Horace Goldin qhorace

It's Fun to be Fooled--Cover

IT'S FUN

TO BE FOOLED

Horace Goldin HTML version by Marko by Marko This version Copyright 1999--José Antonio González

CONTENTS

It's Fun to be Fooled--Cover

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII XIII XIV XV XVI XVII XVIII XIX XX XXI XXII

I Serve my Apprenticeship Making my Way in the World of Magic How I Became a Star My English Première Playing Before the British Royal Family Taking Magic to the Home of Magic Days in Hawaii The Birth of "A Woman Sawn in Half" My Fight for my Invention Adventures the World Over The Boston Mystic Key My Publicity Stunts The Indian rope Trick; My Full Confession The Story of Lily, The Tiger God Two Great Unperformed Miracles Explained Brushes with the Law and with Swindlers When I Cheated at Cards Tricks from my Repertoire My Magic Talkies The Psychology of an Egg Artistes I Have Helped All Conjurers are Crazy! Next | | Home Page Next

I Serve my Apprenticeship

It's Fun to be Fooled by Horace Goldin Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

CHAPTER ONE

I SERVE MY APPRENTICESHIP

WHEN I was a boy I dreamed of theatres, of audiences rising to their feet to applaud me, of the great ones of the earth congratulating me. But in those dreams I held a violin in my hand and the people were showing their appreciation of a great musician. There was never a dream in which I was surrounded by illusions and mysteries and in which the audience applauded my skill in baffling them. Yet magic was present in my life from an early age. Cherry-stones were the only effects I had for my first trick. I used to take six of them. Two I placed in my nostrils, two in the corners of my eyes, and two in my ears. I made a pass across my face and all the stones appeared out of my mouth. I invented that trick when I was thirteen years old, and I kept it in my repertoire long after I had gone on the stage as a professional magician. One day, however, something went wrong. One of the stones did a private vanishing trick of its own and lodged in my ear. There it stayed for thirteen years, never bothering me very much. Then, when I had to spend a week in bed, it condescended to reappear, and I found it on my pillow one morning when I awoke. There was little of the magic of happiness in my life in my early years. I was born in a farm-house just outside Vilna, in Poland. My parents tried to make a living from fruit-growing, but they were not successful. We were far from rich, for my father much preferred singing in the local Jewish church, where he was cantor, to working in the orchards. America was the country of which my father dreamed, and he used to gather the children round him and tell them marvellous stories of that distant country, of its great cities and busy people. Any money he managed to save went into a little black box, which we children rarely saw and whose hiding-place was kept a strict secret. When he had collected enough money to buy a ticket to the United States he intended to escape from the drudgery of the farm and seek new opportunities for all of us overseas. I had two uncles who were on the other side of the Atlantic and their occasional letters were full of their progress in the New World and of the excellent prospects


for all who joined them. These letters whetted my father's longing to escape. I was only eight when my father counted up the money in the black box and found that there was enough for the ticket and for incidental expenses on the voyage. We were all called to a solemn family conclave. My father told us of his intentions. "Children," he said, "I am going to leave you for a while. I shall go to find a home for you in a new country. Soon you will be following me, and then we shall have a great deal more money and be very much happier than we are here. I shall send you home the money for the journey very soon, I hope, and then this family will be reunited again." We were all near tears as he spoke, but the resilience of childhood saved us from prolonged grief, and soon we were telling each other of the wonder of America, and making our plans for our new home. Mother cried at the thought of losing her husband even for a short time, but she cheered up at the thought that there would be no more worry about poor crops and bad prices. These were our hopes and dreams; the truth was very different. Not till eight long and toilsome years were passed did we see our father again. We who were left fatherless came to know dire poverty. We all had to work, even the smallest. My education had been somewhat interrupted, but I had shown myself sufficiently bright at school to be offered a part-time post. I was then only twelve years old. I also showed some proficiency at music, and Mother dreamed, as mothers will, of the time when I should be able to develop the talent of which she was convinced I was possessed. She stinted herself in order to help me. There is one incident from my childhood which stands out very clearly. It happened when I was only five years old, and it all came about because of my curiosity. There was a deep well near my home, and this used to puzzle me a good deal. I wanted to know a great many things about it, and, when I discovered that my elders could not tell me how deep it was, or where the water came from, I set about finding out for myself. I leant over and saw my own face reflected up from the water, and then I began to experiment with a stick in an effort to find out the depth of the water. I leant a little too far, and soon found out the depth by trying it with myself. Naturally the shock of this fall had a great effect upon me, and I developed a frightful stammer. This lasted until I was well on in my teens, and then I determined to cure myself. I succeeded so well that since I was seventeen I have been able to speak quite naturally, and the knowledge I gained through this curing of myself I have used to cure many people of this annoying


impediment. Magic first came into my life when I was about twelve. I paid a visit to one of the travelling fairs which occasionally stayed in Vilna. The show was free, and at most times I had little enough entertainment. As I wandered round amongst the side-shows I saw a gipsy doing conjuring tricks. He made rabbits appear in the most unlikely places. He waved his hands and--hey presto!--out came long streamers and huge flags from people's pockets. He did strange things with cards and seemed to be able to lay eggs at will. The crowd stood and gaped, but I, though only a small boy, was sadly disappointed. I had a quick eye, and perhaps, even at that early age, I had a sceptical nature and was not readily open to suggestion. I thought I saw how most of the tricks were done, and I did not think much of the man who was. doing them. What did impress me was the rapturous reception given to these poor efforts by the crowd. Here, I thought, is something easy, something well worth trying. I haunted that fair-ground during the time the conjurer was there. The Strong Man and the Fat Lady and the other motley inhabitants of the fair came to know me quite well. I watched the gipsy magician from all angles and soon learned the secrets of palming cards and the other sleight-of-hand tricks. Then I went home and in a quiet corner of the orchard I practised hard until I could do a great deal of the conjuring act I had been watching so carefully. When I gave my first display, which was in the privacy of the home, the family was astonished. My young brothers and sisters were alarmed, and even suspected that my skill was the result of some s ome pact with the Devil and that the end would be my vanishing from amongst them, leaving behind nothing but a smell of brimstone. When, however, I had convinced them that I was not practising the Black Art they conceived a marvellous admiration for me, and spread my fame far and wide. From this I benefited greatly, for I was invited out to give displays in the homes of friends. The acquisition of this accomplishment was one of the few bright spots in the dark time when we were without our father. The money which we were so anxiously awaiting came soon after I had reached the age of sixteen. I need not describe the joy and excitement which reigned in our house when that letter arrived. We had no regrets at leaving and we were all in the best of spirits when we wished our neighbours good-bye and set off for Hamburg, where we were to catch the great liner which would take us to New York. There, so Father wrote to us, we should board a train which would take us to Nashville, Tennessee, where he was in partnership with my uncle in a general store. It was not a great sum my father had been able to send, and by the time we


reached Hamburg there was only enough left for the ticket for Mother and the half-tickets for us children. With those safely in our pockets we left the agents' office and set off for the docks. There we saw the great vessel, a hive of activity. It was more impressive than we had dreamed. We were tremendously excited. Mother offered our tickets to the officer at the foot of the gangway. We were practically on board. Then the blow fell. "How old is this boy?" inquired the officer. "Sixteen," Mother told him. "He's too old for a half-ticket. You must buy a full one." We looked at each other in despair. What was to be done? Why had Father only sent the money for a half-ticket? Had he forgotten that I was no longer eight years old? Mother tried persuasion. She explained that we had no more money and that we had to join her husband in America. To all this the official shook his head, saying that he could not vary the company's rules. All very unfortunate, no doubt, but there it was. The boy must have a full ticket We retreated to a mean dock-side café and talked and talked trying to think of some way of finding the extra money. At last I plucked up my courage and said that I would stay behind while the others went. "I am old enough to look after myself," I asserted as confidendy as I could. Mother looked as if she was very doubtful about that, but there seemed no other course of action and she had to agree to my staying. With tears in her eyes she assured me that as soon as she reached America she would find the money somewhere and post it off to me at once. I had waited eight years to make that voyage, and now I had to wait eight more weeks at least. All the bitterness of which disappointed youth is capable rose in my heart as I turned away from the quay from which I had waved farewell to my mother and the others. I must have looked a lonely and pathetic figure to them as they stood high above me on the liner's deck. When I could no longer see the ship I started to walk into the strange, inhospitable city in order to find work. Fresh trouble awaited me. I found that I came under a law which forbade me to stay in any one town for more than two weeks at a time. I had only three marks, fifty pfennigs in my pocket. A bakery gave me my first employment, and I carried bread in order to have a little to eat myself. After two weeks I moved to a town two miles away and worked for another fortnight. Then I moved back to Hamburg, and this


time I was lucky, for I found a job in a small hotel kept by some good people named Mendel. I worked for them in return for my board and lodgings. I had kept up my little conjuring tricks, and these helped me to make good friends of the Mendels. They kept me in their hotel until the money arrived for my passage, and they were never tired of watching my little entertainment. I gained quite a reputation during my stay in Hamburg. This friendship was renewed in surprising fashion years afterwards. After my first appearance in England, when I made a great stir at the Palace Theatre and had become known as "the Royal Illusionist" I started on a Continental tour, and one of the first cities I visited was Hamburg, where I played in the Hansa Theatre. After the show I was in my dressing-room when a card was handed to me bearing the name "Mendel". I had met a great many people since those early, lonely days in Hamburg, and I am afraid that I did not think who those people might be, straight away. Throughout my stage career, however, I have never refused to see anyone who wanted to see me, so I asked the attendant to show the visitors in. As soon as they stood in the doorway I recognized them. They were my old benefactors, now very wealthy, who had remembered the name of the little boy who had entertained them and worked for them years before. After that, whenever I visited Hamburg I always made a point of seeing those good people and of staying in their excellent hotel, where I once washed dishes. When, after leaving the Mendels and spending three miserable weeks on board ship, I arrived in America I was appalled by the noise and bustle which reigned in New York even in 1889. I was only sixteen, was unused to large cities, and could not speak a word of English. I had to submit to the indignity of having a luggage label with my destination written on it tied to my coat. Whenever I thought that there was danger of my being lost I pointed to my label and was pushed on the right road. I sighed contentedly when at last I boarded the train which was to take me to Nashville. My uncle was to meet me one or two stations down the line from his home town, and, thinking my troubles were over, I fell asleep. I was still asleep when my uncle boarded the train. He wandered up and down looking for me, and it was only after he had asked the guard if he had seen a little boy with a label that he managed to find me. Even then we did not have very much to say to each other, for he could not speak my language and I could not speak English. But at least he showed himself friendly, and therefore was to be preferred to these hustling Americans, who shouted incomprehensible things around me and who seemed to have time for nothing.


Mother was waiting on the doorstep for my arrival and the whole household flocked round to welcome me. I was heartily glad to be back in the bosom of the family, to see my beloved mother again, and to meet the man who was my father and whose face I had almost forgotten. Soon I was telling the tale of my adventures to the whole family assembled in the kitchen. I found that the rest of the family were now comfortably settled in their new home. The general store was doing quite well, and I was given a job straight away. I became versed in the secrets connected with the selling of butter, cheese, and sugar, and was quite a favourite with the coloured folk who were amongst those who patronized the store. I used to pride myself on being a good judge of weight. I would cut a piece of butter and say, "There's half a pound." When it was weighed it might be a little overweight, and the negroes would be tickled to death. So it was that they used to say, "Me wait Massa Harr'ce," and I earned the reputation of being a good salesman. Nor were the darkies the only people who were interested by my tricks with sacks of flour and pounds of sugar; many white people heard of me, and quite a lot of custom came to the shop from people who wanted to see the lad from Poland guessing correctly to within a fraction of one per cent the weight of the goods in the shop. From this post I graduated to one as travelling salesman in Roanoke, Virginia, where another uncle had a business selling cheap jewellery. I took with me, I remember, two chickens as a gift from my uncle, and those were all my riches when I started my new job. I did quite well there, but my mind was on other things. I was growing up and getting ambitious. I was still certain that I was going to become a great musician, and I did all I could to hasten my feet on the path of success. I earned five dollars a week. One dollar I sent home to my mother, and with the other four I paid for my music lessons and for my lodgings. I had a hard time making ends meet, especially as landladies objected to my practising. They did not appreciate my early efforts on the violin, more particularly because I did not arrive in until ten o'clock at night and had to start then. "Say, son," they used to say, "either you quit that row or you clear out." And I used to clear out. It was while I was working with this uncle that I met Reggie May. He was the son of a well-known doctor, and we became firm friends. I remember how we used to boast together, as boys will. "I'm going to be a great doctor," he used to say, "greater even than my father, and people will travel miles in order to consult me." "I'm going to be a great musician," I used to retort, "and great halls will be filled with the people who come to hear me play. They will cheer and clap


me and I shall be an enormous success." I did not say it quite as well as that because in those days my English was not very good, but that was the general idea. Some years afterwards, in 1897, I went to play at the Orpheum in Oakland, California, after a short season at the Orpheum, San Francisco. After the show a gentleman sent in his card. "Dr. May", I read, and I wondered who Dr. May might be. Even when a gentleman walked in I failed to recognize him. "Hello, Horace," he said. "Hello," I answered, wondering what this familiarity might mean. "Don't you remember me now that you are a great man?" he said. "I'm the little boy you used to play with." Sure enough, as I looked at his face, I recognized my old friend. You can easily imagine the long talk we had together, as we cracked a bottle together to celebrate our meeting. I found that he had made good his boast. He was a very successful doctor and had a large sanatorium at Oakland which was visited by people from all over the United States. For my part, I had to agree that I was not a great violinist, but at least I had carried out part of my boast; I was on the stage, and the audience did pack the theatre and gave me a good reception. But this is going on too fast. I must return and tell how I first had the idea of becoming a professional magician. When I was wandering round the small towns of the Middle West, selling cheap jewellery to storekeepers who did not want it, nothing was further from my thought than making a living out of the skill at sleight-of-hand which I had acquired back in Poland. I still amused myself by entertaining and mystifying my friends, but I did not take it seriously. I was too busy with my jewellery and with learning to play the violin. This all changed as a result of a meeting in the town of Bristol, Tennessee. Staying in my boarding-house was a magician calling himself "Balthasar", though his real name was Boldey. I fell into conversation with him and was interested enough to go to his show in the hall. All Balthasar's tricks were hand-tricks; he had no illusions. One trick consisted of a skeleton, which walked on the stage and danced very solemnly round, apparently of its own accord. "The Magnetic Wonder" with eggs in its hands could lift three men sitting in one chair. These and a few more tricks were the slender effects with which "The Greatest Magician of All Time" set out to bewilder the people of the smaller American towns. The night I was there the audience fairly lapped it up, and that put an idea


into my head. I was tired of hawking jewellery round the country and of getting a pittance in return. Why should I not start in a new profession? With this idea in mind I approached Balthasar when I next met him in the boarding-house, and I suggested to him that he take me as his partner. I showed him what I could do and I persuaded him that I should be a most valuable man to have as an assistant. We soon entered into an agreement, for it seemed to Balthasar that he was getting an assistant for nothing. The arrangement was that I was guaranteed twenty-five per cent of the gross takings exceeding ten dollars, and that he paid all expenses. As I came to know Balthasar better I found that being a magician was not his only accomplishment. He was also a good piano-tuner, and he could paint a good sign. All these talents were used in order to keep the show going. Our wanderings were haphazard in the extreme. The show was not always a paying proposition, and then we had to set to work to raise the money to spend on handbills. I used to visit a house and point out that the piano was out of tune. Along came Balthasar, and soon the piano really was out of tune. He charged five dollars to put it right again. Sometimes I would canvas for sign-painting. In these somewhat questionable ways we managed to keep the show going. Before I joined the show Balthasar had been able to keep body and soul together. With me as an assistant his takings went up, but all the increase and more went into my pocket. Balthasar was too muddle-headed to see for some time that I not only drew a comfortable sum each week but was also gaining experience at his expense. He taught me all his tricks, and I was soon as expert as he was. He discovered that I could do his work, and that by the time he had paid the expenses and my twenty-five per cent there was nothing left for him. When we first met he was careful to set a good example, and even treated me to several long diatribes against the evils of drink. This was our golden age. I had some ideas about publicity and these proved of value to the show. Every town in the United States has its own band. I hit upon the idea of hiring the big drum. People who heard it thought that the band was out and rushed to the window to see why. Then they saw s aw the great placard: "COME AND SEE BALTHASAR, THE WORLD'S WONDER MAGICIAN, ASSISTED BY HORACE GOLDIN, THE MAGNETIC WONDER." Thanks to this idea we packed several halls, and my twenty-five per cent was well worth having. I saved one hundred dollars in three months. By the time we had reached New Brunswick, Maryland, however, Balthasar had fallen back into his old bad habits and he was in my debt to the tune of ninety-eight dollars. I knew that I had learned all I should learn from him, and I decided that it was time to part.


"Look here," I said. "You owe me ninety-eight bucks; what about it?" That started him off on a long and piteous harangue which I was forced to interrupt. "You understand," I said, "that if I took this to law I should be authorized to attach the show?" The show, by the way, consisted of one large trunk. He agreed dismally that that was so. "Well," I said, "I don't want your show. I'm going to let you off your ninety-eight bucks. But this is where I get off." With that I shook his hand and off I went. My apprenticeship was over. I never saw Balthasar again. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Making my Way in the World of Magic


CHAPTER TWO

MAKING MY WAY IN THE WORLD OF MAGIC

AMERICA in the 'nineties was the country of opportunity. A man might be worth three cents one day and be able to bank a million dollars within a week or two. Success was in the air, and it was a heady draught for any young man.

Horace Goldin at the beginning of his carrer

I was twenty when I left Balthasar, who had given me my first real lessons, and went out to conquer the world all by myself. I had plenty of confidence. I knew my job fairly well after the tour I had made of the small towns playing with Balthasar. My experience as a commercial traveller had made me something of a showman. I knew how to spin a tale. Above all, I was sure that I

was going to succeed. Looking back, I marvel at my own audacity. I had thrown up a safe job and could hardly expect to return to it. If I was "down and out" there was no one who could give me a helping hand. However sympathetic my parents might be, they had their hands full with their family and the business in Nashville; they could not help me much. I had had no real experience in producing my own show and had not enough money to buy effects. What it all amounted to was that I had to sell myself. I decided that Washington was the best place to start in, so that was where I went. The result of the first few applications I made knocked some of the conceit out of me, and I saw that I was not going to become a top-line performer in a day. Magic might be the line which would eventually bring me to success, but at present it was not likely to fill my stomach. I decided that for a while I must look elsewhere for a position and keep plugging away at the magic


business in my hours off until I had the "lucky " lucky break" which I was convinced would come my way soon. A drapery store gave me my first occupation in Washington. It was one of those stores which stay in a town for only about three months. They do a roaring trade by somewhat questionable methods for the period of their stay and then they vanish when things become too hot for them. I learned a great deal while I was there. Even now, when I am influencing a person on the stage so that he does what I ask of him, I reflect that I first learned these methods behind the counter in that Washington drapery store. That business kept me busy during the day; in the evening I did my real work. I saw that I needed influence if I was to be a success on the stage. I set to work to make influential friends, and I soon succeeded. Washington, then as now, was one of the social centres in America. There were parties given continually throughout the season by the wives of senators and other important people. I managed to get several engagements for these private entertainments, and added considerably to my experience. My pocket also benefited. One of my best friends was a Mrs. Winter, then very prominent in political circles. She it was who obtained for me my first public appearance. It was in an entertainment given to the sailors in the navy yard, and my show was by no means the least successful of the turns put on. For all this activity my main resources were drawn from my work in the drapery store, and when it was announced that they were moving on I was in a quandary. I was not yet in a position to rely only on my magic for my living, so eventually I followed the firm to Philadelphia. There I settled down to serious practising. Every night I stayed up late while I worked at sleight-of-hand tricks. I invented several small tricks, and enlarged my repertoire as much as I could. My resources were limited, and I could only dream of some of the things I would do when I had made my real start in the theatre. It goes without saying that I haunted the theatres during this apprenticeship of mine. Whenever a conjurer was on I was to be seen in the gallery, and I also haunted the stage door. It was through this habit that I first learned the egg-in-the-bag trick. While I was in Washington I met Herbert Albini, an Englishman born in Manchester, and a very clever manipulator who held the audience spellbound from the time he came on to the stage until he finished his act with this egg-in-the-bag trick. He was really the inventor of this very clever trick, and it made a great sensation at the time. I went to see Albini after the show; he received me kindly and during his


week's engagement we became friends. When I arrived at Philadelphia I bought an egg-bag from a man named Yost, a magic-dealer, for a shilling, together with the usual printed instructions, which, after reading once, I threw away. Soon I thought I could do the egg-in-the-bag trick. I practised anywhere, at any time. Yet I knew that I had not Albini's finishing touch, his ease and fluency. I often performed the trick to perfect strangers, on railway-stations when I was waiting for a train. Still I could not please myself thoroughly. I met Albini again in New York, and at that time I idolized him as a performer. I got hold of a double-crown lithograph of him and hung it up in my bedroom; I had it there for months. During one of our meetings I told him that I had been practising shadowgraphy and suggested that he come to my room to see what I could do. He agreed. When he entered my room and saw the lithograph I had hung up he was very much touched, for he realized the great admiration I had for him. I lit a candle and put the lights out and proceeded for an hour to show him different figures of shadowgraphy with my nimble fingers. He said that he thought I was good and that if he were as good he would show his skill to the public. He then asked me how long I had had the lithograph in my room, and when I told him about a year he was amazed. "I'd like to do something for you," he said. With that he took a photograph from his pocket and wrote on it, "You are the only man in the world to have my permission to do the egg-in-the-bag trick," and he signed it. He then took my egg and my bag. "There's the egg and there's the bag. I'm not going to do this trick the ordinary, mug's way. I am going to do it my way." When he had done it I had to confess that he had baffled me. "Hold my wrists, then perhaps you'll see." He went through the trick with my hands round his wrists and my nose right near the opening of the bag. Still I did not guess the secret. He smiled. "Don't worry about that. I've fooled plenty of experts with that." Albini then showed me his own version of that famous trick, and that is the one I have had in my repertoire ever since. I have baffled thousands of people with it. Kings and queens have held my wrists while I performed. All are agreed that it is one of the best tricks they have ever seen. I owe Albini a great debt, and I am sorry to have to say that bad feeling soon spoiled the friendship between us. Some years later, during an


engagement at the Great Northern Theatre, Chicago, he tried to stop me. He issued a challenge that I could not do the trick as well as he could. This Mr. Salisbury, the manager of the theatre, persuaded me to take up, offering himself to stand surety for the five-hundred-dollar stake. When the time came Mr. Salisbury announced the challenge from the stage and placed the money on a table in full view of the audience, who were to be judges of the better performance. Albini was in the audience, but he would not come on the stage to do the trick. He called me a liar and I called him a gentleman, and so we stayed unfriendly for many years. If he had acted in a friendly way and asked me not to do the trick, I should have been glad to please him. But he was rather fond of a certain beverage, and when he had had too much he acted in a very rough fashion. After all, I had his permission, and I believe I acted rightly in standing up for my rights. Later on, when the bitterness of the animosity had worn off, we met, and I am glad to say that we became friends again--but not the close friends we had been before. I learned the egg-in-the-bag trick soon after I had decided to devote myself entirely to magic as my profession. I moved from Philadelphia to Gloucester, New jersey, where there were seven theatres, all giving free shows. I was afraid to try O'Brien's, the best, so I started on a tour of the other six. Disappointment met me in each manager's room. Six theatres did not want a magician. That left O'Brien's. Summoning up all my confidence, I entered O'Brien's and demanded to see the manager. I was shown into the holy of holies. There sat the fearsome manager, O'Brien himself. "What do you want?" he snapped. I told him that I was a magician and that I could be of use in his theatre. "Let's see your act." I showed him sleight-of-hand. I showed him the "Dancing Skeleton" which Boldey had taught me. I showed him a new trick I had invented in which I shot a canary from a pistol into a bird-cage. Not one of these tricks seemed to interest him. He had an air of complete boredom, as if he had seen everything plenty of times before and he could not be expected to take the least interest now. I decided that I must do something to rouse him from this lethargy. I asked him to take out his hunter watch and to turn the hands round and round as often as he wished.


"Now," I said, "you are quite certain that I can't see the face of the watch?" He grunted that it was so. I then took the watch from him, and without opening the case protecting the face I said, "The hands are pointing to twenty minutes past six." s ix." He opened the watch and found that I was exactly right. That really did interest him, and he engaged me on the spot. s pot. My wage was to be a dollar a day, and I had to appear to fill the gap between the matinée and the evening performance. My show ran for an hour, and I had to rely entirely on hand-tricks. My newly acquired egg-in-the-bag trick was the great feature of the show. For three weeks all went well. I was good, and knew I was good. When a summons came for me to go to the manager's office, I went full of hope. This was a big rise, probably. "Look here, Goldin," said O'Brien, "I'm going to give you the sack." Somehow or other I managed to ask him why. "You're too good for this show." "But, Mr. O'Brien, that's no reason for giving me the sack." "Oh yes, it is, my son," he told me. "I'm losing money all through having you here. You're so good that people forget to order drinks, and how do you think I run this theatre except by selling drinks? You've got to go." There was nothing for it but to pick up my things and go. It had been my first big chance, and I was a failure because I was too good. New York saw me next, for I decided that I must try the big places and see if I could not push my way through the dozens of other aspirants who were besieging managers? I was lucky straight away and started in a place in South Beach, Long Island. I had to give eight shows a day and for that I got twenty dollars a week. The theatre was built on the beach, and when the tide was in the waves beat upon the wall behind the stage. During my first five shows the tide was out, but when the sixth show started the waves began their incessant dashing, and my act was inaudible. The audience began to complain, and my act was cut short. The manager summoned me. When I found I had got the sack again, I was very angry. I did not see why managers should continually break their agreements at my expense. I walked off to consult a lawyer.


His advice was not to take a penny from them. "Don't you worry about the money for those five shows," he said. "We'll get the money for the full period of your engagement." I never saw that money. I wished afterwards that I had taken the money for the five shows which the manager had offered me. South Beach is a summer resort, and naturally it was full of schools for the children of the wealthy. My next job was with a Punch-and-Judy man named Oscar Still, who put on shows especially for these schools. He used to advertise the show with placards, which read: "Every scholar who attends will get a rabbit." When the children were inside the hall they would see a notice which read somewhat differently: "Every well-behaved child will be given a rabbit." In practice no rabbits were given away. I was not in a position where I could pick and choose my employment, and so I helped this fellow with his Punch-and-Judy show. All went well. for a time. We played to small children aged eight and nine, and they thoroughly enjoyed the show and forgot all about the promised rabbit. But we were riding for a fall. One day we were due to play to a boys' school, and they were anything from twelve to sixteen years old. They came along to the Lyric Hall, Sixth Avenue, Forty-second Street, where we were playing, with the fixed intention of having a live rabbit each. When it became obvious to them that they were not to have even a rabbit amongst them, they made it pretty clear that we were to suffer for the lack. They stormed the stage, and when that happened I decided that my presence was not absolutely essential. I took to my legs, and a number of the boys, entering into the spirit of the chase, started after me. "Now," I decided, "I've to decide between a good run and a good hiding." I had the good run all right. Next day I set out to find my employer. I asked at his lodgings, but they had not seen him all day. I visited one or two restaurants where I thought he might be. No one had seen him. I began to be weary through looking for him. Then I decided to try the hall. There again no one had seen anything of him since the day before. I wandered into the building thinking I might see what sort of a mess the boys had made of our show. There was my employer standing in the middle of the floor, his clothes covered with dust, his whole appearance most woebegone. "Hullo," I said. "Where have you been hiding yourself? I've been looking all over the town for you."


"My God!" he said. "I was so dead scared that I got underneath the stage, and there I've been the last twenty-four hours." That experience convinced me that I was wasting my talents on Mr. Oscar Still, and I decided to try my luck with the museums. New York was full of these strange places at that time. People seemed to have a passion for the unusual and the fantastic, and all the queer people and misshapen animals in the world seemed to congregate in these museums. Magicians were taken on as well, to give variety to the entertainment. The Globe Museum, where I eventually found a Position, was typical of them all. The floor was covered with platforms, on each of which there was a freak. I was engaged to take my place on one of these platforms, to do my conjuring tricks. I had to give from fifteen to twenty-five performances a day, and for this I received a salary of from ten to twelve dollars a week. When I applied, for this post I found that there was another applicant, a young fellow named Houdini. My experience as a commercial traveller and behind the counter in drapery stores stood me in good stead, and I convinced the manager that I was the better man. After that Houdini bore me a grudge, and he was constantly trying to do me harm. At one time he actually ran a paper for the purpose of "roasting" me. This grudge was intensified by an incident which happened some years later. The manager of Keith's Theatre, Providence, Rhode Island, splashed the town with placards. "SEE HORACE GOLDIN. KELLAR, HERMANN, CHING-LING-FOO, CHING-LING-FOO, AND HOUDINI OUTDONE." Houdini thought that this was my work, although I knew nothing at all about it. For fifteen years he refused to speak to me when we met. Then, at a meeting of the National Vaudeville Association in New York, Houdini passed me when I was in conversation with the very manager from Providence. I thought it was time I tried to stop this silly feud. "Look here, Houdini," I said, "what's the matter with you?" "You know perfectly well what is the matter," he answered. "Certainly I don't," I told him. "A man who bills himself as better than me can hardly expect to be my friend," he said. At that the manager chipped in. "If you mean that placard in Providence, Houdini," he said, "that was my work. Goldin knew nothing at all about it." That eased things for a while, but I cannot say that Houdini and I were ever


warm friends. For all that, I have the greatest respect for his memory. He was certainly a very fine artist. To return to the Globe Museum: I was given a platform between the Girl with Six Thumbs and the Half-Man, Half-Woman. This latter was an ingenious fraud. It was, of course, a man. He had a disfigured limb, which could be made to look like a woman's leg. He placed an artificial breast under his tights and there was the Half-Man, Half-Woman. At that time William Morris, later to be famous as an impresario, was working for an agent named Lehmann in offices on the corner of Fourteenth Street. I ran into him outside the museum one day. "Hello, Goldin," he said. "You working here?" I told him I was. "Like a better job?" "Of course." "I can get you a job at ten bucks a week, playing with Lyman H. Howe. He's at Wilkesborough just now." Lyman H. Howe was to be quite a great man later. He was very successful with motion pictures when the idea was still new, and he made a fortune in a very short time out of travelogues. At the time of which I am writing he was touring the country with a new invention, the gramophone. When I arrived at Wilkesborough I found that Howe was playing a dozen records, and that made up the first half of the show. He wanted me to fill the second half. We had a long talk, and at last he agreed to put up the money for the apparatus I should need. I agreed to select and build it. I was to have an assistant for the road show, and a very good assistant Jacobs turned out to be. The road show was a wash-out. The gramophone idea did not seem to catch on. At the end of two months I was owed seventy-five dollars, and my assistant had not seen a single cent since the beginning of the tour. We both felt that we had had enough of playing for nothing. I tackled Howe about it. I put it to him: "What about our money?" "Now, I'm sure sorry about that little matter," he told me. "I'd pay you today only I'm in a spot of trouble. That adviceman of mine has gone on the booze again and he's left the advertisements in a barber's shop. But just you wait until I have another lot printed and then I'll pay you the whole lot, and Jacobs as well." That sounded a pretty tale. Jacobs and I put our heads together and decided


that we had had enough. It was Jacobs who had the bright idea. We were in a small town in Pennsylvania at the time, and when we stole out of our lodgings into the snow-covered streets at four o'clock in the morning there was no one about. At the theatre we selected tricks to the value of seventy-five dollars and left a note for Mr. Lyman H. Howe saying that we had taken our wages and hoped that he'd have a pleasant tour without us. By five o'clock we were at the railway-station, having carried the heavy cases through the snow by ourselves. We had no money to buy the tickets, but Jacobs, who was always a most resourceful man, assured me that it would be all right. "Don't you worry, now, Horace," he said. "I'll fix it." When the train arrived he rushed on to the platform as if he had not had time to buy the tickets. He threw the trunks into the baggage-van and then, calling on me to follow, jumped into the coach. Naturally I was nervous as to what would happen when the conductor arrived, but Jacobs was quite imperturbable. He called the man aside and whispered in his ear. I thought he looked at me somewhat apprehensively, but, however that may be, we arrived in New York safe and sound. I have never discovered what it was Jacobs said. We stood on New York's pavements and counted our money. That did not take us long. I had ten cents, and Jacobs had nothing. "Don't you worry," said Jacobs in his usual fashion; "just you go along to the Bowery and buy two glasses of beer. There's a place there which gives you a free lunch if you buy two glasses of beer. I'll be along about three o'clock." I did as he suggested, and sure enough he arrived on the stroke of three. "Good news," he said, as soon as he saw me. "I've met a man who wants us to put on a show for the soldiers of the 69th Regiment." "And where may they be?" I asked. "Over at Columbus Avenue." "I've got seven cents left," I told him. "How are we going to get to Columbus Avenue "Maybe we could walk," he said. I was not at all keen on that idea, but when he told me that they were serving a big dinner, I agreed to go. So I had another opportunity to put on my own show. This time it was to be a lucky appearance.


When we arrived at the barracks I had practically no effects, for we had not been able to carry the trunks we had brought from Wilkesborough. I had a great idea in the middle of that long walk, and it was this idea which made the show a success. I walked on to an empty stage, and I carried nothing with me. By the time I had finished, the stage was covered with junk: flags, handkerchiefs, and the like. When the news of that show spread offers began to come in. I had six or seven offers for engagements at ten dollars a night, and one was for seventy-five. I began to feel that Horace Goldin might be making his way at last. I practised terribly hard in those days. If I was walking down the streets I would move my hands about, keeping them supple and performing imaginary sleight-of-hand sleight-of-hand tricks in my pockets. I practised in barbers' shops, and often the assistant would stop completely astonished when he looked at my hand and saw four billiard-balls where only one had been before In a café I would take up a glass and do a trick with it. When I was lighting a cigarette I would make the match-box disappear, swallow the cigarette, and then take it out of my ear. These little habits of mine led to one amusing incident. It was in a train, and the gentleman opposite me had been drinking rather too well. Almost unconsciously I did the trick with the match-box and cigarette, not realizing that anyone was watching me. Suddenly I heard a startled exclamation from the gentleman opposite. "Suffering Jupiter!" he muttered. "I've got 'em again. It's that damn' rye that does it." Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

How I Became a Star


CHAPTER THREE

HOW I BECAME A STAR

IN 1894 the whole world was thrilled by one of the greatest spy-trials of all time. General Alfred Dreyfus was brought before a military tribunal in Paris and was found guilty of betraying secrets to a foreign power. For this crime he was sentenced to imprisonment on Devil's Island, the dread penal settlement in French Guiana. Dreyfus's misfortune was my opportunity. opportunity. I saw the chance of a great illusion, which would be all the greater for being topical. I would put on an act, "Dreyfus, Escapes from Devil's Island". The scene opened with Dreyfus being degraded. I myself, dressed as Dreyfus, stood before the soldiers. On one side stood Esterhazy, the accuser, dressed as the Devil. The officer in command of the soldiers tore off the buttons from my uniform, then the epaulets, and finally he broke my sword across his knee. The soldiers then forced me into a cage which stood in the centre of the stage. Madame Dreyfus then entered weeping and clung to the bars of the cage. The soldiers, however, ignored her entreaties and dragged her away. Immediately after the exit of Madame Dreyfus the cage was covered. Esterhazy ordered the soldiers to present arms. There was a tense moment while the guns were levelled at the cage. Then Dreyfus escapes from Devil's Island came the command to shoot. The cover fell and there stood Madame Dreyfus. Esterhazy ordered the soldiers to depart, took off his cloak, and there was Horace Goldin, who but one moment before was playing the part of

How I Became a Star

Dreyfus. This was the first of my great illusions. I played it when I was at the Palace Theatre in 1902 and it was witnessed there by King Edward VII and King George V. It was this illusion which put me on the road to fame. I first put this act on at Tony Pastor's Theatre in New York, and it made a sensation. At that time Dreyfus was still in Devil's Island, but the agitation against his sentence was growing rapidly and feeling was high. My illusion gained greatly by this topicality and I was re-engaged for a later appearance. I was now well established, and instead of worrying whether I should ever begin at all I had to try to become a great conjurer and not merely average. I felt it in me to be a great magician, and I knew that, in just the same manner as that in which I had succeeded so far, I should eventually become a star. I had to work hard and watch carefully for every opportunity. During my stay in New York I appeared at Coster and Beil's, the greatest music-hall in America, then on Twenty-third Street, though they moved later. There my performance was seen by the late Allan Dale, who was considered in America to be the greatest of all critics. He had the uncanny habit of being always right. If he said a show was good, it was very good, and ran for weeks. If he said that a show had such and such faults, he always hit upon the exact weaknesses. In fact, whatever Allan Dale said was sure to be sound criticism, and his opinions formed thousands of other people's. Of me he wrote: Horace Goldin is a promising young man who will one day make a name for himself. I enjoyed his performance; but if you want to enjoy it I suggest you put cotton-wool in your ears so that you do not hear his broken English. I was much impressed by that criticism, and I thought and thought how I could remove that defect. Then I hit on a daring plan. I would dispense with speech altogether. To perform illusions one has to fool the audience. One pretends to do one thing while doing another. It is easier to distract attention by talking than by any other method, so by cutting out speech I was depriving myself of the chief instrument in the magician's stock-in-trade. But if I succeeded I should have an act unlike any other on the stage. s tage. I should be unique, and therefore in demand. By this means I hoped to turn a weakness into a box-office draw. For weeks I worked patiently. I had to train my feet to help my hands. I had

How I Became a Star

to vary my act so that it gripped the audience's attention throughout. throughout. I devised a show which comprised twenty-five tricks performed in the time which any other magician would have taken to perform four tricks. I wrote and thanked Allan Dale for his helpful criticism, and told him of my improvements. The new show was a sensation, and led to my being engaged fo Keith's theatre circuit and Hammerstein's Roof Garden for the entire summer season of sixteen weeks. This meant that my headquarters were in the Keith's Theatre, Boston, where I played every eighth week, being on tour the rest of the time. This engagement was the turning-point in my career, and I owe a great debt of gratitude to the late Mr. B. F. Keith and to that Boston theatre. At that time theatre shows used to run from early in the morning until late at night. The show started at 10.30 and ran continuously until 10.30 p.m. As the junior act it fell to me to open the show at 10.30; my second appearance was at five o'clock, and the third about 7 p.m. Rising early has never been one of my virtues. Even as a small boy I earned many a hiding because of my slug-a-bed habits. Even when my living depended upon it I could not get up early. So I came to rely upon the good offices of my friend Jerry, the stage-doorkeeper. Jerry, was one of my best pals, and he did a great deal for me in those early days. He was a great strapping Irishman, or rather he had been. He was one of the most warm-hearted of men, and was never without a word of encouragement to the beginner and a smile of congratulation for the man who was making good. I used to spend hours chatting with him in his little room in the theatre between houses. My little weakness for bed in the morning presented no difficulties to Jerry, Besides being doorkeeper he was stagemanager on Mondays, when he made out the programmes, and he used to do a good deal of office-work into the bargain. It was his practice to have the stage-hands unp ack my tricks for me, so that everything was ready. Then he used to come along and pull me out of bed and force me into my clothes. I was never late when I played in Boston. One day, however, I ran things pretty close. Jerry, was not able to call me as usual, and of course I lay too long. I managed to get to the theatre dead on 10.30. It was a rule in that theatre that the curtain went up at 10.30 whether the act was ready or not. There were the people in the stalls waiting for me. There was no time for me to change; I should have to play in my outdoor clothes.

How I Became a Star

Then, horror of horrors! Jerry, whispered in my ear, "The manager's out front--Mr. S. K. Hodgedon." I had never met the manager, and I did not know him by sight. I had heard tales of him, and I thought that this escapade would surely earn me the sack. But Jerry, did his best to encourage me as I waited for the orchestra to finish the overture. Then with a pat on the back from Jerry, I stepped on the stage and my act began. It is a strange thing that, though before I am on the stage I feel nervous, when the act has begun and I see the faces and hear the applause I am quite all right and my nervousness vanishes. So it was on this occasion. When it came to the egg-in-the-bag trick I wanted a partner from the audience. About three rows from the front there was a prosperous gentleman who I thought would do excellently. I called him to the foot of the stairs that led to the stage. "Would you mind helping me by placing your foot on the bottom step?" I asked. He did so. "Now give me your hand and put the other foot on the second step." Again he did as I asked. "Now repeat." And that brought him on to the stage. I have practised that little deception thousands of time and I have never known it to fail. He held my wrists when I did the egg-in-the-bag trick. trick. Though I pushed his nose into the bag he could not see how the trick was done. He was very impressed. The act went well, and though I still felt rather worried because the manager was somewhere in front of me, and I was still in ordinary clothes, I could not help but feel that I had been good that morning. As I came off the stage I met Jerry, "Well, I like your pluck, young Goldin," he said. "Why?" "There you stand, not properly dressed for the show, and then you have the cheek to ask S. K. Hodgedon, the manager who is employing you, to step on the stage and hold your wrists for you. If you don't get re-engaged, don't say it was my fault." You can imagine my horror. I had had no idea that the prosperous

How I Became a Star

gentleman was the manager. But I put a bold face on it. "Look you, Jerry," I said. "I may be thrown out now but, you mark my words, I'll be in the star dressing-room soon." As I walked back to my dressing-room at the top of the buildings, with Jerry's laughter still in my ears, I met Sandow. He was top of the bill, and of course he was in the star dressing-room, which was really a suite of rooms furnished in palatial style, with hot and cold water in the bath-room and all sorts of unusual conveniences. I certainly had a long way to go. In three or four weeks' time I was re-engaged, so evidently the manager had not been very displeased by my familiarity. This time I was third on the bill, and I did not appear until eleven o'clock on the Monday morning. I enjoyed an extra half-hour in bed. B. F. Keith, the proprietor of this and many other theatres in the States, never came into the theatre before eight o'clock in the evening because there were no important acts before that time. But it so happened that on the Wednesday, as he entered the theatre, he saw a bowl of gold-fish on a stand in the middle of the foyer with a large notice: "THESE FISH WERE CAUGHT BY PROFESSOR HORACE GOLDIN OVER THE HEADS OF THE AUDIENCE." Evidently he was interested. The next night Jerry, came to me. "He's in early, isn't he?" I said. "Yes," answered Jerry, "Half an hour too soon. I can't think what's come over him." I was nervous when the act began, but again I controlled my nerves. I never remember the show working so well. Everything ran smoothly. The audience was very responsive. All went well, and I scored an immense success. Naturally, I was gratified, and I rather expected that I might get both a rise in wages and a more prominent place on the bill. I did not expect the good fortune which was to be mine. After the show Jerry, came up to me with a smile on his face. "Well, my boy, I'm delighted. You've done it again. I think the old man liked your act. Anyway, I saw him applauding." That was very good news. Next day I was at the theatre and ready for my act at eleven o'clock, when Jerry, burst excitedly into my dressingroom. "Oh boy, oh boy!" he shouted. "I've got the grandest news for you. Better

How I Became a Star

news than I've ever given anyone in this theatre or anywhere else. Old man Keith himself says that you're to do two shows instead of three for the rest of the week. You're going to be the star headliner and they're getting out the extra advertising for you. The special electric wagon is going round the town telling them all about Horace Goldin. I've got to change all the adverts and put you at the top of the bill." At that Jerry, stopped for lack of breath, and his news left me stunned. It was more amazing than anything I had ever known before. Then I decided that it was just Jerry's fun. It was not true. It could not be true. "Stop kidding me, you big mutt," I said. "Are you trying to get me sacked?" "No, Horace, it's quite all right. You're to be the top of the bill." I shrugged my shoulders, for I was a bit sore with him for trying to take me in, and I proceeded with my arrangements, getting all my paraphernalia ready for eleven o'clock. To my surprise someone else went on in my place. I went up to Jerry, and, looking pretty black, I said to him, "Look here, what is all this?" "Don't be an ass," said Jerry, "It's all on the level. Here's the day's programme." I looked at the paper and, sure enough, there was my name in the star place; but, as I have said, Jerry sometimes drew up the programme, and I thought he had drawn up a special one in order to fool me. I carried on with my changing. "It's no good taking your clothes off," said Jerry, "You'll only have to put them on again. All your things are upstairs." I opened my wardrobe, only to find it empty. That made me wonder if it was a leg-pull after all. "Just a moment," he said. "Let me get you a paper." When it arrived he showed me the rearranged advertisement with my name at the top of the bill. That was easily the greatest moment of my life, and it was some time before I recovered from the effect of my wonderful promotion from the bottom to the top of the bill on the Thursday. I shall never forget going on at three o'clock for the first time, and having a sensational reception by a packed house. All sorts of methods were used then to advertise the halls. Streamers hung across the main streets, horse wagons and smaller wagons driven by boys toured the streets, each covered with advertisements. On all of these my name appeared in large letters. It was a great thrill for me just to walk down the main street and to see what a stir I had made.

How I Became a Star

After that success I was given a return date and went on tour, topping all bills. The success I had achieved in Boston I repeated in each town at which I played. I felt I was on top of the world. I wrote delighted letters home to my parents, who were amazed that any son of theirs should achieve such a position at such an early age and in what seemed to them the strangest of all possible fashions. When I returned to Keith's Theatre, Boston, eight weeks after my first triumph there, I met Jerry, at the stage door. Without saying a word he thrust out his hand. "What's this for?" I inquired. "Put it there, my son," he answered. "You've got the star dressing-room." dressing-room." As I wandered through the suite and saw the bathroom and the sitting-room I was very much moved. I had achieved my boast. I had arrived. Soon after this very successful run I made a profitable mistake. I may say that I make a mistake practically every night on the stage, only the audience never knows anything about it. It would be surprising indeed if a show such as mine, with many assistants, and effects which have to be timed to a split second, should always go through without a hitch. But the mistakes sometimes prove useful, and occasionally I find my improvements this way. On the occasion of which I am now writing I was performing in the Opera House, Washington. The engagement had been a difficult one to get and I was nervous on my first night there. I began the trick with four ducks, but, unfortunately for me, one of the ducks, which I was supposed to wrap up in paper and make to disappear, escaped me and began to walk round the stage. I knew nothing of this, but the audience saw what had gone wrong and laughed very heartily. I could not understand this unusual outburst of merriment, and looked round to see what had happened. As I did so the duck which had escaped gave a loud "Quack, quack!" of enjoyment and looked at me with a very wicked look in its eye. I must confess that I was white and frightened, for I knew that if such a blunder came to the ears of the manager my engagement would be cancelled. I searched my brains for some way to cover my mistake. Turning to the audience, I announced that I would take this duck and make five out of it. I seized it, put it into a tub of water, clapped the lid on, lifted it almost immediately, and out came the five ducks as I had promised. And didn't the audience applaud? After the show Mr. Chase, the manager of the theatre, sent for me, and I

How I Became a Star

scented trouble at once. His office was two floors up and over the theatre, and as I went up to see him I became very depressed. Evidently someone had told him of my blunder and I was to be given the sack. To my surprise, when I entered the manager's room I found him looking very genial. He said, "You are evidently making a very big success here; I could hear the laughter and applause up here in the office." I agreed. "Would you care to stay another week?" he asked. I hesitated at that. Was he pulling my leg? I decided that if I was to be sacked there was nothing I could do about it, but if he meant this offer seriously I might as well try to do myself well. "I shall want a twenty-five-dollar rise," I told him. "That's all right," he said, and he set about getting me the new agreement on the spot. Afterwards I discovered that he had heard the great burst of laughter which had gone up when the audience saw the mistake I had made, and, thinking I was going over big, he had decided that I was worth keeping. That anecdote shows how very necessary it is for a magician to have all his wits about him and to keep cool in an emergency. Another incident incident which illustrates this occurred soon after the Washington affair. I was playing in the town of Waterbury, in America, when suddenly the lights went out. There seemed a very good chance of a panic, but I shouted out: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to perform a most marvellous trick. I have here a lemon, which, of course, you can't see. I propose to cut it in two and bring an elephant out of it." Squash! I cut the lemon. "Now," I shouted, "the elephant is walking off the stage! You can't see him, but if you listen you will hear him all right." Sure enough, a slow shuffling noise was heard, very like that made by an elephant. In reality, it was my fat stagemanager walking across the stage in carpet slippers. The light returned, there was a great burst of applause and all was well. But the next day a man came to see me in my dressing-room and told me that he considered my new elephant-trick the best I had invented. Why hadn't I given it again that night? Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

My English Premiere


CHAPTER FOUR

MY ENGLISH PREMIERE

WHEN I first crossed the Atlantic I was a lonely little boy of sixteen, travelling without my parents and going to a strange country where no one would know my language and where no one would bother about me. When I crossed back again ten years later I left behind me a great reputation as an illusionist. I was going to England to appear in one of the greatest theatres of the time, the Palace Theatre. I felt that I was well up the ladder of success. "The King of Coins", as Nelson T. Downes was called, was the man who secured this engagement in England for me. He suggested that my agents, Nathan and Somers, book me at the Palace for one week's engagement. I accepted the offer, although it was for less money than I could have had in the States, because I thought that it would be good for my reputation and because I wanted to visit England. I arrived in London from New York on a Wednesday, and was to open at the Palace Theatre the following Monday. I must confess that I was more nervous than I have ever been since. I had heard some s ome of the remarks which the late Mr. Charles Morton, who was manager of the Palace at the time, had made to my agents, and they were hardly the sort of remarks to inspire confidence. I stayed at the Hotel Cecil, which has long since been replaced by a gigantic block of offices. I wandered through the streets and thought London wonderful. There seemed to be a blend of the old and the new worlds. Here was busy Fleet Street, one of the world's arteries, and yet one had only to step through a gateway to be in the Temple, T emple, the peaceful abode of lawyers, with its quiet cloisters and its green trees and lawns. While I had these few days' holiday I visited a few music-halls to see what sort of people the English audiences were composed of, and what sort of entertainment they liked best. This, I find, would be called a "busman's holiday" in England. The settings and the atmosphere of the theatres I visited gave me an encouraging inspiration. The audience was always ready to applaud a good act and was never cruel to the beginner. The people liked

My English Premiere

a good hearty laugh, and they liked to be thoroughly mystified. I felt that I had a show that they would enjoy. For all that my knees knocked together, and I felt like one awaiting sentence of death. It was the first time that I had opened in a foreign country, and I knew that it would be a long time before I recovered from a setback here. At last Monday, June 8, 1902, arrived. I was up early, contrary to my usual habit, and at twelve noon I was at the theatre ready for rehearsal, with the orchestra under Mr. Herman Finck. That went off all right. Then began the long wait till the evening. I was due to appear at 10.42, after Mr. Lewis Waller and before an American Biograph booked by Mr. Ted Marks, whom I named "The Mayor of the Ocean" and who was at that time in London. At six o'clock I tried to eat something, but I was much too anxious for that. I decided that I had better lie down and have a rest. At eight o'clock I arrived at the theatre. The show was due to start in a quarter of an hour, and the house was already full. The ten-and-sixpenny stalls were all sold out, and as I peered through at the audience I could see nothing but a sea of evening dresses. "If I make a success now," I thought, "there will be no holding me. I shall be playing before the King of England soon." That thought made me even more nervous. I watched the first act or two from the wings, but this seemed to be the wrong thing to do in my nervous condition, and I decided that I had better take a walk. With that I slipped out of the stage door and walked down the Charing Cross Road. Turning to the right, I came into Leicester Square, and there I saw the three great theatres, the Empire, the Alhambra, and the Pavilion. They were then enjoying their hey-day as music-halls, and there were "House Full" signs outside all of them. I continued my stroll until I came to the Tivoli, in the Strand. That magnificent music-hall has gone the way of the others in Leicester Square and has become a cinema, but at that time it was the haunt of the men about town and the gay ladies who ogled and flirted with them. Though it was then 1902 there was a good deal of the "Naughty 'Nineties" spirit abroad in London. As I gazed at the outside of the Tivoli I noticed a clock in the foyer whose hands pointed to 10.10. Surely that could not be the time! I looked at my own watch only to find that it was too true. I had half an hour to get back to the theatre, dress, and be ready for my act. I called a hansom cab, told the driver not to spare the horse, and then we

My English Premiere

made the sparks fly up the Charing Cross Road. Arrived there, I found my assistants nearly crazy with anxiety. I tore off my clothes and dived into my stage clothes. I have never undressed and dressed so quickly in my life as I did then. I was pulling on my coat in the wings as my music struck up. I had just escaped a terrible terrible disgrace. Every cloud has a silver lining and this was no exception. My hurry cured my nervousness. I forgot where I was. I forgot all about the première. I felt at the top of my form, and the audience seemed in the best of humours. I started doing one trick after another at top speed. The egg in the bag scored a great success, and Dreyfus's Escape from Devil's Island roused immense enthusiasm. Never have I felt such a congenial atmosphere as that I felt then. The people were shouting "Encore" and "Bravo" as I finished my act and left the stage. I met Mr. Daymar, the stage-manager, in the wings. "You've certainly scored a big success," he told me. "You'd better slip through the tabs and make a speech." It was then that I realized where I was. My tongue seemed to be paralysed and my knees really did knock together. But I plucked up enough courage to step through the curtains before that great applauding audience. All I managed to say was: "Thank you! Good night!" As I made my way to my dressing-room a boy came up to me with an invitation to join the directors in their room. There I found the four of them waiting for me: Mr. Crematti, Mr. Poldon, Mr. Graydon, and Count Hollander. The manager, Mr. Morton, was also present. They all welcomed me most warmly and drank my health in champagne. After I had been with them a little while I felt that success and wine might go to my head. But then, I reflected, that does not matter much. I have made a hit. We were soon joined by jack Somers, my agent. He was beaming all over his face. "Congratulations, my boy," he said, holding out his hand. "You've done wonderfully well. Mr. Morton wants to see you in his office tomorrow at twelve o'clock. If that isn't good news I don't know what is." When that little party was over I went to my dressing-room and there I found Fred Niblo, later the producer of the film Ben film Ben Hur , waiting for me. He was also on the bill, and had been out in the front sitting behind some of the directors, and had heard them talking about me. He told me something of what they had said, and then he added: "Take a friend's advice, Horace. You're on a good thing here. See that you make the most of it."

My English Premiere

Next day I called to see Mr. Morton, and he informed me that they were exercising the option of sixteen weeks which was included in my agreement, and that I was engaged indefinitely. That I did not understand at all. There were no options in America, and I did not know exactly what "indefinitely" meant. I pointed out that I had engagements in America, but the manager said that I must break them because he had the prior call on my service. At last, remembering what Niblo had said, I suggested a rise in salary, which the manager immediately agreed to. This matter of salaries has some importance in the history of the theatre. At a dinner of the Magician's Club the late Oswald Williams once said: "Every magician should pay ten per cent of his salary to Horace Goldin, for it was he who first established us as artists worthy of high payment." When he said that he was thinking of my appearance at the Palace in 1902. At that time magicians and escapologists were very popular in London, but they were not well paid. Such men as Carl Hertz and Houdini were appearing at the best theatres--the Oxford, the Tivoli, and the Pavilion--and they were receiving normal salaries. For this they performed one illusion only, and they took up the rest of their time with an elaborate introduction. I changed all this. I gave the audience a succession of illusions, and I won such applause that I was able to demand more money for my act. Other magicians benefited likewise. My friend Will Goldston has said: "Had it not been for Goldin, Houdini would never have drawn his £900 a week at the Palladium in later years." That is why my performance at the Palace in 1902 is looked upon as a milestone in the history of stage illusionists. During my run at the Palace Theatre I had an experience which gave me the greatest pleasure. I was taken to a meeting of the Water Rats. This society is formed by the greatest stage performers of the time, and includes comedians, instrumentalists, and film stars, and many others whose whole aim in life is to cater for the entertainment of the public. To be a member of this society is a great honour. Anyone who wishes to become a member has to apply, and his application has to be supported by two Water Rats. The committee then decides whether or not the applicant is fit to be a member of so exclusive a society. I had been invited by Sir Edward Moss and Mr. Frank Allen to attend a function at the Vaudeville Club, an affair that had been organized by the Water Rats. I was very much impressed by the people I met there, for they were the biggest stars of the British and American stages. I asked if I also might become a member. My application was sent in after a few days, and it was supported by two men who were then very well known: Herbert

My English Premiere

Campbell, who was famous for his pantomime association with Dan Leno, and Joe O'Gorman, then King Rat. I was unanimously elected, along with Harry Blake, famous for his rendering of the "Hiawatha" song. Now Fred Russell, Harry Blake, and I are the oldest Water Rats, and we meet regularly and have very good times together, with such fun-makers as Past King Rats Will Hay, Will Fyffe, and Wee Georgie Wood, and Present King Rat Stanley Damerell. The Water Rats are people I am always glad to be with. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Playing Before the British Royal Family


CHAPTER FIVE

PLAYING BEFORE THE BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY

THE proudest moment of my life came when I had been playing in the Palace Theatre, London, for some months to packed houses and continuous applause. During the month of October 1902 I was invited to dinner at the Eccentric Club, and after dinner was over I amused my hosts with a few dinner-table tricks. It so happened that one of my audience was Mr. George Ashton, then the Royal Agent of King Edward VII's Household. He must have told the King something of what he had seen. Two nights later Mr. Charles Morton, the manager of the Palace, informed me that I was to play at Sandringham before the King and Queen. Queen Alexandra's birthday was to be celebrated, and amongst those present would be the Kaiser. Naturally I was immensely delighted. I had thought from time to time that a Royal Command Performance would be the crowning achievement of my career as an illusionist, and now that dream was to come true. When Mr. Morton told me this good news he also told me that I was to keep it a complete secret, because the King had planned the show as a surprise for Queen Alexandra. That meant that I could not tell anyone of this great event. I had two weeks before the show, which was to be put on in the ballroom at Sandringham on Wednesday, November 12, 1902. Again I became terribly nervous. Lying in bed, I forgot what a great thing it would be for me and only thought of the ordeal I had to go through. Again and again the temptation came to me to make the excuse "too ill to appear", but silent voices told me that I must not yield to this insidious appeal. This constant worry deprived me of sleep, and by the time the great day came I was nearly a nervous wreck. I had not told even my assistants where we were playing. I merely said that we were playing in the country, and they jumped to the conclusion that we were going to some country club. We took a considerable amount of baggage, for I had to give as much of my stage show as possible, and we


boarded a train for Norfolk. We arrived at the great house, and some of my assistants peeped through the windows. Imagine their surprise s urprise when they saw the King, Kaiser Wilhelm, and other members of the Royal Family just returned from shooting. Their delight did something to cure me of my attack of nerves. They were quite certain that we should be a huge success. I felt so too, more especially as I had Mr. Herman Finck to play my music for me. When ten o'clock came, the time for my performance, there were about two hundred people assembled in the ballroom. At one end a small stage had been erected on which I was to perform. An aisle ran down the middle of the audience, and on the right of it in the front row were seated H.M. King Edward and H.R.H. the Duke of Connaught, and on the left were H.M. Queen Alexandra, the Kaiser, and H.R.H. the Prince of Wales, later King George V. There had been two constant worries on my mind. The first was that some of the audience might have seen these tricks before and that they would not like seeing them again. I found out afterwards that I need not have bothered about that, for my show was new to practically everyone there, and Their Majesties had never seen anything like it before. My second worry was that I should make some bad blunder. This nearly happened. Before the show began I had a few words with Mr. George Ashton, and he coached me on all points of etiquette. I felt that I should be quite safe there and should not say anything which would make me look foolish. He told me that I should not take my coat off when I did the egg-in-the-bag trick and that it would not do to ask for the co-operation of any of my distinguished audience. When I asked him how far I could go in "spoofing" Their Majesties and the others he told me that I could do what, I liked so long as I did not make them look ridiculous. I went on to the stage with my head full of Mr. Ashton's "do's" and "don'ts", but, strangely enough, I forgot all about them when I was once begun, and I went through my act as usual. And this, I am sure, did a great deal towards making me a hit. I took my coat off and passed it to the Duke of Connaught for examination. I did a great many things which must have made Mr. Ashton say a few things about me under his breath. Yet I am certain that my unconventional attitude suited that unconventional monarch, Edward VII, and his gracious Queen. My first trick was with handkerchiefs. They are tied together by a member of the audience and they become mysteriously unravelled at a word from me. I took them down to the front row, where the most important guests were sitting, and approaching the Kaiser I asked him if he would be good enough to tie these handkerchiefs together for me. Just as I finished saying the words I remembered that he had a withered


arm, and that he could not tie them together. For one horrible moment I was fascinated by the terrible blunder I had made. Then I took them from him. "Or rather no, sir," I said. "Perhaps it would be better if Her Majesty did the tying while you keep a careful watch that she isn't cheating." Everyone laughed at this pleasantry, and I breathed again when I saw that all was well. The Queen tied the handkerchiefs for me, and the King liked the trick very much. I asked Her Majesty to feel the knots in the handkerchiefs, but I so arranged them that she felt the places where there were no knots. "Can you feel them?" I asked. Her Majesty frowned a little and said she could not. "Well, Your Majesty is not 'feeling' very well. There they are." I can hear the King's big laugh now. The second time the Queen tried she said that she could feel them, and I told her that I was delighted that she was "feeling" better. The King laughed very heartily again, and I learned later that my little joke was particularly apt because the Queen was then suffering from a bad cold. The egg-in-the-bag trick was the high spot of the evening. It seemed to me that His Majesty knew that it needed great skill to deceive the audience at such close range. It was the King himself who held my hands for the trick, and I introduced one or two new touches. I asked the King to feel inside the bag, and while his hand was still inside I produced the egg. After that I "exposed" the trick in a humorous manner, but still leaving them mystified, performing the trick with one hand, which left my distinguished audience at a greater loss for an explanation than ever. I remember the Kaiser applauding me by slapping his knee with one hand and snapping his finger and thumb. The fish trick led me into a small mistake. In this illusion I take a fishing-rod and bait it before the audience. Then I throw it out over the heads of the people and begin to catch fish. These I take off the line and place in a glass bowl, where they swim round merrily. I took this bowl down amongst my audience to show them that there really were fish inside, but, feeling that this was too small a matter to interest Their Majesties, I passed before them and took my bowl towards the people who were sitting farther back. But Mr. George Ashton met me and pointed out that I had been discourteous in passing the King and Queen, so I retraced my steps and made good my omission. One of my card tricks made a deep impression that evening, particularly on


Queen Alexandra. In this trick the Duke of Connaught took a card from the pack and placed it in his waistcoat pocket. He then took up and held the end of a, piece of ribbon. I announced to the audience that by my magic power I could pass a current through that ribbon so that if any bright object were to be held against the end distant from the Duke the card would be reflected therein. I invited the Queen on to the stage to test this for herself. I used the inside of my watch for this trick, for the polished case acted as a reflector. The Queen looked carefully into this as I brought the end of the ribbon close to it. There she saw the nine of clubs. Three years later, when I was giving an entertainment at the Duke of Marlborough's home, Sutherland House, in Curzon Street, the King and Queen were again present. When I started the trick the Queen asked if she might be the one to look in the watch. Again she took the end of the ribbon in her hand and again she saw the card appear. But this time it was a different card. "Last time, at Sandringham, it was the nine of clubs," she said, turning to me. "It is now the five of hearts." Evidently the Queen thought that the same card always appeared in the watch. I was very much impressed by the fact that the Queen had remembered the trick so carefully for three years. To return to that earlier entertainment at Sandringham: I played before Their Majesties for over an hour, and then I retired, giving place to Albert Chevalier, who sang some of his most popular songs: "The Future Mrs. 'Awkins", "Wot Fur Do'E Luve Oi?", and "The Fallen Star". When this performance was over I was recalled to the ball-room, where the King graciously conferred on me the Medal of Art. Later I was sent a pin containing a letter "E", with the number VII inside it. This pin I wear every day in my tie as a memento of a very genial monarch. The letter I received with this tie-pin ran as follows


Buckingham Palace, March 27, 1903. Dear Sir, I have the pleasure by command of the King to send you the accompanying pin as a memento from His Majesty of the my clever and interesting performance you gave before the King and Queen and the Emperor of Germany and other members of the Royal Family at Sandringham last summer. The little present would have been sent to you before, but until quite lately I have not been certain of your address. I remain, Dear Sir, Yours faithfully, Dighton Probyn, Keeper of H.M. Privy Purse. To Horace Goldin, Esq. After some chat with the King on the subject of sleight-of-hand our conversation was interrupted by a stately gentleman who had been hovering near us for some time. This was Sir Dighton Probyn. "May I remind you, sir, that Mr. Goldin has to catch his special train?" King Edward was much too interested in the details of the trick I was just explaining to him to let a little thing like a train interrupt his enjoyment, and, turning to the old gentleman, he said, "That's all right. Mr. Goldin need not catch the train. He will stay the night here." And so it was. I was shown to a very fine bedroom, and next morning, after a good breakfast, I was driven to the station in one of the King's carriages. Three years passed before I again appeared before members of the British Royal Family. During that interval I appeared before the King and Queen of Saxony in January 1904 and the King and Queen of Portugal in December of the same year. I had the great honour of being commanded to appear before Their Majesties King Edward and Queen Alexandra on four occasions in eight days, which is, I think, a record, though I ran it very close on my tour in the Far East, when I appeared on three successive days before the King of Siam. On March 3, 1905 I was at Sunderland House, where the King and Queen were among the guests present. Others were the Prince and Princess of


Pless, the Duke and Duchess of Marlborough, the Marquis de Soveral, and Count Albert Hensdorff. Six days later the King and Queen saw my performance at the Palace Theatre. The very next day I performed at the party given by the Prince of Wales in honour of the anniversary of the Queen's wedding day. This was at Marlborough House, where Queen Mary is now living. The day after that the Prince and Princess of Wales came specially to the Palace Theatre to see my illusions on a large stage. There were some very interesting incidents during these four performances, and of these one of the most amusing happened at Sunderland House. All went well until I came to the egg-in-the-bag trick. That particular trick needs the element of surprise, and the King and Queen had already seen it several times. There is no severer test of a trick than repetition. At one point in this trick I make an obvious pass towards one of my pockets. Someone immediately says, "It's in your pocket." I then take my coat off and have it searched by one of the audience. It is soon evident that the egg is not in the pocket. By the time the trick has been seen twice everyone knows that the egg has never gone into the pocket, and no one makes that very necessary remark. That is what happened at Sunderland House. The first time I played the trick on them all went well, but King Edward enjoyed it so much that he asked me to do it again. When on the second occasion I came to the illusory pass no one shouted out that the egg was in my pocket. Nobody, that is, until the King himself realized that unless someone did so the trick would fall flat. He immediately came to my aid with as loud an "It's in your pocket" as I could have wished. He knew just as well as I did that it was not in my pocket at all, but he also realized how I was feeling during that terrible pause, and so he came to my rescue. After my main show the guests crowded round me and insisted on seeing small hand tricks. Queen Alexandra was particularly pleased with one which I did for her, and she insisted on my doing it nearly a dozen times. In this trick I take an ordinary piece of cigarette-paper, tear it in pieces before ones eyes, roll it into a ball. Then I unroll it and the paper is quite whole. The Queen was so interested that I ventured to carry the trick still further. "Now, watch very carefully, Your Majesty," I said. "I am going to show you exactly how the trick is done." "First I conceal a rolled ball of cigarette-paper in the palm of my hand. Then I take another piece, tear it into pieces, carefully change the two over..."


When I came to that point I purposely dropped the palmed piece, and I assumed a very dismayed expression. The Queen was very sympathetic, and when someone picked up the piece of paper and handed it to her she said: "Now, Mr. Goldin, you had better start that trick again." "No, Your Majesty," I answered. "I think I can do without that piece of paper. Perhaps you will unroll it for me." The Queen did so. The paper was whole. "Now will Your Majesty unroll this one for me?" The Queen's eyes opened wide with amazement when she discovered that it was just as whole as the other and that neither was torn. The Queen asked me to repeat the trick because she wanted to fool some friends. She went away to summon them, and then she returned with five or six people whom she instructed to watch closely. I repeated the trick, and as usual the onlookers sympathized with me when I dropped the piece of paper because they thought it was an accident. I told them it did not matter, and unrolled the torn piece, showing it to be whole. Her Majesty, realizing the brilliance of the trick, brought still more guests to be mystified. I did that trick ten times in quick succession. Then the Queen said, "Let's fool the King." When His Majesty came to watch the trick I fooled him in precisely the same way as I had previously fooled the others, to the great delight of Her Majesty. I may say that I can think of no more difficult feat for a magician than to repeat a trick eleven times at close range before a watchful and intelligent audience. During the conversation which followed I suggested that Their Majesties should visit the Palace Theatre and see my full show. That night, I explained, they had seen me only as a conjurer. If they visited the Palace Theatre they would see me in my proper role as an illusionist. This idea had been suggested to me by Sir Alfred Butt, who was then plain Mr. Butt, the secretary of the theatre. At the time I thought that it was a good deal to ask, but His Majesty seemed to welcome the idea, and promised that they would both be present in the near future. When I was back in the theatre I told Mr. Morton, the manager, that I had invited the King to the show, and that he had accepted. He refused to believe me, and thought that I was pulling his leg. He was not convinced until he received the official notice. At this performance the King and Queen received me in the Royal Box and congratulated me on the success of my show, which they agreed was much superior to what they had seen before.


The next day I was at Marlborough House, for the Prince of Wales's party. The Crown Prince of Bulgaria was amongst the distinguished guests present. We arrived there at about 8.30 to get ready for the show at nine o'clock. I chatted for some time to Sir William Carrington, and when the hour struck and there was no sign of the King and the rest of the audience I began to be seriously alarmed. One of my tricks was with a bowl of fire, and this was chemically arranged. If I had to wait more than ten minutes I could not be certain that it would burn properly. I confided my trouble to Sir William Carrington, and he said that he would try to get the King's attention, but he failed. The Royal pair were s till laughing and talking over their dinner. "Come with me," said Sir William, "and stand in the doorway." I did so, and saw the King and Queen and the forty other guests sitting at table. As soon as the King saw s aw me he rose, and everyone else rose with him. I retreated towards the room in which the performance was to be, but the King caught me up and told me how much he had enjoyed my previous performance in the Palace and how much he was looking forward to seeing me again. The show started, and to my great relief the bowl of fire worked quite all right. I produced a bowl of water from the flames, then a handkerchief, and finally I made the bowl disappear. I noticed that it was always the King who started the applause. For this show I put on my disappearing-bird trick, and this intrigued the late King George V, then Prince of Wales, greatly. In this trick I place two live birds in a paper bag in full view of the audience. I then hand the paper bag to one of my assistants, take a revolver, fire it at the bag, which is shot into small pieces, and the birds appear in a cage which, up till the firing of the pistol, had been empty. That is the old version of the trick; I have improved it greatly since 1905. The Prince of Wales watched this very closely, and afterwards he came up to me and said, "I suppose that the the birds never go into the bag." I did not wish to contradict him, so I said, "Do you mean that they go in realty, or that they only apparently go apparently go in?" Smiling at my reply, the Prince said: "Really." "Well, really they really they do, but apparently they apparently they do not," I told him. With that I sent for the cage and exposed the trick before him, showing him every little detail.


He was much interested, and promised me faithfully that he would not divulge the secret. During the conversation which I had with the Prince at the end of the show he complimented me on a trick knife which I had made myself. All my life I have been in the habit of making these little inventions. I asked the Prince if he would care to accept this one as a present from me. "Are you sure you can spare it?" he asked. "If Your Highness wants half a dozen you can have them," I answered. Whereupon the Prince ordered five more on the spot. We were then joined by Her Majesty the Queen, who commented on my remarkable hands. I showed her the palms. The "ball" of the thumb base is very developed, and so are the "knobs" just at the base of my fingers. When I cup my hand it makes a hollow in which I can hold a billiard-ball without using my fingers at all. I amused the Queen by passing a penny from one side of my hand to the other in such a way that she never saw it.

Goldin's Hands

"You certainly have baffled me very completely, Mr. Goldin," said the Prince of Wales as I was preparing to depart. "After seeing your performance here I can assure ass ure you that I shall be careful not to miss your full

show in the theatre." "I shall be deeply honoured, Your Royal Highness," I answered. "If you come to see my full act you may be sure that you will see something much superior to the conjuring I have done this evening." The very next day, Saturday, March 11, the Prince and the Princess of Wales, now Queen Mary, came especially to the Palace Theatre, and they sent for me before the performance and presented me with a diamond tie-pin bearing the Prince of Wales's feathers and the letter "G". The Prince and Princess arrived earlier than I had expected. I had told them that I appeared at 10.30, and I expected them to come about that time. Instead they arrived at the Palace Theatre at nine o'clock. They were conducted to the Royal Box, outside which stood Mr. Frank Boor, now the popular manager of the Hippodrome Theatre, London, and the royal agent, Mr. George Ashton. No sooner were the Prince and Princess comfortably settled than they asked


for me. Mr. Alfred Butt was in a quandary, for I was not in the theatre. I had an engagement at the Savage Club to give an entertainment for Lord Roberts. When I had finished the performance, though I intended to remain half an hour and avail myself of the convivialities of the Club, I was called to the telephone; it was a message from the Palace Theatre to tell me the Prince of Wales had been inquiring for me. I rushed out, leaving my hat and coat behind, with a shout of "Good night to all." In a hansom I arrived at the stage door of the Palace Theatre, where I was met by Mr. Butt, who said, "The Prince has been asking for you." I replied, "Tell him I am here." We proceeded to the box; there we met Mr. Frank Boor, who knocked on the door; the Prince was informed and I was invited into the box. I was about to apologize for the delay, but the Prince gave me no chance. He told me that he had attended many private entertainments, but never before had he enjoyed one so much as the one I had given at Marlborough House. Then he shook me by the hand, placing his left hand on my shoulder the while. Then he conferred upon me the tie-pin which I mentioned before, so bringing my gifts from royalty to a total of three. Later I received a fourth from the King of Siam. A 1905 cartoon

The show which followed was a great success, and I was given to understand afterwards that the Prince was very much impressed, and agreed that my stage show was far finer than the conjuring which was all I had been able to show him before, and I can see him applauding now. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Taking Magic to the Home of M agic


CHAPTER SIX

TAKING MAGIC TO THE HOME OF MAGIC

WHEN I started on my tour of the East I took with me a large company and a very considerable repertoire, for I knew that only the very best could hope to succeed in the land of magic. I found that nothing could be more suitable for the production of illusions than the atmosphere of most Eastern lands. The poorest of the inhabitants seem to be touched with a certain mysticism, and the colour of the Orient makes a wonderful background. Of all the lands I visited none was more mystical and colourful than Siam. It was here that I had a very marvellous experience. I opened at Bangkok, and had a very fine reception; in fact, my performance created a sensation. On the second night fifteen brothers of the King of Siam came to see the marvels I had been performing. I may mention that the King of Siam has fifty-six brothers altogether, so that the fifteen who came to see my performance were only a fraction of the total number. Those who did come, however, enjoyed themselves very much, and they must have given a very favourable report to His Majesty, for on the next night I was approached by his aide-de-camp, who informed me that the King wished me to put on my performance at the palace. This, of course, I was delighted to do, and the next day I went along with the aide-de-camp to choose the best room for the show. The palace, I found, was very magnificent inside, with rich hangings and ornate furniture. And yet, though in magnificence it excelled anything I had ever seen before, it disappointed me. There was not a room large enough to take my full performance. Even the ball-room was too small. I told the aide-de-camp my difficulty and suggested that I should give only a few of the smaller illusions, which I could bring inside the palace. "No," he replied; "His Majesty wishes to see the performance which his brothers saw and were so delighted with." "But how is it to be done?" I asked.


"I will ask His Majesty." After a short time the aide-de-camp returned. "A theatre shall be built in the grounds," he reported. "It will be ready in seven days, in time for your performance." I was amazed at this. It was indeed an honour to have a theatre built especially for me. But I was still more amazed at the progress of that special theatre. Five hundred men, mostly Chinese, were employed in the building of it. Two hundred and fifty worked in the day-time, and another two hundred and fifty at night. The entire strength of the motor-truck supply in Bangkok--eleven in all--was commandeered to bring the materials to the palace grounds. I spent most of my time there, watching the operations and seeing that the stage was built exactly as I wanted it. The result was that, when at the end of the seven days the theatre was completed, it was perfect in size, height, and equipment, so far as I was concerned. All my illusions could be shown there to their best advantage. The stage was about fifty feet square, lofty, and beautifully lighted. The auditorium, on the other hand, was small, and would hold only twenty-five The programme for the command people. The acoustics of this model performance before H.M. The King theatre were the best I have ever of Siam known; the merest whisper could be (Printed on orange silk ) heard in the most distant corner. While I was superintending the building of this place I was privileged to see something which has been denied to any other European. At the time I had to keep it a strict secret, but now that the King of Siam is an exile I may tell what I saw. In the grounds of the palace there is a secret shrine used only by the King and members of the Royal Family. I was taken there, and was struck s truck dumb by the wonder of the sight. The walls of the temple were covered all over with precious stones, which glittered and sparkled in the sunlight. The shrine stood in the middle of a grove of trees, each of which had been


modelled out of solid gold and silver, even to the frailest of the topmost leaves. The shrine itself was of marble, and on the top of it there squatted a glittering crystal Buddha. The effect was marvellous and very awe-inspiring, for the light was reflected back from the god in a thousand different colours, and these in turn were caught up and reflected by the gold-and-silver trees around the shrine. The shrine itself was a miracle of carving; the work was so carefully done that at times the marble assumed the delicacy of lace, and this was warmed by the glowing reflections all round. Four times a year the Buddha was clothed according to the seasons, but when I saw it there were no adornments and the sunshine blazed through the glass roof above the crystal god, so that it looked magnificent indeed. On the night of my performance I took my company--which was numerous and included Lily, the royal Bengal tigress, for I was performing "The Tiger God" there--and we made our way to the palace grounds. The King, we found, was at dinner, for it was about eight o'clock. As soon as the King heard of our arrival he insisted that we sit down to a meal, and he sent the food over from his own table. Even Lily the tigress and a horse which we had with us were not forgotten. When the meal was over I went for a walk in the grounds with my manager, Roy Smith. There was no sign that the royal meal was approaching its end, so we examined some of the curious objects which were to be plainly seen in the brilliant moonlight. It was ten o'clock before a message came to say s ay that the King had left the palace and was making his way to the theatre. Even as we heard this we saw an ornate and dignified procession, headed by His Majesty, wending its way through the grounds. We stood and watched the richly dressed people until the King was almost level with us. Then Roy turned and ran, and I was just about to follow his example, when the King called to me. "Don't run away, Mr. Goldin," he said in perfect English, "I want a word with you." I was very astonished at this, for I could not think where the King could have seen me before, and I had no idea that he knew me. But I had the presence of mind to stand at attention and wait for the King's next remarks. "You don't remember me, I see," he said, smiling. I had to acknowledge that I did not, though there was something familiar about his smiling face. "We met in the American Bar of the Hotel Cecil in London, many years


ago," he reminded me, and then it all came back. When I first arrived in London from America I met two small boys in the Cecil and I amused them for a few minutes with some little sleight-of-han s leight-of-hand d tricks. They had been very delighted with them, and had asked me to teach them how the tricks were done. I had not thought much of the incident at the time, and it was not till days afterwards that I discovered that these were the sons of the then King of Siam. Their father was bringing them to England to school, and I happened to meet them as they were passing through London. This, then, was the man before whom I had to perform in the special theatre. The audience was composed almost entirely of men, and in the middle, seated on a small throne; was the King. He had no companion except a small English terrier, of which he was very fond. The show was a great success, and so impressed was His Majesty that he asked me to perform the next two nights as well. I had intended to make that my last performance in Bangkok, but naturally I did not refuse this pressing invitation. I performed fresh illusions on the other two occasions, and His Majesty was delighted. I think he was most bewildered when I brought an empty rickshaw on to the stage and made a man appear in it. He expressed so much astonishment at this that I was impelled to make him a present of "The Magic Rickshaw". The egg-in-the-bag trick was another of His Majesty's favourites, and here I played the same trick on him that I played on King Edward VII. As I have already said, when I am making the egg disappear from the bag I make an obvious pass to a back pocket. At this someone always says, "It's in your pocket." It is very necessary to the smooth s mooth working of the trick that they should make that remark. I can then take off my coat and allow someone in the audience to examine it. Of course, they find no egg in any of the pockets. When I played this trick on the King of Siam, he said in a quiet voice, almost as if he were disgusted at my feeble efforts at deceiving him, "It's in your pocket." My coat was searched and nothing was found. I then said that I would do the same trick with someone holding my wrists, so that he would be able to follow the trick very closely. To my astonishment the King himself rose to perform this little office for me. He disconcerted me by holding my wrists in a vice-like grip, though this made no difference to the performance of the trick. I showed him the bag, and he acknowledged that the egg was not inside it. I


showed him my hands, and the egg was not there either. Then I dipped my hand into the bag, and there was the infernal egg, which I displayed to the astonished monarch. On the third night of my performance the King honoured me by presenting me with a jewelled tiepin, and he also gave me an unprecedented fee, together with a generous allowance for expenses. Soon after that delightful experience I was due to open at the Opera House, Singapore, and there I had a contretemps with the powers that be. In this case it was not a king, but the head of the city council. In "The Tiger God" act I used a boiler. This generated the steam which formed a curtain on the stage behind which the tiger disappeared down a trapdoor. No sooner did I arrive at my hotel at Singapore than the local manager came to see me. He announced that he had bad news for me. "What's wrong?"

Presents from Royalty From H. From H.M. M. King King Edwar Edward d VII VII

H.M. H.M. King King George George V (When Prince of Wales)

"Well," he said mournfully, "there's no trap-door, and never will be one. You're not allowed to have animals on the stage; and they won't allow the boiler inside the theatre."

That completely spoiled my act, and, as I knew that the theatre was sold out, I was at my wits' end what to do. The theatre belonged to the municipality, and those rules were part of the by-laws. The head of the municipality was an Englishman, a man who had important business interests there. I decided that the best thing I could do was to go and see him. H.M. H.M. The The Que Queen en of Saxo Saxony ny

H.M. H.M. The The Kin King g of of Sia Siam m

I told him my difficulty. "Either," I said, "you can have a really good show in Singapore, or you can send thirty-six people back to England at the expense of the government."


"I am sorry, Mr. Goldin," he said. "I sympathize with you, but I am afraid that we cannot vary our by-laws for you." He took out a book and showed me the by-law in question. "Why do you make this by-law about animals?" I asked him. He said that he did not know. "Then I will tell you. Animals make a mess about the theatre. My tigress is kept in a cage of her own and has a man to attend on her. There's no chance of a mess. Besides that, this law means small domestic animals such as cats and dogs. This is a wild animal and does not come under the ban." I went on like this for a time, and then he acknowledged that there might be something in what I said. They might stretch a point and allow the tiger to appear. "Now, what's the objection to a trap-door in the stage?" "Obviously it would weaken the stage." "I assure you that I can make a trap-door which will strengthen the stage, and not weaken it." He said that was impossible. I then asked him to call the city engineer. "Now," I said. "I will cut the joist, not straight through but on the slant. This joist is about twentyfour twentyfour feet by six inches. inches. What weight would would be sufficient to break it before it was cut?" "About two tons, dropped from a height of twenty feet," replied the engineer. "Suppose, having cut it on the slant, I fasten an iron bar alongside it; what weight would then be necessary?" "At least double the weight." Turning to the official, I said, "Will you agree if I have this alteration effected at my own expense? He replied that he would. We then came to the last point, the boiler. This they both declared was dangerous. "Why dangerous?" I asked. "It is tested to resist a pressure of two hundred pounds a square inch, and I never use more than one hundred pounds." I showed them the certificates, and I assured them that it whistled when the


pressure rose over one hundred pounds, and then we put the light out. Then the engineer made a foolish remark. "What pressure do you usually work at?" he asked. "Eighty-five to ninety." "And what is the pressure at the end of the act?" "About fifty pounds." "It's dangerous to have a boiler with fifty pounds of pressure in her left in an empty theatre." I had him there. "How can it be dangerous when the fire is out?" That finished it. I got my own way all right, and Singapore saw and enjoyed "The Tiger God". But it took me a solid hour's talking to put it through. This tour of mine took place in the early days of the War, and I found Colombo full of patriotic excitement. I had hardly started my act in the theatre there when a man shouted out, "What part of Germany do you come from, Mr. Goldin?" A murmur ran through the audience, and I saw that I was in for an ugly scene unless I could prove that I was not a German. For a fleeting second I wondered if I should have a show left when the crowd had had their way. "Tell me," I shouted, "which part of the Zoo do you come from?" That was the best I could do on the spur of the moment, and it raised a few laughs. Then I said, "I am not a German. I am Russian. Here is my passport. It shows that I am an American, but that I was born a Russian." With that I won the audience over, for the town was full of Russians who were on their way to the Dardanelles. Feeling myself safe, I looked hard at the man, and then I said, "Do you realize what that silly question of yours might have led to? You must be drunk." "Yes, I am," he agreed at once. After the show two Australians who had been in the audience came along with the drunken man. "Here he is, Mr. Goldin. We've arrested him. What would you like us to do with him?" "Well," I said, "he's very fond of talking about Germans; suppose you give


him the chance to shoot a few of them." With that they took him away with them and made him join the army. Japan brought me a very different sort of adventure. You may already know the story of the magician who, when performing in japan, had to ask a member member of the audience audience to step on to the the stage and act as interpreter. He performed all his best tricks, and was surprised to find that they were greeted by roars of laughter. The trouble was that the interpreter was telling the audience all he could see, and he could see quite a lot that the audience was not supposed to see. That trick could hardly be played on me, because I do not usually need any conversation with my illusions, having perfected a silent act. But when I appeared in the Mikado's Theatre, Tokyo, I did want someone to interpret my opening speech for me. There was an audience of over thirty thousand people, and I felt that some sort of personal introduction was necessary. To my great surprise a lady stepped promptly on to the stage, presented me with a bouquet, and then turned to the audience and began a long and impassioned speech. I stood there helplessly, wondering what she was talking about. Was she seizing the opportunity to make a seditious speech? Whatever she was saying, this much was certain--she was holding up my act. She was very evidently popular, for at the end of her speech she was greeted with a great burst of applause. She bowed and then turned, smiling, to me. "All this applause is really for you, Mr. Goldin." "For me?" "Yes. I have been telling the audience that you are the man who was my master years ago and taught me all the magic I know. I have said that I am proud to have been your pupil and that I consider you the greatest illusionist alive." That lady was Madame Tenkatsu, the greatest illusionist in japan. Years before, when she was about twelve years old, she had been in a famous Japanese troupe. She was, indeed, daughter of Taniche, the leader and organizer. These people I met in New York, and I took a liking to the little girl, and at her father's request I gave her some lessons in magic. Since those days she had progressed far, but she still remembered me and felt that she owed me a debt of gratitude. We had a long talk about old times when we met after the show, and one thing she said impressed me more than anything else. She said that when


she played in America she billed herself "The Pupil of Horace Goldin". Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Days in Hawaii


CHAPTER SEVEN

DAYS IN HAWAII

DURING the War years I was engaged in taking my entertainment round the world. I played throughout the Far East, and from there I was to sail over to the U.S.A. for another tour of the great country where I had originally begun as a magician. On my way across the Pacific I stopped at the Hawaiian Islands to play for a short season there. My first engagement was on the beautiful island of La Hina, and after a very successful week there I was due to move on to Hilo, the island which has the strangest volcano in the world; it is not a mountain, but a hole in the ground from which the molten lava wells. La Hina harbour is not meant for large ships, and the one which was to transport me and my baggage had to anchor four miles away, and all the passengers and baggage were taken out to her in small boats which were towed by a launch. I did not intend to board the large boat until all the baggage was aboard, and so I was not a witness of the following tragedy. Apparently, when my great glass illusion, which weighed seven hundred and eighty pounds, was being trans-shipped the rope broke, the illusion fell backwards, capsized the smaller boat, and so many of my most valuable illusions were lost, including the glass illusion itself. When I arrived on board and heard what had happened I was distraught. I think it is the only time in my life that I have completely lost myself. I stood and stared at the waves beneath which my life's work was lying and suddenly I made a dash and tried to leap over the side into the sea. Luckily for me, I was seen and caught just in time. The captain heard about it and ordered two men to stand guard over me. They even stood outside my cabin door all night. When I recovered from my despair I began to look about and see if there was no method of raising the illusions. The depth of the sea there was nine fathoms, and it seemed possible that something might be done, especially as there are many very clever divers in that part of the world.

Days in Hawaii

I returned to La Hina and discovered two Japanese divers who thought they could do something for me. You can imagine my anxiety as I watched them dive time and time again, taking a rope with them. The first reports were disappointing, but at length they found the baggage and told me that they could bring it up. First they fastened the rope to one of my trunks, and the ship's donkey-engine hoisted it. I was very glad to see it appear above the waves. Then, after a long rest, they did the same with the big glass illusion. Naturally I was as overjoyed to see that again, for I had given it up as irretrievably lost. The other things, however, were in a large trunk, and this they said had sunk into the sand so that they could not tie the rope round it. We had to sail away and leave it there. I was not able to open on the day for which I was booked at Hilo, for many of my things needed to be rebuilt. I reckoned up my loss at about £4000. Naturally I looked round for some way to make this good. It came to my notice that quite a number of people had witnessed the accident and that they were all in agreement that it was due to gross neglect on the part of the shipping company. The aft rope had been insecurely fastened and the whole method of shipment was defective. There seemed every reason to believe that the company should pay me compensation. With this in mind I went to Honolulu to start proceedings. The reply came back to say that the company disclaimed all liability. I decided to go further, and then something happened which persuaded me to bear my loss philosophically. I met one of the local judges, and during the course of conversation in the hotel lounge I told him what I was engaged on. "Give it up," he said. "But why should I? It seems evident that the company was quite in the wrong, and I do not see why I should have to foot the bill for other people's negligence." "That may be so, but I tell you that there isn't the slightest chance of your even starting that case, let alone winning it. Here everyone is related. Your lawyer is the cousin of the owner of the steamship s teamship company. Probably the very man who tries the case will be a relative of the people who ought to suffer. What chance do you think you stand? Take my advice: give up the idea." I thought over what he had said and decided that he was quite right. It was a case of "Back to Hilo and on with the show!"

Days in Hawaii

You will have gathered from this that I was not very happy in those pleasant islands, and soon something happened which made me even more miserable. America had now entered the War, and all the shipping was suddenly disorganized and there was no transport to take me to the West Coast of America. All ships were needed by the authorities for the transport of food, munitions, and troops. It looked as if I was to be marooned in mid-Pacific for quite a while, and the prospects was a most depressing one, for I had good engagements waiting in San Francisco, and after this loss I could hardly afford to let them go. I went round and talked. I tried to pull strings. I brought influence to bear. It was all to no purpose. "There are no ships," I was told. There was no arguing with the officials; they treated everyone in the same abrupt and final manner. After a few days of this I began to be desperate and I decided that I must think of some scheme for escaping from the island, with all my baggage and company as well. And in the middle of the night, the time when I have most of my inspirations, I thought of a way of escape. Before going to bed I had been arguing to myself like this: "Who are the people who are having all their own way on the island at present?" "The military authorities." "Then, Horace, you must do something which makes you valuable to the military, and they will see that you get to America all right." The question was--what? This idea came to me in the middle of that warm night. If I could invent an invisible camouflage, the power who owned the secret would be in a most advantageous position. This was trench warfare. If I could think of some way to make snipers invisible I should have done my country a service and incidentally have rescued myself from Honolulu. The idea for the invisible camouflage came into my head, practically complete, at three o'clock in the morning. I jumped out of bed and jotted it down, for I was running no risks of forgetting it, and then I felt happier than I had felt for a long time. My freedom was in sight. The next day I busied myself with the apparatus needed for this marvellous camouflage which would render men invisible, and after two days' work I had it completed and working to my satisfaction. In the bedroom of my hotel I tinkered with it until I felt that the time for the military authorities to see it had come. It was evident to me that there would be no point in going straight to the general in command and telling him of this invention. I knew enough of the

Days in Hawaii

military mind to know that the idea that a civilian could show a soldier something about war which he did not know would be treated as lunacy. I had to work so that it seemed that the suggestion came from one of themselves. During my stay on the islands I had given several shows to the garrison of the island, and I had come to know some of the men quite well. In particular there was a sergeant who often came to have a chat with me. We were both Masons, and that seemed to bring us together. I decided that this should be the man to bring my invention to the notice of the authorities. Accordingly I took him up to my bedroom, saying that I had a little thing to show him. Arrived there, I pointed out two toy soldiers standing in the corner. "Now I'm going to make them invisible." He shut his eyes and then opened them. The soldiers were invisible. He shut and opened them again. The soldiers were there just as they had been before. He was absolutely astounded. "Could you do that with full-grown men?" he demanded. "I could." "My God, there's something in this"--and he dashed out of the room. Everything I had planned had worked perfectly. Later in the day a card was brought up to me bearing the name of Brigadier-General Brigadier-General A. P. Blocksom, of the U.S. Army. With him came Colonel Mettler, Chief of the Ordnance Department in Washington. They had come to see me about my new invention, which, they understood, might possibly be of service to the Army. "I am proud to be an American citizen, and I shall be glad to do all I can for my country." And with that I led the way to my bedroom, and I showed them the camouflage just as I had shown it to the sergeant. It worked perfectly, and they were both impressed. "What can you do with this invention of yours they asked. "If you had a column of soldiers with their heads showing above the trenches," I said, "I could make them invisible to the enemy. Twenty men could march into the enemy G.H.Q. and capture the officers and never be seen. I can make the invisible camouflage bullet-proof so that that action would be perfectly safe. I could render a motor-cycle invisible, so that you would hear the noise but never see the machine. Because of this invention men could be shot at and yet never know where the bullet had come from. They asked me many questions, and I answered them all satisfactorily. I explained that there was a definite limit to the size of the object to be camouflaged, and that an aeroplane would offer difficulties I could not

Days in Hawaii

overcome. The upshot of the afternoon's chat was that the two officers assured me that I had invented something which they thought would be of considerable military value, and they asked me what I wanted for it. I answered that I thought this so important that I wished to go myself to Washington and discuss the matter with the War Department. They agreed that this was a wise course, and assured me that I should receive every assistance. from them. In the meantime they took an option on the invention and gave me a receipt, signed by Colonel Mettler, which I still have, which ran as follows: HAWAIIAN ORDNANCE DEPOT HONOLULU, H.T.

July 8, 1918. To Whom It May Concern: This is to inform that I have inspected an illusion invented by Mr. Goldin for the Purpose of obscuring snipers and individual men in trees on or near the firing-line. The device operated satisfactorily on a small scale in a room and it appeared that it might be of value in the present war. Mr. Goldin has shown a considerable number of illusions on the stage in Hawaii, and his reputation in that art lends considerable value to his invention. (Signed) Charles G. Mettler, Lt.-Col., Ord. Dept., N.A., Commanding. There was a ship due in Honolulu from Java and bound for San Francisco. She was the s.s. Metcham, and I had already made an attempt to book a passage on her and had failed. Now I went down to the offices of the shipping company to try again. "Look you here," said the clerk. "I've got a list of seventy-nine people who want to board that ship, and there's only room for two or three to sleep s leep on the deck. I can't possibly do a thing for you." Then I took the "General's order?' out of my pocket, and everything changed. I was asked into the manager's office and given a cigar, while clerks dashed out and in making arrangements. I was assured that I myself and eleven of my company would be found cabins on board the Metcham, that the regulation that forty-eight hours' notice must be given to the Customs would be waived in my favour. To crown everything, it was

Days in Hawaii

arranged that my baggage, which was too bulky for the already overladen steamer, should be carried in two military transports. Before I left, an article, censored by General Blocksom, appeared in the Pacific Commercial Advertiser on Monday, July 8, 1918. ILLUSIONIST HAS DEVICE TO AID NATION'S FIGHTERS DEMONSTRATION OF CAMOUFLAGE TO DECEIVE FOE IS GIVEN BY HORACE GOLDIN, WHO WILL LAY PLANS BEFORE WASHINGTON

Utilizing his talent as an illusionist upon the theatre stage, where for years he has fooled audiences all over the world with his mechanical devices, Horace Goldin, who has been in Honolulu for several weeks, is planning to leave soon for Washington to lay before the War Department a new illusion-invention which he asserts can be utilized upon battlefields or behind them to mystify the enemy. Brig.-Gen. A. P. Blocksorn, U.S.A. Department Commander, Colonel Mettler, U.S.A. Chief of the Ordnance Department, and other Army officers, have inspected the invention, and while they are reticent as to just what their opinions opinions are as to the war use which can be made of the device, Mr. Goldin will at least carry letters from an Army officer here, addressed to War Department officials, which will pave the way for him to give a demonstration of his invention before high officials. Camouflage Device. The Inventor claims that the device will be of the camouflage variety and can be utilized to give advantage to America's snipers and machine-gunners, and at the same time completely mystify the Huns. A number of people were given an opportunity to witness a demonstration of this device and went away much mystified. "I have been doing illusions nearly all my life," said Mr. Goldin yesterday. "I am of a mechanical turn, which is necessary in order to build up new illusions. These are used upon the stage and are intended to mystify

Days in Hawaii

audiences. We are used to having people yell 'fake' when they think they have discovered how we do it, but that is part of the business--the fooling the people." Goes to Washington. "I wish to place the invention at the disposal of the country of my adoption--America--and will go to Washington for that purpose." Mr. Goldin lately received contracts in blank to be signed up with the Orpheum Circuit for a several weeks' tour, but he says he will lay this opportunity aside until he has had his interview with the War Department. W. S. S. I arrived in San Francisco safely, and fulfilled my engagement at the Orpheum Theatre. During this time I was in correspondence with the War Department, and it was arranged that I should call on them in Washington during the week of November 11. From 'Frisco I went to Chicago, where I opened on November 4, 1918. At the end of that engagement I was to go to Washington to put my revolutionary invention before the officials. On Monday, November 11, I travelled up to Washington. Hardly had I arrived there when special newspapers were being sold announcing the signing of the Armistice. My invention was too late. The great wave of pacifist sentiment which followed the horror of the War years meant that my invention did not interest anyone, so I did nothing further about it. A few months ago, however, I decided that there was no point in wasting so valuable an idea, and I wrote to Washington asking if there was any intention of using this "Invisible Camouflage" of mine, and enclosing a bill for £5000, together with the receipt signed by Colonel Mettler. In reply to this I received a curt letter stating that there was no record of this transaction and that I was quite free of all commitments to the War Department. That meant that they did not want it. I am now negotiating with the British War Ministry, and I hope that, if the British Empire should ever be plunged into war again, this invention of mine will be of some use. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

The Birth of "A Woman Sawn in Half"


CHAPTER EIGHT

THE BIRTH OF "A WOMAN SAWN IN HALF"

IT was in 1906, while playing at the Winter Gardens Theatre, Berlin, that I first had the idea for one of the greatest of all illusions, that of sawing a woman in two before the eyes of the audience. Ideas are needed by the professional magician just as they are by the story-writer or the playwright, and I have a number of ways in which I find inspiration. One of these is to look at children's toys, and very often I have had the idea for a good effect this way. Walking down a street in Berlin, I chanced to stop and look in the windows of a shop where a great variety of toys were on display, and I was particularly interested in the mechanical toys. But towards the back of the window there was a doll lying in a little cradle, and it suddenly occurred to me that if such a doll could be sawn in half and restored again it would be a good effect. Walking back to my hotel, I pondered over the idea and made some plans for carrying it into practice. That afternoon I took a busman's holiday and went to watch the performance at the Apollo Theatre. I watched the show act by act, mentally criticizing and applauding, as a professional in the audience always does. Suddenly, while watching an act which had nothing whatever to do with conjuring, I had a sudden "vision". I saw the illusion "A Woman Sawn in Half" actually being performed on the stage. s tage. I cannot explain these visitations. It has happened very often before and since, and I have come to rely on this form of inspiration for some of my best effects. Evidently the subconscious mind is at work. Sometimes, when faced with a seemingly insoluble difficulty, one can put it completely out of one's mind, and then suddenly the solution dawns on one like a flash. This seems very like this process of inspiration of mine. When I have mentally seen the illusion being performed I have to start to work out the method. It may be very many years before I can put on an act like the one I saw in that flash of inspiration. Thirteen years passed before I perfected the apparatus for this famous illusion, and since then I have worked on it still further, and now have what


I consider to be the best trick in the world. By 1919 I had the first version ready for inclusion in my act. For a description of this I can do no better than to quote a passage from a review by Mr. E. V. Lucas which appeared in Punch for Punch for March 11, 1925. After a description of my fishing trick, he went on: But his most alarming illusion is "The Great Divide", where before your very eyes a lady is sawn in two. I have seen this trick before, done by another conjurer, but without any of the style and effect which The Great Horace Goldin, its inventor, brings to it. The lady is placed in a long insulated box, with her head and hands protruding from one end and her feet from the other. Two gentlemen from the audience, selected by ballot, attend, one all the time holding her hands and the other her feet. She is then sawn in two by a most diabolical double-handed saw, and the two halves of the box are moved apart so that the Great Horace Goldin may walk through--truly through--truly a most realistic moment! From the end of one half her feet still stick out, and from the end of the other her head and arms. The two halves of the box are then reunited and the lady rises whole and smiling, while the gentlemen return to their places with a new glamour on them. Mr. Lucas there describes the first the first version version of this illusion. I improved on this gradually; at one time, for example, I had a box with transparent sides, so that the audience could see the saw at work. At last I perfected the second version, which I am now using. No box is used. The audience sees the girl the whole of the time, and they watch the saw as it eats through her clothing and apparently through her. As I have already said, it was not until 1919 that I had "A Woman Sawn in Half" ready for production. I had put in a great deal of hard work, and I had spent much money on the trick. I was confident that I had something s omething which was going to be a sensation, and I patented it in England, America, Germany, and many other countries. I prepared for the biggest success of my career. Then came a series of disappointments which I think must be unequalled in the history of the variety stage. For one reason and another I could not get a manager to look at it, and at one time I thought that the whole thing was going to be a flop. I first suggested it to the well-known American managers, Shuberts, and


they said they were interested. They instructed their carpenter to build it, and then, before it was completed, they lost faith in it and rejected the whole idea. I took it to the late Mr. Burnside, principal producer at that time for the late Mr. Dillingham, and he also rejected it. I tried it in all the other likely places, and everywhere I met with the same answer. People told me that I was insane, that the trick could not be done; and when I assured them that I had tried it and it worked they looked at me as if they expected me to fall down dead for telling such lies. At last, in sheer desperation, I had the illusion built myself, all complete, and it worked perfectly. That gave me confidence in the trick again, and I began to try to book it in various theatres. The same tale continued. No one was interested. My agent was enthusiastic, and swore that we had something which he could book for a year. He used to dance round the office in delight. But after all our disappointments he was broken-hearted broken-hearted and on the point of tears. There was for a little time a spark of hope. I persuaded Mr. Lubin, who books for Loew's circuit, to play it in one of their theatres in Harlem, New York, for three days. There it made a sensation and was quite as wonderful an effect as I had expected. I then played for the same firm at the Metropolitan Theatre, Brooklyn, for three days. I was congratulating myself that we were well started, when Mr. Lubin informed my agent that he would not be able to use the illusion further, although he could have given us a contract for forty or fifty weeks. After that I could get no further bookings and put the illusion away in storage. On June 3, 1921, the Society of American Magicians held their annual ball at the McAlpine Hotel, New York, and at the show which followed the Ball I was asked by Harry Houdini to present my new illusion, of which he had heard a glowing report. Thinking of the dismal history of my trick, I hesitated for a time, but eventually I consented to show my professional audience my "Bloodless Surgery", as the trick was sometimes called. There were four hundred guests, most of them expert illusionists, and it was very difficult to impress them. But my act was enthusiastically received, and everyone crowded round me to congratulate me afterwards. They all prophesied a great success for me, and as a result I began to grow more optimistic myself. Perhaps, after all, I was going to achieve the success of which I had dreamed.


The first version of "A Woman Sawn in Half" (1)

Two weeks later I was asked to appear at a benefit performance in New York, at the Columbia Theatre, on the corner of Forty-seventh Street and Broadway. This performance was the event of the year, where all the biggest and best-known stars of America appeared. Naturally the theatrical fraternity was well represented in the audience. The show went on until 1 a.m., for there were twenty-three acts on the programme. I remember that I was number nineteen." That was the turning-point of the greatest success in the whole history of conjuring. It was the only trick on the programme that night, and it scored a huge triumph. In a speech before I began I told the audience that I was presenting a scientific surgical problem. I was going to demonstrate "Bloodless Surgery". I asked two gentleman to come on the stage, and I said I should be specially glad if one of them were a doctor.

The first version of "A Woman Sawn in Half" (2)

Two volunteers came up. One was Dr. Suss and the other was Harry


Seaman, of Hurtig and Seaman, then theatrical proprietors. I had been talking to the latter gentleman only the evening before about this very act. I had told him that I proposed to put it on for this performance, and he had told me to stop kidding him. Indeed, he had pooh-poohed the whole idea of the trick. I asked the doctor to feel the young lady's pulse, which he did. After looking carefully at his watch he told me that the beat was quite normal. Then Mr. Seaman held the girl's feet, and I asked Dr. Suss to help me saw her in two, but he refused. I then asked him to hold her hands while my assistant and I sawed her in two. We parted the box and I walked through the middle, though the two gentlemen were still holding the two halves. Miss Irene Vanderbilt, The first woman to be "sawn in half"

I asked the doctor to feel the pulse again. He said that the beat had altered.

"Naturally," I replied. "You can't expect the pulse to remain the same when the poor girl is in halves!" The two halves of the box were then joined together, the lid opened, the wood at each end of the box removed, so that the girl's head, hands, and feet were released, and the girl was pulled up into the air, let down to the stage, and it was seen that she was quite whole. She walked off to the sound of thundering applause. The committee shook me warmly by the hand, and I knew that I had achieved the sensation of which I had dreamed. I had to appear before the audience four or five times, and there were many shouts of "Speech". I attempted to comply, but as I began to speak I suddenly remembered the old adage "Silence is Golden", and so, on this particular occasion, "Silence was Goldin". Before the show was over my dressing-room backstage was besieged by managers and agents all making offers for my new act. I accepted one offer which was made by a producer by the name of Arthur Berdini. This was on a royalty basis, and I was to receive an advance of 3,000 dollars. It was arranged that I call at his office the following morning to collect the money and to make the final arrangements. just as I was approaching approaching Mr. Berdini's office office at eleven o'clock o'clock the next day I met the late Mr. H. B. Marinelli, one of the world's best-known agents. He said that the Keith people, who were then the biggest music-hall firm in the


world, and who had given me my first big chance, were interested in my new trick, "A Woman Sawn in Half". I sent up a note of apology to Mr. Berdini and went to call on Mr. Lauder (son-in-law of the late Mr. E. E. Albee), the head of the Keith concern. Mr. Lauder said that he liked my new act and he offered me a contract for twenty-one weeks at 800 dollars a week. This seemed to me very much more attractive than the other offer, so I went to Mr. Berdini and explained to him quite frankly what had happened. He was very sorry to hear that I was leaving him, but he was very fair about it all, and released me, as I had asked. My first experiences with the act were not encouraging. Mr. Lauder had arranged for me to appear at the Palace Theatre, New York. I had no grumble to make over that booking, for the Palace Theatre was, and is, the best musichall in America. My position was at the end of the bill, and that did not please me. I had to follow a very strong programme. It was the week of July 18, and was so hot that I felt exhausted. The show ran late, and should have been over at 5.30, whereas actually I was not on the stage until five minutes to six. Another grumble of mine was that my billing matter was not impressive enough. It was, in fact, the smallest type on the bill. In spite of these complaints I still believe that I could score a great triumph with my new illusion, and, knowing how much depended on the first experience, I rehearsed a very good opening speech. Unfortunately my three-quarters three-quarters of an hour's wait quite unnerved me. I walked on the stage before a crowded house and all I could say was, "Ladies and gentlemen." My mind then went completely blank, and I could not say anything of what I had rehearsed. There was nothing for it but to confess to the audience, and this I did. I said that I had completely forgotten the announcement I had prepared and would proceed with the effect. The reception given to the illusion was good. No one left his seat, which was unusual in the Palace Theatre, where usually only one-third of the audience stopped to see the whole of the last act. In fact it was a habit of the management to show slides and films asking the audience to remain for the last act, which was as good as any on the bill. I felt therefore that, even if I had not scored a triumph, I had done quite well in the face of many difficulties. At that time I had not received from the head office the route I was to follow and did not even know where I should be playing the next week. On Tuesday I met my friend, the agent Marinelli, and he told me that there was something wrong. He did not know where the trouble lay, but he assured me that he would see me the next day with further news.


You will appreciate my feelings at this time. Here I had an illusion which I knew was one of the greatest ever invented. It was my masterpiece, and I knew that it was very good. I had had a whole lot of disappointments with it, and now, just when it seemed well launched, something had gone wrong, and it seemed likely that the whole illusion would have to go back into storage again. The next day I found that my worst fears were justified. Marinelli reported that the "Coverers", whose business it is to report on new acts, did not report favourably on "A Woman Sawn in Half". That was why there was nothing doing. This set-back in no way damped Marinelli's enthusiasm for the trick, and he assured me that he would make a fight of it for me. He said that he was just as sure as I was that the trick was a great thing for the theatre. "Go and fight, by all means," I told him. "I am with you all the way. Make an appointment with Mr. Lauder for me for tomorrow at ten o'clock, and we'll see what we can do." The next day at 10.5 we walked into Mr. Lauder's office, Marinelli and I, both ready for a good fight. Mr. Lauder would not say that he did not like the act. He merely said that it was not ready for a New York theatre yet, and he suggested that I should play three or four weeks elsewhere to break it in well. That did not please me at all. Obviously, if he intended running the show himself he would not advise me to go to the opposition. He was giving me poison in a very polite way. "Look here, Mr. Lauder," I suggested. "I imagine that Satan would be just about the best magician we could think of. If we had him in the Palace Theatre he would pack the house, wouldn't he?" "That is so, I guess," agreed Mr. Lauder. "Would you close the bill with him?" "No, I should bill him at the top." "Well, here you have an act quite as good as any Satan could put on for you, and you don't know it." I then asked Mr. Lauder to come and see s ee the act for himself, that night, and this he said he would do. Marinelli and I had to be content with that. As we were walking away together I had an idea. I sought out a friend of Mr. Lauder's and I let him into the secret and asked him to accompany the manager and watch him very carefully. This he did, and after the show he came back-stage and told me that Mr. Lauder had said that it was the greatest thing he had ever seen on the stage, and that he would play it in every one of their theatres, of which there were then more than fifty. Next


day Marinelli and I called again on Mr. Lauder and he confirmed all we had heard from his friend. He touched a button and instructed a secretary: "Boston next week, the tour to follow." All our troubles were over for the time. At Boston I had the biggest publicity any act ever experienced. In fact, I believe it was the biggest publicity any show has ever had. At my first performance at the Monday matinée the house was crammed, and I had a wonderful reception. I was not at the end of the bill then. After the show the late Mr. Lawson, then manager of the theatre, came to me with his hand outstretched, saying, "Horace, you're wonderful. I want you to play a second week." Then he said something which upset me. "Do me a great favour," he said, "and close the show." This was a blow, coming after my previous experience in New York. I pointed out to him that he had had a wire from Mr. Lauder saying that my position on the bill was to be three o'clock and nine o'clock, the best spots. He agreed that that was so, but he said, "The other acts refuse to follow you. I am stuck unless you will close the show." When he put it like that, naturally I could not refuse, and agreed to the change of position in the bill. It made no difference at all. Business continued to capacity at every performance, and everyone was delighted. During that week I had the route of my tour, but I was informed that it might be changed from time to time. Should the journeys incur greater expense the management would pay the difference. Evidently they had learned at last that they had found a good thing. They certainly treated me very well. The crowning success for my "A Woman Sawn in Half" act came in Washington. From Boston I moved to the Riverside Theatre, New York, and then I moved to Washington, and there the act was seen by ex-President Wilson and President Harding. The way in which this act gripped the public imagination was wonderful indeed. One day a sharp reporter happened to hear a couple of negroes talking about it, and the next day his report appeared in the paper. It ran something like this:


"Is you done hear 'bout that white man what cuts a woman spang in two?" "Is dey another murder?" asked the second "boy". "Naw; dis heah white man is at a the-atah and he jes' natchally cuts a woman 'tirely th'u the body--right th'u, that's all. I done seen it." "Is dey any blood?" "Naw, dat's how come he can do it." "G'wan, niggah, if dey ain't no blood dey ain't no cutting. I knaws." "But I seen it," insisted number one. "De saw jes' natchally whines right th'u her middle an' she is in two; my eyes seen it." "Yoh eyes think they done seen it," retorted the sceptic, "but yoh eyes ain't done no such thing. My Lawd, niggah, nothin' can't be cut in two onless it bleeds, only a fishin' worm, an' you done see how the two ends rise up. Is, dis lady's ends done rise up?" "Naw, she done in a box wif her haid stickin' out an her feet stickin' out and de saw done cut her in de--" "Yas, I could done cut you in de middle an' you'd be in a box, too. But you wouldn't be clean, niggah, you wouldn't be clean; dey'd haf to mop up aftah you, sure dey would." "But I done seen--" "Yas, you done seen yo'self in de Pres-i-dent's chair, an' you done seen yo'self with a pocket full o' money, an' mebbe you done see yo'self workin' at a good job all de time, but dem's miracles; dem's miracles, too, if dey happen, an' cuttin' dis woman in two, ef dey ain't no blood, ain't no miracle. It's jes' a blame' lie." This gives some idea of the public interest aroused by this remarkable trick. Everyone was talking about it, from the President to the negro in the street. I conceived the idea of having extraordinary publicity, and a booklet was compiled by an expert, Pat Garyn. Every manager received a copy and followed it up carefully. The result was marvellous, and the Keith company called for six more companies. I obtained the services of six of the best men


I could find in America, amongst them Harry Jensen, now touring as Dante, and these started touring with the trick. One of these men was an actor inexperienced in the art of conjuring, but reports received at head office said that he was the best presenter of the six extra companies. These performances ran simultaneously, and each company played for from thirty to thirty-five weeks. They returned to each town about every four weeks. The results were wonderful; I have been told by one of the heads of the Keith business that this attraction brought to them a profit of well over a million dollars. This is the act which received such unsatisfactory reports at first. Mr. Lauder must have been very thankful that I persuaded him that I had a "Satan act". I certainly was. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

My Fight for my Invention


CHAPTER NINE

MY FIGHT FOR MY INVENTION

"A WOMAN SAWN IN HALF" is the most marvellous trick ever invented. The proof of that is to be seen in my books of Press cuttings. I have thousands of notices of this trick, culled from newspapers all over the world. They all agree that the trick is completely baffling and that nothing like it has ever been seen before. But not only was it before the public eye on the stage when I showed it, it was also receiving equal interest in the courts of law. For nearly two years I was engaged in one lawsuit after another in an effort to protect the invention on which I had spent so much time and money, and which had caused me so much anxiety before it was finally a success. I had the invention patented internationally and did all I could to see that the secret did not leak out. There were a few people I trusted, and these I allowed to perform the trick, but I determined to fight anyone who tried to steal it. I engaged a prominent patent attorney in the United States to protect my rights, which I estimated at one million dollars. I took every precaution possible to guard against prying eyes back-stage. The entire space used during the performance of the trick was "masked in" on all sides, and all stage employees and other performers on the bill were warned to keep away from the wings while "A Woman Sawn in Half" was being shown. My act was just receiving its greatest publicity when the first trouble began. Advertisements appeared in the papers saying that an English illusionist was coming to act in U.S.A. and would be performing "A Woman Sawn in Half". He was under contract to Shuberts, who had then organized a circuit of music-halls in opposition to the Keith firm, with whom I was engaged. As soon as I saw s aw this advertisement I wrote to the Keith office, telling them of the arrangements I had made to prevent any infringement of my patent and asking for their collaboration. This they promised me. But when the English act opened on the Shubert circuit the effect and illusion were very much inferior to mine, and Mr. E. F. Albee, of Keith's, wired me saying: It isn't worth bothering bothering about.


We did nothing about it. He played for only one week with Shuberts and then transferred to Another opposition circuit, Pantages. The billing was almost exactly the same as mine, and, although the act did not stand comparison, I decided that the performance of it was damaging to me, and began to take action. I filed suit in the United States District Court of the Southern District of New York against him and Alexander Pantages, asking for an injunction restraining the defendants from exhibiting the act and demanding damages. I felt confident of winning because the Vaudeville Managers' Protective Association, of which Pantages was a member, had decided that I was the only man who had the right to perform the illusion, thereby cutting out both the English and an American illusionist, who had also claimed to be the inventor of the illusion. This decision had been disregarded by Pantages. Both the English illusionist and myself agreed to stop doing the trick if the other could prove his case. The lawsuit aroused immense interest, especially in the theatrical world, and was an amazingly good advertisement for magic. As one newspaper said, the case was advertising "the good old art of magic and bringing back memories of Hermann and Hartz and Kellar and other great prestidigitateurs". At that time I had six companies touring the act in U.S.A. There were few American towns which had not heard of and seen "A Woman Sawn in Half". I do not propose to weary my readers with the full story of this series of lawsuits. In America one has to bring actions in each State, and so I was not only engaged in fighting the New York case, but others in Baltimore, Toledo, Kansas, and elsewhere. I won everywhere, and the English version was withdrawn. Some illusionists went on showing the tricks in the smaller towns, but these I had to let go. The lawyers were the winners in these cases, but, though I did not profit much from the damages I obtained, at least I knew that I had been justified, and that my act had received excellent advertisement. The Englishman left America, and the last I heard of him was that he had invented a new illusion, "Destroying a Woman". All this happened in 1921, when the music-halls were faced with strong opposition from the films. It was from this quarter that the next threat to my act was to come. A film was made which purported to show exactly how the illusion was performed. Obviously if this film were shown extensively my act would be ruined. I had no choice but to take up the cudgels again and try to stop this new infringement. I brought a suit in the Special Term of the High Supreme Court in New York City to restrain Walter J. Bird and others from releasing a reel entitled "Magic and Mystery Exposed". At first justice Newburger formally


reserved judgment, but in doing so he remarked that he did not consider that I was entitled to a permanent injunction because I had been perpetrating a fraud on the public by advertising the illusion as a surgical operation. That seemed very unfair to me, but I was glad to get a temporary injunction. This was given only on the theory that ownership was not disputed. That yet remained to be seen. While this lawsuit was proceeding another arose. The Alexander Film Corporation, in conjunction with Clarion Photoplays, produced an exposure of my illusion made by a man named John E. Coutts. This was very much more important than the one I have just been mentioning, and again I had to take action. Within a few weeks the case came before justice Delahanty sitting in the same court as was used for the previous case. This time I lost, and on exactly the point mentioned by justice Newburger. The defendants denied that the illusion was my invention. They said that the trick was known to the Egyptians 3700 years ago, and showed that it had been performed many times in countries other than the United States. In my view none of their arguments defeated my case, which was that I had thought of a way of performing this seemingly impossible feat and had made a success of it, and that these others were trying to profit by the work I had done. However, I lost, and I had to take the case to the High Supreme Court of New York, where it would be tried by five judges. If these judges were unanimous in their judgment there could be no further appeal. If they disagreed there was the Federal High Supreme Court left. The hours I spent waiting for the High Supreme Court decision were the most dramatic of my life. I knew that my professional reputation rested on my success or failure, that I should be a ruined man if I lost. I had behind me cases I had won, and this last important case, which I had lost. I had the strength of my own knowledge that the invention was mine, but I was not at all sure that this would be of much value amongst the intricate arguments between lawyers which would go on for many hours. The court was thronged for the hearing, for, as I have already mentioned, the case had had a great deal of publicity. Indeed, Clarion Photoplays had just come out with an immense advertisement advertisement headed "We win! win! We win!" in which they said that the act was "swimming in oceans of newspaper publicity from Maine to California". Keith's had booked up the picture on a hundred days' contract. All the people present knew what was at stake and they knew that they were watching a most dramatic scene. They were not disappointed. The five judges listened with the closest attention to the different arguments. The defendants tried to show that my act and the one exposed were dissimilar, that this act was by no means new, and that I had not


invented it, and they advanced a number of other arguments concerning the other cases I had fought. In my affidavit I replied to these statements. There I pointed out that I had the support of the Vaudeville Managers' Protective Protective Society, who had stood beside me against the Englishman and the American; that I had begun work on this trick as long back as 1911; that by advertising an exposure of "Sawing a Woman in Half" the defendants meant my illusion and that their picture was bound to do me harm. An affidavit from Harry Houdini was read in which he stated that he had known for some time that I was working on this trick, that the theatre world and indeed the general public looked upon this invention as mine, and that the exposure would cause me considerable damage. Servais Leroy and others stated that they believed that the illusion was my invention and that they had not known of any performance of this trick prior to mine. Howard Thurston said that he had watched the original being built and perfected in his own workshop at Whitestone, Long Island. It was with great relief that I heard the verdict, which Harry, Houdini gave me on the telephone. Justice Victor J. Dowling stated that "The affidavits lead irresistibly to the conclusion that the defendants have sought unfairly and unjustly to profit by plaintiff's success by adopting the name he had given to the illusion and by copying his methods, an unfair competition and unreasonable interference which the courts should and will prevent." I felt like a man released from a long sentence s entence in gaol. I was justified. I had won the long fight on which so much depended. So far I have been giving the outline of the long struggle in the courts of law. But there were many interesting sidelines which I must mention. It took a great deal of time and work to make bullets for my lawyers to fire, and this part of the work I really enjoyed because it stimulated s timulated my ingenuity. One of the lawyers went so far as to say, "You really ought to have been a lawyer, Mr. Goldin; you have the right mentality for it." There was one man on whom we could not serve an injunction. He was travelling round the country playing two or three nights' stands and it was impossible to hand him the necessary piece of paper. We discovered that he was financed by his father and decided that we must serve the injunction on the older man, who lived on Long Island. We arranged that my lawyer should pose as a manager of some theatres in the New England States and that he should ring up the man to arrange terms. He suggested s uggested that, as he was leaving New York that evening, they should meet at the first Tube station in Coney Island for the contracts to be delivered. So that he would be easily recognized it was arranged that the manager (my lawyer) would have a white handkerchief and be wiping his nose as he descended from the train. The plot worked beautifully. The man walked up to my lawyer and said,


"Are you the manager from the New England States?" "Yes," answered the lawyer. "Have you brought the contracts "No, but I have this for you"--and the lawyer handed him the writ. The man was of a dark complexion, but he turned very pale when he saw what the paper was! By that time we were in possession of an order from the court which said that anyone caught infringing my effect could be arrested by a policeman for contempt of court. My winning of so many lawsuits had established a precedent on some technical point of law which enabled this to be done. This happened at Merion, Ohio, where the English version was being performed. The principal, luckily for him, was away at the time, but his understudy and his assistants were carried straight from the stage to the police-station. The firm which had been handling the film was called Cohen Bros., and when we obtained our injunction they already had a considerable amount of money in the bank, royalties received from the film. We tried to attach that for damages, but we could never find Mr. Cohen to serve a writ on him. We tried our very best for six weeks and then we had a conference to decide what to do next. We had managed to find the man who had exposed the secret of the English version to the film company. I suggested to him, "Why fight? If they give me a royalty of five per cent on the business they have already transacted I shall be satisfied, and they will save, for they will have to pay lawyers more than that." He agreed that it was a good idea and called up Mr. Cohen on the telephone. Mr. Cohen said he would consider the proposal, and it was arranged that I should call on the next day with my accountant to arrange about a contract. So for the first time we had a meeting with Mr. Cohen. I took with me a process-server, who posed as my secretary. It was arranged that when I coughed in a certain manner he was to begin serving. We were received very courteously by Mr. Cohen, who was interested in the five-per-cent deal. We suggested that we might look at his books, but he refused point-blank to let us do anything of the kind. "I wouldn't show my books to the Pope," he declared. At that I coughed significantly. Mr. Cohen received the writ, and we left the room feeling that we had scored. We received our share of the money all right.


That was not the end of my dealing with that firm. Soon after this incident I heard that they were not obeying the court's injunction, but were hiring out the film at times when we could not trap them. I arranged a plot to stop that. I hired a theatre in a small town in New jersey, paying four hundred dollars rent in advance. I then instructed the manager to write to the firm asking if he might hire the film for a week's entertainment in this theatre. A favourable answer was received from their lawyer. This letter I gave to my lawyers, who immediately got in touch with the firm and their legal advisers. At first they would not agree to a meeting, but when they heard that we had this letter in our possession they were in the office within ten minutes. We had them that time, but we had to recognize that we could not keep on tracking them down all the time, so we entered into a new agreement in which I sold out my interest for a fixed sum. My legal fights for my great invention "A Woman Sawn in Half" were then at an end and I felt I had had enough litigation to last me a long time. I had upheld my rights and had saved my reputation. Since then I have performed the illusion both in its original form with the box and in the better second version when the woman is in sight of the audience all the time, without the unfair competition which had come so near ruining my act. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Adventures the World Over


CHAPTER TEN

ADVENTURES THE WORLD OVER

MANY a time have my bills of advertisement read "Murder in --", referring to my great illusion "A Woman Sawn in Half". When I invented that illusion I never expected that a real murderer would walk on to the stage and nearly ruin my performance. At the time when this happened I was not producing the act as I do now. I was using the first version, where the girl is placed in a box with only her head, hands, and feet showing, and I cut through the middle of the box with a crosssaw. Now, of course, I use a great circular saw, and the whole of the girl is visible throughout the performance. To heighten the effect I used to ask two members of the audience to step up on to the stage. One was asked to hold the girl's feet and the other to hold her hands. We had been playing for one week at the Olympia Theatre, in Cleveland, and on the Saturday night, our last performance, two men came on to the stage to watch the "sawing-in-two of the woman". One of these men looked a rough and unpleasant fellow; he gave me the impression as he stepped on the stage that he was looking for trouble. No sooner had he taken hold of the girl's feet than he began pulling them in a brutal manner. The holes were only big enough to take her ankles, and naturally it hurt her very much when he brought her calves into contact with the wood. At first I did not notice this, being busy preparing the saw, but it hurt so much that the girl complained to me of the agony she was suffering. I told the man not to do that; it was hurting the girl. He took no notice of this warning, and I had to interrupt my preparations three times in order to speak to him. The delay annoyed me, for I knew that the audience would become restive and my trick would be spoiled. Turning round to address the audience, I said, "This man has only paid for one ticket, yet he is spoiling the enjoyment of hundreds. I have asked him to


stop annoying the girl. I hope that now I have mentioned it this sort of thing will stop." The only effect this had upon the ruffian was to cause him to give the girl's legs a terrific tug, so that she screamed aloud. This was too much for me, and I told him in plain terms what I thought of him. This I did in undertones so that the audience could not hear me. He retorted. also sotto voce, using the foulest language he could lay his tongue to. I answered him back as best I could, and then he began to threaten me: "You wait till I get you outside, you dirty--." At this I turned to the audience, who were anxiously awaiting developments, and said, "I called for gentlemen to come on the stage. It is very evident there has been a mistake." The audience showed themselves very sympathetic to me, and the man stepped off the stage, scowling at me the while. The performance then proceeded smoothly on its way, and I dismissed the incident from my mind. As it was the last night at that theatre there was a great deal of packing up to be done after the show, which was a revue entitled "Step on It", in which I had a part share. We were in the middle of this work when I was called to the telephone. I found that it was from one of the members of the company. He had left the theatre a few moments before and had found eight men standing in the dark alley-way outside the stage door with revolvers in their hands. He had tried to get back into the theatre, but they had seized him and looked hard into his face. Then one had said, "This isn't Goldin," and they had driven him out of the alley. Apparently they had not thought of the possibility of a warning being sent by telephone. My informant went on to say that the man whom I ordered off the stage was awaiting trial on a murder charge and was out on 30,000 dollars bail. These men with him were part of his gang of toughs. I consulted with the house manager and we decided to ring for the police. Within ten minutes three plain-clothes policemen were on the premises. He told them the story, and then the Chief turned to me and said, "Have you got guts and guns I said I had. "Then you mustn't be afraid to shoot if it's necessary." In reply to this I said that I was prepared to do anything I was told. I used revolvers in my act, and I was ordered to load two of them. We had no shot, because blanks were always used in the act, so the Chief told me to fire into the gangsters' faces so as to blind them. The police had their own guns; mine were for the manager and myself. We had orders not to fire before the Chief after he had fired it was every man for himself.


We carried on with our packing and had it all finished in about half an hour. Then we started for the open air, not without tremblings from the manager and myself. We walked in single file, the Chief in front, then myself, another policeman, then the manager, with the third policeman bringing up the rear. We emerged from the stage door with our revolvers ready. The alley was very dark and it was with difficulty that we made anything out. To the gangsters, their eyes used to the darkness, we must have looked very formidable. As we came into the alley-way with our guns they immediately took to their heels. All gangsters are cowards at heart, and will only inflict injury on others if they are quite sure that there is no risk to their own skins. I was so pleased at the effect our weapons had had that I would personally have abandoned all precautions, but the police would have none of it. "Well, that's that," I said, with great relief in my voice. "Now for a taxi." "There'll be no taxi for you tonight, my boy," said the Chief. "How would you know that it was not their car?" I had not thought of that. "We're not leaving you until you are steaming safely out of Cleveland." With that we started out for my hotel. Two policemen walked slowly backwards with their guns at the ready, making sure that we were not attacked from the rear. We arrived at the hotel about 1 a.m. and that left an hour before my train left for Columbus, Ohio. The Chief 'phoned for the police car and I was taken down to the station, where the special coach which carried all my baggage and assistants was ready and waiting in a siding. Once safely inside, I thought I should be out of police custody, but I was mistaken. They guarded the station throughout our twenty minutes' wait, and when I showed an inclination to go for a walk down the platform they forced me back. "You don't know where they may be waiting to take a pot shot at you." That was enough for me; I took refuge in the coach, and I was heartily glad to hear the train steaming out of Cleveland. I never heard what became of the gangster after that. I did gather that he was an Italian pretty high up in the gang world, and judging by the speed with which he gathered his henchmen around him he must have been the leader of the gang. That was a big fright, but it was not my biggest. That happened in 1933, when I was touring the Continent, appearing in fourteen different countries


in three years and giving a full evening's performance everywhere. As you probably know, there are some countries in Europe where it is an offence to take currency out of the country without declaring it. Austria is one of these countries; Italy is not. During my tour I carried a great deal of money about with me, both in American and English currency, but I never had any trouble with it because I was always careful to declare it at the Customs. That good habit I maintained until I reached the Italo-Austrian frontier. where I was guilty of a lapse which might easily have proved very expensive for me. My manager and I drove over the frontier in a car and declared all we had to the officials. When we were comfortably settled in our hotel we decided to return to the Austrian frontier to clear our railway-truckful of baggage. We knew this would take about an hour, and we felt that when it was over we could take things easily before my next engagement, which was in Venice. At the Italian Customs barrier we were stopped, and the officials said something in Italian to my manager. I do not understand the language, so I did not know that he was asking about currency. About half a mile further on we were stopped at the Austrian Customs barrier, and again I left the conversation to my manager, who spoke several languages fluently. That over, we went ahead with our work, and, as I had expected, we finished it within an hour. Just as we were preparing to return I remembered that I had forgotten to declare the cash I had on my person when re-entering Austria. I had about £870 in English money, 1000 dollars in bills, several thousand dollars in Cook's cheques, 34,000 Belgian francs, and some odd money in my pocket. I knew the officials were sure to remember that I had passed the barrier only an hour before, and I knew that they would be sure to ask carefully about currency. If the money was found on me it was certain to be confiscated. What was I to do? I was terribly worried. My manager was there and might have helped me, but I felt that where so large a sum was concerned I could trust no one. I continued to make excuses to postpone the time of departure and give me the opportunity to concoct some plan. My manager noticed my worried looks and asked me what the trouble was. I told him that I had something on my mind and asked him if he would leave me alone for ten minutes. When he had gone I tried to decide what was the best thing for me to do. We were in a well-wooded country and I looked around for a hollow tree in which I might hide the cash. I found one easily enough, but every time I tried to put the money in a safe hiding-place people came in sight. I began to imagine that I was being watched.


At length I gave up that idea, and when my manager returned I told him of my predicament and asked for his help in carrying out a new plan. "Look here," I said, "I am going to show you a trick with two handkerchiefs. When we arrive at the Austrian frontier, ask to see it again. Make a fuss about it. Let them know who I am." This we did, and it worked splendidly. The officials were much impressed by the trick, and asked me to show them still more. They told me that they remembered me passing earlier in the day, but that they had not known who I was. In return I told them that I should be playing in their town, and I asked my manager to give them free passes to the theatre, which they accepted gratefully. We also showed them a lithograph which I had with me showing the various wonders which they would see at my performance. I am afraid they never saw them, for I was in Venice. They were wonderfully impressed by all they had seen and heard and they quite forgot to ask me if I had any money to declare. How glad I was when we shook hands and called "Auf Wiedersehen" and and drove out of Austria with my money safe in my pocket! I had a strange experience with royalty while I was playing in Paris. The chief actor in it was the late King of Portugal, the unfortunate monarch monarch who was assassinated. I was playing in the Casino de Paris when Count Graefelt, then well known in Court circles all over the Continent, came up and asked if he might have a few words with me. "His Majesty the King of Portugal has been very much impressed by your performance, and would very much like to see more of your amazing tricks. Would you care to appear at my house and stage a performance in a more intimate atmosphere than is possible here?" I told him I should be delighted. When I arrived I found that a platform had been erected at the end of the room capable of taking almost all my big illusions, and that a very distinguished assembly was waiting to see what I could do. The big tricks and illusions went off very well, and then I began some sleight-of-hand tricks which I thought would please such an intimate performance. To help me with these I wanted a "dupe" to come up on the stage with me. I asked for a volunteer. To my astonishment and delight the King himself rose and said that he thought he was the very man for the job.


For these tricks I needed someone whose leg I could pull, and with whom I could indulge in a little back-chat, although I felt that the King was hardly the person for the job. But whatever qualms I might have had were soon dispelled. I found that the King was a most genial man, absolutely without affectation and quick to see a joke. I carried out the usual business of handing him a pack of cards to shuffle and then producing various aces from up his sleeve and from out of his pockets. No one laughed more than did the King. As the show went on he entered more and more into the spirit of the thing and made witty and humorous comments on what I was doing. Towards the end we indulged in two minutes of a sort of crosstalk dialogue which amused everyone immensely. When the King had stepped down from the stage one of Count Graefelt's men came over to me and in a whisper said, "You didn't know that that was the King of Portugal, did you?" He seemed quite surprised when I informed him that I had known all along. Northem Africa once brought me a little adventure which at first was very unpleasant but which ended up quite happily. We had been playing in Tripoli before we went to Benghazi, during which time General Balbo, the Governor of North Africa, witnessed the performance. We were especially pleased to hear that the Govemor of Benghazi had bought all the seats in the theatre and that General Balbo was to be his guest of honour and see the show again. I made a trick specially for this occasion. I had twelve boards and I painted each of these separately, doing them very roughly and obviously without plan. Then I fixed them all into a frame, and there was a fine picture of Mussolini and General Balbo. Then I pulled a string and the picture changed into one of a troop of soldiers. There was a great round of applause at this, and I was just going on to the next part of the trick, when the curtain fell. I asked my manager what was wrong, and he told me there had been orders for the curtain to be dropped. I was very annoyed, for I could not see why my show s how should be interrupted when it was going so well. I found that I was not to do anything more, and that the show was to continue without me, showing Balbo's pictures of his flight from Italy to Chicago. As I stood in a corner thinking all this out General Balbo's secretary came up to me and said that the General wished to see me in his box. I walked round the back of the theatre and all the people in the boxes applauded me. Evidently it was not unpopularity which had brought my act to so abrupt an end.


When I entered the General's box I sat down at the back for a while. Then General Balbo rose and shook hands with me. "A very wonderful show," he said. "I thank you very much." America provided me with another great thrill, and this one I am always glad to recall, for I was instrumental in saving many lives. Just before the War I was playing in Los Angeles, and from there I was to move on to Salt Lake City. I arrived on the station platform to find that there were so many passengers that a relief train was to run five minutes after the train in which I had booked. We had a terrible journey. For the three days of the trip it did nothing but rain. The heavens opened and sluiced us with water. We could see nothing out of the windows because of the continual cascade of water down the glass. Suddenly we hit a wash-out. The carriage lurched sickeningly and we were hurled from one side to the other. We travelled for twenty-five yards, then the car left the track, broke away from the train, and turned sideways. Luckily the conductor put the brakes on, otherwise the car would have been completely smashed and all of us inside would have been killed. As it was, no one lost his life, though many were badly injured. My chief injury was that I missed a three days' engagement, for the bridge just ahead of us was washed washed away. But my side was pretty badly bruised, bruised, and I was paid 500 dollars compensation. As soon as it was possible we all crawled from the wrecked car and looked about us. Women were in hysterics and men were feeling themselves carefully to see if any bones were broken. It was a very wild scene, for the rain was still descending in torrents and it was almost dark. Apparently no one had a thought for the second train, only five minutes behind. If it also hit the wash-out and ran into our stationary train there was not a chance that they would escape as lightly as we had. I ran to the conductor and shouted, "Stop the second section!" He thanked me for the great thought, and we ran to get the red warning-lights. The locker where they were kept was jammed. The railway accident on the We looked at each other, and we read Los Angeles-Salt Lake City line despair in our faces. The conductor jumped


out, seized a fragment of wreckage, and struck as hard as he could at the locker, and to our great relief managed to force it wide enough open to allow us to reach three lamps. We dashed back along the line and just succeeded in lighting them and placing two on the line and waving the third when the second train appeared. For one terrible moment we thought that our signals would be ignored. The train thundered on, apparently oblivious of the lamp which we were frantically waving. Then we heard the scream of the brakes and the great engine came to rest a few feet away from us and with its front wheels almost on the edge of the wash-out. People jumped from the train, asking questions and shouting news back to those in the train. As I looked at them I was thankful that I had had that lucky thought, otherwise many of them might have been lying bleeding amongst the splintered wreckage of the carriages. Thinking of violence and destruction brings to my mind an unusual occurrence in Lowestoft at the beginning of the Great War. It is a small thing to mention here, and yet it stays in my mind with a certain significance. On the Saturday before I arrived at Lowestoft there had been an air-raid, and I found that the house in which I was to stay had been affected by the bombs. One had dropped in the garden behind the house, and everywhere showed signs of the disturbance it had made. The door of my room would not close properly. The bed had been turned round, although by the time I arrived things had been tidied up again. Outside in the yard the dog had been killed, although his kennel was still intact. The canary's cage was quite all right, but the bird inside was dead. But the strangest thing of all was in my room. The glass globe which hung from the ceiling was smashed to atoms, and yet the fragile gas-mantle, which might have been dissolved to powder at a touch, was quite intact. And visible on it were the words, "Made in Germany". To bring these adventures to a close I will visit another continent. This little episode can hardly be called an adventure; it was a kidnapping by friends. I played for about six months in Australia, and I made a great many good friends. The Australians are a most friendly and hospitable people, and I had invitations showered on me. One week-end I had two such invitations, one from a man we will call Mr. Brown and one from a Mr. Jones Jones rang up, and I told him I was sorry I could not accept, I was going to Mr. Brown's place for the week-end. "Too bad," he said, "some other time perhaps." Rather to my surprise, Mr. Jones came into my hotel a few minutes later.


"I've got my car with me," he said. "I'd be glad to drive you over to Brown's place. It's quite near mine." I thanked him and we drove off together. After an hour or so's drive we came to a very fine house, and stopped. "So this is where Brown lives," I said, "and here is Mrs. Brown coming to welcome us." "No, Mr. Goldin," said Jones "This is my home, and that is Mrs. Jones You're my prisoner; here you stop till Monday." And so it was. They allowed me to 'phone Brown to inform him that I had been kidnapped and could not spend the week-end with him. We tried to concoct some plan of escape together, but, although I made several attempts during the course of that week-end, I did not succeed. Those good friends were so glad to have me there that they took very good care that I was never left alone. I should not be sorry if all adventures were as pleasant as that one. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

The Boston Mystic Key


CHAPTER ELEVEN

THE BOSTON MYSTIC KEY

THE Americans love a good stunt, and they are always trying new ones. In 1908 I took part in the biggest stunt ever tried. It was so big that it completely paralysed the city of Boston. The whole affair originated in a strike of newsboys in Boston against the American. In order to break the strike the newspaper paper the Boston the Boston American. organized a competition. A man called "Raffles" was sent into the street with a Mystic Key. Anyone who went up to him and said, "You are the man with the Mystic Key", would receive fifty dollars. The idea, of course, was that the public would buy the paper in order to see what "Raffles" looked like, and so the newsboys would have to give way before the public demand. The idea was a good one, and it was new in those days, though it is getting a bit threadbare now. But "Raffles" was not very expert in escaping detection, and was caught every day. The danger was that the public might lose interest because it was too easy. The manager of Keith's Theatre, at which I was booked to appear, also acted as the Press agent, and he was a very live wire. He suggested to the editor of American that I carry the Mystic Key. He pointed out that, the Boston the Boston American that having made a living from deceiving people for some years, I was better fitted than most men for this difficult task. Of course, it was a good idea from his point of view, because people would flock to the theatre to see what I looked like, and, besides that, I should get excellent publicity from the paper. It seemed that everyone would benefit from the stunt. The upshot was that I wrote a letter to the editor of the Boston the Boston American. American.


Sir, Your representative having waited upon me and informed me of your acceptance of my challenge, I hereby notify you that we have come to a satisfactory agreement as to terms. In accordance with this agreement I will appear at the corner of Summer and Devonshire Streets at noon on Friday, February 14, carrying the Mystic Key, for the capture of which the "American" has offered a reward of fifty dollars. I will appear at Park Street and Tremont in the vicinity of Park Street Church at 1 o'clock and I will appear in Scollay Square at 2 o'clock. After this I shall proceed to Keith's Theatre, and shall enter the theatre in the vicinity of 3 o'clock, when the offer expires. I guarantee that I will appear in the street in those three places mentioned, and that nobody will be able to discover my identity. If anyone approaches me and says to me, "Are you the man with the Great Mystic Key?" I will, of course, show him the key and accompany him to the office of the "Boston American" where he will receive fifty dollars. So sure am I, however, that no one will be able to identify me that I will pay tweny-five dollars of my own money in addition to the reward of fifty dollars offered by the "American" to anyone who approaches me with the proper question before I arrive at the theatre. Sincerely yours, Horace Goldin. When I went in for that stunt I did not realize what a huge task I had taken on. All Boston turned out to look for me. The streets where I was due to appear were choked by a solid mass of humanity. Traffic was completely disorganized, and at one time the police had a warrant out for my arrest. But they were as unfortunate as the rest of the searchers, and never found me to serve the warrant. At one o'clock there was a crowd of 5000 people outside the Park Street Church. In Scollay Square at two o'clock the crowd numbered 8000, and when I tried to enter the theatre at three o'clock I found some 10,000 waiting outside. It must have been the biggest man-hunt in the history of


America. I was decidedly nervous from start to finish, for there is nothing so difficult on the stage as the deception I had to practise that day. When I first began to plan my campaign, with the help of Mr. McCarren and Mr. Larsen, of Keith's Theatre, I began to appreciate that I had not properly estimated the difficulty that faced me, and I wished that I had more time to improve my plans. I did not mind the loss of twenty-five dollars, and would gladly have given that to charity, which, indeed, I did do after the ordeal was over. But I knew that I had staked my professional reputation on the success of this venture, and that it would be a very disastrous thing for me if I were to lose. And I came perilously near losing three times! These were the plans I made beforehand. I had several men dressed up like myself and sent them off to different parts of Boston to deceive the crowds. Then I had an old tunnel opened up beneath the Keith's Theatre. The Boston Theatre is next door to Keith's, and there is a tunnel running between them. Most people did not know of this, so it provided me with a very useful bolt-hole. Then I prepared all my different disguises and I was ready. During that hectic day I was a cabman, a prospective motor-car buyer, buyer, a porter with a bundle, a strap-hanger on the elevated railway, a pedestrian, and a car-driver. With these disguises I managed to fool the whole of Boston. I left the Adam's House, where I was staying, at 10 a.m. and went to the theatre. There I put on the cap, hat, and gloves of a cabman I had called. I already had on a false moustache and glasses and was smoking a cigar. From there I went through the tunnel into the Boston Theatre, where the cab was waiting. There I took on Mr. McCarren and the cabman as passengers, and I was instructed to drive to the South Station. I wrapped the cabman's blanket round my legs and then picked up the reins. Trouble soon began. I had expected only one horse, and I had pictured that one as old and gentle. Instead, I found that I had two horses, and that one of them was very lively. I had never driven two horses before in my life. We were nearly upset at the first corner. Still, things went fairly well until I came to Summer Street. I found that there was a great mob in the road, and I felt very nervous, for obviously I could not go through it very quickly. The only encouragement was that no one seemed to have looked at me very carefully so far. Just as things were getting difficult my restive horse had to become still more lively. He moved sideways and ran into a man who was pushing a hand-cart. Vituperation immediately followed.


"Where the hell do you think you are going?" shouted the man. "Anyone would think you'd never driven a horse before in your life. Can't you keep him under control?" I howled back, "Hey, you! Get out of here! Can't you see I'm in a hurry?" Just then I heard someone in the crowd say, "I " I believe he's got the Key-man in that cab." So I whipped up my horses and left them as quickly as I could. I had not got very far, and was just approaching the offices of the Boston the Boston American, American, when a tall man with a reddish moustache jumped on the hub of the wheel and shouted, "Are you the man WHO HAS the Great Mystic Key?" He made one little slip with his challenge, so I drove straight on. But that sent my heart into my mouth all right. I was at Church Green at noon, drove straight on past the South Station, and so along the Summer Street extension past the second bridge. When I came to a spot s pot where there were no people I jumped down from the cab, changed clothes with the cabman, and got inside dressed in my own clothes. We drove to a house belonging to Mr. McCarren's brother-in-law. There I stayed while Mr. McCarren went for a white motor-car. While I was waiting I dressed up in a fur coat and a soft hat. As soon as the car arrived I took my place at the wheel and began the drive to my second spot. When I came within sight of it I found that the crowds were too dense for me to drive through, and I had to back and make my way by another route. I was at Tremont at six minutes past the hour. The jam there was immense, and I was nearly caught several times. One man was from the Boston Theatre. He jumped on to the step s tep and began to speak. Then he saw Mr. Larsen inside the car and evidently decided that I should never be in the same car as one of the men from Keith's Theatre. He said to Mr. Larsen, "Must have made a mistake," and jumped off. Two other men came towards me and challenged me, but each made mistakes. The first said, "Are you the man with the Key?" and the second left out the word "Great". Having escaped from that jam, I made my way by a devious route to the Oriental Restaurant on Harrison Avenue. Some patrons followed me in, so Larsen went on to Scollay Square while I had to make my way hastily upstairs to a private room. There I took off my fur coat and donned a discoloured, cheap grey suit. The sack coat was tied together at the front with a pin. I took a big white bundle on to my shoulders, and I was a porter. From there I went, still in the company of Mr. McCarren, to Beach Street elevated station, and rode to Scollay Square.


I found the stairs to the street thronged with people, and for a moment or two I was too scared to go on. I leaned against the wall as if tired. Then I caught sight of a clock, and saw that I was due in the Square. So I plucked up courage, and with my bundle on my shoulder, I followed Mr. McCarren diagonally across the square to No. 30, Court Street. I managed to get inside the building without being detected, and made my way into the lift, which I took to the third floor. I dropped the bundle heavily on to the floor of the lift and earned a rebuke from the liftman. I made no reply. On the third floor I went to Attorney John F. Cronin's office, where Mr. Larsen was awaiting me. I was in a state of complete exhaustion, and if Mr. Larsen had not given me a strong brandy-and-milk I believe I should have fainted. I certainly learned that day what a terrible thing it is to be a hunted man. When I was a little recovered I made my way to the window and looked out upon the crowd. What I saw was a revelation to me. There were thousands of people there, and they were all of them acting in the most frantic manner possible. Hundreds and hundreds of newspapers were being waved about. Dozens of strangers were being accosted and having furious inquiries made. I should imagine that few men in that crowd escaped without being asked if they had the Great Mystic Key. I realized afresh what chances I was taking. My motor-car picked me up at the side door of the building, and I walked down the stairs to join it. I had practically no disguise, only a false moustache, glasses, and a cigar. My clothes were those in which I had visited Park Street. When we neared Keith's Theatre we found that the crowds were the worst yet, but we managed to drive up to the door of the Boston Theatre. It was then four minutes past three, and my goal was in sight. I descended from the car and began to make my way to the door of the theatre. But I was nearly caught at the very last moment. The commissionaire at the Boston was acquainted with my identity, and his role was to make sure that my way was open and that I could get down into the tunnel all right. But he must have been infected by the crowd's excitement, or else the sight of me was too much for him. However it was, when he set eyes on me he shouted out, "Look, there's Goldin." Some men heard him and made for me. I ran like fury, and just got inside the door in time. I bolted downstairs and made for the tunnel. The door shut behind me. I was safe. I do not know how I managed to put on my shows that day. I was completely exhausted and played as if in a dream. But the audience were very kind, the more so because they had been hunting me fruitlessly all day.


That terrible day had its sequel. I had never met Mr. Eddy, editor of the Boston American, American, and I decided to play a joke on him. I disguised myself again and went down to his office after the show. "Look here," I said, "I gave the right challenge and yet Goldin did not give me the Mystic Key. I am entitled to that reward." And I gave a lot of details which proved beyond shadow of doubt that what I had said was true. Mr. Eddy looked very worried, and began to say that they would much rather pay the money than have any trouble, when he looked into my face. I could not conceal a smile, and that gave the show s how away. "Why, you old so-and-so," he said, laughing. "You are Goldin." I agreed that I was, and I showed him the Mystic Key, which I had saved. I still have that key to this day. There might have been yet another sequel had not the fire chief of Boston been but recently appointed. American sent out a man to Bunker's Hill the next day, but he The Boston The Boston American sent was easily caught. They came back to me and asked me to carry the key again. I pointed out to them that the second attempt would be a hundred times harder than the first, but I said that I was prepared to go through with it if they would fulfil my conditions. There was an old man who sold shoe-laces and boot-polish outside the theatre. He had a wooden leg, and was a well-known local character. I said that I wanted to impersonate him, and would have to have him kidnapped or else bribed to stay indoors. Secondly, I wanted to impersonate a fireman. There would be a false fire-alarm, and I should be one of the twenty firemen who dashed past at the time appointed for me to appear. Obviously no one could accost me then. Lastly, I wanted a dummy to be thrown from a high window. People passing would think it was an accident. Confederates would pick up the dummy and hurry it into a chemist's I should be inside, ready bandaged, and as soon as the ambulance arrived I should be placed on a stretcher and removed to hospital, at the very moment when I was due to appear outside. You see, I was taking no chances about being caught this time, and yet I was keeping strictly to the word of my agreement. That second attempt would have come off but for the fact that the fire chief felt that he could not take a chance with a false fire-alarm. On the whole I think it was just as well. The nervous tension was so great


that I am glad I did not have to suffer it twice. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

My Publicity Stunts


CHAPTER TWELVE

MY PUBLICITY STUNTS

IN America the Press agents would sell their souls to the Devil if, after the transaction, they could make it into an advertising stunt. They were always at me to provide them with good write-ups, and as often as not I was able to do what they asked. I remember one occasion in San Francisco. I think it would be in 1901. The Press agent of the Orpheum Theatre invited me to go round the city and do various stunts to arouse public interest. I agreed, and we started out. First we bought a ton of coal, for which I paid three dollars. The salesman gave me a receipt and put the money in a drawer. "You are sure I gave you three dollars?" I inquired. "Oh yes, sir. Here it is." But when he opened the drawer there was only one dollar there. We laughed at his astonishment and then I paid him the missing two dollars. Palming played a very important part. From there we went down to the market and found a man who sold eggs. "Are your eggs fresh?" I asked. "Oh yes, sir." "Do you mind if I break one to see? I'll pay for it first, of course." I paid for the egg, broke it, and there was a five-dollar gold piece inside. My friend pretended to be very surprised, and the man was quite overcome with astonishment. He had never known of a hen which laid five dollars a time. I paid for and broke another egg. There inside was another gold piece. "May I have half a dozen of your fine eggs?" I asked. "No. I ain't going to let you have more than three." I paid for the three eggs, broke them, and took out the gold pieces from

My Publicity Stunts

each. "This is fine. I'll take the whole lot at twice the price they are marked." "Oh no, you won't," burst out the astonished fellow with the eggs. And he started breaking his eggs as fast as he could. Of course, he found no gold coins inside any of them, and when he had broken about a score he began to look very rueful. We thought that by then we had had our joke, and so I paid him for all the eggs he had broken and left him fairly happy, though I am quite sure that he would hate losing any of those eggs in case one of them was a "magic egg". In 1921 I was invited to play at Keith's Theatre, Colombus, Ohio. This theatre was situated up an arcade, and they had been doing rather badly there and had decided to close down. I was invited to play the last week. At that time I was touring with the first version of "A Woman Sawn in Half". I had already run a whole lot of stunts in connection with that act. In one town we had insured the girl for 100,000 dollars, but on the first night of the show the manager of the Metropolitan Insurance Co. of Cincinatti came on to the stage and cancelled the policy before the whole audience on the grounds that the act was too dangerous. In Pittsburg we invited 100 doctors to be present; fifty-five appeared in response, three of them being ladies. I invited one of them to help me saw through the girl, but I met with no response. Often the firm which manufactured the saws would make a big display in the foyer of the theatre, and I would have ten men dressed up as undertakers. Once I had twelve girls standing there, each marked with the performance at which she would be sawn in two. There was always an ambulance before the theatre "in case the saw slips". At Toledo, Ohio, the manager wanted something new, and so I decided that I would dispense with this fake ambulance and employ a real one. I arranged that, at a given signal, someone should ring for the ambulance, saying that there had been an accident on the stage. I began the act as usual, but suddenly the girl screamed, and it seemed to the audience as if a shred of her clothing had been pulled away by the saw and that the instrument had really bitten into her body. There was pandemonium at once. People all over the theatre left their seats, shouting and screaming and crying "Murder". I was called nasty names by indignant folk in the front row, and into the middle of it all there burst a doctor and the men carrying the stretcher. When they arrived on the stage I shouted, "There's nothing the matter here. We don't want you." Then I turned to the audience and said, "I have only torn the young lady's dress. If you will give her time to change I will do the trick again with the

My Publicity Stunts

same girl. There really was nothing whatever the matter with the girl's dress. I had merely pulled a piece of material through the hole in the box. But she went off and changed and the act went off splendidly. The audience, having recovered from the fright I had given them, enjoyed themselves very much, and I played to packed houses for the rest of the week. During that week the Press agent from Colombus came to discuss a stunt for his theatre. I suggested that we did the one which had been so successful at Toledo. "No," he said, "I want something good, too. We've got a tough crowd way back there, and if they aren't pleased they'll break up all the seats." I had just read in the paper that the Mayor of Columbus had resigned and was being succeeded on the following Tuesday by a grocer, a real martinet, who used to smell the policemen's breaths in the morning to make sure they had not been drinking. My show started on Monday, and I suggested to the Press agent that we have the Mayor stop the show. The whole plot worked marvellously. The papers were full of it before I arrived in Colombus. "GOLDIN ACT BANNED. THF MAYOR SAYS NO HORRORS FOR COLOMBUS. GOLDIN WILL SHOW, SAYS MANAGEMENT." When I arrived on the Sunday only the manager, the Mayor, and the Press agent knew of the stunt; everyone else thought it was deadly serious. Quite a number of people there were protesting against the ban, saying it was a slur on the good name of Colombus. If other towns had seen the show, why not Colombus? All Monday morning we were engaged in argument. The first show was due to begin at 2.15, and at twelve no agreement was in sight. Then three men strode on to the stage. The leader came up to me and said, "Look here, Goldin, I'm a millionaire, and I'm going to back you. To hell with the Mayor! I'm prepared to pay all your expenses up to 100,000 dollars if you will fight him." I consulted the manager about this unexpected ally, but while we were talking together he pulled out his chequebook and asked, "How much?" I told him not to bother yet. I said that I was certain that we should reach some amicable solution, and so we did. It was decided that one performance only should take place, and that a special committee of prominent townspeople should sit on the stage and judge whether the show should go on for the rest of the week or not. The theatre was packed out two hours before the performance was due to begin. There was a huge crowd jammed in the arcade and every window there was smashed. The police were utterly helpless.

My Publicity Stunts

When the curtain went up I appeared and made a speech. I said that I thought it hard lines that the show should be banned. I pointed out that quite a number of people would have no pay that week. I said that I had been playing the act for six months and had no complaint so far. It seemed a pity that the people of Colombus should be deprived of a show which had been a source of enjoyment throughout the U.S.A. At that there were cries from all over the house. "Go ahead. We'll back you." I then asked the committee to step on to the stage. As soon as I saw the two women who had been chosen I knew that I was up against a tough proposition. They were hard-faced spinsters, and they looked as if they were prepared to give a very bitter report. If they did my plot might turn out very much to my disadvantage. As I prepared the "operation", I showed them, or pretended to show them, how it was done. "These are artificial legs, of course; don't touch them" (actually they weren't), "but mind you keep it to yourselves. That's a false skirt. It's quite harmless, you see. just deception." I went on whispering to them on those lines for quite a while. When it was all over I turned to them and said, "Ladies, this is one of the most painful moments of my life. Tell me and tell this great audience--is there to be a show in Colombus? You have seen everything, and the decision is yours." "Well," said one, "I see no harm in it at all. 'Nor me, either," chimed in the other. I pretended to breathe a great sigh of relief, and the audience burst into an orgy of clapping and cheering. I played to packed houses all the rest of that week, and the theatre did so well that the manager decided not to close after all. This by no means exhausts the list of stunts organized by Press agents in the States. At one theatre I sent one half of the woman for a pair of shoes and the other for an ice-cream soda. I had to engage two special vans for that. I used to organize fake challenges from saw manufacturers; once a rival firm in Minneapolis really did challenge me, but luckily that did not upset the trick at all. Once I was in a country shop and I was challenged to make a rope stand up just as I made the rope rope rise in the Indian Indian Rope Trick. First, First, I asked the proprietor to send for a reporter, for I did not want to lose a good advertisement, and I made the rope rise then and there, right in the middle of the shop.

My Publicity Stunts

The public needs to be wooed and attracted in this way, and I hope I shall be forgiven for these slight deceptions. They were great fun while they were being carried out, and I believe I never did anyone any harm by them. I certainly did myself and the theatre proprietors a lot of good. Another of my great stunts was only indirectly an advertising stunt. It was put on for the entertainment of five hundred editors of the Hearst's Press in America, who were assembled in New York for a conference. When I was staying at the New York Hotel I was paid a visit by Mr. Konigsburg, the general manager of Hearst's enterprises, and Mr. Metcham, another of the high officials. They told me about this forthcoming dinner, which was to be given at the Friar's Club, and they said that they had some of the biggest artistes in America appearing in the entertainment. But they wanted some great and sensational effect which the assembled editors would never forget as long as they lived, and they felt that I was the only man who could supply it. I told them to give me a few days in which to think it over. Then I disclosed my plan, which was similar to the one I played for Schlesinger in South Africa. I suggested that I put on the show s how with my royal Bengal tiger in it. Then we would dress up a big dog in a tiger-skin and let it loose amongst the audience. That ought to be a big enough sensation. The gentlemen were quite satisfied and said that it was a wonderful idea. But in two days' time they called again and said that it was no good after all. Some of their editors were tough guys, and they came from Texas and Oklahoma. They were sure to bring their pistols with them, and if they thought a real tiger was loose there would be some shooting. The scheme was too dangerous; would I think out something else? After that I worked out an amazing stunt, which I called, "You Can't Believe All You See in the Papers". It was a huge success, and was quite one of the most wonderful effects I have ever produced. On the stage there was a cabinet, some six feet high and about thirty inches square. It was made of a wooden framework, and this was covered with newspapers. There was also a small platform, about two inches thick and ten inches from the ground. After I had done some small effects with the cabinet I asked my female assistant to step on to the platform. Then I placed the cabinet over her head, so that she was completely hidden from the audience. I then turned to the assembled editors and asked for fifteen volunteers to come on to the stage and find the lady. They trooped up. One of them, I remember, was Senator Copeland. I lined them up and explained to them

My Publicity Stunts

what I wanted them to do. The girl broke the paper with her hands, so that all the audience could see her hands. Then the first man in the line took the hand nearest to him. "Now," I said, "at the given signal, I want you to run through the cabinet and catch the girl." I gave the signal and they ran forward. There was no girl. They scoured the stage, searching for a trap-door or a way out at the back. They could find nothing at all. The girl had vanished into thin air. Some of them were so annoyed that they began to use terrible language. They looked everywhere, and at last they came to me and asked me how it was done. I did not tell them at the time, for it would have spoiled their fun, but I will tell you now. First of all I searched all New York for a good female impersonator, and at last I found a man who would fool anyone. He fooled me when he was made up. This was my "female assistant". He had evening dress under his clothes-special evening dress which took up little space. When I covered him with the cabinet he began hastily to take off his wig and silk dress, and these he placed in a small trap in the platform. This was only two inches deep, and when the door was closed it automatically locked. He then broke the papers and put his arms outside. His hand was grasped by the first man in the line. Amongst those fifteen volunteers I had three confederates. Two of them were the first two men in the line. They had been told to pass the man inside the cabinet, so that the "girl" came out third. The third confederate left the stage as soon as the line began to move, so there were never more than fifteen men on the stage at the same time, and I was able to tease the audience by saying, "Look, there are only fifteen men on the stage. Where is that girl?" That was a most successful illusion, and yet it was not the high spot of the evening. I had prepared another and even more complicated trick. To do this I had to take a great deal of trouble. I asked Mr. Konigsburg to print me one thousand copies of a special paper. This contained gossip about all the editors present, and it had many amusing details about their private lives. All the things printed there were the things the editors would do their best to keep out of the papers. Then I began to reconstruct the ceiling of the room in which the entertainment was to take place. This ceiling was supported by eleven joists, each of them richly ornamented. I had special boards made as exact replicas of these joists, and I had them hinged alongside, with a space between which would hold a number of newspapers. I then had all the thousand special papers concealed in the ceiling, and when the job was done no one would have suspected that

My Publicity Stunts

they were there. Each of the hinged boards was connected to a lever on the stage, and the newspapers were placed so that when the boards were lifted they would fall and open out. At the given point in the programme Mr. Konigsburg, the chairman, rose and made a speech. It was a very remarkable speech, and everyone was very interested. He announced that for the first time in the history of the firm the editors were to receive a special edition of their paper by air. 'Now, gentlemen," he finished up, "will you look at number sixteen on the programme?" All the heads bent down, and that was a signal for Mr. Konigsburg to press the button for the papers to be released. The effect was even better than I had anticipated. The papers all opened, and for an interval of ten seconds the room was thrown into total darkness, for the lighting came from the ceiling. There was a tremendous noise, and most of the editors took refuge under the tables, thinking the ceiling had collapsed. When they got up again they found that the room was full of newspapers, and they began to laugh. When they opened the papers and read about each other the laughter grew until it was greater in volume than any laughter I have heard before or since. They laughed so much that they were not interested in the rest of the entertainment. To this day some of those editors do not know how the newspapers came to be in the room. The boards were so made that they fell into place again as soon as the papers had dropped, and from the floor no one could see that the joists had been tampered tampered with. It was a completely completely successful stunt. stunt. The next day when I met Mr. Konigsburg he complimented me on my two successes, and he said that he had been so pleased that he had thrown a double page of the Sunday Magazine Section of the New the New York American open to me. I could do with it what I liked. At that time the paper was read by 11,000,000 people, and this meant a great deal to me. But I was never able to take advantage of the offer, for I had to sail to keep my engagements in England before I had a chance to write up the material. The girls who have taken part in my act "A Woman Sawn in Half" have often aroused great public interest. Indeed, I have sometimes wondered who gets the most publicity, the "victim" or the "doctor". There was one girl who put on a particularly good performance performance at the Manchester Hippodrome, and after the show a thousand people waited for her at the stage door. She was a very shy young lady, and she would not venture forth to brave the applause of the admiring multitude. But she had

My Publicity Stunts

to stay in the manager's office until one o'clock in the morning before she could escape. Now I am going to let you into a great secret most of the "challenges" I have received over this famous trick have been swindles. I often, when introducing my show, say, "Now we'll get along with the 'swindle'"; but very often the public does not appreciate how far that swindle goes. I soon found that I had bigger houses when I was using a local girl for the "operation". Her picture caused comment in the local paper, and men and women wanted to read all about this brave girl. These details would appear--where she worked, how old she was, and so forth. But in the entertainment world it is impossible to leave things to chance, so I had to "fix" my local girl. She was always the same one, and she travelled from town to town, challenging me regularly. She would go ahead of me, get good "digs" and find some job of work. Very often her landlady would pose as her mother. Everything was thought of. Incidentally, that girl is now married to one of my assistants, and we often have a laugh about those "swindling" days. The show usually went like this. I would start the trick with my usual girl, but just when things were about to begin I would pause and say, "I am very sorry, I had quite forgotten that this is the evening when I am to be challenged." Then I would turn to the manager and ask him to call for the young lady who is to be sawn in half for the first time. There was no answer to his appeal. At that I started to upbraid the manager. "You promised me that the young lady would be here. It is a great pity if we have to disappoint the audience." "I assure you that I sent two tickets, one for herself and one for her mother," answered the manager. Just then the girl piped up, "I am here." I asked her why she had not answered before, and she replied that her mother was frightened and would not let her appear and run such a risk. At that I pretended to be very distressed, and asked her mother to change her mind. I asked whether her daughter was insured, and when she said no I told her that I would make myself personally responsible if anything happened. After a while the mother gave way to my appeals, and I was able to lead the girl on to the stage. She first took off her coat, and then she handed to me a string of pearls, which I carefully counted before I put them in my pocket. Then I announced that, in order to do this trick properly, I would have to hypnotize her. I went on with a lot of pseudo-medical science about hypnotism stopping the

My Publicity Stunts

circulation of the blood, and so on. Then I began to make the movements to put the girl into a hypnotic trance, and she became very rigid. Having achieved this effect, I turned to the audience and made quite a speech. "This," I said, "is a very dangerous thing to undertake, and I cannot proceed unless I am convinced that the girl is really in a trance. I am therefore going to submit her to a test, and this test is one which a person under normal conditions could not withstand." I then had the girl placed with her feet on one chair and her head on another. Her body remained rigid the whole time, but it tended to be lower between the chairs. Next a three-ply board was placed on her chest and two men climbed up and stood on it. She held their weight. "Now," I said, "I am satisfied. She really is in a deep hypnotic trance, and is ready to be sawn in two." With that the girl was placed in the box, so that her head and arms projected from one end and her feet from the other. "To revive her I shall clap my hands and count ten," I told the expectant audience. The box was then sawn in half and I walked through the body. All this time the committee on the stage were holding the girl's hands and feet. The two pieces were placed together and the lid was opened. "That's that," I said. "You can get up now." Nothing happened. "I have forgotten to clap my hands," I said. When I had done this the girl woke up and was lifted from the box, still rather rigid. This, as I announced to the audience, would pass away in time. The first thing she did when she was standing up on the stage was to feel round her middle where she had been sawn in two, and then she turned to me and said, "When shall I start the trick?" After that I gave her back her necklace. Her stocking had been torn, so I presented her with another pair. Then I handed her a box of chocolates, inside which there was a cheque, as a mark of my appreciation and to compensate her for the trouble to which she had been put. That is the harmless swindle which has given pleasure to thousands of people all over the world. I am glad that in these reminiscences of mine I have nothing worse to confess, and I hope that those people I have taken in will forgive me. After all, it is my job to deceive. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

The Indian Rope Trick: My Full Confession


CHAPTER THIRTEEN

THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK: MY FULL CONFESSION

IT is with Abraham Lincoln's words in mind that I write this confession. He said, "You can fool some of the people all of the time, and all of the people some of the time, but you can't fool all of the people all of the time." I have tried to fool all the people with my great "Indian Rope Trick", but I am bound to be found out some time, so it is better for me to confess voluntarily straight away. If you want my excuse you can have it in Barnum and Bailey's words: "The public likes to be fooled." In those far-off pre-War days, when I had newly become a star and was continually playing before royalty, I was annoyed by the number of people who came to me and asked me if I could perform the Indian Rope Trick. I never said I could not do this trick; that would have been bad showmanship. I made all sorts of excuses and tried to change the subject as quickly as possible. The day came, however, when my repertoire of excuses became exhausted, and I saw that my many questioners would soon suspect that this was a trick I could not perform. That was a challenge to my skill as an illusionist, and I resolved to stage this illusion. I began by reading all I could find about the world-famous trick. I found that quite a number of people had seen it performed in India at one time or another, but their testimonies always seem to have been passed down to us through someone else. There are a few people who profess to have seen the trick, but it is most difficult to confirm their accounts. I finished my reading with the feeling that I was no nearer to the Indian Rope Trick. This failure, instead of damping my curiosity, encouraged me to further efforts. For my purpose, it did not matter at all whether the trick had been performed or not. All I cared for was that it was a widely publicized illusion, and if I could perform it I should reap the profit. I determined to travel to India to see what I could find for myself. With that aim in view I deliberately booked a tour in India in 1915. In that strange country I met many magicians and religious men and I asked them all the same question: "Do you know anything of the Indian Rope Trick?" As often as not they asked me to explain what I meant. I would say that a man makes a rope stand up of its own accord. A boy climbs up the rope and, at a signal from the magician, disappears. The magician then climbs the rope with a sword in his teeth. He slashes about at the top of the rope and the limbs and body of the boy fall down. The conjurer


climbs down and the different pieces of the boy are placed together. The man takes hold of his hand and the boy rises from the ground unhurt. The magicians I asked looked at me very gravely, as if they had doubts as to my sanity. Then they shook their heads and said that they knew nothing of such a trick. I approached learned men who had lived many years in the East, and they told me the same story; they knew nothing of such a trick. I offered one thousand rupees to the man who could take me to see the trick. There was no response. I played in many of the mysterious and romantic towns in India and never even heard the trick mentioned, though, naturally, the talk often ran on the subject of magic. Having failed to discover anything positive about the famous illusion, I decided that the only course left to me was to invent it myself. I have now three different methods of producing this phenomenon. The first method is a simplification of the one I had already described. In the open air I can make the rope rise and become rigid. The boy climbs to the top and disappears and the rope falls to the ground. As a small s mall contribution to the gaiety of Coronation-time Coronation-time I offered to perform this trick in Hyde Park, but the Office of Works refused me permission. I was very much disappointed at the result of our correspondence, which ran as follows H. M. Office of Works, Storey's Gate, London, S. W. I. Gentlemen, April 1, 1937. I am contemplating performing the Indian Rope Trick in Hyde Park some time next month and I wish to ask permission. Although the performance will take place only once, if permission is given, the spot selected would have to be guarded for six or seven days. As the preparations would entail a considerable outlay of cash and thought, I wish to pay all expenses. I would like to know what it would cost to guard the spot night and day. The performance would take place at a spot near two or three large trees; various lighting effects would have to be connected, but no damage would be done, as the performance may take place at night-time. I would require the spot roped off two hundred feet right and left for the public to view. Of course, it would be a free exhibition. I may require a number of policemen to safeguard the crowd during the performance. However, on hearing from you, I shall be glad to give you more details. Thanking you in advance, Sincerely yours,


Horace Goldin.

21C/1937 April 6, 1937. Sir, In reply to your letter of April 1, I am directed by the First Commissioner of His Majesty's Works, etc., to inform you that it is regretted that permission cannot be given for you to perform the Indian Rope Trick in Hyde Park or any other Royal Park. I am, sir, Your obedient servant, Herbert Spencer. So London lost an opportunity to see this marvellous trick, and the overseas visitors did not see an entertainment which I believe to be without equal in the history of magic. The second method is the one which I am now presenting very successfully, and this is the one about which I have something to confess. Ever since I invented this illusion I have consistently deceived my audiences with announcements, publicity, and propaganda... My reason for this deceit is easy to understand. If I had gone to my audiences and told them the truth, saying that there was no such trick as the Indian Rope Trick, but that I had something quite as good, they would have thought that I was trying to "put something across". When a new trick is invented new publicity has to be invented as well. In fact, the making of the publicity is often more difficult than the invention of the trick. The sort of publicity I should have used if I had said there was never an Indian Rope Trick would have meant the loss of a considerable sum of money, which I spent in experiments preparatory preparatory to the showing of the trick, and of the time and energy I expended over my researches.


The Indian Rope Trick

I decided, therefore, that my trick had to be "The Indian Rope Trick", and I built up my publicity around that. I must confess that I enjoyed doing this immensely. When I walk past a theatre now and see the placards, "THE FIRST WHITE MAN TO PERFORM THE INDIAN ROPE TRICK, I feel a glow of pride. I put the act over very well. From the stage I usually make an announcement something like this: "Ladies and gentlemen, I now have the pleasure of presenting to you the most talked-of trick in the universe, the trick you have no doubt read of in the Press, 'The Indian Rope Trick', as performed by the Yogis. It seems that the Yogis are the only people to know the secret of this phenomenon. During my travels in India I met a very holy man, Yogi Caram Dumbila (a name I made up). We became very friendly and we exchanged ideas. He showed me, among other things, how it was possible to hang head downwards from a tree for days. It came to my knowledge that this Yogi was a master of the Indian Rope Trick, which was performed as a sacred and secret religious rite, and I asked him to divulge the secret. "For many days he refused, but at last he imparted the secret after I had sworn on oath not to perform it until he had passed away. I have waited eighteen years. I was sworn to secrecy in a very strange fashion. The holy man ran a sharp instrument across the back of his right hand, so that blood appeared. Then he asked me to place my left hand on the back of his right. He told me that if the blood dried within five minutes I was not to be trusted. It was fifteen minutes before that blood disappeared, and thereupon the Yogi told me the secret." It is a pretty tall story, and yet most of the people who have heard it believed it implicitly. That shows how easy it is, with the aid of a little ingenuity, to take people in. It is lucky that I have never had criminal instincts. I must warn you, however, that reading it in cold print is very different from hearing me in the theatre.


By means of this publicity my trick has been given the interest which I am certain it merits. I hope that my readers will forgive me for my deceit and accept my confession. Now you can turn your admiration and appreciation in the right direction, because I am the only man in the world to produce this much-talked-of much-talked-of phenomenon. Nor is this all. There are still greater wonders to come. I have planned a sensational variation of the first, or open-air, method, and I am preparing a really fantastic third method. In the first of these I climb up the rope after the boy, who has disappeared. I cut the air with a knife and pieces of the boy fall down. These pieces are placed in a large cloth held by my assistants, rolled and then unrolled, and the boy emerges unscathed. That brings the trick in line with the fabled Indian Rope Trick. For the still more sensational version of the trick I shall require an aeroplane. This flies around the chosen spot, discharging clouds of smoke. A rope is placed in a cannon, which is fired towards the aeroplane. The boy climbs this rope, disappears, and when the aeroplane lands the boy is found to be inside. There have been, as you are no doubt aware, very many challenges issued concerning this famous illusion. About three years ago, when I began to see how to perfect this illusion, I cabled to the Magic Circle from Gibraltar taking up their challenge, which was for the sum of £500, and yet I have not yet received the invitation to demonstrate the trick. Mr. Bertam Mills Mills has made a standing offer of £5000 for a performance of the trick, and this reward I intend to claim. I can confidently state that my Indian Rope Trick is unbeatable. I have confessed the deceit I practised in order to obtain the necessary publicity. Now that it has been seen and acclaimed by millions of people I feel that it can stand by itself; one of the greatest illusions over to be presented before any audience. So, if confession is no crime, I am not guilty, my lord--thank you! Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

The Story of Lily, The Tiger God


CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE STORY OF LILY, THE TIGER GOD

I WAS landed into more scrapes and experienced more thrills because of Lily the Tiger than through any assistant used in my large repertoire of tricks and illusions. That royal Bengal tigress-to give her her full title--had a real talent for publicity. I bought Lily from the late Frank Bostock, and I was pleased with the look of her. "Now, Frank," I said, when all the bargaining was over, "what about someone to look after her?" "I've got a boy here who would be the very person. He's nineteen, strong, and healthy, born in South Africa. You can have him for half a crown." I looked at the photograph he held out for my inspection and saw a smiling and stalwart negro, dressed in a very smart uniform. The bargain seemed a good one. We shook hands. I paid the price and was given a receipt. "Send him along," I said. When he arrived, however, I found that I had to pay another thirty shillings for his uniform. Lily the Tiger turned out very well, and I built up a popular act around her, the title of which was "The Tiger God". But, as I have said, she liked to be in the public eye even when she was not on the stage. For rehearsal I dispensed with the live tiger to avoid accidents, and used only a dummy. It was the dummy which produced the first thrill. I was playing at a theatre in the South of England, and at that time I was not presenting the Tiger-God act, but only rehearsing it. I stayed late at the theatre perfecting this effect, and on returning to my hotel fell asleep as soon as I touched the sheets. At about four o'clock in the morning I was forcibly awakened by a policeman, who shouted in my ear: "Mr. Goldin--the tiger's escaped!"


My heart leaped into my mouth. In my mind's eye I could see women and children badly mauled, and the whole town thrown into a state of terror. Only half dressed (I remember I had only one shoe on), I dashed off to the theatre. Arrived there, I found a state of the utmost confusion. Policemen were everywhere, armed with rifles and torches. They were systematically searching the theatre. Even as I ran up, one of them came out of the stage door and shouted joyfully: "It's all right, Mr. Goldin. We've shot the tiger." This is the story they hastened to tell me. As the night-watchman was making his rounds, shining his light into all the corners and passage-ways, he was suddenly surprised and alarmed to see a huge beast of the jungle lurking in a dark corner and apparently preparing to leap upon him. He turned and fled precipitately, banging all the doors behind him, and yet imagining all the while that he could hear the pad-pad of the tiger's steps just behind. As soon as he got to the front of the house he 'phoned the police and told them that there was an escaped tiger in the theatre. They answered his call at once and held a consultation as to the best method of shooting the dangerous beast. The night-watchman suggested that if they climbed over the roof they could shoot s hoot through the skylight. This method seemed the safest, so the gallant officers scrambled to the post of vantage at the skylight of the theatre and shone an electric torch on to the stage. There, sure enough, was the great tiger glaring up at them with hate and rage in its eyes. One of the men took aim and fired. There was a terrible roaring, and, fearful lest the beast should escape now that it was maddened by pain, as they thought, two other officers fired down at it. This had just happened when I arrived. I interrupted the night-watchman in the middle of his graphic description of how the tiger had leaped at him and he had been just quick enough to escape, and went into the theatre to see what damage had been done. We opened the door, for there could be no danger now that the beast was dead; and then we were greeted by a terrific roar. The rest immediately bolted, but I stood my ground. It seemed to me that the roar came from the corner where the cage was kept. Wondering if the next moment would be my last, I shone the torch into the corner. There was Lily prowling up and down in her cage, quite unhurt, but obviously upset about something! I called to the others, and together we returned to the stage. Then the explanation became obvious to everyone. The real tiger was lashing her tail with fury, absolutely unharmed, while the dummy tiger was lying simply riddled with bullets!


This is what had actually happened. After rehearsal Lily was put back in her cage and the dummy tiger placed behind the cage until the next rehearsal. The night-watchman making his rounds, as already described, unaware that I had a dummy tiger, naturally thought it was Lily behind the cage, and therefore made up his mind that the tiger had escaped. He then did the best he could, causing the above commotion. A humorous ending, but a serious beginning! It must have been a long time before that nightwatchman and those policemen heard the end of the chaff to which they were subjected. A few months later Lily really did escape. On June 19, 1915 I sailed for South Africa in the S.S. Caledonia from Caledonia from Southampton. I took with me thirty-six artistes and tons of baggage. Lily was there, of course, with her cage well lashed to a good spot in the aft of the vessel. We had one scare during the voyage. The second day out was rough, and I retired early. Just as I was dozing off the officer of the watch awakened me. "Come quickly," he said. "The tackle on the tiger's cage has broken loose." When we arrived on deck I found that it was blowing a gale. The cage was being dashed from side to side. One steel rope was still secure; we had to do something to the broken end. And we were all scared in case the cage was smashed. We laboured for an hour, and then we managed to secure the tackle. That gave us some time to look at Lily. She looked very sick and sorry for herself, so much so that I had to give her hot milk and a nip of brandy. Even great stars suffer at times! The real thrill came in Johannesburg, where we played after a great reception at Capetown. I was talking to my stage-manager at the rehearsal on the Sunday night, prior to our première the following Monday. "Is everything set, Mr. Hawkes?" "Yes." I then left the stage, took a seat in the auditorium, and gave the signal to start. A company of thirty people appeared on the stage, including a chorus of eighteen ladies, when, to my great surprise, all of a sudden the curtain was lowered. I heard screams and shouts, and could see the people running to and fro. Even then it did not occur to me that the tiger could have escaped out of her cage, because this cage was constructed to guard against such accident happening.


There were three locks, each with a different key, and each key only fitting its own lock. The keys were held by three different men. Each man thought the other one had locked the cage and that two locks would be safe enough; in fact, one would have been safe enough. As it happened, however, the side door of the illusion-cage was left completely unlocked, and it was through this door that Lily walked. She was first noticed by my electrician, who gave the alarm. The curtain when lowered did not quite touch the stage, and through the space I could see Lily's paws crossing the stage. I quickly rushed through the pass-door of the theatre on to the stage. I looked for the keeper, but he was not to be found, nor were the rest of the company, with the exception of my secretary, Gilbert Brown. We made a dash for the nearest door, which happened to be the property-room. property-room. This door was shut, and as I pushed the handle I heard the voice of the electrician (speaking in broken English) "Oh, mein Gott, he de tiger. Oh, what shall I do? "No, you fool!" I shouted. "It's me!" And so we got in safe and sound. We pushed the stage-manager through the window into the passage-way leading to the stage door. I told him to warn all the artistes to keep to their rooms. Pagliacci. We heard a rich bass voice singing "On with the Motley", from Pagliacci. The song stopped abruptly. There was a shout, "Oh, my God, the tiger--!" A slam of the door and the sound of running water. I heard afterwards that Oriente, who was playing a part in "The Tiger God, not knowing that the tiger was loose, had started to descend the stairs s tairs to find out why he had not been called. As soon as he saw the tiger he made for the nearest room, which happened to be the lavatory. He said that he thought the noise of running water would keep the tiger away. I concocted a plan of campaign. My secretary and I took several pieces of scenery called "flats" and held them in front of us, looking for the tiger, for we had lost track of her. Suddenly I noticed a dressing-room door standing open. I crept up gently, looked inside, and there was Lily; I closed and locked the door, which belonged to the dressing-room of one of the ladies in the show. Evidently Lily did not like the style of the lady's costumes, for she destroyed several expensive dresses, for which I refunded the lady twenty pounds. Once Lily was in the dressing-room we felt much relieved, for, with both door and window shut, as we believed, she could not do any harm. We now had to devise some way to get her into the cage again.


Later I discovered that my leading lady had fainted. When the tiger escaped, the leading lady had been in the first room up the stairs, which had a door half of glass. At the very time the tiger passed, it looked in and seemed to smile. The leading lady was so astonished, not being aware that the tiger was loose, that she shut the door quickly, pushed a trunk, table, chairs, etc., against the door--then fainted. It was no wonder, after such a terrible ordeal! We then continued building the alley of flats, extending it to the entrance of the scenery dock. While doing so I happened to look up to the small window of the dressing-room which Lily was in, and there stood Lily, looking straight at us. Her head suddenly disappeared, and we hastened to put a piece of scenery in front of the window. We managed to bring the travelling-cage into the improvised alley we had built up from various pieces of scenery. I tied a piece of meat to a long rope. This was taken through the front bars of the cage, through the back of the cage, through the scenery dock, and out on to the sidewalk. We had the two doors off the sidewalk closed, with the exception of an opening of about one inch in width. I then obtained a second rope, tied it to the sliding door at the back of the cage, pulled the door up to the top of the opening, and fastened the rope to the top of the door, and by straining it prevented the door from falling into its closing position. I let Brown hold the door-rope, straining it, while I took the rope with the meat on. The other end of the rope on which the meat was tied I carried to Lily's dressing-room, opened the door (thus allowing her to come out), threw in the meat, and ran like hell to the sidewalk! Sure enough, I felt Lily at the other end of the rope, and I kept pulling the meat-rope through the cage, and finally pulled the meat inside. As it was Sunday (which was her fasting day), Lily was very hungry, and jumped into the cage after the meat. I then released the rope of the sliding door (which Brown was holding) and it fell into position, and Lily was safe inside her travelling-cage. That operation lasted forty-five minutes. I was outside looking through the crack of the two doors, wide enough for the ropes to be pulled. I was in a stooping position, and did not realize that the manager, Sidney Hyman, was also looking through the crack behind me, with his hands on my shoulders. The excitement prevented my noticing any extra weight. When I released both ropes the policemen and firemen called out by the management appeared, all complete with the water-hose and guns, some loaded with chloroform, some with bullets. I begged them not to shoot s hoot unless life was in danger. They obeyed and I told them everything was O.K. It was then I felt the strain; I could not walk for an hour; my knees gave way from under me, and I was given brandy and milk.


The "Tiger God" act was a very elaborate affair, and I had many compliments paid to me because of it. This was the act which particularly interested the King of Siam, and which brought me three Royal Command performances in three days. I had a cast of twelve principals and twenty-eight supernumeries. supernumeries. I both wrote the story and produced the drama. The theme was based on the lessons to be drawn from the old Arab maxim, "Do not believe all you see, for he who believes all he sees will often believe that which is not". There were three scenes, and to give the show an added touch of realism I produced moving pictures of the places which furnished the locale of my story, and where the film ended we continued with real life. Here is the tale as I wrote it at the time. ~ PROLOGUE ~ Raymond, a magician, whilst travelling in Morocco with a party of Europeans, is commanded by the Sultan to give an exhibition of his skill. After causing a beautiful white girl (Freda) to disappear in mysterious fashion he is commanded by the Sultan to cause her reappearance. This being accomplished, the Sultan gives a secret order to Abd-er-Rahman, a Moorish guide, for the girl to be captured for the Imperial harem. The magician's attention is distracted and the girl is seized by the Sultan's guards. On discovering this, Raymond traces her to the Sultan's palace, and at the point of the revolver forces Abd-er-Rahman to divulge the whereabouts of the beautiful captive. ~ THE STORY ~ The next scene showed the dawn of day; a day above all others sacred to the hearts of the Mohammedans--the Great Feast Day of Ard-el-Kebir. In the old market-place of Mequinez is assembled, as is their usual wont, the retinue of the reigning Sultan. The bell of the great mosque tolls with measured solemnity. The sacred tiger paces to and fro in the "Cage of Death", eager for her share of the sacrificial offerings. On either side of the cage stands, motionless, a white-robed sentinel. From quaintly wrought bowls ascends the sacred incense. Facing the cage and in attitudes of prayer the ladies of the harem kneel. In the centre the high priest, with swinging censer, chants a mournful dirge.


As the golden rays of the rising sun cast their shadows around, the worshippers rise, and, to weird Eastern music, the Imperial dancers execute a nautch-like movement, whilst the high priest kneels before the sacred tiger. Then, to a stirring chorus of welcome, the Sultan enters seated in his "Chair of Office", borne by four bearers, preceded by his white favourite, Freda, whose pride of place is indicated when the Sultan rises and motions her to the seat he has just vacated. The high priest now advances and blesses the Sultan and his fair companion. The two sentinels before the cage present arms and then pace to and fro. Whilst pacing back to back one of them is quickly seized, unobserved by the other, and his place is taken by the magician, Freda's brother, who is disguised in robes similar to those worn by the soldier. After worshipping before the Tiger God the Sultan withdraws, and Freda vacates the "Chair of Office" and looks around with an anxious expression. As she nears the front of the tiger's cage her brother slips her a letter. Very agitated, she quickly reads it and then turns with a puzzled look to her brother, who quietly removes a mask, disclosing his identity. The surprise causes her to drop the letter, and the other sentinel, seeing the stranger within the palace, gives the alarm. Abd-er-Rahman, the faithful guide, appears and warns Freda and the magician of their danger. The magician forces his sister into the empty sedan chair, and he himself enters the shrine. These movements are seen by the soldier, who tells all to the Sultan. That dignitary now approaches the chair and flings back the curtain, disclosing, to his own astonishment and that of his retinue, an empty chair. The shrine also is seen to be empty. Drawing his sword, the Sultan bids his retainers follow him to search for the fugitives. The guide enters and raps on the shrine. Raymond the magician immediately appears. He makes a few passes before the sedan chair, pulls; back the curtain, and there is Freda comfortably seated. just as they are about to escape together the soldier who had been left on guard, but who had been chloroformed by Abd-er-Rahman, revives, and Raymond is forced to shoot him. This shot gives the alarm, and both Freda and the magician are captured.


So enraged is the Sultan by the perfidy of his favourite that he has her stripped of her clothing and placed on a pedestal to be burned alive. The soldiers pour oil all over her, while others stand by with lighted torches. The magician is, meanwhile, held prisoner by two soldiers. After placing a shroud over Freda the Sultan orders the soldiers to set her alight. Immediately the magician struggles and manages to fire a revolver. The shroud falls and the girl has vanished. Foiled again, the Sultan furiously orders the magician to be flung into the tiger's cage. There is another struggle, during which Abd-er-Rahman fires a shot, and the magician vanishes, leaving only his cloak, which falls to the ground at the feet of his bewildered captors. Balked by these two victims, the Sultan turns to wreak vengeance on the faithful guide. Amid uproar and excitement Abd-er-Rahman is flung to the tiger in the cage. Scarcely is the door closed when further shots are heard from within, and the front of the cage flies open, disclosing, in place of the tiger, the magician. All assembled are struck dumb with astonishment. The magician descends unharmed from the cage, and the crafty potentate, now thoroughly demoralized and overcome with superstitious fear, mutely demands of the magician what has become of Freda. With a smile of triumph the magician turns to the nearest soldier, pulls off the hat and cloak, and there stands Freda, unharmed and happy. ~ CURTAIN ~

I have another tiger story which also concerns my old friend "Lily". During 1917, playing a return engagement at Johannesburg, Mr. Gus Schlesinger, who was at that time producing films, wanted something to excite two hundred natives in a scene, in which all were eccentrically dressed and all were on roller-skates. There was also in the same scene an orchestra of about twenty-five natives playing the instrument of their country, the calaboos piano. Mr. Schlesinger asked me how best to create this excitement and so enhance the value of the scene. I suggested bringing my tiger out! He thought it such a wonderful idea that he said; "That let loose among them would certainly be exciting." I said, "No, it is too dangerous." We discussed the matter at length, and the following was arranged and took place.


We procured a dog almost as big as a tiger; we made a costume for the dog from tiger-skins, copied Lily's head in papier mâché, and dressed the dog up like Lily. We kept it hidden behind the building where the scene took place. The natives were not aware of the imitation Lily, but we brought Lily in her cage before the scene started so that the natives could see the real tiger. It proved to be a wonderful attraction. They were informed that the tiger, too, would be filmed later on. I arranged that the five props supporting the elevated platform for the calaboos-piano orchestra should break away at a given signal. The scene started, the film machines going at full speed, and the two hundred actors on roller-skates waltzing to and fro and enjoying themselves thoroughly. At the given signal the platform and musicians collapsed, their attention being attracted to one part of the building which was open on all sides, only a roof supported by posts; and from the other side of the building the dog dressed as Lily was let loose among them. Like a dog, it actually started to play, jumping about, but but the actors thought thought it was the real tiger tiger escaped. Some of them thought that they should have been informed that the tiger would be let loose during the scene! They had no time to be annoyed. They started to run. There was not one actor left. Some of them nearly knocked the filming-machines over. That scene, so far as I know, was never finished, and although the management sent out scouts to bring back the actors, only about twenty-five returned, and ten or twelve were never accounted for. I wonder if they are still running! Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Two Great Unperformed Miracles Explained


CHAPTER FIFTEEN

TWO GREAT UNPERFORMED MIRACLES EXPLAINED

EVERYONE who

Horse entering box

Horse as seen by audience a. Cabinet b. Dummy Head c. Dummy Tail d. Bucket of water

sees a magician at work on the stage wishes to know how he obtains his effects. If the audience does not it means that he has failed to perform his tricks properly and is a poor magician. It is not my intention in this book to explain how any of the great tricks which are now being performed either by myself or any other magician are worked. That would be in no one's interests. But I will show you how two of my best inventions work, for neither "Sawing a Horse in Half" nor "The Haunted Sculptor" has ever been performed on the stage, though they could both be built and successfuly performed tomorrow and be as baffling and successful as my Indian Rope Trick or "A Woman Sawn in Half".


Sawing through the horse

"Sawing a Horse in Half" is at first sight a great deal more difficult than sawing a woman through the middle. On the stage there is a horse-box. The horse is led on to the stage by an assistant, enters the box, and the doors at each end are closed. His head and tail, however, can still be seen by the audience at each end of the box. While the trick is being performed the horse takes a drink from a bucket. Two men mount ladders, one on each side of the horse-box, and with a double-handed saw they cut through the middle of the box and of the horse. The animal seems not to mind what is being done to him. He goes on drinking contentedly, and occasionally he flicks his tail. Having finished the sawing, the men descend; one of them takes the horse's head and leads him out quite

unharmed. The sensation can easily be imagined. This is how the effect is obtained. The horse is led into the box all right, but he does not stay there long. He enters a container, which is hinged to the side of the box and can be lowered into the floor by means of two cables worked by a winch below the stage. So that the audience will not notice that the horse is not there a dummy head and tail are shown at the ends of the box. These are carefully


prepared and worked, and at no time does anyone suspect that they are not real. The box is sawn through as soon as the horse has been disposed of, when the box is empty. At a given signal the horse-container with the horse inside is brought back to its original position, the doors are opened, and the horse is let out.

It seems easy as soon as it is explained, does it not? Yet I can guarantee that no one seeing it on the stage would be able to explain how it is done. "The Haunted Sculptor" is even more baffling. When the curtain rises a sculptor is seen working on a statue of a beautiful girl. He is chipping away diligently with his chisel. Suddenly he hits his finger and hurts himself badly. He leaves the stage to bandage his hand.


While he is away the Devil appears. He examines the statue carefully and decides to play a trick on the sculptor. He lifts up the statue and takes it off the stage; then he returns with a real girl, dressed exactly the same as the statue, and he tells her to stand in exactly the same posture as that which the statue had taken up. His work finished to his satisfaction, the Devil vanishes. The sculptor returns with his finger bandaged and immediately takes up his chisel again. Unfortunately, at the first blow the statue falls to the ground and breaks into seven pieces. The sculptor is grief-stricken. Here is the work of months utterly spoiled. He sinks into a chair and buries his head in his hands.

The Devil takes pity on him and reappears. At a flash of light from his hands the


pieces reassemble and stand upright. The Devil takes one hand and leads the lady to the sculptor, who is more amazed than ever now that he sees his statue come to life. The explanation of this attractive illusion may sound complicated, but it is in reality quite simple. For perfect performance the trick needs careful rehearsal and good showmanship. Here again I can guarantee to perform the trick so that no one guesses how it is done.

On the stage there is a platform, eight feet long, six feet wide, and eight inches deep, and in the middle of this there is another platform which is made to sink and rise; this is six feet long and two feet wide. As the curtain rises the sculptor and his statue, which is made of papier mâché, are on the real platform. When the Devil brings on the real girl, however, she stands on the second platform. against a bar which rises up to support s upport her. This bar is about three feet six inches long, and is attached to a strong spring and a hinge. When the girl's heels touch the hinge her weight causes the platform to fall below the stage, and she vanishes. When this platform touches the bottom it automatically releases two traps which are hinged to the bottom of the platform, and these cover up the space left by the descent of the false platform. On these traps are false arms, legs, head, and trunk, all made of papier mâché. While these changes are being made good showmanship is necessary, so that the audience's attention is distracted. Of course, it all happens in a shorter space of time than it takes to describe the operations. When the moment comes for the pieces to become the statue again the traps are


released and disappear under the platform. The living figure supported by the bar comes up to the standing position again. The false platform rises level with the real one; by another release the bar falls flat with the platform, and the lady is free to step off on to the stage. These two are mechanical illusions, and need a professional magician for their proper exhibition. Now I will explain a small illusion which anyone, with practice, should be able to perform. Imagine seeing someone take a liqueur-glass and unscrew the bottom. He takes off the circle of glass and puts it in his eye like a monocle. Then he screws it back on again and the glass it just as it was at first. You would say that it was a special glass, but you would be wrong. The glass is an ordinary glass, as you will discover if you examine it carefully enough. The trick is partly optical illusion and partly skill at palming. To perform this trick, call for any liqueur-glass. Take the top in your left hand and pretend to twist off the round glass bottom with your right. This needs careful rehearsal to give realism. You should pretend that it is stiff at first and that it gradually works loose. And when you are screwing it up again it seems to start easily enough and then needs extra pressure just at the end. When you have given seven turns or so you take a piece of glass, exactly the same size as the bottom of the glass, and put it in your eye. It looks exactly as if you have taken the bottom of the glass off. The cleverness of the trick lies in the pretence of unscrewing and the deftness with which the palmed glass is produced and hidden again. Some care has to be taken so that the bottom of the glass is not exposed to the audience while the "monocle" is in your eye. In Yorkshire there is a magical society called "The Mystic Seven of Dewsbury", of which I have the honour to be vice-president. As a preface for their book, Mysteries of the Mystic Seven, I gave them Seven Mystic Points, and I wish to repeat them here, so that any amateur magician who reads this book will be able to benefit from the experience I have gained during my long connection with the stage.


Point One. The One. The first thing on the road to success is ORIGINALITY. Study your own temperament, your own personality, and select your effects accordingly. Point Two. Don't Two. Don't let JEALOUSY overpower you, or envy, when you see another conjurer making a success of a trick. Point Three. Be Three. Be in a FIT CONDITION both physically and mentally when you start to perform. Forget everything else; concentrate on what you are doing and saying. Point Four. When Four. When you hear of something original, invented by someone else, something that is better than what you are doing, don't copy it. Furthermore, don't get discouraged; try to create something better yourself. One original trick of your own is far better than fifteen copied effects. Point Five. The Five. The art of conjuring is like a play. Tricks are like actors: the producer chooses the players and the types according to the part they have to portray; therefore be discriminating in your choice of tricks. Point Six. Should Six. Should you purchase a trick from a dealer, remember that the instructions for the presentation are the same for every purchaser. It is essential, therefore, for you to endeavour to reconstruct the trick to suit your individuality. Point Seven. Last Seven. Last but not least, practise your tricks well. Rehearse walking on and walking off the stage. Pay attention to your hands, whether you are doing a trick or not. Practise bowing to acknowledge applause.

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Brushes with the Law and with S windlers


CHAPTER SIXTEEN

BRUSHES WITH THE LAW AND WITH SWINDLERS

A MAGICIAN who turned criminal could baffle the officers of the law and live in ease and plenty. If he were captured no shackles or doors would hold him. If he committed murder no evidence of his crime would ever be discovered. There is one well-known case of an Austrian magician who carried out a systematic series of bank robberies and who was worth thousands of pounds when he was captured. He escaped from prison no less than three times and gave the police enormous trouble before he settled down to a quiet life in gaol. And yet, from what I know of him, I should say he was only a very average magician. I have never been tempted to resort to a life of crime, but being a professional magician has often brought me into contact with the law. There is a certain suspicion of a man who earns his living by trying to deceive his fellow men--particularly men--particularly if he succeeds as well as I have! Occasionally I have been able to help the workings of the law, and once or twice, in small matters, I have taken the law into my own hands and, by means of my skill, have outwitted men who have been trying to cheat me. Once when I was playing at Palermo, in Italy, two policemen came to my dressing-room after the show bringing with them a paper, which they asked me to sign. It was a declaration that I did not achieve my effects by hypnotism. Apparently there is a law in Italy against that sort of thing. I did not like this idea, and sent s ent for an interpreter in order to talk things over with the police. They explained to me that officials had been to my show the night before and were of the opinion that the effects could not be achieved merely by practice and skill, and they wanted an assurance that I was not dabbling with the occult or indulging in hypnotism. The manager arrived at this point and I consulted him about the matter. I told him that I was thinking of fighting them on the issue, which would be good publicity for business.


"For goodness' sake, don't do that!" he implored me. "They'll close the theatre straight away, and we shall all lose money." So I gave way and signed the paper, and assured the police that all my illusions were pure deception and that the effects were produced by scientific arrangements. They went away satisfied. Three days later something happened which made me very suspicious. I thought that the police had sent me an agent provocateur to to test my veracity. A well-dressed and elegant Italian woman came to my hotel and implored my help. I do not speak Italian, and had to rely on the interpreting of the hotel manager, but the main trend of her appeal was as follows: For weeks she had been unable to sleep, and she was terribly distressed in mind. To distract herself she had been to see my show, and there she had come to the belief that I alone could help her. If I could play with the minds of a whole audience surely I could so influence her as to shake off the worry which was killing her. I had every reason to believe that I could be of help. Time and time again I have helped people who have suffered from nervous complaints. In my company there are two men who appear under the names "Foster and Clark". Of these Foster stuttered badly. I offered to cure him in ten minutes, and I succeeded. There are many reasons for stuttering, and I knew Foster well enough to know the reason for his impediment. He was short of breath and he was impatient. He could never manage a sentence because he had no confidence in himself. I started him with words like "Constantinople" and the Russian "colpack-pot-kal-picome". "colpack-pot-kal-picome". I told him to draw a long breath before speaking, and to take a breath before every word. If he stuttered before me I assured him that I should give him a good slap on the face. In ten minutes he was talking naturally, though slower than is usual. After another talk, in which I advised him to go into the country and address the trees as if they were persons, and to assure himself that what he was saying did not sound absurd and that he was as good as anyone else, he could speak in quite a normal fashion. Besides Foster I have cured three other cases of stuttering, including myself. I have already told how, when I was quite small, I fell into a well, and the shock began my stuttering. I cured myself by the method I have outlined here. These reflections convinced me that I might be able to help this unfortunate


woman. It was obvious that she had implicit faith in me, and I decided that I would risk her being in touch with the police. The only drawback I could see was that the contact between us was broken by the presence of a third party, the interpreter. I soon had the outline of the story. She was worried about her daughter, who had run away from home. Obviously there must be a man in the case, and I asked her a few questions, mixing guesswork with some of the information she had already given me, so that she gained the impression that I knew a great deal more than she did about the matter. This slight deception was necessary if I were to gain that control of her mind which would enable me to be of help to her. I gathered that the man was a bank-clerk, so evidently he could not be an out-and-out rotter. I suggested that the best course was to wire the daughter to come home, and assure her that the marriage should go through and that all would be forgiven. Unfortunately the poor woman did not know where her daughter was. I asked her to give me until the next day to think things over, and in the meantime I gave her instructions about sending herself to sleep. "Do you know a big building with a fire-escape? Suppose you climbed up, step after step, for ten or twelve storeys. How would you feel then?" She said that she would feel utterly exhausted. "I want you to go to that building and look at it carefully. Walk round it three times. Then go home to bed. Imagine that you have walked up to the top and now you are standing on top of that building and that on the ground below is your comfortable bed. You are exhausted after your climb. You let yourself fall from the top of the building, knowing full well that no harm will come to you at the bottom. As you pass storey after storey in your descent you feel your strength leaving you, until, when you reach the bed, you feel absolutely empty. Close your eyes and think of nothing at all, and relax completely." The next day she came to me looking very much better than she had before. She had had her first sleep for three weeks. In the interval I had been pondering over the problem of the disappearance of the girl. I thought that she would certainly make for the biggest town near by, which in this case would be Rome. She would go to a small hotel in a quiet part of the town. I suggested to the woman that she go to Rome, engage a taxi, and scour the city, asking at every place where she thought her daughter might be.


In a week's time the woman came back a third time, looking quite well again. She had found her daughter in the town of Terni, about twenty miles outside Rome, and had had a long and affectionate chat with her. In the end the daughter had decided to return, and she would be married soon. She wanted to know how much she owed me for all the trouble I had taken. I thought that that woman was quite straight, and yet lurking in the back of my mind was the possibility that she might be a police-spy. I told her that I had been pleased to be of service and that I would make no charge. She gave me a handsome present, and that was the last I saw of her. I had a similar experience in Barcelona, though this one has nothing whatever to do with the law, and is, therefore, rather irrelevant in this chapter. A man came to me and complained that he was in great distress. He had been to the stage door four times before and had been too frightened to come in that was typical of the state of his nerves. He had been married, had had money and a comfortable position. Suddenly his wife had disappeared. He had been completely upset by this unexplained occurrence. He had been unable to sleep, to do business, even to speak to anyone. Could I help him? First I told him to go that very night and see a girl who would appeal to him. I could not tell him to go to a lofty building, for there was not one big enough in Barcelona, but I told him to go to a mountain which is quite near, and there go through the routine I had sketched out for the woman in Palermo. When I had finished he thanked me profusely, and then brought up the question of payment. "Go home and see if it works," I told him. "If it helps you to sleep, come back and see me tomorrow." It worked all right, and the next day he made me a present of a large sum of money, half of which I gave to the interpreter. To return to my brushes with the law, I must now tell the story of my coloured chauffeur, Ruffus, and the two dollar bills. I am particularly fond of telling this story because the feat earned me two dollars. It was in 1901, and I had just acquired a motorcar. They were not over-common in those days, and I was proud of mine. So was Ruffus, the chauffeur. I was driving back in the car after a dinner in New York when I was overtaken by a policeman on a motorcycle, who accused me of exceeding the speed limit, which was then twenty miles an hour.


In those days one was liable to be arrested for speeding. I went down to the police-station and all particulars were taken. Then I was told that I would be released on 200 dollars bail. I took the money from my pocket and started to count it, but the inspector stopped me. "It must come from a third party," he said. Ruffus was standing beside me, and I turned to him and said, "You bail me out, Rufus." "Fo' Gawd'sake, boss, I ain't got a cent." By means of a little sleight-of-hand I managed to slip my bundle of dollar bills into his pocket. "Oh, have a good look, Ruffus. You may come across something somewhere." Ruffus began to go carefully through his pockets, and I saw his eyes open wider when he came to the roll of notes, but he still said, "I ain't got nuttin'. Not even a cent." "What's this, then? Wouldn't you save s ave your master from gaol?" And with that I whipped the notes out of his pocket and handed them to the officer in charge. He counted them very carefully and announced that there were only 198 dollars there and he must have 200. That took me aback for a moment, and then I said, "Are you quite sure that there are not two hundred there? May I count them?" I started off counting, palmed two dollars, brought them out towards the end, and the total came to two hundred. The officers had watched me carefully and had no suspicion that they had been tricked. The next day I went to court to answer the summons. I had decided to fight the case myself and to dispense with a lawyer. As soon as I had a chance to question the policeman I began like this: "How fast do you say I was going?" "Twenty-three miles an hour." "That was by your speedometer?" "Yes." "Where did you first see me?" "At Thirtieth Street." "Where did you overtake me?"


"At Forty-sixth Street." "What distance is that?" "About half a mile." "So that for about half a mile I was going at a speed of twenty-three miles an hour, according to your speedometer?" With that I turned to the magistrate and said, "If this man overtook me he must have been travelling quicker than I was. He was going at twenty-three miles an hour, therefore I must have been travelling at a slower pace." The case was dismissed and the court ordered that I be paid back the 200 dollars bail. I had paid in only 198, so I showed a profit of two dollars. It was in Paris in 1906 that I outwitted the swindling waiters who take advantage of people who do not speak French, and who, although they themselves can speak good English, rarely do so, to suit their own purpose. On my first visit to the French capital I visited a very luxurious restaurant for lunch. I was offered the bill of fare, and made my choice. At the end of the meal I was presented with a bill for 130 francs. I was certain that I had not ordered anything as expensive as that, and I asked to see the bill of fare again. When it arrived the prices were omitted! Yet I was certain that they had been on the first one I saw. There was nothing to do about it then, so I paid my bill and promised myself that I would have my own back. I resent being swindled. Next day I returned to the restaurant, and the first thing I did was to pocket the bill of fare, which had the prices on. When the waiter arrived I asked for a bill of fare, and then made my order. In due course the bill arrived--for 120 francs, though I knew my order did not exceed seventy-five. "May I see the bill of fare?" "Certainly, m'sieu." No prices, of course. "But this is not the one from which I ordered." And with that I took my bill of fare out of my pocket and showed the real total. The manager came up and apologized for the pretended mistake, and after that, whenever I visited that restaurant, they gave me a fifty-per-cent fifty-per-cent reduction. Another little swindle a Parisian waiter tried on me was with the change.


There was a habit of placing a gold coin under a larger silver one, the idea being that the customer would say, "Garçon, pour vous," and and the waiter would have both the silver coin as a tip and the gold coin it concealed. One day I gave the waiter a hundred-franc hundred-franc note and I expected forty-five francs change. When the change was brought there was, amongst other coins, a small gold ten-franc coin beneath a large silver coin. Many people would have picked up most of the coins and left the silver one for the waiter, but I had already seen something of this trickery and made it a practice of mine to count all the money without touching it. By this method I was able to draw the waiter's attention to the fact that ten francs were missing. He could not very well expose his own trick by showing the hidden ten-franc gold piece. Instead he apologized for the mistake and added another ten francs to make the change right, anticipating that he would receive the silver piece and the gold one it concealed and so would not be out of pocket. In picking up the coins, however, I also picked up the concealed gold one, unseen by the waiter. I left the silver on the plate as a tip. I had warned the friends who were with me that something of the sort was likely to happen, and they were very much amused at the sequel. As he went away from the table the waiter picked up all the silver, searching for the gold piece. He could not understand what had happened to it. Then he looked on the floor, thinking he had dropped it. At last he looked suspiciously across at us and saw that we were bursting our sides with laughter. When he realized what had happened he was quite helpless and could not claim any redress. He had to swallow his indignation and reconcile himself to being ten francs out. A third case comes to my mind. This time the place was Hamburg. I had been eating oysters, and I gave the waiter a twenty-mark gold piece. When he brought me the change he gave me three marks, though my bill came to only seven altogether. "I gave you twenty marks," I pointed out. "No, sir. Only a ten-mark gold piece." I was quite certain that I had given him the twenty-mark piece, and tried to convince the waiter that he had made a mistake. In the end he said that he put all his money in his trousers pocket, and that if I cared to search him I should find that he had no twenty-mark piece on him. I put my hand in the pocket, and sure enough that was no gold coin there


except one ten-mark piece. But as I was slipping my hand inside the pocket I noticed a little pocket at the top, and in there was a gold coin. Using a little sleight-of-hand I extracted it and palmed it. Knowing it was my twenty-mark piece, I kept it. "You are quite right, my man," I said. "Perhaps I did make a mistake." And I took my three marks change. I think that that waiter would have some difficulty in making his books balance that night. Anyway, I had had my oysters free and showed a profit of three marks. In these cases I used my cleverness to protect myself against swindlers, but there was one instance when I did practise a little swindle myself, and I have never regretted it. This does not mean that I am glorying in crime, as the story will show. I was playing at the Apollo Theatre in Vienna in 1909, and during my time there a great ball was to be given. The tickets cost one hundred kronen for a man and seventy kronen for a woman. I decided to go, and invited a lady friend to accompany me. Unfortunately I forgot to buy the tickets, and when we drove up to the entrance of the ballroom we found that there were 7000 people inside and that no one without tickets was allowed to enter, and they were not selling any more tickets. Naturally my companion was bitterly disappointed, and began to upbraid me. "Don't you worry," I said. "We'll get in somehow." I must confess I had no idea at all what I should do, but I handed in my coat and hat and walked up the twenty steps, intending to look inside the ballroom to see if I could catch sight of anyone I knew. I knew that a number of my friends, including the late Mr. Tiber, the manager of the Apollo Theatre, where I was playing, intended to be present. There was a man at the door to take the tickets, and when I reached him he was looking inside the ballroom. I took my place behind him and waited until he turned round again. As he turned, I turned also, so that when he had his back to the ballroom I was practically inside. I then pretended that I was walking out of the ballroom hastily and had bumped into him. Of course I apologized, and he politely acknowledged the apology. I told him not to forget me because I should be coming back very shortly. "I am looking for my lady friend, who has not been able to join me until now," I said, and I went on down the stairs. I told the lady to put her cloak in the ladies' room and to come with me. While she was away I went back to the man at the top of the stairs. I said that the lady had now arrived, but that I had her ticket in my overcoat


pocket. He knew that the cloakroom was now closed and that it would be difficult for me to reach my coat. "Would it be all right," I went on, "for us to enter the ballroom and for me to retrieve the ticket at the first opportunity?" Before he agreed I offered him my hand. He felt a silver piece inside it, and said, "Oh, that will be quite all right." I went back to the top of the steps and called to the young lady. Inside the ballroom we met our friends and they enjoyed hearing the story of my adventure. I have, I believe, a very trusting nature; if people treat me well I always treat them well in return. But if I find that someone is trying to take advantage of my good nature I move heaven and earth in order to have my revenge. I was once playing in Ireland, and after that engagement I had to go to Plymouth. The Saturday-night boat left at 10.30, which was too early for me, and there were no boats on Sunday. I decided that the only thing to do was to charter a boat, and I found that this would cost me £100. I instructed Lee Ephraim, the well-known producer, who was then my manager, to wire the proprietor of the Palace Theatre, Plymouth, the late Mr. Hoyle, and ask him if he would go fifty-fifty with me. He wired back that he would. Just after the boat left harbour, Lee Ephraim noticed that there were two strange men aboard. He called my attention to them and I went and asked them what they were doing there. They said that they had bought tickets and were entitled to travel on the boat. I said nothing more just then; after all, there was plenty of room. But I sent for the captain and asked him why these men were on a privately chartered ship. He told me that they had paid their fare and had tickets, and that he could not tell me anything more about it. He agreed that they had no right to be on board. After that I decided that I was entitled to their fare, and that the shipping company was trying to put something over on me. I wrote to them putting forward my views pretty forcibly, and in reply I had the usual letter disclaiming all liability. This correspondence went on for three months or more. In the end I had a solicitor's letter sent to them threatening to sue them if they did not pay those fares, and in return I received a cheque for £3. But just as I was congratulating myself on my little success a legal friend came to see me. I told him what had been happening. "It's a pity you don't know something about the law, Horace," he said. "If they sold tickets for that boat they cancelled the charter and they were only entitled to the ordinary fare from you, not the £100 you paid."


So I had not been as clever as I thought. In Capetown I was able to frustrate another swindle. I had been playing for six weeks in that city and I was waiting for a boat to Durban. During this week's rest I decided to have my tiger's cage renovated. This was in seventeen parts, and had suffered some rough usage. A carpenter undertook the job and promised me to complete it within three days. He broke his promise and did not return the cage until midday on Saturday, the day on which I was sailing. He brought his account with him, and I was amazed to see the figure Of £54 upon it. The original construction of the whole cage did not cost so much. I told him that all that had to be done was the replacing of various parts and that there must be a mistake somewhere. To this he replied that he was only the secretary of the firm and that he would have to 'phone "the proprietor". When he had done this he came back to say that a reduction would be made to £50. I checked up the alterations he had made and I decided that they were worth between £10 and £15. But I felt that there was no need to make unnecessary fuss on the very day I was sailing, so I offered £25. This he refused, and began to threaten me. He said that there was a law in South Africa which said that if a foreigner owed more than £10 and refused payment a warrant could be taken out and an arrest made. Apparently he was prepared to call in the police if I did not pay the £50. At this point I temporized. I asked "the secretary" to lunch with me, and in the meantime phoned my solicitor in Capetown to make sure that a warrant had not been applied for. I returned to the table after receiving this information and said point-blank that I would not pay more than £25. I was not in the least worried when he said that he would have me arrested. just before we sat down down to lunch I had asked the manager of of the hotel to act as mediator and try to persuade the fellow that this was a gross over-charge. This had proved a failure, and I then asked the manager to find out who the man really was. While we were sitting at table arguing the manager sent me a note saying that "the secretary" was none other than the proprietor himself. That settled it. Before, I had been seeking a compromise, thinking there had been some mistake; but now I saw that the man was trying to swindle me, and I resolved that he would not succeed. I called two witnesses, and before them I offered him £25 in notes. He refused it. Then I said that I was going to Durban, and that if they decided to accept the money I had offered they were to wire me, and I would cable it straight away. He spurned the offer,


so I dropped the discussion. It was then 2 p.m., and I had to catch the boat within an hour. The taxi was waiting, and as I was passing through the door with my handbags "the secretary" tried to hold on to one. All he got was a push and a kick from my right foot. My boat was a Japanese one, and I had not been aboard ten minutes when the carpenter arrived with a policeman. I knew he had no warrant and so I did not worry. I again showed the man the £25 and in the hearing of the policeman I shouted, "You can have this now if you will sign the receipt in full." He refused, and they boarded the boat. I was surprised to find that the policeman took his part. The position was explained to the captain and the purser, both of whom realized that I was acting in good faith. They pointed out to the policeman that I was, to all intents and purposes, on Japanese territory and that he could not make an arrest. They had "the secretary" removed from the boat. We arrived at Durban early in the day, and at 8 a.m. I had an unexpected visitor. He was a very distinguished-looking gentleman, and he had a pink paper in his hand. "Mr. Goldin?" he asked. "Yes." "I have a summons for you," and he placed it on the table. "Who are you?" I asked in my turn. He gave me his name and said that he was an officer of the law. "I understand, Mr. Goldin," he went on, "that you have refused payment to my client. I have instructions to remove all your baggage from the boat and to detain you here until the £54 is paid." "Who gave you these instructions?" "My client, your carpenter." "If I don't do as you say, shall I be committed for contempt of court?" "You will." "But surely it is the court only which can issue such instructions?" I had him there, and I went on to press my point. I said that it was a crime for an officer of the law to assist dishonest persons who were attempting to rob others, and that, should I be caused further inconvenience, he was to take warning that I would hold him personally responsible. "To prove you are a bluffer," I ended, "I can tell you that that paper there is a blank." I opened it and, sure enough, it was just as I had said. s aid. That convinced him that I could not be easily bluffed and he tried a more amicable tone. I told him that I did not propose to trust him, and that I


thought him no better than his client. But in the course of this conversation it transpired that his office was next to that of a friend of mine, a Mr. Klein, and we decided to call round there together. This lawyer was by then becoming quite friendly, and we had breakfast together. Afterwards I called a rickshaw and we went to see Mr. Klein, who was surprised to see us. The "officer" told his story, and I told mine. Then Mr. Klein suggested a settlement. During the voyage from Capetown I had discovered something new. The swindlers, trying to make the bill look big, had said that there were twenty-four parts in the cage, but the receipt which my stage-manager had said only seventeen. I said that obviously seven parts were missing. This was embodied into the settlement suggested by Mr. Klein. I increased my offer to £35 and left £10 deposit with my friend. At Singapore I should have time to complete my investigations, and, if I found the cage incomplete, I had the right to employ another carpenter. This bill was to be deducted from the amount payable to the Capetown carpenter. On receipt of the seven pieces missing, according to the account, I would send the balance. At Singapore I engaged three Chinese to replace many of the parts in the cage and to reinforce others. I found that the Capetown man had swindled me still further, for he had quoted me for one-inch timber and had used threequarter-inch. threequarter-inch. When the work was complete I called in a judge of the court. He saw the work and the three Chinese carpenters and gave me an affidavit. The Chinese also signed affidavits. The bill for this work amounted to £9, and this was deducted from the £10 I had left with Mr. Klein in Durban. Naturally, the seven "missing" parts never came to light, so all Mr. Klein had to do was to hand over £1. That carpenter must have wished he had accepted my £25 offer, and I hope he learned the lesson "It pays to go straight". I had a very exciting brush with the law when I was touring England with "A Woman Sawn in Half". I was then using an imitation dollar bill as an advertising stunt. The one side looked like a genuine dollar bill, but on the other was written, One dollar was the lowest price in the U.S.A. to see HORACE GOLDIN GOLDIN sawing a woman in half while her hands hands and feet were held by members of the audience. This idea had been introduced to me while I was playing in Germany. A printer came to me, showed me an American dollar bill, and suggested the wording on the back I have given above. I thought that this was a sound advertising scheme and ordered 50,000 of them. They were all distributed in Germany and caused no trouble at all. When I began to tour Great Britain I had more of these bills printed, in


English this time, and the advertising went on as before. We used to distribute 3000 to 5000 at each town in which we stayed. While I was playing at Norwich I sent on my advance agent to Birmingham, where I was booked to play at the Hippodrome Theatre the next week. You can imagine my surprise when I received a wire to say that he had been arrested. This is what had happened. Some artful person had pasted two of my bills together and had gone with them into a public-house. He ordered a double whisky and offered the bill in payment. He duly received three shillings and twopence change, and the cashier did not find out the trick until the end of the day. Naturally, the police heard of it, and took steps. They arrested my agent, had all the bills called in, and notified the Norwich police. They came to me for the plates and to secure all information possible. When I arrived in Birmingham I was summoned on the charge of uttering false currency. The chief of police called to see me at the theatre and I told him that I was going to fight the case and was engaging counsel. This may seem rather odd. The penalty for the first offence is only £5, and I should have to pay my solicitor £5 and the counsel £10 But I argued that the publicity I should get would make this expense worth while, and, anyway, I enjoy a fight and felt fairly confident that I could tie the police in knots. The case came on on Saturday, and there was a good deal of excitement. The newspapers had placards Out, "ILLUSIONIST IN COURT", and the stage seemed set for a very pretty drama. The police had made arrangements with their usual thoroughness. The two detectives who had visited me in Norwich were there. There was a money expert from Cooks'. It was when this man was being cross-examined that the fun began. He told the court that he had been changing money for the last fifteen years, and could therefore speak as an expert. "How many silks are there in a dollar bill?" asked my counsel. The man did not know. "Can you tell us where the paper is made?" "In Washington, I imagine." "On the contrary, it is made in Dublin." My counsel then took up one of my imitation dollars and a real one. "How much would you give for this one?" he asked, holding up the real one.


"Four shillings and twopence." "And for this?" "Nothing at all." "There must, then, be a very big difference between these two bills." This devastating cross-examination disqualified the man as an expert. We had scored a very decisive victory. My turn soon came. Luckily I had had a very full rehearsal with my lawyers, and this proved very useful. The counsel for the police went for me tooth and nail. "Is this an imitation of a dollar bill?' he asked me point-blank. I would not agree that it was. I pointed out that it was wider and longer; the margins were wider; it was of a slightly different colour; on the back there was printed my name and the name of the theatre at which I was appearing. "In my opinion it is no imitation," I concluded. The opposing counsel lost patience with all this. "Do you mean to tell me that the picture on this bill is not George Washington?" "I don't know. I have never seen him. Have you?" This effort of mine brought laughter and applause. Later my counsel pressed the point. He asked if it could be proved that this was a picture of George Washington. At one stage it was suggested that an expert would have to be sent to the U.S.A. to find out. But then arose another query: who was there present who could prove it? No one alive had seen him. The three magistrates' heads must have been in a whirl while all this legal arguing was going on. The end of the business was that the case was dismissed and I was ordered to pay one pound. I do not know what this was for, but it was cheap at the price and I asked no questions. The police had to pay all their own costs, and that pleased me. I had not looked forward to paying the expenses of those detectives up from Norwich. I like a good practical joke once in a while, and naturally I am better able than most people to stage a successful one. I can remember one occasion which got me into hot water with the police. I had been watching a street fakir in Union Square, New York, and becoming rather bored with the proceedings I looked around to see if I


could make my own fun. Near by two young men were standing, evidently friends. One of them had a very conspicuous watch-chain, and I decided that if the watch on the end of that chain was as valuable as I supposed, it would be a good foundation for my little practical joke. Edging near to these young men, I placed myself in a position to lift the watch. I waited until they were really interested in one of the fakir's tricks, and then out came the watch. I gave a slight tug and it left the chain. I pocketed it and began to make off. The young man's friend caught a glimpse of my theft and immediately gave chase. I was caught at the edge of the crowd, the nearest policeman was summoned, and I was given in charge. The walk to the police-station was one of the most pleasant I have had in my life. I was the centre of all attraction, and I felt that my joke was progressing even better than I had expected. Once arrived inside, I began to be quietly busy. There was, of course, a great deal of recrimination, and I was called a number of nasty names by the two excitable young men, who were quite certain that I was a professional pickpocket. In a way, I suppose that they were not far wrong. When the sergeant in charge understood what had happened he ordered that I be searched. Needless to say, though the officer was very thorough, and tickled me a great deal, he found nothing in the shape of a watch except my own, which was not at all like the one the young man had lost. I made a speech about the inconvenience that they had made for an innocent citizen, and went on en oying things hugely. This did not satisfy the owner of the watch, and he insisted that I must have the watch concealed on my person somewhere, because I had not had a chance of getting rid of it. At this point I began to take a keen interest in the proceedings. "Surely you have no right to bring me here, officer. You have no badge on." I could hardly forbear to laugh at the look of consternation on the policeman's face as he searched for the missing badge. As I expected, he failed to find it. "Perhaps," I suggested, "these people who are making such a song about their virtue know something about this. I advise you to search them. I think that young man has taken it." "You're a liar," came the inelegant reply very promptly, but when he was searched the badge was found on him all right. I then asked the policeman if anything else was missing and he discovered


that he had not got his pistol. That was found on the other young man. "This is a queer thing," I said. "I begin to believe that I am the only honest man here." Turning to the sergeant, I asked him to have the policeman searched. Naturally, the missing watch was found on him. It was a good act, but I did not get any applause for it. "I'd like your name, please," said the sergeant sternly. "Goldin," I replied, "Horacc Goldin. I'm an honest performer, and--" "Quite so," broke in the sergeant, "and you've been very clever here. But if you take my advice you'll not use your skill on policemen in future. You can go." And out I marched, leaving the sergeant to clear up the mystery for the trio of dupes. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

When I Cheated at Cards


CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

WHEN I CHEATED AT CARDS

WHEN I played before the King and Queen of England at their country home at Sandringham I showed them one trick with cards which interested them very much. I asked Queen Alexandra to select a card from a pack. It was the jack of spades. I then placed an ordinary small tack in a different part of the pack from the one in which the selected card had been placed. Then I took the pack and threw it against a board which was held up by an attendant. The jack of spades was found found nailed to the board board by the tack, while while all the other cards fell to the ground. When I had the honour of talking to the King and Queen after the performance, one of them remarked: "I think you must be a very dangerous man to play whist with, Mr. Goldin." Many other people have made the same remark, and yet I am no card-player and rarely touch a pack of cards outside my professional work. I like to watch other people playing, especially my wife, who is a keen bridge-player. This habit of watching other people playing cards led me into one of the most interesting episodes of my career. It happened on the second trip I made from New York to England. I sat down to watch a poker-game in the smoke-room of the liner. There was nothing unusual about the scene when I first glanced at it. Five men were playing. One was young and looked as if he were wealthy. He spoke with a slight American accent, and I immediately decided that he was the son of some American millionaire. I found out later that his father was a steel magnate in Pittsburg. Another was an Englishman, slightly older, very well dressed, and evidently of good family. The other three were a marked contrast to these in looks. They were all middle-aged, and they had a tough look about them. I did not think this was unusual at the time, however, for one sees all sorts of mixed parties on board ship. At first I thought that the two young men knew nothing at all about poker,


for they were losing regularly. Then I noticed that, though they occasionally had good hands and played well, they were always beaten by a hand slightly better. That made me mildly suspicious, and I shifted my place so that I might have a better view of the older men. Immediately I saw that the man who was dealing was performing a variation of a trick known to every conjurer. He was slipping a card from the top or bottom of the pack to the other end. It is not a difficult trick to do, and if you cared to watch me I could have a certain card at the bottom of the pack and yet take it from the middle or the top at will. I can do just the same if the selected card is placed at the top. This discovery startled me. I had never come across card-sharpers before and was at a loss what to do. Besides, the trick looked so obvious to me that I could not understand why one of the young men who were being fleeced had not protested. But a few moments' reflection showed me that what was obvious to me, who, after all, was used to all sorts of card manipulation, was not apparent to those others who were watching or playing the game. My impulse, of course, was to denounce the tricksters, and so save the men from further loss. I could see by their chips that they had lost about £500 between them. Stakes were increasing, and they might lose a great deal more in the course of the game. But could I butt in and say: "Stop this game. You're being cheated? I had no means of proving my assertion. If I went and brought the ship's captain I could never give him real evidence of the trickery which I knew had been practised. My only course was to wait and watch in the hope that some opportunity would offer itself whereby I might outtrick the sharpers. I watched for about another hour, and the trickery went on just as before. At about half past eleven the young American announced that he would go to bed, and he thanked his companions for a very pleasant game. "I am sorry that the luck has all been one-sided," he said, "but I suppose that's the game." As far as I could judge, he had lost about £450, and the Englishman £200. The latter paid by cheque, the American partly by cheque and partly by IOU. They rose and came over to the bar for a last drink. I was sitting close by, and I managed to whisper to them: "There is something queer going on here. Don't ask me any questions. just hang about for a while and watch what happens." I then walked over to the gamblers at the table. "Poker's a pleasant game to pass the evening, isn't it? I have been quite jealous of you gentlemen during the time I have been watching you." "Why not join us now?" said one of the trio of sharpers. "We have lost two of our number, but I am quite willing to go on. What about you two


gentlemen?" The others said they were quite willing and did not feel ready for bed. "My name is Jackson," said the man who had addressed me first. "These gentlemen will introduce themselves. I am afraid I have no head for names." That's a lie, I thought, for the three of them were obviously hand-in-glove. I managed to avoid giving my name by suggesting that we called for the new "decks" of cards. "Mind you," I added, "I hope we are not playing for high stakes. I am no gambler." "Well, let's say dollar limit on the rise," said one. I agreed to that. The new cards arrived, and were given to me to shuffle. I shuffled them in a manner which suggested that I was not very used to the handling of cards. But when I placed the pack on the table, something had happened which the three sharpers knew nothing about. There were only fifty-two cards in that pack, including the Joker, and the other one, the ace of hearts, lay in the palm of my hand and was soon transferred to my pocket for use later. Play proceeded in mild fashion for some time, and no one won or lost anything very considerable. If anything, I was a little up, and the trio had not done anything suspicious. Evidently it was their habit to go easily for the first few hands. I, however, had been busy. I shuffled the cards four times, and by now I had not only the ace with which I began but also a king, queen, and knave. My readers may know very little about poker, but they will readily understand that the player who can lay down five cards which form a pair, or three of a kind, or a straight, at will, is in a very strong position. Poker depends entirely on bluff. You have no idea what your opponents have in their hands. They may be pushing you up on nothing at all. I was quite the equal of the sharpers in this, for it is my business to bluff thousands of people every day of my life. No one can tour the world as I have done, and baffle professional conjurers and illusionists, without being a good actor. I played my part very well that evening. I put down one good hand after another with a look of pleased innocence. Soon the sharpers were up to their tricks again. I saw that they were manipulating things so that they had good cards. When I was some hundred dollars to the good, I began to laugh and said that I seemed to have underestimated my skill. Would they agree to a


raising of the stakes? To them my words must have sounded like sweet music. Here was a sucker offering himself as a sacrifice. Naturally they agreed. I will not bore you by telling you all the ins and outs of the game. I went on winning steadily, and my opponents began to be thoroughly annoyed. They had no inkling of the tricks I was playing on them. But they had to take steps to stop my run of luck, and one of them managed to see the cards he had given me. He must have been pleased with what he saw. I had in my hand the three, four, five, and six of hearts. The fifth card was the knave of diamonds. Now, this hand needs either a two or a seven to be a good hand. If I did not get one of those the hand was completely worthless. My opponent knew what was in my hand, and he looked surprised when I said I did not want to draw. He glanced hurriedly at his confederates. The man on my right opened the betting. I raised him. The man on my right raised again. By that time I had raked in about 1000 dollars, and I pretended that I was being a bit reckless. When the betting came round to me again I raised to 500 dollars. Two of the men threw in their hands, and would not go further. They knew that their partner had me well in hand, and that I was bluffing on a hand that meant nothing in the hope that I should squeeze them all out. The dealer raised to 1000 dollars, and I put up another thousand. The atmosphere was charged with drama. The young men at the bar came across to watch more closely. The two sharpers who had dropped out pretended to be little interested, but really they must-have been overjoyed at the turn of events. Only the dealer seemed a little worried. For a moment, as I watched the frown on his face, I thought that he was going to raise again. Instead, he put up his 2000 dollars and threw his hand on the table, saying, "I'll see you." His hand contained three fours and two sixes. That is a "full house", and is very strong, being beaten only by fours, a straight flush, and a royal flush. I then put down my hand. There were the four hearts three, four, five, and six. Then I put down the joker In poker the joker is a "flying" card. It can be used to make up anything. In this case I could use it to make up a straight flush with my four hearts. This beat his "full house". I put my hand out and took the pool. There were some 8000 dollars in it, and it was well worth having. The young men began to congratulate me.


The crooks stared. Then the dealer burst out: "It wasn't the joker. Then he stopped suddenly. He could not say that he knew he had given me the knave of diamonds and not the joker. He would have given the whole game away. He lapsed into an aggrieved silence. I could imagine the words which were running through his head. This left me in control of the situation, and you may be quite sure that I enjoyed myself to the full. All my showman's instincts came to the top, and I felt completely in my element. "Now," I announced, "there is going to be a little settling-up between the six people who have been playing poker at this table this evening. I should be glad if the two gentlemen who retired from the game a little time ago would tell me exactly how much they lost." From the pile of notes before me I counted out two piles, one equal to the American's losings, the other to the Englishman's. "I want you gentlemen to take this money and give it to these men with whom we have been playing. They will, I am sure, give you your cheques and I0Us back." "But we can't do that," burst out the American. "This is your money. We saw you win it." "I want you to do as I ask," I told him, and then both the young men obeyed. Then I turned to the man who had been dealer in the last game. I pushed the rest of the notes over to him. "That makes up the rest of the sum," I said. "Now you are not out of pocket, but have all the money you began with. If you want the rest of the pack, here they are." I made a pass in the air, and, apparently out of nothing, produced two kings, a queen, and a knave. I laid them on the table in front of him. That was too much for him. "So we've been playing with a card-sharper, have we?" "No, gentlemen," I answered. "You have been playing with a professional entertainer. And I think that on reflection you will decide to be grateful for the fact that I have not made any charge for the show I have put on tonight." I handed to each of them one of my professional cards. Their faces were studies. It is impossible for me to describe the expressions which appeared on their "tough" countenances. "When we arrive in London," I continued, "you will find me at the Palace


Theatre. If you care to watch me there I have no doubt that you will learn some new tricks. I have some illusions which will interest you, and I have some card-tricks other than those I have used tonight." One of them cursed audibly, and then all three shambled out. The two young men, who had tumbled to at least some of the trickery which had been going on in that smoke-room, came and pumped my hand and slapped my back until I had to protest. They began to ask me for all sorts of explanations, but I refused to speak. "It's my bedtime," I told them. "I shall sleep all the better because of the knowledge that I have saved you from being fleeced." That was, I thought, the end of that episode; but to my surprise it had a sequel not very long afterwards. I was on the stage at the Palace, doing some small tricks in preparation for my big illusions. Suddenly I heard a commotion in one of the boxes. A group of some six or seven young men were making their way in. "University rugger night," I thought. "Now for some interruptions and no end of trouble." Other turns that night had been unmercifully ragged, and I could not expect to escape my share. To my surprise, all was quiet for the first of my illusions. I had a man bound to the mouth of a cannon. A light was put to the touch-hole, the gun roared, and the man disappeared. During the turn of applause which followed I heard a voice shout, "Jolly good, Goldin!" I looked up at the box again and saw that my two young friends of the boat were there. It was evident that they had been celebrating, for the American rose in the box and announced, "Horace Goldin once did me one swell turn, and I'm here to say that he's a jolly fine fellow. If anyone interrupts his show, out he goes quick. What I say goes." With that he waved to me, and said, "See you later, old man." They came round to my dressing-room after the show, and we had a really good time. They were both up at Cambridge, and this was one of their big celebrations. They saw to it that I enjoyed myself as well. We were at the Café Royal until an early hour, and even then they were trying to convey to me their thanks for the good turn I had done them. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Tricks from my Repertoire


CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

TRICKS FROM MY REPERTOIRE

SOMETIMES people come up to me and ask me which is my favourite illusion. I always say, "A Woman Sawn in Half." No other trick has ever come near thrusting that one from my affections. That is the trick I fought for, and it has amazed more people than any other illusion ever invented. I am fond of the Indian Rope Trick, and very proud of it, for that is a trick which has eluded other magicians and which has aroused the curiosity of the whole world, and there are quite a number of tricks in my repertoire for which I have a warm feeling of affection. The egg-in-the-bag trick is a very beautiful one, and I always enjoy performing it. Though I rarely perform "Dreyfus Escapes from Devil's Island" now, I am fond of the trick because that is the one which first made my name. When I first appeared at the Palace Theatre, London, the Dreyfus act was my star turn; but I put on another act which I think quite as good. This is called "The Triple Trunk Mystery". To perform this trick I had a large trunk hung in the roof of the theatre and a cannon placed on the stage. A girl was placed in the cannon, which was then fired. The trunk was lowered to the stage and opened. Inside was another trunk, and inside that yet anoher. Within the third trunk was the very girl who had been fired from the cannon. I had to overcome a great deal of opposition before I put this act on at the Palace Theatre. The manager, the late Mr. Charles Morton, objected to having the trunk hung in the dome of the theatre. "All this tackle and the pulleys and cables," he grumbled. "It's going to be difficult, and it's bound to be expensive." Luckily the stage-manager, the late Mr. Daymer, liked the idea of the trick, and he persuaded Morton to go through with it. Maples were ordered to install the necessary apparatus, and when their bill was sent in it amounted to only £54. Another difficulty cropped up after the first performance. The L.C.C. sent one of their fire experts, and he proposed to ban the act on the grounds of


danger to the audience. He pointed out that if there was a fire on the stage, the safety curtain could not be lowered. That did not seem such an insuperable difficulty to me, and I sat down to think things out. Eventually I invented an endless release. This enabled the curtain to be lowered so that it touched the stage and yet did not interfere with the cables running up to the trunk in the dome. When I demonstrated this the officials said that they were satisfied and permission was granted for the show to proceed. If you care to look up at the roof the next time you are in the Palace Theatre you will see the rings still up there which I used for the Triple Trunk Mystery. Some years later I repeated the same illusion at the London Coliseum. Sir Oswald Stoll then offered a thousand pounds to anyone who could prove that the girl taken from the trunk was not the girl who was lifted into the cannon. A committee of thirty-three people came on to the stage to investigate, and they went to very great pains about it. They took the girl's finger-prints; they handcuffed her. They examined the stage and the cannon minutely. But when the trunks were lowered and the girl appeared out of the inner one, no one stepped forward to claim the reward. I have also performed this trick in the open air at Dallas, in Texas. I had the trunk tied to the top of a sixty-foot s ixty-foot pole, and I improved the cannon. I had the girl placed in a torpedo, and this was placed in the cannon and fired. The great bullet exploded in mid air and no one was inside. Then the trunk was lowered by a 260-foot cable, and there, inside the innermost trunk, was the girl who had been placed in the torpedo. I do not consider this the greatest of my outdoor tricks; I reserve that position for "The Human Bomb". This is a trick I have very rarely performed, for it is a very expensive illusion to stage. The effect is like this. In the middle of an aeroplane landing-ground landing-ground a platform is built. This operation should take place before the eyes of the audience. Four or five loads of timber are needed and these are made into a platform some four feet in height and supported by strong stakes two or three feet apart. There is a slope at each end. The spectators can see under the whole erection. An aeroplane is then pushed on to the top of the platform, I step into a large canvas bag in full view of the audience, and this is made fast to the undercarriage of the aeroplane. Before the aeroplane takes off some cigarettes are handed to me through a slot in the top of the bag. The aeroplane then leaves the platform and takes off, circling above the heads of the spectators, who never lose sight of it. While this is happening men bring a large white circular cloth into the middle of the aerodrome and


spread it on the ground as a mark for the aviator. At a given signal the very cigarettes which I had taken through the slot in the bag fall from the aeroplane, and then a shot is fired and the bag is released. It falls into the middle of the white circle and is torn open by the attendants. There is no one inside. I am willing to guarantee that no one will find me during the next twelve hours. I am so sure of it that I will offer to pay the man who finds me a thousand pounds. This is an amazingly good trick and I wish I could do it more often. But the expense is very great, as I have said, and of course I cannot do it in the theatre before an audience. Many people will remember the Hartz Mountains Goat, but for the benefit of those who have not heard of that renowned animal I will tell the story. The peasants in the Hartz Mountains believe that if a goat is led by a virgin and is placed on a certain spot at the time of the new moon and is sprinkled with a mixture of bat's blood, coal-dust, and ointment, that goat will become a handsome young man. In June 1932 this belief was put to the test, under the careful supervision of Mr. Harry Price, the well-known expert in psychical matters. The magic circle was carefully drawn on the Brocken in the Hartz Mountains; the bat's blood, coal-dust, and ointment were mixed in the right manner; and the maiden pure in heart, a certain Fräulein Bohn, was given the collar and lead for the he-goat. But although all the rites were observed, the goat was still a goat at midnight, which was the hour fixed for the transformation, and the whole affair was a failure. I was in Czechoslovakia when that happened, and I began pondering on the affair. Gradually a way in which that transformation could be made to take place crystallized in my mind. I set to work to assemble everything necessary for the trick. First I had one of my assistants go and buy the very goat which had taken part in the trial on the Brocken, and also the collar and lead. Then I began assembling the apparatus in my "Magic Shop".


The goat act being built in the "magic shop"

The trick worked beautifully from the first. I had a very sinister setting, with witches and other dreadful beings all about. I myself was dressed as Mephisto. In the middle of the stage there was a big cage, and into this stepped the girl, leading the goat. Gradually the outline of the goat became dimmer and dimmer and another figure began to appear. Then this figure which was taking the place of the goat was seen to be a handsome youth, and at the close of the trick there was no goat but a young man standing beside the girl. That illusion proved to be very popular, and the only objection I ever heard made to it was by a Government official in Sweden. He said that I was adding another to the number of unemployed! When I was a young man I had a great idea of my own skill and I used to take up an "I can do anything attitude. Naturally some people found this annoying, as I have no doubt it was. At last one of the reporters on the "Billboard" decided to show me up. He produced a cartoon which showed Christ walking on the waters, and with me standing on the bank saying, "What can He do that I can't?" The Hartz Mountain Goat Act (Note that the goat is about to disappear)

I took that as a challenge, but I did not have a chance to retaliate until I was in England. Then I produced a trick which has earned for itself the name of


"The Sacrilegious Act". I first put this on in Croydon at the Hippodrome Theatre, where Sir Oswald Stoll (then plain Mr.) was the managing director. I remember that it was a Monday night and he was in one of the boxes. A large tank, made of glass, and about three feet wide and eight feet long, was placed on the stage and filled with water before the audience. Then frogs and small fish were placed in it and the audience could see them swimming about inside. Then a rope was lowered above the tank and two steps were placed on each side. I put on great rubber top-boots and climbed up the steps. From there I stepped on top of the water and took hold of the rope, remaining stationary for a moment or two. At a cue from me the rope was pulled up and I continued walking on the water. It was a sensational trick, and I was met by thunderous applause when I stepped down from the tank; but I never performed it again. The next day Sir Oswald Stoll complimented me on the very fine performance I had given the night before. He said he considered my new illusion one of the finest he had ever seen, but he asked me not to do it again, for he considered it too sacrilegious. I respected him for that decision and I discontinued the trick. Four o'clock in the morning is the time when I usually have my good ideas. I shall be lying in bed thinking of nothing very much, when suddenly I shall see an illusion being enacted before my eyes, as if on the stage. I watch very carefully to observe the full effect and when it is over I take the note-book which is always beside my bed and make full notes of what I have seen. Then in the morning I begin to puzzle out how that effect could be produced on the stage. Very often years pass before I have brought that trick to such perfection that I feel justified in showing it to the public. Even after the first productions I work on the trick and think out new improvements. When I have brought the trick to that pitch that I feel I can do no more to it I perform it for a while and then I start something new. This is what happened to my "Modern Miracle", the creation of life in a balloon. In the early hours of the morning I saw a huge balloon in the middle of the stage, and suddenly there was the suspicion of movement inside it. Gradually a figure, at first cloudlike and then growing more distinct, was seen inside the transparent balloon. Eventually it resolved itself into a beautiful girl dancing about inside the great globe. I made notes at once of what the trick looked like, and then I went peacefully off to sleep, secure in the knowledge that I could think out the working of the trick at my leisure.


I have scrapbooks dating back thirty years and filled with these random jottings. Sometimes, Sometimes, when I have a little little leisure, I look over these notes and choose one which seems really promising and work on it until I have invented a new illusion. It was at Wakefield in England in 1936 that I first began work on the balloon trick. I had some sort of apparatus put together, and the whole thing was a fiasco. Now I can laugh at the memory, but at the time it was a great disappointment. I could think of no way of getting the girl into the balloon while the balloon was still being inflated. I worked on it for the next few weeks, but it is difficult to concentrate on apparatus such as this required when one is travelling from town to town. It was during an engagement in Manchester that I obtained the very valuable assistance of the British Oxygen Company, who placed their entire plant at my disposal. We first experimented by filling a balloon with 11 lb. of compressed air; but Mr. Lingwood, the manager of the company, threw a knife at the balloon and it burst. He told me that to inflate the balloon so that it would contain a human being would need 40 lb. of compressed air, and no one could possibly breathe in such an atmosphere. That failure did not trouble me unduly, and I told him that I wished to continue with the experiments. He said that I could do so if I would sign a paper to the effect that I would not hold the firm responsible for any injury caused during these experiments. I agreed to do so, because I was sure that there would be no danger whatsoever. I then got in touch with a company who specialized in the air apparatus for submarines, and from them I obtained a respirator with an inlet and outlet valve which I thought would overcome all my difficulties. I also bought all sorts of dials, gauges, and other expensive gadgets, and even with these we were by no means certain of success. It was on a Sunday that I assembled all my helpers at the Midland Hotel, Manchester. There was an engineer from the submarine company, an expert from the British Oxygen Company, a carpenter, and myself, and we talked from noon until eleven o'clock at night. By the time we finished the floor was covered with scraps of paper on which we had drawn diagrams and made calculations. Our problem was certainly a difficult one. I had to have an air-tight balloon and yet the girl had to be able to breathe in it. I had to be able to do the whole thing so quickly that the audience did not become bored with waiting for things to happen. The first trial was successful as far as it went, but it was much too slow s low for the stage. It took three minutes for the balloon to fill and another two minutes for the girl to appear. I felt that we were on the right road and that


patience would see us through. During the next few days I searched for an appliance which would inflate my balloon very quickly, and quite by chance, when I was glancing through the pages of an American magazine, I found what I was looking for. It was in a machine now in England, and I wrote at once offering to buy it. At first the owners were reluctant to part with it, but I managed to offer them sufficient inducement and obtained the appliance I coveted. I then moved over to Dublin, in Ireland, taking my three helpers with me, and we began another attempt. We built a temporary balloon, fifteen feet high, and we connected up the apparatus. The balloon filled in thirty seconds. Now I had to solve the other difficulty--that difficulty--that of breathing inside the balloon. Here my submarine engineer was very helpful. He told me that there were seventeen different gases and combinations of gases possible, and he mixed me two, one of which lifted the balloon and the other which counteracted the evil effects of the first. That brought us to the real trial. I was resolved not to submit anyone to undue risk, and I made the experiment with two rabbits. The balloon filled accordingly to plan and the rabbits appeared inside. I let them stay there for half an hour and then took them out and examined them. They were quite all right. Then I made the same experiment with two chickens, and they also were unharmed. I felt that I could venture to try a human being in the balloon. Naturally I took all precautions possible. I gave the girl a big knife and told her to slash open the sides of the balloon if she began to feel at all affected by the gases inside. But all this was unnecessary. She felt no ill effects whatever. Now the girl can stay inside that balloon for five hours and not be one whit the worse at the end. Incidentally, I do not now have to destroy the balloon, because, by means of another little invention of mine, the balloon is released and rises over the girl in full view of the audience. We first performed the illusion at the New Theatre, Oxford, during Good Friday week, 1936. The manager, Mr. Dorrill, when complimenting me, remarked, "And they say that there is nothing new under the sun!" There was one amusing thing about this piece of construction. I did not use any one of my assistants for the whole of the work, so that no one of the three knew the secret of the balloon, although each one knew some of the details. At the end Mr. Harding, the engineer, told me that he thought I overcame difficulties more easily than any other man he had ever known, and he assured me that I had mistaken my vocation, that I ought to have been an engineer, for I had one of the most amazing inventive brains in the


world.. Now, when I am visiting Manchester, those three always come to the show and watch the trick which they helped to build. And when they come round to my dressing-room afterwards, one of them is sure to say, "You know, Mr. Goldin, I still can't make out how you do that trick." Many people will remember the enormous sensation which was caused by the theft of the Ascot Gold Cup in 1907. This handsome cup had been given by King Edward VII, and it was placed on show at Ascot, carefully guarded by policemen. At midday it mysteriously disappeared and nothing was ever seen of it. At that time I was playing at the Palace Theatre, London, and the very night after the theft I produced a trick which showed how the cup had been stolen. Sir Alfred Butt had to leave 200 guineas deposit on a solid s olid gold cup, and this we used until we had one specially made of wood and gilded. When the audience saw the beginning of the trick they laughed heartily for several minutes. This was what the audience saw. I appeared on the stage dressed as a tout, and approached the table on which the Gold Cup stood and the policeman who was guarding it. I asked the officer if he could tell me the way to the nearest bar, and as he turned sideways to point the way I threw a handkerchief over the cup. When the policeman turned back again he saw the handkerchief over the cup and looked surprised and annoyed. He pulled it away very hastily, and there-no cup. He blew his whistle and the scene closed. A board was then put on the stage: "Two Hours Later". I appeared and showed exactly how the cup had been melted down and disposed of. On the first night this trick aroused a great deal more amusement than I had planned, and it was all the fault of the policeman. This part had to be played by my stage-carpenter, who was no actor. I told him in rehearsal to appear very excited, but he could not manage anything which looked at all convincing. We tried time and time again; I showed him what sort of face I wanted him to pull; other people tried to help and encourage him. It was all no good. Then I hit on an idea. "When you pull the handkerchief away, say to yourself, 'Good God, some filthy swine has stolen the ruddy cup.'" That worked the trick all right, and I was satisfied that all would be well. Unfortunately, in the excitement of his first appearance on the stage, the poor carpenter spoke the words out loud, and the astonished audience heard a respectable policeman shout, "Some goddam bastard's stolen the b--y cup!"


In spite of that the trick was a great success, and when I started on my Continental tour I found it equally popular in Belgium and France. I have in my repertoire a trick which once provided a very amusing incident. I was at the Palace Theatre, London, at the time, and I pretended to tear a live duck into three parts, place it in a bowl, and produce three live ducks immediately. Of course, never for a moment did I think that anyone would believe I really did tear the duck into bits, and I was really astonished to receive a visit from an officer of the Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals, who told me that I could expect a prosecution unless I stopped this "brutal act". "My dear sir," I answered, "I have every intention of continuing my tricks as long as the public are entertained by them. But if you think there is anything cruel about my duck act, I can assure you that you are quite wrong." I then offered to show him the trick at close range, and I easily convinced him that I did not perform this trick at the expense of the duck's feelings. At the same time I showed him the trick where I cut a dog open and take a live rabbit from inside him. The two dogs which I use alternately for this trick are great pets of my wife's and I am certain that few dogs live quite such a luxurious life as is led by these. The official agreed that the trick was quite innocuous, and he went on to say that, judging by the appetite the dog showed after he had been cut up, his stomach must be twice the size of another dog's. As you can imagine, many of my tricks have taken a long time and a great deal of money to perfect, and when they are finished they are worth a lot of money to me. I once invented a marvellous table. I had only to throw a light, flimsy piece of material over it for this table, a very solid-looking piece of furniture, to crumple up and vanish. When I was performing in a country house a gentleman offered to give me £500 for it. This offer I refused because it had taken me over a year and more than £400 to design, and I was quite sure that it would be worth a great deal more than the sum named, for I introduced it in many different ways into my programme. The dog that swallowed a rabbit


Incidentally, that table was made of over eighty different parts, and I had each part made by a different model-maker, to avoid the slightest chance of anyone's discovering the secret. I have also two tricks with chairs. In one I lift a chair gently from the ground and immediately take another chair from it. In the other, a particularly solid-looking chair is grasped in my hands and straight away becomes a travelling-bag. These, of course, are more in the nature of clever inventions than real illusions. The most dangerous of all my tricks is the one in which I catch a bullet fired from a service rifle at the back of the theatre. Four magicians have been killed in the performance of this trick, and I only do it myself because I feel that it would be a pity to let such a great feat be forgotten. I perform it only once a week because I feel that if I performed it every night I should become careless and meet with the fate of Chung Ling-Soo and others. Mysterious, indeed, were the circumstances in which Chung Ling-Soo met his end at the Wood Green Empire, London, in March 1918. He was shot in full view of the audience, and when he was picked up it was seen that he was mortally wounded. I knew how Chung Ling-Soo was performing the trick because we had discussed the merits of our different methods, and I had pointed out Catching a bullet in mid-air that his was more dangerous than mine, although, as I have said, mine is quite dangerous enough. I was therefore most interested in the tragedy and followed the report of the inquest with the closest attention. There were several theories as to the death. My friend Will Goldston, the founder of the Magician's Club, believed that it was a case of suicide. It was pointed out at that time that he loaded the rifle himself instead of leaving it to an assistant, and on examination after the accident it was found that the rifle had been tampered with. I believe that it was an accident. The rifle used in this trick had a hidden barrel. When the rifle was loaded the bullet fell into this concealed barrel and when the powder exploded it seemed as if the bullet had been fired, but really it was safe in the rifle all the time. On the stage the magician had a plate with a false bottom, and when the rifle was fired the magician released the bullet and showed it to the audience as if he had caught it in mid air.


That was Chung LingSoo's trick; it is not mine. My theory is that Chung Ling-Soo allowed his rifle to become very dirty and rusty. The powder worked through some defect into the hidden chamber and really fired the bullet, so causing the magician's death. I have made a number of inquiries at the theatre and amongst Soo's assistants, and all I have heard confirms this theory. One man told me a very strange thing. He said that about a week before the accident Chung Ling-Soo asked him if he believed in premonitions. He then told him that he had a feeling that something terrible was going to happen to him. My method of performing this trick is different from that of Soo and the other magicians who have lost their lives, usually by carelessness, when showing this trick in the theatre. I will allow anyone to examine the rifle and also the bullet, before and after the trick is performed. I ask to have the bullet marked and will hand the marked bullet to the member of the audience for him to verify his own markings. I ask one of the audience to load the rifle for me and to make quite sure that the marked bullet is inside. At present I catch the bullet on a plate, but I hope before long to introduce a sensational innovation. I shall catch the bullet in my teeth! I have here described many of my favourite tricks, though I have not told you exactly how I do them. Perhaps you would like to puzzle out for yourself how they are performed. You can have my word for it that there is no Black Magic in it and that I do not work miracles. Some people who watch my show apparently think I am a miracle-worker. In Germany a man once wrote to me saying that he had lost his arm during the War. After watching my wonderful performance performance he was quite sure that I could put his arm back again! Many people who are baffled by my illusions come to me and try to persuade me to divulge at least one of my secrets. s ecrets. I encourage them for a time. "What do you want to know?" I ask. "Well, Mr. Goldin, how do you manage the disappearing-egg trick?" "Listen very carefully," I say. "First you have to have a specially trained egg, and for that you need a specially trained hen. It takes about six months to train the hen, and when you have the precious egg you find that you can do with it anything you want to do. What next?" "How about the trick in which a man is blown into atoms?" "In this case," I answer, "the man who is blown to bits starves for three days and drinks nothing but spirits, so that when he is blown to atoms he does not care where he goes to." "And how do you catch gold-fish in mid air?"


"These fish, like the egg and the hen, are specially trained. It takes three weeks to train a gold-fish so that it can live without water for forty minutes. Now, you know that fish like worms, so to perform this trick you hook a little worm on to the end of your line. Then you throw out your line and it is quite a simple matter to catch your fish." At this point my questioner begins to look very sceptical and almost believes that I am pulling his leg. But I keep a very straight face and invite further questions. "You have another trick in which you tie and cut a piece of rope and it still remains intact. How is that done?" "That is easy," I reply. "You have to hypnotize the audience and force them to see that which is not. All you have to do is to suggest ." ." "And "A Woman Sawn in Half?" "Now," I say, warming up to my subject, "I will give you the whole inside story. To begin with, you prepare a mixture of three ingredients--cold cream, vaseline, and ordinary axle-grease. You boil it for two hours, and then put it on ice for six hours. It will now be in proper condition for smearing on the edge of the saw, making it very slippery. Incidentally, the saw must have a hundred and twenty teeth. "The girl is pushed underneath this. She is in a hypnotic trance, because that stops the circulation of the blood. Then by turning the saw at no fewer than a thousand revolutions per minute it will cut through the girl so quickly that no pain is noticeable. And if the mixture has been properly prepared it will cause the two parts to heal almost immediately, so that the girl can do the same thing at the next performance." I will not say that my questioners go away satisfied. There is sometimes a look on their faces as if they thought I had not told them everything. I must admit that I have not found any of them trying to do the tricks in the way I have described.


"A Woman Sawn in Half", second version

In Norfolk, Virginia, there was one particularly funny incident. In that town there was a judge who was well known as "The Virginian judge". He was a great humorist, and he would keep the court in such high spirits that the very prisoner in the dock would smile when he had been sentenced to six months in gaol. This judge was very fond of theatres and of people who made their living on the boards. He was always coming backstage, where he was very welcome, and in return he would ask everyone to come to his court next day and watch his show. This happened when I was playing in Norfolk. The judge and I became very friendly, and he came to watch me rehearsing the Indian Rope Trick, which I was working on at that time. "That's very clever," he said. "How's it done?" "It's quite easy," I answered. "The rope is two inches thick." The judge agreed. "Well," I continued, "the rope is hollow." The next day I went down to the court-room in response to the judge's invitation. One of the first cases was a black woman who was suing her husband for failing to stop a carriage. Apparently she had had her foot on the wheel and had been carried round seven times. "You're quite sure it was seven times?" asked the judge. "Quite sure, suh. Ah counted 'em." "Well," said the judge, "I am much more likely to believe Horace Goldin when he tells me that his little boy vanishes inside a rope than I am to believe that you were carried round seven times by the wheel." Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page


My Magic Talkies


CHAPTER NINETEEN

MY MAGIC TALKIES

IF someone asked you what was the name of the first "talkie" you would probably say "The Singing Fool" but you would be wrong. The first talking film was called "Radio Film Telepathy", and it was made by me in the garden of my brother's house in New York in 1918. And it was very much better than the talking films we are accustomed to now. Not only did the people on the screen see and speak, but they also had the senses of hearing, feeling, and smelling. I have always been interested in the films, and as early as 1902 I saw their possibilities. When I was appearing at the Palace Theatre, one of the items on the bill was the Biograph, which was the elementary form of the moving picture. This had been brought from America by a New York impresario, the late Mr. Ted Marks, to whom I gave the nickname "The Mayor of the Ocean" which stuck to him. This was because he was always travelling across the Atlantic. Soon after this I appeared in a picture myself. It was made by a Mr. Booth, and I do not remember all the plot. There was one scene which was most successful. I produced an egg from a hen, transformed the egg into a chicken, gave the chicken to the cook, who served it up on the table. When the host began to carve, it suddenly came to life, and after a terrific struggle it flew away. That farcical scene used to bring the house down. When I saw it at the Winter Gardens Theatre, Berlin, two years later, it was still receiving a tremendous reception. A bright idea came to me when I was playing one of my return engagements at the Palace Theatre in 1907. I had a picture made of my arrival at the stage door of the theatre. This was shown on the screen in the theatre, but when the taxi door opened I walked out on to the stage in the flesh. I turned to the driver, who was still on the screen; there was an argument about the fare, and then the picture stopped and my act began. But "Radio Film Telepathy" was the big thing. I had the idea for it and I went round asking experts for their help. I said I was willing to give a thousand pounds to anyone who could suggest to me a way of creating this

My Magic Talkies

marvellous effect, but they all told me that the idea was an excellent one, but that the thing was impossible. Among others I went to Mr. Hardeen, Houdini's brother, who was at this time running one of the biggest studios. He laughed and laughed at me. In the end, after I had gone into more detail, he asked me how I could possibly hope to perform the trick without confederates. What would happen if the audience asked for something which I could not give them? These objections did not worry me. I went ahead and invented the trick by myself, and a very good trick it was, too. This is no longer being performed, and so I will give a full description of it. I consider it one of the most amazing of my inventions. Imagine that you are sitting in the theatre. You are watching the beginning of a picture. You see a lady sitting at a table reading. I walk on to the stage and shake hands with her. She tells me that she is going to give an exhibition of her mental powers, but she has to keep the audience waiting because her teacher has not yet arrived. I ask her what he looks like and she gives me a full description. So far it has been quite remarkable, but the sequel is still more amazing. I dress up as the teacher, in a wig, moustache, and goatee, and walk on to the screen. Then, in my own character, I walk on to the stage and shake hands with the teacher, apologizing for being so late. "That's all right," he answers. "I was rather late myself." The uncanny part of the performance now begins. I turn to the audience and ask someone to call a number between one and a hundred. As soon as she hears it, the lady on the screen goes to a blackboard and writes the number clearly upon it. Next I ask for something to be held up by a member of the audience. The lady looks at it carefully, then she goes to a typewriter and types exactly what she has seen. This is shown in large typewritten letters on the screen. Another member of the audience sets his watch at a certain time. The teacher hands the lady a large alarm clock and she sets the hands at exactly the hour shown by the watch. So much for hearing and seeing; smelling was more difficult to arrange. On the stage there are fifteen bottles of different perfumes, each carefully numbered. I put a little perfume, selected by the audience, on a handkerchief, being careful that the lady on the screen does not see the number. I hand her the handkerchief, and immediately she goes to the blackboard and writes down the number of the scent. Transmission of thought is the next test. I take a pack of cards and allow the

My Magic Talkies

cards to run through my fingers. One of the audience tells me when to s top. I give him the remainder of the cards, asking him to count them and to concentrate on the number. Then the lady goes to the typewriter again and types down the very number of which the man has been thinking. This short description has, I think, given you some idea of this marvellous illusion. Altogether I devised twenty-six tests, and my act became very popular indeed. It was the high-light in Hertig and Seaman's show "Step On It". The making and performance of this illusion needed enormous concentration and patience. The people spoke behind the screen, and the synchronization had to be very exact. As the audience took part, there were necessary delays, and the machine had to be run at different speeds. After a time I found that instinct guided me through, and there was never a fiasco. My next effort in this line was even more spectacular, and needed even more care. I perfected the new act in 1924, when I was playing for Sir Oswald Stoll at the London Coliseum. The effect was a very good one. On the screen a lady is seen walking down a street. I approach her in front of the film and ask her why she is late. She says that she is very sorry but a man has been following her and making advances. This man now appears, and I tell him to go away. He refuses to do so, and I threaten to call the police. Still he does not budge, so I take out a police-whistle and blow it. The policeman walks on to the film and is about to arrest the unpleasant stranger, when the man draws his gun. I am too quick for him, and shoot. He falls to the ground, and the policeman dashes off to fetch an ambulance. While the policeman is gone I walk into the screen and become a photograph. The man gets up and threatens me again. I grasp his wrist and force the gun from his hand; then, with a quick twist, I throw him off the picture and he appears on the stage as in real life. Just then the policeman arrives, the man removes his make-up, and behold--it is Horace Goldin! This excitement has caused the lady to faint, and I offer her a drink, though I am on the stage in person and she is only a shadow s hadow on the screen. Then I give her a cigarette and light it for her. Sitting down, she drops a handkerchief. I pick it up and offer it to her, entering the picture to do so. just as she is about to take take the handkerchief it becomes a rabbit rabbit and then disappears. A telephone-bell rings and I leave the screen to answer it. On returning, I ask the lady if she would like a drink. She answers that she is only a picture and cannot very well accompany me. "Nonsense," I answer. And I hold out my hand to help her down from the screen. She walks out, the screen remaining intact.

My Magic Talkies

The description gives but a poor idea of how impressive the show really is. I consider it one of the best of my inventions, and, although it was a great deal of trouble to make, I was always most interested in carrying out the effect. The celebrated American magician Howard Thurston, having seen this trick and being much impressed by it, asked me if I could make him a similar one. He offered me a very handsome fee, and I consented to build him one and to direct the film. This was a big job to take on, for I had never been inside a studio and had no idea of how films were made. I reckoned that the shot would need to be about 400 feet long, and I called to purchase exactly that amount. The gentleman with whom I had to deal was connected with one of the largest studios in America, and he asked me how many feet of film I wished to develop. I told him 400 feet. "Then you must take about 5000 feet. There is so s o much film spoilt that 400 feet would be quite inadequate. Besides, a 400-foot shot is an unheard-of thing. We rarely take one 75 feet long in the studios. s tudios. We use titles because if there is a slight mistake we do not have to destroy so much film." I realized that I was starting on a very complicated business, and I decided that I had better take an extra reel of negative. He went on talking, and I told him something of my project. He said that he thought I was quite mad to imagine that I could so synchronize a film and voices as to make it appear that the pictures spoke, but he was sufficiently interested to send his best producer along to watch the film being taken. We decided that a week of rehearsals would be necessary, and I fixed the day for shooting. I was very patient with Mr. Thurston and his six assistants, though some of the latter were very poor actors, both when miming and when speaking lines. During these rehearsals I had the camera in the room, and I asked the operator to turn the handle all the time. I had this done so that the people would not know when the film was actually being taken, and so would not become nervous. I had arranged a special signal for the operator to start shooting. The day I had fixed arrived, and we all assembled for the final rehearsal. The film-director was there to see how "talkies" were to be made, and everyone knew what he had to do. I announced that there would be a final rehearsal, but actually I gave the operator the signal to start shooting. I climbed a ladder and began to direct the "rehearsal". Instead of being very nice to the actors I began to slang them very heartily. I was extremely rude and gingered them up thoroughly. The effect was just as I had hoped, and the act was done much better than ever before. Incidentally, this film was a much better one than the one I had had made for myself. We went through the entire 400 feet of film without a stop, and never had to touch the second

My Magic Talkies

reel. The actors never suspected that the film had been taken, and I did not tell them even when it was all over. I left for New York, and said that I would return the next day to shoot the picture. The film-producer left with me, and he complimented me on the way I had done my work. He said that he had been in films nearly all his life, but that I had taught him a great deal that day. I had the film developed and a print made. Then I hired a portable projecting-machine projecting-machine and returned for the shooting--as the actors supposed. You can imagine the looks of surprise on their faces when I told them that the film had been taken, and was an enormous success. Some of them would not believe it until I showed them the picture on the screen. It was perfect, and everyone was delighted. We celebrated on champagne, and Thurston thanked me very warmly for all the work I had done. I stayed another three weeks, rehearsing Thurston for synchronization with the film. Here failure soon showed itself, for there was one part which poor Thurston could never manage successfully. On the film he shoots a man, then he leaves the screen and pulls out the man, apparently dead. We worked at that hour after hour, but we could never do it convincingly. Howard Thurston put on the show for about three weeks, and then had to withdraw it. All our trouble had been wasted. Since then I have dabbled in films at one time and another. I had a film prologue of my review, "The Tiger God", the first revue ever produced in England. I did not want to have another act sandwiched between my conjuring act and the revue, and this film filled the gap and was very successful. When I set off for the film-studio to take this picture I had no idea what it was going to be about. I hired a car and drove ten miles out of Paris, and in that time I had an inspiration and everything went smoothly. smoothly. I was asked to take part in a sketch called "King Solomon's judgment" in Munich some years ago and now I am preparing another magic film for which these others will have been only experiments. I fancy that this new idea is going to be a very great sensation. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

The Psychology of an Egg


CHAPTER TWENTY

THE PSYCHOLOGY OF AN EGG

IF you care to go into a conjuring dealer's shop and ask for an egg-bag you will find that you will have to pay only about a shilling for it, and you will be given a printed sheet with the full instructions for use. Probably that dealer will have about a hundred egg-bags in his shop, all alike. All the instructions will he the same. And yet that dealer might dispose of those hundred egg-bags to a hundred people of differing personalities and in different stages of development in the art of conjuring. All cannot be equally successful. Though it will cost you only one shilling to learn how to do the egg-in-the-bag trick, I can assure you that before I would teach you how to do it my way you would have to pay me £10,000. Though I have never met a conjurer or amateur who did not possess the egg-in-the-bag trick, I have never met one who did it as I do it, barring Herbert Albini, the originator, who gave me permission to do the trick. And I have been told many times, by people well fitted to be judges, that I do that trick better than anyone else. I have already told, in an earlier chapter, how I came to be in possession of the egg-in-the-bag trick. Here I am going to tell you some of the secrets of the trick. I do not intend to make an exposé of of it. That would fill many pages, and would do me no good. I do not think the general public likes to learn how the great tricks are done. Most people enjoy being baffled and trying to puzzle things out for themselves, but when they learn the secret they lose interest, and after a time they miss that pleasure of surmise which had entertained them before. I am certain that many conjurers and amateurs will be grateful for the information I am going to give them here. To start with, the bag must be a certain size, in proportion to the size of the conjurer's hands. All the bags you buy in a shop are the same size, yet all conjurers' hands are of different sizes. The egg must not always be in the bag. If you wish to perform the trick successfully you must practise with the egg by itself. That alone may take you many years. There are many


sidelines which you must learn to perform with the egg. When I am beginning the trick I ask my "victim" ,to open his mouth. When he does so the egg drops out. This is what must happen. When he opens his mouth the egg must be put in so quickly that the audience does not see. Care must be taken that the egg does not touch his teeth or it will break. You must learn to shoot straight. When the egg enters, fright causes him to close his mouth, and when you tell him to open it the egg appears again. I have had some strange experiences with this part of the trick. Sometimes, although the egg has gone in quite all right, it has refused to come out again. I have asked the man to open his mouth wider and wider, and in some cases I have had to force his teeth still wider apart. I cannot account for this, because the egg seemed too big for the mouth, and yet I put it in quite all right at first--unless it be that at first he stretched his jaws to the fullest extent, permitting the egg to enter, but being unable to repeat the action, probably through fright, it made it appear that the egg was too big, hence my difficulty in removing it. When a conjurer can do that part of the trick with case he can feel confident of performing the whole trick well. It has taken me forty years to attain my present proficiency, and even now I am thinking of all sorts of little improvements. For example, I have said that there is no need for the egg to be in the bag all the time; even when the man is holding my hands, I often contrive to hide the egg in one of his pockets or under his lapel. With one improvement I even went so far as to have a piece of cloth brought on to the stage and a length cut from it. The audience saw the cloth put on to the sewing-machine and I passed the finished bag round for inspection. I never use confederates for this trick, and that means that I have to influence the man who is holding my hands. Sometimes this is very difficult, but I honestly believe that hypnotism and will-power play a very prominent part in this trick. I have to anticipate what is in the man's mind and what he is going to do, so that I can be prepared. People watch differently , some interrupt constantly and annoy me; some are very clever and nearly catch me. But all the time I have to be on my guard and to know what to expect. Before now I have asked the man to look into the bag and tell me whether the egg is there. Unfortunately I have placed the egg in the bag too soon, and I know, just a little too late, that he will see it lying inside. If he says, "Yes, I can see the egg," the trick will be spoiled. By sheer force of will I have to make him say "No", although he has looked inside and seen the egg. I am able to do that, though how I how I do it is a mystery to me. A conjurer working with strangers has to be a good judge of character. Although to the audience the presentation of the egg-in-the-bag trick looks the same as usual, in reality it is never performed in exactly the same way.


Each man who holds my hands has a different temperament temperament and character, and watches me differently. I have to gain the confidence of each one, and retain that confidence even while I am making the audience laugh. Sometimes I am so sure of my "victim" and know so well that if I wish he will look the other way, that I take the most flagrant risks. Which, of course, amuses the audience immensely. Awkward things happen at times. Sometimes the man snatches the bag away from me. I never pull it away, but let him take it. Usually he will let it go at once, whereas if I showed resentment he might go still further and spoil my act for me. The worst occasions arise when the man who comes to hold my hands is intoxicated, in which case I have to change almost the whole method. Sometimes a practical joker tries to score off me, but he rarely succeeds. One such occasion arose some time ago in the town of Surabaya, in Java, when a Dutch gentleman tried to make himself the star of the evening and to turn the laugh against me. He had been to see the show two or three times before, and he had been on the stage once before to hold my hands, so he knew something of what went on. When he came on to the stage I asked him to look in my coat pocket, and to my great astonishment he put his hand inside and brought out a real egg. He had friends in the audience who were "in the know", and naturally there was laughter at my expense. Obviously I could not let this gentleman score off me in this manner, and, though I was at a loss for a moment, I soon took charge of the situation. I took the egg from him and palmed it. Then I made as if to return it, but, of course, it had disappeared. He looked for it eagerly, but failed to find it. The laugh was now against him. I then turned to the audience and said, s aid, "This gentleman has not realized that I can make the egg travel and land anywhere and yet no one will see it." When that trick was over I thanked him and he returned to his seat. He looked very smart in his white linen dresssuit. He had hardly sat down when one of his friends noticed the contents of an egg oozing from his coat pocket. He put his hand inside to see what was wrong and most of the people sitting near saw egg on his fingers. The trick I played on him was this: while he was looking for the egg, I had surreptitiously slipped it into his pocket, and while I was shaking hands with him at the end of the trick I purposely bumped him with my hip, thus breaking the egg in his pocket. I fancy that that gentleman will not carry real eggs into a theatre again, or try to score s core off Horace Goldin! I could write a volume about this one fascinating trick alone. So much depends on the psychology of the "victim" that there is endless variety in


the performance of it. I find that people who have already seen it hundreds of times delight in seeing it again, for they come to realize the skill which is necessary for the smooth performance of it. Even those who know the trick well cannot say where the egg is at any given moment. Where is the egg when it is not in the bag? When I fold that baffling red-velvet bag into four, and, placing it in my right hand, hit it hard with my left--where is the egg? When I place the bag on the man's head, surely he would feel the egg if it were inside! When I let him hold the bag, he would see the egg if it were there! Where, then, is that elusive egg? The answer to that question is the secret of the egg-in-the-bag trick. You can buy that trick for a shilling. But not my method of doing it! Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

Artistes I Have Helped


CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ARTISTES I HAVE HELPED

"THIS is no trickery," said Lord Northcliffe, the British newspaper proprietor, after seeing a performance given by the Zancigs at the Alhambra Theatre. "It is miracle-working." miracle-working." Many people must have thought that after seeing that great thought-reading act. I certainly did when I first saw the marvellous pair, Julius and Agnes Zancig, working together. It was the first time I, or, I believe, anyone else, had seen a thought-reading act performed in silence. It held us all spell-bound. I saw them at a performance they gave before the Society of American Magicians. This interesting society, the first of its kind, was founded in 1900 by Dr. Mortimer and Harry Houdini, and it used to meet every Saturday night at the back of Matincker's magical shop at 493 Sixth Avenue, New York. I joined as one of the original chartered members, and today my number is twenty-six. The membership is now numbered in thousands, and there are branches existing in nearly every town in the United States. Incidentally, I have recently received the following letter from this society: Whereas, by unanimous vote of the Executive Committee of the Parent Assembly, SOCIETY or AMERICAN MAGICIANS, the honorar degree Of MEMBER EMERITUS was made part of the By-laws of this Sociey: Therefore, be advised that HORACE GOLDIN, Member No. 26 of the Parent Assembly, shall heretofore bear the title MEMBER EMERITUS for the term of his natural life, to his own honour and that of THE SOCIETY OF AMERICAN MAGICIANS. Done under our seal this date MAY 1, 1937. JULIEN J. PROSTHANER, President EDWARD DART, Secretary


It was the custom, when the usual business had been transacted, for some of the members to perform various magical effects. It was at one of these performances that I saw the Zancigs perform their uncanny act. They were then unknown and were working in a small tent in Coney Island. Mrs. Zancig would do palmistry for a shilling a person, and they used the thought-reading only to draw the crowd. Mrs. Zancig would stand blindfold before the tent and her husband would merely look at the print, holding the card or letter in his right hand and touching his temple with the third finger of the left hand, moving it as if he were using a Morse-code instrument. This would attract people, for they argued that if an act like that was displayed for nothing outside, the value they would receive inside must be very good indeed. At this time I was playing a summer season at Hammerstein's Roof Garden, New York, and I decided to mention the Zancigs to Mr. Hammerstein the next time I saw him. The late Mr. William. Hammerstein was one of the greatest showmen in the music-hall world, and I knew that if he were interested in them their names would be made. Accordingly I told him all about them, and he went down to Coney Island to see for himself. Like myself, he was very impressed by what he saw, and he asked me to engage them for the Roof Garden for one week. If they were successful they were to stay for the remainder of the season. I suggested that he pay them 150 dollars a week. He agreed to this and gave me a contract for their signatures. When I showed this to the Zancigs they would not believe it. They managed to make about twenty-five dollars a week, with some difficulty, and they could not credit their good fortune. They laughed at me and swore that I was playing a joke on them. I spent half an hour trying to convince them that this was a serious matter, and even after they had signed the agreement they did not really believe that their great chance had come and that they were to appear at Hammerstein's Roof Garden. Mr. Hammerstein had thought of a great idea for publicity. At the back of the Roof Garden there was an artificial farm, a side attraction for the public to view before the performance and during the interval. There were miniature stables for horses, and cows, fowls, pigs, and other farm animals used to wander about. In the middle of this farm there was a large artificial pond. Mr. Hammerstein arranged that the Press should stand on one side of the water and the Zancigs on the other. The Press then had the remarkable experience of watching the transference of thought across water. The following Monday was the Zancigs' first performance, and they were very nervous indeed. They told me time and time again that they could not believe it was true. I think they may have been too anxious.


Unfortunately it was very hot, being the middle of July. The sides of the building were opened for fresh air, and so was the roof. The noise of the passing traffic interfered very badly with the Zancigs' performance. The audience could not hear what was going on and became restless. The show s how was a flop. I was sitting near Mr. Hammerstein, and it was easy to read disappointment written on his face. As soon as possible I made myself scarce. We watched the show again on Tuesday, and again it was a flop. Again I disappeared. At that time Hammerstein's was a very expensive theatre. Only people with some money to spend could afford the prices. Standing-room cost a dollar, seats in the pit were two and a half dollars, and the stalls were five dollars. The audience usually left before the last act, which came on at about midnight. On the Wednesday of the Zancigs' first week Mr. Hammerstein sent for me and asked me to tell my friends that they would finish on Saturday night, and that for the rest of the week they would close the show. This meant, as I have just explained, that few people would see their act. It was with a very heavy heart that I went to break this bad news to Julius Zancig and his wife. To my surprise they took it very calmly, and their principal interest seemed to be whether they would receive their full salary on Saturday night. I said that there would be no question at all about this, and they seemed quite reconciled to the idea of returning to Coney Island. On Thursday night they went on at five minutes to twelve. Most of the audience had gone and the rest found it difficult to hear what was being said. Someone at the back shouted, "Speak up; we can't hear you!" Zancig turned to the audience and told them that it would be very much better for all concerned if they would come to the front stalls. This was done, and it was a wonderful thing to see everyone moving forward. When Zancig began the act no one left the theatre. Instead there was a scramble when people tried to hand him various articles--cards, letters, and the like--for Mrs. Zancig to read blindfold. Everyone was convinced that this was real transmission of thought. Instead of the act lasting for only fifteen minutes, it went on until a quarter past one--an hour and twenty minutes altogether. I could not see that there had been any difference in their act, but Mr. Hammerstein seemed much impressed. Zancig himself explained the secret later. "You see," he said; "we are 'close' workers. We need an intimate atmosphere and a small space. That is why it is very difficult for us to succeed in the theatre. But at midnight the noise of the traffic has stopped, and there are fewer people in the theatre. Those who remain can come closer to us, and they can hear what is said. That is why


we have been a success." The next night I watched the show again, and so did Mr. Hammerstein. On the Saturday night there was almost a stampede. That convinced Mr. Hammerstein. He asked me to tell the Zancigs to stay the following week. They went from strength to strength. Many of the public not only came for the second and third time but they would actually buy their seats at eleven o'clock in order to see this one act. As a result the Zancigs stayed on at the Roof Garden until the end of the season, at the increased salary of 750 dollars a week. At the end of that time their names were known and they were offered vaudeville contracts for considerable sums. They were grateful to me for what I had done for them, and we became good friends. When I left New York to appear at the Palace Theatre, in London, they came down to see me off. They only arrived when my boat was pulling out, but I wrote on a card, "See " See you in London. You will be next." By the time I had finished this the dock seemed a great way away, but I threw my card and, strange to relate, actually hit Zancig. He was able to catch it in his hand. I am no expert in the throwing of cards, and that is easily the best throw I ever experienced. Six months later the Zancigs opened at the Alhambra Theatre, and they made a sensation. They were commanded to appear before Their Majesties King Edward and Queen Alexandra. During this time we met very often, and on one of our trips in my motor-car I witnessed something which made me wonder if there might not be something psychic in their relationship. I had often heard Zancig say, "Our two hearts beat as one"; now had confirmation of it. We decided to make a trip one Sunday as far as Maidenhead. I helped Mrs. Zancig to enter the car first. Her husband followed, but he held on to the side of the car where the hinges were. I jumped in myself and, as was my custom, pulled the door to smartly behind me. The result was that I crushed his thumb terribly. Mrs. Zancig did not see or hear anything of this. Her husband put his hand in his pocket and winked at me, as much as to say, "Don't tell her anything about this." We had not gone very far when Mrs. Zancig went very pale. I stopped the car when I saw that she was ill. "There is something wrong," she exclaimed. "I feel a pain in my hand and also in my heart." We tried to persuade her that nothing was wrong, but she insisted that somebody was hurt. Then she turned to her husband and said, "Are you all right?" He then told her what had happened and showed her his thumb. She was very relieved, and immediately set about dressing the injury. Mrs. Zancig had a very unpleasant day. I think she suffered more than her husband. When I first heard of Howard Thurston he was enjoying a certain amount of


popularity in the West of the United States, but he had a small act, most of which was card-manipulation. In 1899 he was being advertised extensively as "the man who fooled the Great Herman", but he was practically unknown in the music-halls of the East. In later years he became America's foremost magician, and for many years he acted only in the best of theatres. He took over the show of the famous magician Harry Kellar, but he added many new attractions to it, and well deserved his prosperity. He would always acknowledge the great debt he owed to me. When he arrived in New York he had only two good tricks. One was the rising-card trick, which had brought him the reputation for deceiving Herman--it certainly was a masterpiece--and the other he used as his finale. finale. It was the production of a duck from beneath a man's coat collar, a very sensational act to watch. All the rest was "small "s mall beer". I met him soon after his arrival and liked him at once. Here was a man it would be a pleasure to help. I could see that he was likely to be a credit to anyone who helped him, and to bring new laurels to our profession. I suggested to him that he should try to get an engagement with Chase's Theatre in Washington, which I thought a very likely place for his début in the East. When Thurston discovered that I knew the proprietor very well he asked me if I would be good enough to write to Mr. Chase on his behalf. This I did, and so obtained his first engagement in the East of America. That started him on the path of success, and he never looked back. I always found Thurston a most charming man, and he, on his side, was always grateful to me for what I had done. We remained very good friends. He bought from me many effects, including my great illusion "A Woman Sawn in Half", which he presented excellently. I watched the performance several times, and on each occasion he announced, "This illusion is the greatest conception ever invented, and is the invention of my friend Mr. Horace Goldin, who is present tonight." He then invited me to step on to the stage and would start the presentation of the illusion. When he was half-way through he would turn to me and invite me to finish for him. I very much appreciated that little act of courtesy. That would be in the years 1922-23. There were few men's deaths I regretted more than Howard Thurston's. There has been, of late years, an American magician before the public eye playing under the name of "Dante". This is Harry Jensen, whom I engaged to present the illusion "A Woman Sawn in Half" under my supervision, when the interest in the act was at its height and the Keith Circuit were running six companies besides my own. One day I met Howard Thurston, and he asked me if I could recommend a young magician for his No. 2 company, plans for which he was developing at the time. I thought of Harry


Jensen, who had pleased me with his presentation of my invention, and eventually I gave his name to Thurston. Arrangements were made between them, and Howard Thurston proceeded to build a duplicate show for Dante. He toured for a considerable number of years, presenting Howard Thurston mysteries. I have already told how, when I was in Japan, I met a celebrated lady conjurer to whom I had given lessons many years before when she was a child, and how she used to say that she owed all her success to me. A similar case occurred in South Africa. During my tour in 1914 I went to Johannesburg to fulfil an engagement I had made with my friend Sidney Hyman. After the show one evening a gentleman by the name of Rutterberg came to see me. He said that he had a son who was crazy about conjuring, though he was only thirteen years old. Would I give him a few lessons and see if he was likely to succeed? I said that I would not commit myself to anything, but that I would like to see his son's performance. I invited a few friends round and we watched the youngster's act. He was a very forward young fellow, not at all afraid to open his mouth, and capable of making a very good announcement. He had a repertoire of ten or twelve tricks, but he had no idea of presentation and his technique was all wrong. For all that I thought it was a very good act for so young a performer, and I agreed that, if he would practise assiduously, I would give him two lessons a week. I played in Johannesburg for eight weeks and he had about fifteen lessons. By the tenth lesson he was doing really well, and I asked the Press to come and witness one of his performances. All those present were full of praise for him, and he had columns of publicity in the South African Press as a result. He was hailed as "Horace Goldin's pupil; a find in South Africa". These notices brought him many engagements, both with clubs and with small theatres. Often he would bring home ten pounds weekly, which was, of course, a fortune to him and his parents. They kept a little second-hand shop and were in rather poor circumstances. Before I left South Africa I gave young Rutterberg many good effects, and I kept up the habit of sending him tricks for his repertoire for many years. The last I heard of him he was doing very well. I When I was wishing the boy's parents good-bye they offered me payment for what I had done for their son. I told them that I did not expect this, because I had helped the boy for his own ability and not for anything I could make out of it. His mother sent me a little present--six handkerchiefs. handkerchiefs. They were, I remember, of very poor quality, and my initials were so badly worked that I could never use them. But one must not look gift horses in the


mouth, and I appreciated the spirit which prompted the gift. I first met Chung Ling-Soo in Philadelphia forty-three years ago. He was then a professional and I was only an amateur, but I was instrumental in making him a success. It was at the time that I was working in a shop, and in my leisure hours I used to haunt a magical shop kept by a man named Yost. Here I met Robinson, who was later to become famous as "Chung Ling-Soo". He was then acting as assistant to the Great Herman. Everyone in the shop was talking about magic and conjuring, and Robinson and I followed suit. He was very interested in some sleights I showed him, but he told me not to persist in my ambition to become a stage performer. He said that he had always regretted his own action and that if he had a chance he would give it up at once. I thanked him for his advice, but in my heart I thought that he was quite wrong. We remained very friendly and I often saw him on the stage with the Great Herman. At that time there seemed little chance of his becoming a great name as a magician. It was about 1900 that Ching Ling-Foo, a real Chinese conjurer introduced to America by Colonel Hopkins of Chicago, began to make a sensation. He came with a troupe of eight people, and they played for thirty-one weeks at Keith's Theatre, in Union Square, New York. It was almost a miracle. That gave Robinson his great idea. He decided to imitate Ching Ling-Foo, and this he did so successfully s uccessfully that many people did not know that he was not a Chinaman. Success began to come his way, and when I met him at Matincker's he was very different from the man who had seemed so downhearted in Philadelphia. He told me gleefully that Ike Rose had become his manager and had booked him for the Alhambra Theatre, London. This made me rather envious, for it was before my own appearance in London; but I showed him a new trick of catching gold-fish over the heads of the audience. He liked this very much and said that it would fit very well into his repertoire. I then gave it to him, little thinking how very valuable it was to prove. Some little time later I heard the story of Chung Ling-Soo's first appearance at the Alhambra. Everything went wrong. The main feature of his act was the production of a bowl full of water. This had been Ching Ling-Foo's greatest sensation. But on this important appearance the bowl dropped too soon and the whole effect was ruined. It looked as if the act was going to be a flop. Then Chung Ling-Soo began the fishing act, and this saved him. He escaped disgrace and afterwards played throughout England with success.


As I have said, few people realized that Chung Ling-Soo was not a Chinaman. His make-up was marvellous, and so was that of his assistant, who in public announcements always referred to Chung Ling-Soo as his father. This magician proved to be a wonderful showman with a style of his own. He worked very slowly. Although his movements were dreamy, he held his audience spell-bound. He was a great mechanic and inventor, and invented many original and sensational illusions. In the basement of Will Goldston's magic-shop, in Green Street, Leicester Square, there is a small theatre, and here Chung Ling-Soo expressed his thanks for what I had done for him. There were some 200 people present one Sunday night and Robinson was called upon to make a speech. In the course of it he told the audience this story of the fishing-act, and then he stated that he owed all his success to Horace Goldin. Of Chung Ling-Soo's tragic death at the Wood Green Empire, while performing the "Catching a Bullet" trick, I have written elsewhere. Next | | Previous Next Previous | | Table of Contents | Contents | Home Page

All Conjurers are Crazy!

It's Fun to be Fooled by Horace Goldin Previous | | Table of Contents | Previous Contents | Home Page

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ALL CONJURERS ARE CRAZY!

IN the summer Of 1936 I attended a dinner given in my honour by members of the Magicians' Club, under the chairmanship of my good friend Will Goldston, the greatest authority on magic in the world today. There I heard some very complimentary speeches about myself, one of them by a former President of the Club, Louis Gautier. In the course of his speech he mentioned it as his opinion that my Indian Rope Trick was not up to the standard of my other great illusions. When I rose to reply I thanked him for all the nice things he had said about me and for the information he had given me about the Indian Rope Trick. "I am like a very sick man," I went on: "I am always glad to take medicine." And then I told them of Allan Dale's criticism when I was appearing at Coster and Beil's, New York: criticism which led me to develop a new silent act and so brought about my first big success. "You must excuse my lack of modesty," I said, "if I venture to agree that my great illusions such as 'A Woman Sawn in Half' are very good indeed. In that trick alone fifteen new principles are applied, and I believe that it would be very difficult to find anything as good. The Indian Rope Trick I believe to be a worthy successor to those other illusions. "Throughout my forty years' experience on the stage I have made it a point never to try to please both the conjurers and the general public. That is why I am not unduly worried by tonight's criticism. If I can please the public, then I say 'To hell with the conjurers'. To be brutally frank, I believe ninety per cent of them are envious. "Further, I am inclined to believe the theory put forward by my friend Carl Brenner, of Philadelphia--that all conjurers are crazy." Then I went on to tell this story. I met Carl Brenner some years ago, and in the course of conversation he told me that he seriously believed that all conjurers were demented. I told him that I found that hard to believe.


"Well," he said, "you know that the half-moon affects people who are mentally deranged? There will be a half-moon in seven days' time. I want you to come with me to a shop where they sell everything conjurers want. You will see crowds of them there, illusionists, crystal-gazers, hypnotists; and none of them will know what he wants, and they will all be acting in the maddest fashion." I went with him to that shop, and I found that he was perfectly right. It looked like a crazy market-scene. There were men feverishly turning over the stock, or making strange hypnotic motions in corners. Some of them were talking together in a queer jargon. Some were kneeling down; some were sitting; nearly all had their coats off. None of them seemed to have any idea of presentation. It was as if they had been smitten by some disease. In fact, I think conjuring, amongst amateurs at least, is some form of disease. Since that experience in Philadelphia I have kept my eyes open and I have found confirmation of the theory everywhere. Lawyers, doctors, and business men are all affected. As soon as they hear I am a magician they say, "Have you ever seen this?", and then they start the most terrible conjuring. I was once playing in the town of Carlsbad, in Czechoslavokia, where one may drink eighteen different kinds of water. I had a four weeks' engagement there and I decided that I might as well see s ee if the water would do me any good. I went to see a doctor to ask him which water was the most likely to be beneficial to me. When I arrived in his waiting-room I found there were fifteen other patients ahead of me, and I settled down to a long wait. But no sooner did the doctor hear that I was there than he sent for me. He shook me warmly by the hand, and then he showed me a book about magic which contained a photograph of me. Next he opened a drawer and took out eleven tricks, which he began to do one after another. That went on for one and a half hours, and I began to feel very sorry for the poor people who were waiting outside. I managed to interrupt him, and suggested that I come back the next day. At our next interview precisely the same thing happened. I was shown one bad trick and then another bad trick. I began to be sorry that I had ever let it be known in that doctor's house that I was Horace Goldin, the magician. I visited that doctor constantly throughout my four weeks' stay in Carlsbad, and never once did I manage to ask him about the water I should drink--not until near the end of my visit, when he assured me that I was quite all right and that there was no need for me to have any of the water. I did not look to see, but I very much suspect that there was a half-moon at


that time! I want to end this book with a story of a conjurer who was not so crazy after all, a story of a magician who had to wait thirty years to win a bride. It was in San Francisco when I was twenty-one that I first met my wife. She was then studying with Fred Belasco, the brother of the great producer, David Belasco, and was preparing to become an actress on the legitimate stage. I was topping the bill at the Orpheum, San Francisco, but had no hopes of attracting this young lady's attention. For all that, I fell in love with her at first sight. Magic or no magic, I could not find a method of persuading Miss Helen Leighton to look favourably on my suit. It was not that she showed any dislike to me; she was not interested in variety artistes. I was just another man and of no great importance in her scheme of things. I asked her to join my show, but she refused. I found out one of her weaknesses--she was interested in card-games. I showed her different pretty ways of shuffling a pack of cards. She was interested in that, but she did not seem any more interested in me. My life as a trouper took me away from San Francisco and I lost touch with Miss Leighton. I did not forget her, however, and was overjoyed when we met again in Chicago years after, in 1914. I proposed again, and again I was rejected. Eight years after that I tried again, and still I was rejected. You will have gathered from this that I was very patient and very persistent. I would not take "No" for an answer, and at last I was rewarded. Miss Leighton travelled to England as manager to Ula Sharon in 1927--the dancer who made such a hit with Jack Buchanan in "Sunny"--and they appeared at the Palace, Manchester, while I was at the Hippodrome. I took every opportunity of pressing my suit. If any other man spoke to Miss Leighton you may be sure that I was there, distracting her attention, hoping to shine by contrast. I must confess that I was thoroughly miserable throughout the engagement in Manchester. But towards the close of the week I proposed again, and this time I was accepted. I had wooed for thirty years and had been successful! Neither my wife nor myself has any reason to regret that day. She has been a very real helpmate to me, and is always interested in the life of the stage, in my performances, and in my new tricks and experiments. She has helped me in the execution of many of my illusions and she comes to look upon some of them as "her tricks", for she knows all about them and delights to perform them, unseen by the audience. I can think of no better close to this book than a tribute to my wife, a


magician of magicians, I often think, and a wife in a million. THE END Previous | | Table of Contents | Previous Contents | Home Page

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