I always wanted to go to the Chavez school but I could never

Hear the words of Lance Burton, a master of wonder, who confessed: “I always wanted to go to the Chavez school but I could never afford it when I was growing up so a lot of my learning came from magic books and watching other magicians. I was also very lucky that I had a couple of really good magic teachers.” At first, this seems but the story of a performer and his craft, yet hidden within it lies the eternal teaching of perseverance, humility, and the mysterious ways in which wisdom finds those who seek it.

The Chavez school, famed among magicians, stood in Burton’s mind as a temple of learning, a place he longed to enter but could not, for the cost was beyond his reach. Yet what he could not obtain with gold, he pursued with hunger. He turned to books, those silent teachers, and to the example of others who practiced the art before him. He stood not in grand halls, but in humble places, watching, studying, and learning. His story reminds us that though the door of privilege may be closed, the door of persistence is always open.

From this longing and labor came another blessing: teachers who appeared at the right moment. Burton calls them “really good magic teachers,” yet the ancients would recognize them as guides upon the path, mentors who illuminate the way when the journey grows dim. For often in life, the true master is not found in lofty institutions, but in the kindness of one who shares knowledge freely. It is said that Alexander the Great declared he owed his life to his father, but his life’s purpose to his teacher Aristotle. So too did Burton’s art bloom not only from books but from the generosity of those willing to teach.

Let us remember also the story of Abraham Lincoln, who, born into poverty, could not afford formal schooling. His teachers were books by firelight, scraps of paper, and the speeches of others. He taught himself law, rising from obscurity to become the leader who guided a nation through its darkest hour. Lincoln’s story, like Burton’s, proclaims that greatness does not always spring from wealth or access, but from an unyielding desire to learn, and from the chance encounters with those willing to mentor.

The emotional heart of Burton’s words lies in his gratitude—for books, for examples, for teachers. He does not lament what he lacked, but honors what he gained. This humility is the mark of true greatness. For many, the absence of opportunity breeds bitterness. But for the wise, it awakens resourcefulness. What Burton teaches us here is that destiny is not barred by circumstance. Though denied the school he longed for, he found another way, and in that way, perhaps, discovered lessons even richer than those the school alone could provide.

The lesson for you, listener of the future, is clear: Do not despair when the road you desire is closed. Seek another path, and walk it with determination. Knowledge is not only in the halls of the mighty but in the quiet pages of a book, in the hands of mentors, in the watchful eyes that study the craft of others. What matters is not where you begin, but how deeply you hunger for wisdom.

What then shall you do? First, cultivate a spirit of resourcefulness—if one door is closed, find another, for the world is wide with opportunity. Second, seek teachers wherever they may be found, whether in people, books, or experiences. Third, give thanks for every lesson, no matter how humble, for each step of learning is a step toward mastery. And when you, too, have gained knowledge, extend your hand to others, becoming for them the teacher that once guided you.

Remember always: greatness is not bestowed by privilege, but earned through persistence, humility, and the guidance of those who appear along the way. As Lance Burton rose from poverty to mastery by clinging to books, mentors, and unwavering will, so too can you rise, whatever your craft may be. This is the teaching hidden in his words, and it is a torch for all who hunger to learn.