Throwing Rings Around the Rest of Us : Recreation: Some of the nation’s best jugglers hold court at Valley College. And as they keep clubs and balls soaring, they trade tips and gibes.

In a drab-green, post-war Quonset hut at Valley College in Van Nuys, the law of gravity had been temporarily amended.

People and most other masses heavier than air remained anchored to the building’s scuffed wooden floor, but rings, clubs and balls of all types soared in odd elliptical orbits, dozens of them seeming to hover at the top of colorful arcs in the harsh white light.

Wearing no makeup or costumes, and lacking any musical accompaniment or pretense, about 35 jugglers, some of whom reign as royalty in this hypnotically moving world, casually conversed while keeping as many as eight rings or five volleyballs or four clubs aloft.

Among those holding court recently at one of the informal Thursday night gatherings were some of the nation’s best jugglers. Some are worthy of titles: Mark Nizer, the Wooden Club King; Dan Bennett, the Ball King; Bob Mendelson, the Ring King.

At one point, Mendelson and Nizer each were tossing eight rings--the world record for sustained juggling is nine--standing back to back.

Suddenly, Mendelson--demonstrating that hubris is innate to juggling--shouted: “Let’s meld!” Instead, the rings landed in a humiliating heap at their feet.

Later, Mendelson, Nizer and two others tried to complete 35 flawless tosses of six rings, clapping them over their heads at the end in a staccato flourish. Each time someone flubbed--and there were plenty of flubs--they started over.

“Ten years ago, we would have been gods doing this, but now there’s a couple hundred who can,” said Mendelson, who lives in West Los Angeles.

For about two hours each week, the room fills with jugglers--some novices learning the mysteries of keeping three bean bags flying, others professionals looking for a good workout. Most are men, 30ish and generally sharing an affinity for computers or mathematics, able to see the beauty in a perfect toss or a balanced equation.

They practice on foot or on unicycles, tossing and jamming, challenging one another to juggle more objects higher and faster. They play catch with three-pound wooden clubs that come whirling like primitive weapons. They call it hacking, but most would call it miraculous. Meanwhile, they trade tips about jobs and agents, and they trade gibes.

“How hard can that be?” Bennett said, watching Mendelson finish a six-ring routine with a fancy flourish. So he tried it and ended up chasing an errant ring across the floor. “That’s hard,” he concluded.

Thanks to the entertainment industry, as well as good weather and outdoor venues such as Venice Beach, Los Angeles has one of the largest populations of working jugglers of any city in the nation. And, depending on the week, those who unpack their equipment at the Thursday night sessions, which the college has sponsored for 15 years as part of its community service program, arguably represent the greatest concentration of juggling talent in the country.

“It’s inspiring to work with other people like that,” said Nizer, 31, a Sylmar resident who was the International Juggling Assn.’s 1990 individual champion. Now he performs about four months of the year, working at colleges and on cruise ships, and opening for such entertainers as Bob Hope and George Burns.

“You can be in the gym all week practicing and tell yourself you have to do 100 of these . . . but it pushes you more with other people around,” he said.

About half a dozen of the jugglers in attendance this night said they support themselves solely with their mesmerizing feats of hand-eye coordination, some earning six-figure incomes. The best jobs are at colleges, on cruise ships and in theaters. A rung below are corporate events, gigs at comedy clubs and street performing. Others tour Europe and Asia, on their own as well as with theater and circus companies.

But the recession has hit jugglers hard. “Companies used to do company picnics and hire jugglers, (but) they’re cutting back. And when you’re doing the streets now, people aren’t able to give you that extra dollar,” said Suzy Williams, 28, a Santa Barbara resident.

Unlike magicians, who guard their tricks like state secrets, the jugglers show each other their stuff, holding only a little something, a signature routine, in reserve.

Dan Bennett, a doctorate candidate in math at UCLA who traded in juggling equations for juggling objects, patiently helps another performer learn to work with five volleyballs. But he doesn’t demonstrate his unique skill of tossing a bowling ball into the air with his foot and catching it on his face. (The trick is to catch the ball at the top of its arc, but don’t try this at home.)

For Traci Burwell, 27, the sessions go beyond socializing and practice. They are almost a lifeline to a former self.

Nearly three years ago, the Northridge resident was polishing a comedy-juggling act when a four-vehicle accident with a tractor-trailer left her in a coma for four months. When she regained consciousness, she had lost the ability to speak and walk, and she was blind in her right eye.

But she had not lost the desire to juggle. Now, she not only talks and walks again, she can do both while sustaining a three-ball cascade. “I got a lot of support from everyone here,” she said of the jugglers who visited her in the hospital and who are helping her regain her skills. “It’s enjoyable when it doesn’t feel like work,” she said at the end of several successful passes.

The semiofficial leader of the juggling club, one of 63 IJA chapters in the nation, is Bud Markowitz, a 72-year-old retired Cheviot Hills tie manufacturer who took up the balls at age 64. On his first visit to the gymnasium eight years ago, he was so awe-struck by the talents of the others that he was too embarrassed to get off the bleachers.

Now he can pass clubs back and forth to a partner and is working on juggling three balls--in one hand. “If anyone wants to come to learn, we’ll be happy to teach them,” Markowitz said. “We’re not like a magician who won’t tell you a damn thing. We all want to help and want more and more people to join the fraternity.”