The Wizard’s reign dances on

The Wizard has no plans to stop casting spells over Christchurch, despite celebrating his 90th birthday tomorrow.

The Christchurch icon has been attracting crowds, causing mischief and creating a scene since he moved to the city in 1974.

He still pulls a crowd on his regular tours of the Christchurch Arts Centre in his trademark black robes, with wooden staff and pointy hat. ‘‘I can’t possibly give it up,’’ he said.

‘‘People go crazy on the trams when they see me. They leap out with cameras. I love people and that is why I do what I do.

‘‘I am a lively person and I have always been like that since I was a child. I was born to disrupt things.’’

The Wizard, also known as Ian Brackenbury Channell, started disrupting things as soon as he arrived in Christchurch.

His maiden speech in Cathedral Square on September 17, 1974 – the first of many from the top of a stepladder over several decades – was greeted with chaos.

‘‘Two women were arrested, fighting broke out, and the police asked him to stop the address soon after it began,’’ The Press reported.

‘‘About 20 eggs were thrown at The Wizard but only one – thrown from behind – hit him.’’

Nevertheless, he persevered, appearing the next day to speak again and battling Christchurch City Council for the right to give speeches in the square.

He won that battle and became a fixture of the city centre and, in time, a global celebrity.

‘‘The council realised I was bringing tourism to the city.’’

One highlight from a career of pranks and media stunts was when he broke a series of droughts with his own special rain dance.

In a bizarre turn of events, in the late 1980s he broke droughts in Waimate, Nelson, Auckland and even Tamworth in New South Wales. In each instance, it rained within three days of The Wizard performing his rain dance, ending long and damaging droughts.

‘‘That was bizarre. It was scary,’’ he said.

‘‘I was getting worried at that stage. I didn’t want people to think I had magical powers. It got too dangerous, so I backed out.’’

The rain dances left even Denis Dutton of the NZ Skeptics dumbfounded.

‘‘The Wizard is astonishing,’’ he said after the fourth successful rain dance.

‘‘The Wizard is the one paranormal person on the planet that sceptics actually have to believe in. He actually is able to do it.’’

Even as his celebrity faded after the turn of the millennium, The Wizard still proved to be a cultural force.

He joined the successful campaign to save the historic Christ Church Cathedral from demolition after it was badly damaged in the

‘‘... I have been a waste of life, but I have enjoyed every moment of it and that is what really counts.’’

2011 earthquakes.

He spoke at rallies, confronted Anglican bishop Victoria Matthews, and even paid for ads in The Press, calling for the cathedral’s restoration in his usual combative and playful style.

‘‘It wasn’t just about the building as a work of art, the building was the heart of the city.’’

But in recent years, The Wizard has found himself out of step with modern sensibilities. He is a selfconfessed sexist, believes the Covid19 pandemic lockdowns were a ‘‘catastrophe’’, and even has his doubts about climate change.

Last year, the council stopped paying The Wizard $16,000 a year after more than two decades on the public payroll to ‘‘provide acts of wizardry’’ for the city.

‘‘They decided I was a bad influence on Christchurch, whatever that means,’’ he said.

But despite recent setbacks, he is happy to keep on being The Wizard.

‘‘I sometimes feel like [the poet] John Keats, that my life was writ in water.

‘‘I have left nothing behind me and I have been a waste of life, but I have enjoyed every moment of it and that is what really counts.’’