In 1999, Stephen Minch's Hermetic Press published the autobiography of Arthur Brandon. Mr. Brandon was better known as Milo, half of the magical team that performed around the world as Milo and Roger. The book is a wonderfully breezy account of much of his and Roger Coker's lives. It is often whimsical and at times poignant. Like all good storytellers, Milo's account of his life-experiences touches several emotions of his readers. Many times during the telling of this story, the reader is likely to think about his or her own life and as a result feels a connection with the writer. What more can an author, publisher, and reader ask of a book?
Of course, chances are that you already know all this because you have read Milo and Roger: A Magical Life. Otherwise, it's highly unlikely that you would have bothered to acquire this monograph. In the off chance that you did acquire this booklet without having read the autobiography, please take this opportunity to purchase it now from Mr. Minch's Hermetic Press. Trust me when I tell you that it's an indispensable companion piece to this work, and you will enjoy every moment spent turning its magical pages.
I came late to the party, not acquiring the book until sometime in the early 2000s. But it quickly became one of my favorite books. I found myself reading it again, even though I had several other volumes waiting to be read for the first time. But I did find one thing lacking in the book; photographs. The book has only ten. This seemed contradictory to me: If they were such a great act, surely there must have been more photographic and ephemeral evidence of their fame. "That's pretty much all he sent me," Mr. Minch reassured me when I contacted him, "I really don't know why he didn't send more." At that point, reasons were meaningless to me: All I knew was that I wanted to see more ephemeral evidence of their career. I wanted what collectors call "paper." So began my hunt.
My quest, it turns out, became a journey that at times seemed to fit right in with the sometimes impossible sounding whimsy of Milo's book. Coincidences of varying degrees—something Milo did not believe in—were found around several corners. It was as if Milo left this trail of breadcrumbs for me to follow. Or perhaps instead it was the "Gods of India" who left them. I don't know if these gods—to whom Milo was always referring when something truly magical happened in his and Roger's lives—are real. But if they are, I suspect that they were smiling during most of my adventure; and perhaps even now. I just hope the story of this journey and in particular the treasures it uncovered make you smile as well.
Dustin Stinett
October 2007
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