maori beans! ' The magic Maori beans, which bring everlasting luck to the owner! —But before giving you my 'beans,' just watch. Watch!"

So saying, he lcneeTs on the ground and proceeds with a few magic, tricks and sleight of hand. The crowd is always intrigued. He then states that to morrow (always to-morrow!) he will perform for their amusement the famous Indian rope trick and the "mangrove man" mystery, and also a genuine demonstration of mind reading, which he learnt while plying his trade of fakir in the bazaars of Calcutta. I have actually seen him make a 3-inch mango tree grow to the height of four feet — and the swiftness with which he executes the trick preserves his secret— solidly, no matter how closely one' may scrutinise his actions. MagicT Fake? Certainly! Still, you must admit it's clever. Then, after this mumbo-jumbo business is over and his last sibilant ejaculation of "O-h Ch-arlie! O-h Ch-arlie!" has been pronounced, he springs his :nagic Maori beans surprise on his avid listeners. Well Worth the Money 1 "Listen! The true Maori, in the land of whom I am a great rangatira, will never give the pakeha a tiki for luck; no, that means bad luck to all the white men. Good for the Maori, yes— but if he wishes the friend pakeha to have; good fortune he presents him with a pair of these magic beans. And, dear friends, I have a big supply here, as a goodWfll offering from the Maoris to their Australian • cousins! They will bring you luck, wealth, happiness and prosperity. Ido not guarantee that they will—you must have faith in them, and you will prosper. Last night a man •won the-weekly lottery of £5000. He told me that he'd purchased a pair of these magic beans, just the day before! Believe in them, and 'good luck at all times, will be yours! Now, on your giving me a small donation for my lecture and magic tricks learnt in the bazaars of Calcutta, I give you a packet of these wonder-f-u-1 beans. Who'll be the first to have luck? Now! They are threepence a packet—you must always carry them; the men in their vest pockets, and the ladies in their handbags, you must never open the little envelopes' in which they are; never must you ; separate thcci,,'for in the packets, there tire the male, the female beans, and without them both being together, you cannot prosper! come on, donations three . . . .!"

And the audience swallows the "bait," always! Whether it is correct about the Maori beans for luck," and that the possession of the tiki will bring misfortune, is more than I can say. The fact remains, that the hundreds who secure these beans, do not always prosper—though, in some cases, great' luck has fallen upon the holders of them. I am sure of that. Now, right at this I moment, this handsome "Prince of Swaggers," from New Zealand, is shifting from city to city in the Commonwealth, and retorts cynically to all those doubting Thomases who pooh-pooh his altruistic idea—the sad phrase. "Oh, Ye of Little Faith ... I"