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| George 'Buster' Singleton |
(For decades, paranormal investigator George “Buster” Singleton wrote a weekly newspaper column called “Somewhere in Time.” The column below, which was entitled “Country entertainment included a jackleg magician,” was originally published in the Nov. 19, 1992 edition of The Monroe Journal in Monroeville, Ala. This column and all of Singleton’s other columns are available to the public through the microfilm records at the Monroe County Public Library in Monroeville. Singleton's columns are presented here for research and scholarship purposes and as part of an effort to keep his memory and work alive. Enjoy.)
The world “jackleg” was used by the country people to describe someone who professed to be something that he wasn’t. Although this person might have considerable knowledge about a certain trade or skill, unless he was trained in this talent, they were referred to as a “jackleg.” Uncle Tony was such a person in the field of magic.
Uncle Tony was an old black man who had no family. He was advanced in years and had no one to rely on to help him survive in his declining years. My father, seeing his need for friendship and shelter, prepared a small house at the edge of our yard for this old man to spend his last years.
As a small boy, Uncle Tony became my best friend. He shared with me many stories and experiences about his earlier years and means of survival.
As a younger man, Uncle Tony had traveled with Ringling Brothers Circus. He had worked as a laborer around the circus, helping with the common chores, such as helping put up the many tents after arrival at a new performance site. The after the performances were over, he would help take down these tents to make ready for the move to another location.
During his stay with the circus, he picked up a few small magic tricks that he used to entertain me when the chores had been done and idle time was at hand around the farm.
Even at his advanced age, Uncle Tony was not one to be underestimated. He was in good health and extremely strong for his age. He took great pleasure in taking bets from my older brothers and their friends as to things they thought he couldn’t do. He always kept them guessing about his ability to perform certain magic feats.
When most men were unable to do so at any age, Uncle Tony could take a penny and bend it with his fingers. As I grew into early manhood, I was able to perform this feat also, under the close training and supervision of this wonderful old man.
Uncle Tony let it be known to my brothers and their friends that he could break a two-by-four inch plank with his head. Wanting to win just any bet against Uncle Tony, because he had always won in the past, the young men jumped at the challenge.
Two heavy posts were placed in the ground at a distance of 10 feet apart. A two-by-four plank was nailed between the posts at the exact height of Uncle Tony’s shoulders. The young men pooled all their wealth in the amount of two whole dollars. My father stood for Uncle Tony’s bet and was also elected to hold the money.
As the group gathered to witness what they thought was a sure bet for them, the old man carefully wrapped a heavy cloth around his forehead. He then stepped back 10 paces from the board. Lowering his head like a battering ram, the old man charged up to the board, striking it with his forehead. The broken ends of the board fell down beside the two posts. The young men could only stare at the broken board with opened mouths, in total amazement and disbelief.
Giving up their hard earned money was not something these young men enjoyed doing. But several months passed before they would even talk about another bet with Uncle Tony. The old man never missed a chance to “rub in” his victory and challenge my brothers and their friends to another contest or bet.
Sharing with me his secret, prior to confronting my brothers, Uncle Tony let it be known that he could escape from a locked box or trunk without breaking the lock. This challenge was just too much for the young me to pass up. He was a chance to get their $2 back and maybe some of the other change they had lost earlier to the old man.
First, a box had to be built to the specifications set forth by Uncle Tony. The box had to be long enough for the old man to lay down in, full length on his back, without either his head or his feet touching the ends of the box. The box also had to be wide enough so that his shoulders wouldn’t touch either of the sides of the box. There had to be a lid on this box that could be opened so that the escape artist could enter and lay down in it. And finally, there had to be a hasp so that the lid could be locked. After all had been decided on, it was agreed that my father would be the official one to hold the key after Uncle Tony had entered the box and the lid locked down.
Pieces of lumber appeared from all directions as my brothers and their friends put together the rough plank box, built to Uncle Tony’s specifications.
The rules were that no one could look at the huge box, once the old man had taken his place inside and the heavy lid was locked shut.
Uncle Tony had issued orders that everyone present would have to stand at least 10 feet from the box and face in the opposite direction. At his signal from within the box, my father would then count to 10. At the count of 10, Uncle Tony was supposed to be sitting on the top of the box, with the locked lid intact.
A staggering sum of $4 had been placed as the amount of the bet by the young men. Knowing that there was no way that they could lose, the bet makers joked and laughed as the old man entered the large box and the lid was locked shut. Placing the key in his pocket, my father ordered all present to face away from the large rough box. A loud knock from within the plank box signaled my father to begin counting.
As the count of 10 was reached, all wheeled around to face the large box that rested on the ground nearby. A loud sigh of total amazement and disbelief came from the crowd. There atop the large box sat Uncle Tony, his legs crossed, sitting there as though he had been there all the while.
From his pocket, my father produced the key to the lock that secured the box lid in place. All rushed to the huge box as the lock was removed and the heavy lid was opened. Only the faded jumper that the old man had worn when he entered the box lay inside.
To smother the hundreds of questions asked by his friend and buddy, this young country boy, Uncle Tony promised that one day he would share his secret with me, when I was old enough to understand. But the winds of time sometimes play strange tricks in this game we call life.
Some years later, many miles away, a young Marine received a letter from home. The letter, telling him that his best friend and buddy, Uncle Tony, had departed this life. He had carried with him that secret he had promised to reveal to me, but had never gotten around to sharing.
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