Historical March 1992 article. Dates, prices, services and contacts describe the source period; current availability has not been established.
The blue-grey smoke cleared and the genie looked at me with a wry smile on his face.
His left hand stroked his goatee and his right hand held the scabbard at his side.
I squinted my eyes because the glare from the Magic Lamp made it hard for me to look directly at him. “And now,” he bellowed, “finder of the lamp, you have one wish, one desire, that I will grant. What is it to be?” The silence was eerie.
I could hear the water slowly dripping from the stalagmites in the darkened cave, and I could hear the sound of my own heart as it pulsed with excitement and fear. One wish. One wish. Only one wish. “Excuse me,” I said and cleared my throat, “Believe it or not, I’ve often thought about what I would do in this kind of situation: I waited and he said nothing. “But could I use my one wish to have two more wishes?” “Do I look like a sucker or what?” he sneered.
His eyes rolled towards the roof of the cave and he continued, “I mean, give me a break. You stumble into this cave, find a lamp that you rub, I appear and offer to grant you any one wish, and you want more? Give me a break! No wonder the world is shot to hell these days: “But you didn’t say…” I began.
He raised his hand and I stopped in midsentence. “Didn’t say, didn’t say, nah-nah. nah!” This isn’t Parcheesi, it’s about life.
Now I offered you one wish, take it or leave it.
There are lots of other people who would be happy with one wish. There’s the homeless, the people with dreaded diseases, there’s Tom Harkin.” “For that matter,” he continued, “there’s Richard Nixon. He’d certainly be happy with one wish now, but he blew it the first time: “Nixon, Richard Nixon had a wish?” I asked.
This was getting even more interesting. “You mean you granted a wish to President Richard M. Nixon?” The genie sat on his haunches and puffed from a cigar that had mysteriously appeared from nowhere.
He blew a smoke ring, then another, then two smokes rings, one within another. “Ah yes, Richard Milhous Nixon,” he said, whispering the name. “I remember him well. “Uh, can you tell me what that wish was?” “Oh no,” he replied quickly, exhaling cigar smoke, “there aren’t many rules for this kind of thing, but that’s one of them: no telling anyone what wish was granted.” “Was it about Watergate? Viet Nam? Checkers? Just give me a hint, please,” I begged.
When I got home, Woodward and Bernstein would have nothing on me. “Enough,” he shouted, “ENOUGH. I’ve told you all I can tell you.” “Well then,” I countered, “even if you can’t tell me what you granted, how about giving me the names of some of the other people you’ve worked with? That’s not against the rules, is it?” I was interested, sure, but I was also trying to stall for time before I had to make my one and only wish. Maybe hearing who the others were would give me inspiration. Besides, this whole experience was a bit like riding down Space Mountain at Disney World.
I wasn’t sure where it was going, but knew I didn’t want it to end. Just yet.
I thought back to how all this had started.
There I was, walking on the beach when this pinkish looking rabbit ran into a cave.
I could have sworn that the rabbit was wearing a hat.
I know that’s an odd thought, but given this, who knows what’s odd these days? Anyway, I decided to follow the rabbit into the cave. At first it was big and airy and level, but then I tripped over an old beer bottle and fell.
I began to roll down a hill, further into the cave.
The next thing… “Are you listening or what?” the genie shouted.
I must’ve been daydreaming and hadn’t heard what he had said. “Sorry, Mr. Genie,” I said, “I missed that last part. Could you give it to me again?” I felt like I was in school. “Well you asked who’s been granted wishes,” he replied somewhat tartly, “and I was naming some of the people you might recognize.
I can’t tell.you what the wishes were, but for most of them, I suspect it’s pretty obvious.” “Right,” I said, “so who?” “Nixon, Cher Bono — that was her name then, Wilt Chamberlain, RoseAnn Barr, Regis Philbin, Howard Cosell, Bo Derek, Michael Jackson, Bill Bidwell, Jerry Lewis, John Ashcroft, Wyatt Earp, Madonna, Dan Quayle, Patrick Emory, and James Michener. It’s actually a fairly large group of people.” “That’s an odd list,” I mused, “politicians, athletes, comedians, notables from all walks of life.
But why them, what was there about these particular people and the Magic Lamp?” “Ah, the naivete of youth,” he continued, “they’re all there precisely because of the lamp.” “Huh?” I responded cleverly. “The lamp, you simple one, without the lamp you wouldn’t even know that they existed.” He waited and puffed his cigar.
This time the smoke rings were intertwined, so it looked like he was blowing chainlink smoke rings. “What do these people have in common?” I asked myself.
Then it came to me and I shouted, punching my right hand into the air, “YES!” felt pretty stupid that it had taken me so long to understand his point. “You mean that while there are lots of famous people in the world, these people became famous only because of you and the lamp!” “Bingo,” he smiled somewhat condescendingly, “they didn’t have a lot going for themselves until they rubbed me the right way, er, rubbed my lamp the right way, I mean.” “This is great,” I smiled, “because of a pinkish rabbit, I’ve got fame and fortune and happiness coming my way.” And as soon as the words had left my mouth, I knew how foolish they were.
The cigar smoke was now being fashioned into horizontal shapes that resembled Persian carpets.
The genie was on his back, using the lamp as a pillow, legs crossed, blowing smoke towards the roof of the cave.
But I didn’t care because I finally understood. “This is a trick,” I said somewhat indignantly, pointing my finger at him.
These folks aren’t really any happier and we’re not any better because of them.
They are all folks who had the opportunity for happiness, the chance to make things better, and they blew it. Right?” “Can’t say,” he said, recrossing his legs.
But I detected a smile. “But there are other people, I’ll bet,” I continued, “who did successfully capitalize on their wish, who gained -because of the lamp and made the world better, right? Am I right?” “No, little man,” he said and rose to stand and tower over me.
He seemed much bigger now than when I had first seen him.
He spoke in very soft tones, “You had it right the first time.
The lamp can only bring misfortune and tragedy; yes, it can bring fame, but fame is hollow. And it never brings happiness.” “And the successful people? They’re just lucky?” “There is no such thing as luck. What you call luck is the combination of preparation plus opportunity.
The concept of luck is a myth latched on to by those who don’t prepare and who don’t see the opportunities.” “Well, you won’t fool me,” I said triumphantly. “I’m leaving, climbing out of this cave. You and your lamp and your smoke rings can wait for the next sucker.” I turned and ran and began to climb, not really knowing where I was going, just understanding that up was the direction I wanted, that up would eventually get me out. Along the way, I wondered if I had made the right decision, but the more I thought about it, the more I was sure that I had chosen wisely.
Then I saw a glimmer of light and I knew that I had found the mouth of the cave.
I stepped outside to find blue skies and a bright sun.
I leaned against a tree and paused to take a big breath of fresh air. And then I saw the pinkish rabbit, wearing a hat and running into another entrance to the cave. And following the rabbit was Mario Cuomo. •
Originally published in The Times of Skinker-DeBaliviere, March 1992.
Read this article in the original newspaper issue.
Original source: SD_Times1992_03.pdf, printed page(s) 8; PDF page(s) 8.
