"Now, remember, I'm not God," is a common disclaimer you hear in Colon during the Magic Get-Together. This is important. A magician will say this before performing a trick so as to assure you of his flesh-and-blood status. Magicians consider themselves entertainers, nothing more. None of these people pretend to have supernatural powers. People who make such claims are not allowed into the brotherhood of magicians, because they are not abiding by the honor code. Inside the brotherhood, magicians share tricks with generosity and pride. The reason they never reveal tricks to outsiders is, simply, because they have sworn to one another that they never would. Magicians have a heightened sense of honor. Magicians are some of the happiest people you will ever meet.

"Hey, watch this," is another common thing you hear in Colon during the Magic Get-Together.

"Hey, watch this," says a man who blows a bubble, then catches the bubble, turns the bubble into a solid ball, bounces the ball, turns it back into a bubble, and pops it. And then he leaves.

"Hey, watch this," says another, who takes a quarter from you, sticks his cigarette through it, smokes the cigarette as it sits there stuck through your quarter, returns your quarter, and then he leaves.

"Hey, watch this," says yet another, who performs a simple sponge ball routine, and then, just as he is about to leave, reveals the fact that your wrist watch is inside his pocket.

It goes on like this. There are magic shows, magic lectures, magic tricks for sale, jugglers, ventriloquists, and levitating bodies all over the streets and diners and lawns of Colon. Still, most of the action happens in the high school, which is air conditioned.

"It's cute, I'm telling you," says Jack Bridwell, a magic salesman. He is out here just across from the home-ec room, where tables have been set up for people to sell tricks. He is demonstrating a flower routine to Aaron Olson, a 16-year-old magician from Ripon, Wisconsin.

"This bo-kay comes loose, see?" says Jack. "Now you say, 'I'm going to water the plant' . . . and three snakes pop out! Oh, it's a beautiful thing. 'Abbott's Gufus Plant' we call it. Whoops, just a little dust on that, see, it comes right off...."

Aaron is not convinced. He's looking for something a little more dramatic.

"Last month I vanished a fire truck," announces Aaron. (The word "vanish" enjoys a special usage in magic language. One does not "make something vanish." One "vanishes something.") Aaron has been doing magic tricks since he was 3 years old. "And I can't stop. It's almost like a drug. I won't be able to stop. I'll be doing tricks until the day I die." Vanishing the fire truck -- which he did in front of 4,000 people -- was a lifetime achievement. "I cried," he says. "I cried for two days. I was just so moved."

Next year, Aaron hopes to saw a fire truck in half.

"Cool," says Franz Harary, a 30-year-old magician standing by The two have just met. Franz is famous. Franz did all of the effects for Michael Jackson's "Victory" tour. Soon, Franz hopes to vanish a Las Vegas casino, saying he's using a new technique that enables him to vanish virtually anything. "I could vanish Long Island," says Franz.

"Cool," says Aaron.

Franz says Aaron shouldn't saw a fire truck in half, though. "You'll get known as 'that fire truck guy'," says Franz. "You should do a ship or a chopper."

Aaron considers this. "How about the Concorde?"

"Excellent," says Franz. "Saw the Concorde in half and then you'll be somebody."

Aaron walks away, shaking his head, saying you just can't get advice like this in Ripon, Wisconsin.

Later, Franz goes out and levitates a lady over a lake.