A crowd had gathered in front, and knowing the shop well, I was able to get into the front of the crowd, through the other door and back outside. Who should I spy standing and staring into the window at the magical paraphernalia but Mohammed Ali.

Realizing that he was interested in magic, I trotted right up to the famous man, and showing him my Society of American Magicians Card, I inquired as to whether he was interested in magic? He told me he was, so I suggested that the stuff they sold at this shop was mass marketed equipment, and I could show him where the pros get their stuff. In his inimitable way, he asked me, Would you really do that for me? And, we walked together to his waiting car.
.
The greatest tragedy of my life, and the one thing for which I have real, and deep regrets, is the outcome of my love affair with Pascale. It all began when I was married to my second wife, Patty. Patty was bisexual, and although it was a stupid male ego thing to marry her, thinking we could share other women, and still maintain a relationship, I did make that mistake, failing miserably to listen to my inner voice. We were together only three years, and had no children together, but still, it was another trauma to part when we finally realized that it couldnt work like that.
.
It was hard to breathe. I didnt eat or sleep well the next few days, and knew I was smitten. Pascale was blonde, with hair of smoothest silk, and golden eyes, of a hue I have never seen before or since. She was petite, and built slender and solid. I would later find out she had been a gymnast of national class in France.
.
In 1988, apartheid had not yet ended its ugly repression in South Africa, and I was not surprised to see a note on each application prohibiting those with South African Visas in their passports from applying. However, I was taken aback when I got the application from the Algerian Embassy in Washington, when I saw the proscription was for those with Visas in their passports from Israel or South Africa the worst was to come, when I saw the applications from the Algerian Embassies in other Countries, the statement was clearer If you have a Visa in your passport from Israel, or South Africa, or you are a Jew do not apply.
.
And at that time, all foreigners had to plan through the notorious KGB associated agency, known as Intourist to get any accommodations whatever. This allowed the KGB to place an interesting Foreigner in a special hotel, presumably one with surveillance facilities, like hidden rooms with two-way mirrors to set up film equipment in the bedrooms, and microphones to eavesdrop on conversations.

There were funny stories, like the guy who came on a business trip, and was told about the accommodations. So he brought along de-bugging equipment and in his paranoia, had a tool kit with him. When he arrived in his room, he began searching for suspicious stuff. Coming upon a metal box under his bed he examined it and found that there was a large nut holding it in place.

So he set about loosening the nut. Finally the bolt it held slipped through a hole, and he heard a loud crash below it seems he detached the chandelier hanging in the dining room below him!
.
When I got home, I ran into New York with no idea how I would find Katya there. But I brought photos of myself with Dr. Popov at the Institute of Physical Culture and with other luminaries I had met there. I figured that this way, if I needed to come to some Soviet agency in the city, they would at least realize that I wasnt just some crank.

I figured right. I found the Soviet mission to the UN, and knocked on their door. It was a dark, forbidding place, with cameras everywhere, and a small cramped waiting room. A receptionist said only da? And I tried to explain who I was and why I wanted their help. They looked at me like I had three heads coming there like that. But finally someone called an interpreter, and she figured out that I was trying find Katya, and that I was a tovarishch comrade! A coach came about an hour later, and we went together to her hotel where she was rooming with Tracy Wilson, the lady who made such a stir in Nagano about the judging corruption while color commentating.
.
Food shopping was an exercise in Kafkaesque deliberate disorganization. At the classiest Russian food market, Yelisevskys, one stood in one line for kielbasa (salami), another for eggs, and so on. This wasnt bad enough. When you got to the counter, and told them how much of the product you wanted, the salesperson gave you a little slip of paper, with a number on it and tells you to go to the cashiers line to pay for it. Then after that line, you got a receipt, and could come back to the food product line AGAIN, to finally retrieve your whatever. It could easily take all day to go food shopping for a few basic staples.