By Remy Cox
What makes a man worth remembering? The mountains of Appalachia are dotted with the legacy of larger-than-life men—Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, and the Hatfields and McCoys are just a few Appalachian figures who have been excessively mythologized beyond their real-life actions. The mythologized versions of these individuals have been some of the most definitive images of the Appalachian region to outsiders for generations. Yet some, like magical tinsmith-turned-army-drummer Augustus “Gus” Reich have been practically lost to the annals of history.
Much of Reich’s life remains shrouded in mystery. Despite his fascinating life and legacy, any record of Reich is sustained by the work of merely a couple of scholars and a smattering of passionate laymen. The largest selection of information is in A Johnny Reb Band from Salem: The Pride of Tarheelia by Harry Hobart Hall, initially published in 1963. As for primary sources, the largest collection is in a handful of issues of the The People’s Press, a Salem-based newspaper that ran while Reich was an active magician. His wife Mary donated his collection of tinwork tools and box of magic gadgets to the Museum of Early Southern Decorative Arts in Winston-Salem, what became of his birthplace.
Both existing photographs of Reich unfortunately obscure his face, coincidentally adding to his air of mystery. Reich is the man perched on the pole to the right. Photo courtesy of Old Salem Restoration.
Broadside advertisement for one of Reich’s shows. Photo courtesy of the Museum of Early Southern Decorative Arts.
It is not inaccurate to say that Gus Reich was a pillar of his community. He was born in Salem, North Carolina in 1833 to tinsmith Jacob Reich, who taught his son the craft. Growing up, he was fascinated by the magicians and circus workers that came to the local hotel on tour, learning the art of sleight of hand himself. When the looming threat of the Civil War came to fruition, Gus joined the Confederate army in 1861 as a percussionist in the 26th North Carolina Regimental band. By all accounts from his fellow band members, Gus was a unique and eclectic personality who often brought levity to his peers in the darker times of the war—although some of them might assert that he was a better magician than he was a drummer. As they traveled across the South, Gus would perform magic tricks alongside performances from the band to raise money for local hospitals and schools. Gus’ talents were in high demand—he performed as “The Southern Magician” for events as prestigious as Governor Zebulon Vance’s 1862 inauguration. He specialized in classic sleight-of-hand wizardry—card tricks, coin tricks, and other such things were trademarks of his shows, as listed in a pamphlet of instructions of his most popular tricks.
As the sun set over his twilight home of Mt. Airy, North Carolina, he turned to his wife and uttered the phrase that would come to define his character—”Mary, I am the Wizard of the Blue Ridge Mountains.”
Gus continued his magical practice long before and after the war. Despite his prowess for sleight of hand, stage magic was not his only talent, as he also constructed the original tin coffin for the conjoined twins Chang and Eng Bunker meant to preserve them until autopsy, saying that it was “…the greatest job [he] ever done.” Newspapers claim that when the coffin was opened several days later, the twins were perfectly preserved. He seems to have performed his last show as a benefit for a primary school in Piney Grove, North Carolina, in the early 1910s. By the end of the decade, the Wizard of the Blue Ridge had died at age 84—his greatest trick yet.
Reich’s life story is fascinating and electric, yet known by shockingly few. Appalachia is home to countless legends who have had the truth of their lives overshadowed by their sensationalized legacies. What circumstances allowed for the deep cultural entrenchment of men like Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone, and not Gus Reich?