Gladsome and then some

Fish the Magish spreads joy with a message

He doesn't preach. He doesn't even really do magic. But Fish the Magish uses the art of illusion to spread laughter laced with moral messages to audiences in churches, schools, libraries, parties, preschools and senior centers throughout North Carolina, South Carolina and Virginia.

"We love him," says Carrie Griffith, director of the St. Raphael Early Childhood Center of St. Raphael Catholic Church in North Raleigh.

"Our faith is really a part of everything we do at this school and how we treat each other," Griffith says. "It's not just a class; it's really living the faith that's so important. We want to model that. A performer like Fish fits right in."

At a recent performance at Precious Lambs Early Learning Center, Mike Fisher donned his goofy hat and his "Magish" persona, and quipped, "Come on in and have a seat, cowpokes."

Probably none of the 24 children ages 3 to 5 knew what a cowpoke was, but they giggled as they walked by the funny man.

"I think that's where children get their faith," Fisher says. "They start with trust. They see you in a different light."

But he doesn't forget about the adults in the room, adding asides they can enjoy, too.

"What could be greater than being in a roomful of children and adults and our sides are splitting -- what a sense of unity," Griffith says. "It's certainly a godly thing."

Dr. John Rogers, pastor of First Baptist Church in Asheboro where Fisher is a member, has seen him perform for senior adults, on mission trips, for lower income groups and in church services. His act reminds him, Rogers says, of Proverbs 15:13: "A happy heart makes the face cheerful."

"He just has a gift. ... They have a good time, then he's able to tie in the spiritual tenets," Rogers says.

Fisher makes it clear that he doesn't do magic: He's an illusionist, and he uses those illusions to teach about good character.

As with his box-inside-a-box trick. He holds a blue box that has a white box inside it, then the two boxes change places; the white box somehow fits the blue box inside it and later a red ball pops out of what had been an empty blue box. He fools everyone in the audience, and teaches them that things are not always what they appear. That lesson stuck with Rogers' 8-year-old grandson, who remembered the punch line: "It's not what you see on the outside; it's what's on the inside that counts."

"It's not a show. It's an interaction with the people who are there," Rogers said. "The interaction makes it even more powerful."

When a flower blooms behind Fisher's back, the kids scream for his attention. By the time he turns around, the bloom has disappeared. Helpers on stage hold balls that multiply and magic wands that fall apart, and the children double over as they giggle at the faux pas.

"What I get my joy from is seeing them enjoy themselves," Fisher said. "We're the only animal God lets laugh. When people are doing that, they're closest to their humanity. It binds people in a special unique way."

Finding his calling

Fisher, 55, spent most of his life working in textiles, and he could see that more and more plants were closing just as his three children were nearing college age.

"I had been praying for guidance about something to do," he said.

He was 40. Even then, though, he didn't start with illusions. He learned he liked being a clown when his church began exploring a clown ministry in the early 1990s.

He and his wife, Denise, performed as clowns for their Sunday school class -- she was Silly Gilly, he was Jasper J. Jenkins. People told him, "You could make a living at this." He took their offhand remarks as an answer from God. He found a fascination for illusions when he attended a magic class at a clown convention in Charlotte.