•Tragic Magic •

T

RAGIC MAGIC

A Survey of Fatal Conjuring: 1584–2007 Joshua Jay

Yet scarce I praise their venturous part Who tamper with such dangerous art.

—Sir Walter Scott The Death of Dr. Epstein

On April 25, 1869, Dr. Adam Salomon Epstein was on stage at Paris’s Cirque d’Hiver (then called Le Cirque Napoléon), with a loaded rifle aimed at his face. Epstein was performing the Gun Trick. Having poked a marked handkerchief into the barrel of a rifle, Epstein addressed a man in the second row and asked him to fire the gun. The man refused.

Epstein asked another person to act as marksman. He too refused. The fourth man he asked finally accepted, and Epstein invited him to the stage. The volunteer stood on the left side of the stage while Epstein drew a sword and stood at the ready, stage right. Epstein proposed to pluck the propelled handkerchief onto the tip of his sword.

The volunteer aimed the gun at Epstein. Epstein then commanded in a heavy Polish accent, “Tirez, Monsieur, je suis prêt.” (Fire, sir, I am ready.) The man fired at him, and a handkerchief appeared on the tip of Epstein’s sword. But something was amiss.

“How awful,” Epstein said. He grabbed his chest and staggered as if drunk. “I am dead.”

Epstein reached under his shirt, withdrew a fragment of splintered wood and collapsed to the Paris stage.

Three doctors from the audience leapt to his aid. Two versions of the mishap have been related over the years. Either Epstein had forgotten to remove the ramming rod used to push the handkerchief into the barrel of his rifle, or the end of the rod had broken off without his noticing. Although there was no bullet, the rifle contained enough gunpowder to propel the rod, or the end of it, into Epstein’s left breast.

He died shortly thereafter.* Strangely, this is not the end of Epstein’s story. We shall

return to his death later. The Cussedness of Magic

Why is it, I wonder, that so many of the world’s greatest illusionists are fated to an untimely end? Again and again a star of the magical firmament has been ingloriously snapped out just as it was climbing to its zenith. One cannot contemplate this fact without feeling some sadness, and perhaps impotent irritation, at what another writer has called “the damned cussedness of life.” —Charles Laffan A strange paradox of theater jargon: To “die” on stage is the fullest expression of failure; but to “kill” during a performance is the highest achievement. Stranger still, the history of magic reveals many instances wherein the figurative becomes the literal. The history of magic is lit-tered with death and murder. This article is an examination of how and where conjuring has gone fatally awry, and why. With equal appreciation, we honor and immortalize the heroes, casualties and dunces who have lost their lives in pursuit of magic. These fatalities will help

us uncover the bizarre but inevitable connection between death and the magician.* Original sources used throughout this article will be given in the Citations section, beginning on page 122.

The element of danger is a proven dramatic device; it makes a magic show more believable, even relevant. But in the quest for authenticity, magicians have sacrificed their own safety or the safety of those around them. With this danger comes a perverse irony that seems to mock those who sought death and got it. A case in point is the Yugoslavian magician named Leo “Svengali” Skerbinek who died in the middle of his act, aptly titled “Removal from Life.”

One must not confuse the illusion of danger with danger itself. It is the magician’s job to blur this line by creating the former while avoiding the latter. Even magicians confuse the two, simultaneously attracted and repelled by the prospect of death.

Magicians are drawn to danger because it intensifies audience emotions. Elements of escape, torture and the impossible fascinate the public. Why, then, are audiences stimulated by the notion of death?

Tucked deep inside our subconscious minds there seems to be a primal urge to play God. The ability to take life and restore it is a sadistic desire many ponder and, ultimately, suppress. The magician symbolizes those forbidden desires.

He burns, bisects and beheads assistants without causing them bodily harm. He withstands the hurtling bullets and an underwater death. He is here and then he is not.

We allow the magician to dissemble as God because he is openly playing a role—it is illusory. After all, we reason, it’s only a conjuring feat.

But conjuring feats can go terribly wrong, resulting in death or serious injury to the magician, to those assisting him and even to those in his audience. This article will concern itself only with such mishaps, and not with natural deaths unrelated to the performance of a conjuring effect.

So while the eighteenth-century French magician Rollin was executed by guillotine, his head rolled before a tribunal at La Place de la Revolution, not before an audience at Le Theatre du Palais Royal. Tommy Cooper was a magician who expired on stage, but he falls outside my targeted circle of unfortunates because it was his heart that failed him—not an item in his act. Horace Goldin also died of a heart attack, reputedly caused by the stress of an impending performance of the Bullet Catch. But alas, Goldin died with only thoughts of bullets in his head, rather than actual bullets therein. Oscar “Dante” Eliason also escapes our net, as he was a magician mistakenly shot in the groin while hunting for rabbits. Had he been conjuring with them instead, his story would have received our attention. By contrast, thirteen-year-old Austin Graham’s story follows, for although he wasn’t a magician, he died imitating one.

Boys will be boys, and boys love Houdini. Thirteen-year-old Austin Graham Egan certainly did (1931–1954). So much so, that Egan took to emulating the master escapologist in his room.

He practiced Houdini’s stunts in his bedroom in Bankstown, Australia. He tied one end of a rope to his doorknob, then draped the rope over the top of the door. He formed the other end of the rope into a noose and propped a trunk against the door so that he could stand on it. Once the rope was secured around his neck, police surmised that Egan slipped off the trunk and accidentally hanged himself.

Nine-year-old James Keller (1978–1987) idolized Houdini, too. His parents bought him a pair of handcuffs at a garage sale near their home in Kankakee, Illinois, but his father hid the restraints from little James on several occasions for fear

they were too dangerous. On what would be his last attempt at an escape, James

locked himself in the handcuffs and climbed into the clothes dryer, perhaps to mimic Houdini’s Milk Can escape. Unable to liberate himself, James Keller died of asphyxiation.

Escapes like those that claimed the lives of Austin Graham and James Keller are a staple of many magic acts. And like magic tricks, they require rehearsal. From one of those rehearsals, observe a peculiar crime-scene, from a newspaper in Rochester, New York, in March of 1933.

A twenty-seven-year-old found lying alongside his bed, stran-gled to death. He had a cord running from a noose around his neck, down his back and tied around his ankles. His hands were bound behind his back. The room was locked from the inside and the key was on a dresser across the room. Murder or suicide? Neither, apparently. Police consulted three area “experts”:

a magician, an escapologist and, of course, a magic dealer. Norman Sehm, known locally as “the magician’s magician,” brought on John Hargather (“The Handcuff King”) and Elmer Eckam (an escapologist and reputable used-magic dealer) to help solve this curious tragedy.

The panel concurred that the deceased, Erik Baumann, had died during a practice escape. Baumann was a gymnast who dabbled in escapology. In a moment of bad judgment, Baumann practiced the self-liberation feat described above on his bed. When the mattress compressed under his weight, Baumann slipped off the bed to the floor. The impact of the fall pulled the ropes taut, and Baumann choked to death.

What is the magician’s infatuation with escape? The answer lies within each of us. The magician’s objective is always with you in mind; like all entertainers, we must give the audience what they desire. This is the reason that rabbits—and not cockroaches—are pulled from our hats. From the earliest records of magicians, the tricks are a product of the audience’s aesthetic. And audiences are morbid, fixated on death. The reason, then, that magicians risk their lives is that their public demand it.

Nobody understood this better than Houdini himself. Remembered as the most famous magician of all time, his fame was due in large part to his daring escapes; by most

accounts, Houdini’s skills in magic paled in comparison to his promotional savvy. Born Erik Weisz, Houdini was the son of a Jewish immigrant. After several unsuccessful years of performing as a magician (The “King of Cards” and the Circus “Wild Man”), Houdini made a discovery that would quickly catapult him to superstardom. People were fascinated by danger. It began with handcuff escapes, and eventually evolved into elaborate jail breaks, a Chinese Water Torture Cell, the Milk Can escape mentioned above, and the dreaded underwater escape. People turned out by the thousands to see Houdini. But they didn’t want to see him do magic; they wanted to see him survive.

Houdini’s death remains the cornerstone of his career; it is impossible to overstate the magnitude of America’s first superstar—and he was—dying unexpectedly. For all Houdini’s dangerous stunts (and many had elements of real danger), his passing is the result of an audience member’s obsession with death.

Houdini’s persona was that of a superhero—a man who could not be held by chains, a man who could withstand any blow to his body above the waist without injury. To illustrate his invincibility during his show, Houdini would allow an audience member to punch him in the stomach. Houdini would prepare by tensing his muscles and holding his breath, in much the same way one dives into a swimming pool. Even a forceful blow is minimized when you know it’s coming.

Backstage, after a show in Montreal, a student named J. Gordon Whitehead passively asked Houdini (who was already ailing from appendicitis) about his punching challenge. Without warning, the student punched Houdini repeatedly in his abdomen. Houdini was unready to receive the blows, and his already ailing appendix ruptured. Houdini refused medical treatment, but collapsed on a Detroit stage four days later. He died on October 31, 1926. Closely before death, Houdini and his surgeon engaged in a now legendary exchange, which succinctly illustrates the magician’s flirtations with life,

death, and magic.“Doctor,” Houdini said from his deathbed, “you know I

always wanted to be a surgeon, but I never could. I have always regretted it.”

“Why, Mr. Houdini,” replied Dr. Kennedy, “that is one of the most amazing statements I have ever heard. Here you are, the greatest magician and the greatest entertainer of your age. You make countless thousands of people happy. You have an unlimited income and you are admired and respected by everybody, while I am just an ordinary dub of a surgeon trying to struggle through life.”

Houdini replied, “Perhaps those things are true, doctor, but the difference between me and you is that you actually do things for people. I, in almost every respect, am a fake.”

Failed Escapes People who attempt these feats ought to know before exactly what they are doing. I don’t mind entering into competition with any man, for competition is healthy, but I do kick when they steal my act, do it badly, and then make a great shout. —Houdini Magic literature is rife with escape artists who didn’t. The next collection of tragedies enshrines performers who risked their lives—and ultimately lost them—for the mere entertainment of their audiences.

On November 8, 1930, Genesta drowned in an attempt to escape from a locked milk can.

The concept of the Milk Can Escape was invented by Houdini, and working methods for it were created by Montraville M. Wood. But the method for escape was set to fail for Royden Joseph Gilbert Raison de “Genesta,” when stagehands dropped the Milk Can while unloading it from a truck, before his show in Frankfort, Kentucky. They accidentally dented the can at its mouth and bent the secret, telescoping lid. This lid allowed Genesta to escape by sliding the top portion of the can up and off while leaving the lid and locks in place. But the bend now prevented it from moving.

Unaware that his Milk Can wasn’t functional, Genesta began his rendition as usual. Six volunteers inspected as many padlocks and surrounded the water-filled can from all sides. Genesta lowered himself into the can until only his head protruded. Displaced water ran from the top of the can as he huddled his body inside. Genesta inhaled dramatically and ducked his head into the container. Assistants poured more water into the can until it was filled to the top, then fixed the lid to the Milk Can with the six examined padlocks. The audience volunteers held the keys to the padlocks and viewed the proceedings at close quarters.

Assistants moved a draped framework around the Milk Can and drew its curtain so that Genesta’s method of exit would remain a mystery to the audience. The orchestra played for two intense minutes before the crew suspected something amiss.

Genesta pounded from the inside of the apparatus, panicked by his inability to escape. He was truly locked underwater and his air supply was running out. Genesta’s wife ran on stage, hysterical.

The crew dropped the stage curtain on the failed escape and went to work to free the captive magician. But during the confusion, the spectators became confused and it was impossible to discern whose key went where.

The crew eventually freed Genesta from the Milk Can, and he survived long enough to explain that in more than ten years of performing the Milk Can escape, this was his first failure. It was also his last. He died on November 9, 1930. Charles Rowan performed as Karr and billed himself all over South Africa as “The Globe-Trotting Magician.” Rowan was a restless soul and his desire for danger cost him his life.

He suffered an injury in World War I—presumably to his throat— which made speaking while performing difficult. Karr performed a paper tearing act for a time, but found the conjurer’s life too mundane. He sought adventure.

Karr went on the road with his magic act and staged an original and daring escape for the cities he toured.

In early October, 1930, Karr proposed his signature stunt to the town of Springfontein. He would escape from a straitjacket before a motorcar ran him over. A local doctor urged Karr not to execute the stunt. It was postponed.

Either the thrill of danger or the thrill of the press changed Karr’s mind. On October 9, the stunt was back on. Karr kicked off the proceedings by exonerating the driver in the event of a mistake.

Karr positioned the car two hundred yards away and instructed the driver to maintain a speed of forty-five miles an hour. Karr calculated he would have about a minute to escape from the straitjacket.

The crowd lined Main Street in Springfontein, awaiting the escape Karr promised. The spectators packed themselves so close to the curbs, there was no room for the car to swerve. This would prove fatal.

The onlookers—many of them children—said Karr had nearly liberated himself when the car bore down on him at the agreed-on speed.

The crowd left the driver nowhere to go, and Karr nowhere to dodge. He was crushed. The right wheel nearly severed one leg and an autopsy revealed Karr was dead on impact.

The driver and two passengers in the car were injured, as were several spectators. Karr was the only fatality.

Leon Arvo dove into a flaming water tank to escape from the shackles that restrained him. Unfortunately, too much gasoline was added to the surface of the water and the whole tank caught fire. Arvo’s father, on hand for the escape, jumped into the water to rescue his son. Leon Arvo perished in the fire; his father suffered “life long injuries.”

In August 1981, Trevor Revel was in Portsmouth, England, to appear at a Royal Wedding Party. The thirty-five-year-old performer wore many hats: magician, fire-eater, sword swallower and film stuntman. On this occasion he was an escape artist.

Suspended upside down and restrained by a straitjacket, Revel peered down forty feet at his public: three thousand people who were anxiously awaiting his escape. With Revel securely bound and displayed, only one element remained; to ignite the rope he was hanging from. Had Trevor Revel consulted the literature of escapes, he might have known that to attempt this feat with even a modicum of safety, the rope must be reinforced with a steel core, as it is impossible to predict how long a particular weave of twine can withstand fire. Trevor Revel took no such precaution.

The escape started off strong. Revel wriggled his way free of the jacket within fifty seconds—but before he could signal the crane operator to lower him to the ground, fire burned through the rope and he plummeted four stories to his death.

Ropes fared no better for Ronald Frank, whose last performance in Clarendon, Jamaica, ended abruptly on November 16, 1954. He tied one end around his neck, threaded the rope through a hangman’s platform, and gave the other end to twelve burly volunteers. They were instructed to “pull the rope...”

And so they did. Had Ronald Frank been able to clarify his instructions, the

eager throng of tugging assistants might have known about a countdown or hand signal: “pull the rope—when I count to three.” Frank was not prepared for the premature hoisting and died of strangulation.

A police investigation followed, and two youths were eventually charged with murder. No public record of a trial was found, and it is likely the charges were later dropped. October 31, 1990, was the sixty-fourth anniversary of Houdini’s death. He wasn’t the only escapologist who died on Halloween. If you happened to be channel surfing in the Fresno area in California, you might have caught Valerie Staples report the following on Channel 24. It turned out to be his last escape. Joe Burrus was bound and locked in chains. He’d done this before. But this time, for the first time, he used a Plexiglas see-through coffin. It was lowered into a freshly dug grave and there were immediate problems. The trick had to be stopped because Burrus screamed that the chains around his neck were too tight. The chains were loosened and the show went on. And also for the first time, Burrus had wet concrete poured on top of the coffin. His crew watched as the concrete eventually collapsed the Plexiglas on top of the magician. As the minutes ticked by, workers frantically tried to rescue Burrus. By the time they removed the dirt and concrete, it was too late. Burrus had died after being truly buried alive.

Burrus, who had practiced the stunt with dirt, didn’t anticipate the added weight of the cement (nine tons in total) and the stress it would put on his specially constructed Plexiglas coffin. Burrus was thirty-two.

Houdini’s trademark escapes continues to influence magicians like Genesta and Joe Burrus. As we have already explored, Houdini’s flirtation with danger cost him his own life. But his legacy serves to tease newcomers to “best” his escapes, beat his records, or one-up his daring do. From beyond the grave, Houdini is still puppeteering dances with death.

Stabbings There is a strange streak in some of our magicians—a death

wish that sometimes materialises. What a pity, and what a needless

loss of a creative, intelligent human being. —Frances Marshall

Magicians break down magic tricks thematically, and the theme of “escapes” like those described above is survival. The performer dodges death, somehow. He endures. But magic tricks that involve danger are more foreboding. There is no escape, for example, when a woman is sawed in half. The theme is “death and resurrection.”

This morbid theme dates back to the earliest conjuring literature, and magicians since that time have been inventing new ways to kill themselves without really doing so. Some of the dangers have been more than illusory.

Reginald Scot describes the following impressive stunt in The discoverie of witchcraft (1584): “To thrust a dagger or bodkin into your guts verie strangelie, and to recover

immediatelie.” The method Scot provides for stabbing oneself is sound.

The performer wears a protective, rounded plate over his torso, which is decorated with fake hair and nipples. Scot even suggests adding a “gut” of sheep’s blood (he warns against cow and ox blood, which are apparently too thick). The performer pierces the outer, false torso with his

knife and (sheep’s) blood seeps from the wound. With his explanation, Scot recounts the story of an anonymous performer who, having been tippling before his show, forgot the key element and paid for the omission with his life. Lacking a name or date, it is impossible to corroborate this story. If nothing else, it serves as a lesson on the perils of performing while intoxicated: as (in truth) not long since a juggler caused himself to be killed at a tavern in cheapside, from whence he presentlie went into Powles churchyard1 and died. Which misfortune fell upon him through his own follie, as being then drunken, and having forgotten his plate, which he should have had for his defense. The devise is this. ¶ You must prepare a paste boord, to be made according to the fashion of your bellie and brest : the same must by a painter be coloured cunninglie, not onelie like to your flesh, but with papes, navill, haire, &c : so as the same (being handsomelie trussed unto you) may shew to be your naturall bellie. Then next to your true bellie you may put a linen cloth, and thereupon a double plate (which the juggler that killed himselfe forgot, or wilfullie omitted) [...]

George Lalonde was stabbed in the back. Lalonde was a cast member in the Wallace Brothers Circus. Having completed a run in Toronto, the circus was playing the little town of Shawville, Quebec, on September 27, 1936.

Lalonde performed his magic act in front of an enthusiastic crowd of farmers and their families. He propped a wooden box across two chairs and aided his assistant into it. He next announced that he would saw through the entrapped lady.

Audience member Henry Howard, fifty-one, listened in horror. Howard was from Calumet Island, an even smaller town to the north of Shawville. Fueled by misguided chivalry, Howard leaped to the stage behind Lalonde and grabbed one of Lalonde’s prop swords. Meanwhile, Lalonde posed, saw in

hand, about to bisect his assistant. The audience

screamed warnings to him, but before he could turn around, Howard ran him through. Henry Howard stabbed George Lalonde in the back, and the blade pierced his right lung. Howard then fled.

Lalonde was rushed by train to Montreal’s St. Luke Hospital, where his condition was diagnosed as critical. George Lalonde survived. Fourteen years later, Alfred Hitchcock released Stage Fright, a film with a tag line Lalonde understood better than anyone: “Hands that applaud can also kill!”

Henry Howard was later apprehended and confessed. When questioned about why he felt compelled to stab a magician on stage, he replied that he just “couldn’t see a woman being cut in two.”

Death by Misadventure It always seems to me that magicians’ mishaps are due to one or two causes—too much enthusiasm for his art, and too little. —Will Goldston

For me, the most outrageous death in the annals of conjuring is certainly The Great Lafayette (Sigmund Neuberger). He was a quick-change artist and magician of astonishing popularity in the early twentieth century, and was regarded as the highest paid theater performer of his time. Lafayette had even the admiration of the often-jealous Harry Houdini. As a token of good will, Houdini bought Lafayette a dog—Bessie—and this dog is where our story begins, and where Lafayette and Bessie’s ends.

The Great Lafayette cherished Bessie obsessively. The dog had her own traveling quarters, ate five-course meals, wore a gold and diamond-studded collar, and went everywhere with the eccentric Lafayette. On May 4, 1911, Bessie died (of being overfed, it was rumored). Lafayette

was beset with grief over the passing of his canine and only companion. What Lafayette could not foresee was that Bessie’s death would foreshadow his own, less than a week later.

Lafayette pulled himself together to close a show at the exuberant Empire Theater in Edinburgh. The last trick he performed was an elaborate number, “The Lion’s Bride,” which involved a large crew on and offstage, and a caged lion that would change into Lafayette. On that performance, a lamp fell onto the stage, and instantly ignited the many tapestries, set pieces, and curtains that adorned the stage. Decades before flame retardants, these dusty fabrics ignited instantly and within seconds, the stage erupted in fire. While the audience evacuated, eleven cast or crew members were trapped and burned alive, a fifteen-year-old cast member and a midget named “Little Joe” among them.

Eyewitnesses reported that the Great Lafayette had actually escaped, but then reentered the fire to retrieve his horse. His love of animals, and the recent loss of Bessie, lured him back toward the flames. His charred body was discovered after the three-hour blaze was subdued. During the fire, the enormous lion escaped from its cage and perished in front of the only exit. Lafayette’s attempts to save one animal’s life were thwarted by another animal, who ultimately caused his death.

Lafayette’s remains were identified only by the expensive jewelry he wore, and they were sent to Glasgow for cremation. But three days later, a shocking discovery was revealed. As burned bodies and props were cleared from the ashen Empire Theater, investigators uncovered another body, this one unburned, concealed beneath the stage: this was the Great Lafayette. The fire broke out just after the moment Lafayette had secretly switched places with a body double, in preparation for his appearance in the lion’s cage. The body double wore the same jewelry and costume as Lafayette, and so his remains were mistakenly identified as those of the famous magician.

Even in death, Lafayette fooled his public.The funeral procession for the Great Lafayette was

more attended than the Queen’s royal visit the previous year; over 2000 watched as the urn that held Lafayette’s cremated remains was placed between the recently-deceased Bessie’s paws. A floral arrangement was placed atop their joint gravestone. It read, “The Last Act.”

Magicians seem plagued by freak accidents like the one that befell Lafayette. On December 21, 1930, Thomas Page Wright was driving home. Wright was a highly talented amateur magician who worked as an editor for Paramount Motion Pictures. He had just dropped off the final edit of his screenplay for Tom Sawyer. He drove with one hand and practiced card sleights in the T. Page Wright other. He was killed instantly when his car collided with another, and his body was thrown clear of the accident. Playing cards littered the scene of the crash. Anastasius Kasfikis, a performer widely thought to be of Greek extraction, was actually Russian-born. By most accounts, Kasfikis was a mediocre magician, but his performance itinerary indicates he found plenty of work. He and his wife toured the whole of Europe with an act largely copied from other performers.

In 1934, Kasfikis appeared in Moscow at the same time as Horace Goldin, and it’s likely that there he would have seen Goldin’s famous Buzz-saw illusion. Kasfikis copied Goldin’s latest incarnation of sawing through a woman and hit the road.

Kasfikis and his driver were on their way to Salamanca in Spain for a show one evening. They were driving on the Valladolid Highway with a truck full of illusions. The driver swerved to avoid a collision, and a packing crate containing

the buzz saw slid forward with such speed and force that it decapitated Kasfikis in the passenger seat. Cleopatra—Valaria Kasfikis

Later versions of this story report that Kasfikis was beheaded on stage or that his head was cut off by the buzz saw. But the saw was packed in a crate, and it was the tremendous force of its blunt blow that killed him.

Kasfikis’s props were sold at auction and his wife took on the stage name Cleopatra. She did a manipulation act for a time, but her performances, like her husband’s, frequently received a cold reception. In a conjuring periodical of the time, a columnist had mixed feelings about the life and death of Kasfikis: “It was too horrible an accident for anyone to suggest it was poetic justice, but I sometimes feel like decapitating imitators.”

The presumption that audiences make is that a magician’s trick, no matter how dangerous, is dangerous only to himself and his assistants. But in the rarest circumstances, accidents can happen to us, to the audience. “I sympathize with all my heart with the bereaved,” said children’s magician Alexander Fay, “and ever since the occurrence have been[,] as may be imagined, in great grief because of having been concerned in giving an entertainment that had such a sad termination.”

These remorseful words are from Fay’s personal statement in the London Times, June 20, 1883, in reaction to a riot that broke out after his show. The riot left 181 children dead.

The event was conceived with only the best intentions. Alexander Fay and his sister Annie would conduct a magic and ventriloquism program for children at Victoria Hall, Sunderland. They partnered with a promoter and pasted bills all over the city, advertising the show for Saturday, June 16. In addition to conjuring feats, the notice promised “Talking Waxworks, Living Marionettes, and the Great Ghost Illusion.” The entrance fee was one penny per child, and it was advertised as “The Greatest Treat for Children Ever Given.”

As if this weren’t enough, the notice made one more promise: “Every child entering the room will stand a chance of receiving a handsome present, books, toys, &c.” The promise of toys is not something children take lightly.

The show itself played without incident, and near the end Fay reached into his top hat and produced a small collection of toys. These toys were handed out to children seated in the orchestra pit. Immediately following the performance, ushers began passing out more free toys to spectators in the main gallery. Children seated in the balcony feared they would miss out on the free giveaways, and rushed down a corridor of fourteen stairs that linked the lobby to the main gallery.

The anxious mob of children pushed aggressively toward the gallery, but the large doorway to the main floor was bolted ajar and the entrance partitioned to limit the stream of traffic, so that tickets could be taken individually as theatergoers entered the showroom. The opening to the gallery was only eighteen inches wide.

The stampede went from bad to worse. Lighting in the

corridor was insufficient, and children tripped over each other, compacting the bottleneck. Unaware of the disaster beneath them, other children from the balcony pushed still harder. With only seven ushers (including the magician), the event was grossly understaffed, and nobody could gain control. The children were compressed into an area no larger than twelve square feet, with no way out. Frederick Graham, manager of Victoria Hall, was unable to unbolt the door because “the opening was jammed up nearly as high as my head with the bodies of children.”

When the incident was over, 181 children were dead, most from suffocation. As bodies were organized in rows, mothers were escorted through the hall to identify their sons and daughters. One mother lost all four of her offspring.

The press covered the tragedy in great detail, and a statement was released on behalf of Queen Victoria: “The Queen is terribly shocked by this awful calamity, and her heart bleeds for the many poor bereaved parents. She prays that God may support them. Her Majesty is most anxious to hear how the injured children are.”

Playing with Fire

A magician who has lost the spark of life is not a careful magician, andis not a magician for long. —Glen David Gold Carter Beats the Devil

Conjurers have always wished to appear the masters of fire. Flashes are good misdirection, and flames are intrinsically dramatic. For escapologists, fire raises the stakes. Magicians play with fire, and sometimes they get burned—or, in the case of Balabrega, blown up.

Born John Miller in Helsingborg, Sweden, Balabrega’s family immigrated to the United States in 1868. As a child, he achieved some degree of success as “The Boy Magician.”

In January 1900, Balabrega and his wife appeared in Boston, on a bill shared with Houdini. But Balabrega was restless for a tour of his own. Balabrega

He booked a tour in Brazil and then purchased “The Moth and the Flame” illusion from fellow performer Harry Rou-clere. This pyrotechnic vanish of six women, costumed as moths, into a candle flame required a supply of gas, a commodity not common in Latin American theaters of the day. To compensate, he purchased gas-bags of acetylene, a transportable alternative that would allow him to fuel the illusion on any stage.

On June 12, 1900, Balabrega and his assistant, Lew Bartlett were setting up his show at the Theatro Santa Roza in João Pessoa, Brazil. An acetylene gas-bag exploded and blew pieces of Balabrega and his assistant all over the surrounding cast and crew. Balabrega’s manager, standing several paces away, was severely injured. Balabrega was forty-two years old.

In most magic shows, fire appears in the form of a hot, white flash

that burns clean and leaves no ash. The most common method of producing such an effect is flash paper.

The July 1928 issue of The Sphinx offers an explanation for brave readers on how to make the stuff. “You must buy a few ounces of fuming nitric acid,”2 it begins, “and a similar quantity of the best commercial sulfuric acid [...] having all this ready at hand, put on old clothes and get out to the back yard somewhere where it will not hurt if you splash the acid [...]”

Walter Price knew the process by heart and was, for a brief time, America’s premiere flash-paper manufacturer.3 His credentials certainly qualified him: Price served as a captain in the Army’s Chemical Warfare Division. After World War II, he was discharged in Los Angeles and moved to Winter Park, Florida, with his wife, Margaret. Like many postwar veterans, the Prices wasted no time in procreating. They welcomed Mary Tudor Price into their home in 1945.

But unlike other veterans, Walter Price ran a flash-paper plant in his basement. James Swoger, an acquaintance, wrote, “Walt had shelves just full of paper. He also would smoke down there as he made it. A friend of mine who was a neighbor would visit him and always ask why he smoked down there. Walt would simply answer, ‘No danger, I know what I’m doing.’”

At 10:30 p.m. on February 17, neighbors heard screams from the Price house. Walter’s clothing had caught fire while he was working. Margaret attempted to extinguish her husband. Her impulse to use water was an understandable but fatal mistake. Sulfuric acid is highly exothermic—a dehydrating agent—and its reaction with water is volatile. Dowsed in water, the effect of the acid on skin worsens, and the water likely caused the acid to “spit” all over Margaret and the workshop.

When Walter and Margaret emerged from their blazing home, some reports said both were still on fire. Miraculously, the couple escaped with fifteen-month-old Mary, who was unscathed.

Though burned, Walter’s condition at first appeared stable. Margaret did not fare as well. Walter rode to hospital in the front seat; his wife was secured in the back. She died from her burns three hours later.

While Walter’s burns weren’t lethal, the fumes he inhaled during the accident were. His condition worsened and he died the next day, tragically leaving the infant Mary an orphan.

Getting flash paper is a problem. The licenses required to bring such dangerous material to market are prohibitive, and as a result its manufacture is driven underground, which frequently leads to unprofessional practices. There are also precautions necessary to ship flash paper safely. In recent times it is shipped wet so that it cannot ignite, and one must ship it as “hazardous material,” which incurs a duty.

Dealers, like Murray Sobel of Cleveland, find a source that can supply them with large sheets. They then repackage the paper into small pads and packages for resale. In the late 1980s, Murray’s Magic Shop was a leading distributor of flash pads across the United States.

Murray sold a lot of flash paper, due in part to an enticing (and illegal) service he offered his clients. He shipped flash paper dry. Selling damp flash paper is less appealing to buyers because it must be dried thoroughly before it will burn properly. For shop owners who didn’t have the time or desire to hang their flash paper from the rafters, Murray was perfectly willing to ship the product to them pre-dried.

On May 26, 1992, Murray left his home in Mentor, Ohio, and pulled onto Route 306, heading south. He was on his way to the local UPS office to fulfill several mail orders. There were a few boxes of flash paper in the backseat of his car, and one more resting on the passenger seat. As was customary in a non-computerized mail-order business, all the boxes were left unsealed so that when shipping was tabulated on site, Murray could write in the exact shipping charge on the recipient’s bill.

Murray smoked while he drove. Precisely what took place in Murray Sobel’s car is only

conjecture. Whether Murray swerved to avoid collision or merely lost his grip on his cigarette is unknown. But

somehow, the box next to him caught fire. Officials determined that the fire started in the box next to

him because, in a moment of impulsive behavior, Murray reached back into the box to retrieve the cigarette. This we know because his right side and hand were the most severely burned.

Murray pulled his car over, unable to release the seat belt that (presumably) had melted closed. Fire spread to the other boxes of flash paper, and eventually the car, too, caught fire. Finally Murray emerged from the car, on fire, and rolled on the ground until the flames were extinguished.

Murray Sobel’s car—a flash-paper tragedy Murray Sobel was airlifted to Cleveland Metro Hospital’s

Burn Unit where he was diagnosed with third-degree burns on eighty percent of his body and fourth-degree burns (to the muscle tissue) on his back and chest.

Murray survived forty days in the intensive care unit before his heart gave out due to the trauma his body had incurred.

The Gun Trick There’s a curse on the bullet-catching trick. —Will Dexter I don’t see why anybody would want to do it. Frankly, I never liked the trick. A cheap sideshow gimmick. —Walter Gibson In October 1837, Paris lampposts were littered with boastful leaflets about an unnamed magician. Like other performers, our man promised outlandish and impossible feats never before attempted—and admission was free.

Spectators piled into the designated hall and awaited the mysterious performer who had promised them feats “far beyond the realm of possibility.” A dapper young man in fashionable attire stepped forward. Handsome but pale, the man had no visible props or tables. He spoke eloquently: Ladies and gentlemen, I know well that an artist of my kind appearing in Paris is nothing unusual, but I flatter myself to be able to perform what to my knowledge no one before me has performed; after me no one will dare so easily. —Here is a

pistol, here powder and lead; I ask you to examine the weapon and ammunition and load the pistol; from now on I will no longer touch it.4

He intended to withstand a fired bullet, a feat that was gaining notoriety by 1837. A respectable police officer, above collusion, was invited on stage to inspect and assemble the firearm. The mysterious performer instructed him to stand at point-blank range and fire the pistol on command.

Alas, the officer could not bring himself to do so. It seemed too real. “I have found,” the officer said, “that the weapon, as well as the powder and lead are not tampered with, and if so, at this distance, they would shoot a recruit dead.”

After some deliberation, another volunteer was secured. The performer counted, “One, two, three!” and the volunteer fired.

A moment later, the man of mystery buckled to the ground, shot through the heart. He died instantly and left no trace of his identity. In his wallet, a note: “I no longer want to live, but also will not lay a hand upon myself, and hence I choose this means!”

The time of this suicide coincides with the height of German Romanticism, and the legitimacy of this account is dubious. If it did occur, our anonymous one-act performer pulled off what might be considered a perfectly orchestrated suicide. On November 8, 1829, Louis de Linsky was probably nervous. He was on stage before royalty: Germany’s Prince Günther Friedrich Karl I and company. Six soldiers pointed loaded rifles at his unarmed Danish wife, Madame de Linsky.

For the dramatic conclusion, Madame de Linsky would withstand a firing squad unscathed. The solders, provided by the royal court at Arnstadt, Germany, acted as an impartial shooting gallery.

But Louis de Linsky coached these six cadets in advance. The guns were real and used paper cartridges. Each man had been instructed to bite off both the tab and enclosed bullet during the loading process. In this way, the barrels would be packed only with gunpowder, and without a projectile the rifles were rendered harmless.

But someone forgot to bite the bullet. When the squad

fired, Madame de Linsky collapsed with a bullet in her abdomen. She died the next day.

She was twenty-three years old and pregnant. The obvious eludes us all at times, and we can but hope that one of these times doesn’t occur when loaded weapons are pointed our way. Yet there are myriad examples of performers who attempted the Gun Trick, and then simply forgot to switch the bullets.

Michael Hatal, a cabinetmaker by trade, dabbled in magic. Hatal performed the Gun Trick with a patriotic bent, proposing to catch a bullet in an American flag wrapped around his body.

On October 28, 1899, he invited spectator Frank Benjo, twenty-eight, to the stage to act as marksman. He handed Benjo a gun, powder and a container with twenty-five large-caliber cartridges. Hatal instructed Benjo to load the gun with two marked cartridges of his choosing.

Hatal wrapped himself in an American flag and ordered Benjo to shoot. Benjo unloaded what was, presumably, a double-barreled rifle, and both bullets hit Hatal at close range. One penetrated his left lung. The other lodged in his chest, three inches above the heart.

Hatal lived only long enough to exonerate his unwitting executioner from any wrongdoing. He blamed himself for failing to switch cartridges. Hatal, thirty-two, died that same evening.

Bosco is one of magic’s most revered (and copied) stage names. Though he had no apparent relationship to the renowned Bartolomeo Bosco (1793–1863), the career of one of his namesakes, Blumenfeld Bosco, is defined by his death. Said Blumenfeld “Herr” Bosco attempted the Gun Trick at the Basle Music Hall on January 24, 1906.

Blumenfeld invited a volunteer on stage to fire a revolver at him at close range. But like Michael Hatal six years earlier, Blumenfeld forgot to switch the cartridge, and was killed instantly.

Madame Clementine was, at the turn of the century, a popular conjurer, and during her rendition of the Gun Trick, she opted to forego any switches. This decision proved fatal, though not for her.

Stage managers preferred the switch methods, because firing a real weapon on stage damaged curtains and stagehands, but Clementine preferred the authenticity of a honest weapon loaded with true ammunition. The method she used was simple in concept. She would fire a bullet across the stage, in the direction of her targeted assistant. She would purposely overshoot her target and send the bullet whizzing safely past the assistant and backstage. Simultaneously, Clementine’s assistant would produce a bullet from his teeth. Timed properly, the illusion was perfect.

The illusion was perfect when she performed it (twice nightly) at the Canterbury Music Hall in Westminster, England. But when she moved to the Middlesex Music Hall for her next engagement, she forgot to change the sights of her weapon. The stage at Canterbury had been a small, intimate venue. The Middlesex stage was more than twice the Canterbury’s length and height. Using the same

calculations in a different theater resulted in the accidental shooting of her assistant, whom she hit in the forehead.

Doc Tahman Conrad was a character. Magician, fortuneteller and bullwhip artist, Conrad clearly lived his life on the edge. Frances Marshall wrote of Conrad’s exploits: Doc loved to live dangerously. When he was courting his former wife, Penny, they passed the time by having Penny stand with an apple on her head and Doc riding by on horseback, spearing the apple as he swept by. When he worked several weeks at the Milwaukee State Fair, with Senator Crandall and other magicians, he did a strait jacket escape. He refused to use a gimmicked jacket and nearly destroyed himself by hurling himself to the floor. His friends said he was black and blue from head to foot.

In another stunt, Conrad’s wife would be positioned on the stage with a balloon fixed to her head. He would charge at her, blindfolded, swinging a sword. Through a code of clicks she made on a castanet, he would be directed toward her head. “Senator” Clarke Crandall wrote: Doc, eyes covered, would rush toward her waving a large sword. Most of the time he punctured the balloon. Once he went off the stage but it was his wife’s fault. She mis-clicked her castanet. To Doc’s credit, although his wife became disenchanted with his sword work, he never nicked her noggin on stage.

It should come as no surprise, then, that the method Conrad used for the Gun Trick ranks among the most asinine ever attempted. In theory, it was to work like this: A real revolver is loaded alternately with blanks and regular cartridges. A volunteer spins the cylinder before handing the weapon back to Doc’s assistant. She fires all six shots, back and forth, between a stationary target and Doc: click, bang, click, bang, click and bang. If after the spin a live cartridge rested in the first chamber, the assistant would unload it on the target, then fire the next (blank) shot at Conrad, and

continue this alternation until the weapon was emptied. If a blank spins into first position, the assistant reverses the pattern. The target collects bullet holes while Doc “withstands” three shots.

Doc rehearsed the routine in the summer of 1974. He was performing at an outdoor festival in Canada, and practiced the Gun Trick during his off-hours in a field far away from other buildings and people.

He was also rehearsing with a new assistant, Roxanne, a woman he had not worked with before. During a practice volley, Roxanne miscalculated the order of the shots and pumped a real bullet into Doc’s stomach. Being far away from the nearest town, it took hours to get Doc to a hospital. Meanwhile he bled to death. Before he died, he exonerated Roxanne from what could have been misinterpreted as murder. “Art is long and life is short,” began Houdini in the April 1907 Conjurers’ Monthly Magazine. “The stage and its people, in the light of history, make this a verity.” In his inimitable style, Houdini recounts the turn of the nineteenth-century demise of the Bullet-Proof Man: For the

benefit of those who have not heard of this sensational attraction—which was indeed a great novelty for a brief time—I will explain that the man was a German who claimed to possess a coat that was impervious to bullets. He would don this coat and allow anyone to shoot a bullet of any caliber at him. Alas! One day a marksman shot him below the coat, in the groin, and eventually he died from the wounds inflicted. His last request was that his beloved invention should be buried with him. This, however, was not granted, for it was thought due the world that such an invention should be made known. The coat, on being ripped open, was found stuffed or padded with powdered glass.

Houdini later purchased the jacket.

The Space Gun, a stage illusion, might be considered a perverse juxtaposition of the Gun Trick. Instead of firing ammunition at someone, the Space Gun fires someone as ammunition.

The gun more resembles a cannon. A petite assistant is fitted inside a tubular projectile that is then loaded inside the cannon. A metal plate is situated in front of a large net. When the cannon in fired, the encased woman is shot “through” the metal plate and into the netting to effect a volatile example of magical penetration.

The Great Levante performed the Space Gun in his show, and featured it in his set at the Grand Theatre in Derbyshire, Australia. On December 15, 1938, Hilda Waterworth perished during the piece, as a consequence of a freak accident.

Waterworth, twenty-two, had toured with Levante for more than four years. “She was a favourite,” Levante told the Derby Daily News. “My wife and I looked upon her almost as a daughter. She was a grand little artist.”

Waterworth enjoyed the tour on stage and off. In addition to assisting with various illusions, she had her own tap-dancing number and acted as choreographer for the entire show. She also found love, becoming engaged to the stage manager, Ernest Birwell, four weeks prior to her arrival in Derby.

The cause of the tragedy can be traced to an event before the performance. Levante’s show coordinator, Bob Coulson, was off duty that Friday night. The crew secured the necessary netting without his supervision, and according to crew member Saxon Tylney, they had “secured the trampoline correctly.” But the house manager for the Grand The-atre—not a member of Levante’s troupe—later insisted that one of the ropes be repositioned higher on the wall. This rope, like the others, was anchored in place with a steel stake.

During the show, the Space Gun began as usual. Thick rubber cords were wound at the base of the cannon,

functioning as the thrusting mechanism. The cannon was a human slingshot, so from backstage it was necessary to replicate the “bang” a Space Gun might make. For this, a crew member fired a double-barreled shotgun into a metal garbage can as the projectile was launched.

A woman—not Hilda Waterworth—was loaded into the rounded shell and then slid into the cannon. Hilda stood at the base of the net, watching the illusion transpire.

The cannon fired the shell and it traveled, apparently, through the metal sheet and into the webbed netting. The illusion itself worked as planned.

The force of the projectile, however, dislodged a stake from the wall. The stake fell and swung around, hitting Miss Waterworth in the head. The effect was concluded and the curtain fell. The audience had no idea anything went wrong.

Hilda regained consciousness backstage long enough to say that she was fine, and that she wanted to do the second show. But it was decided that an understudy would play her role and that she should be hospitalized. The second house filed in and Levante carried on with his show. Near the end of the second set, word of Hilda Waterworth’s death reached the magician via an on-stage whisper. Levante wept publicly. There is a sad epilogue to Hilda Waterworth’s tragic demise. Though newspaper articles mention Hilda’s distressed parents, it appears their primary concern was money. According to Saxon Tylney, who worked with Levante, “[Hilda’s] parents arrived at the station the next day with their solicitor asking no questions about their daughter, but only asking for a certain amount of money in compensation. Les [Levante] relayed this to his insurers who said, ‘Pay it

quick. We will have the money in your account tomorrow.’ It was done and he never heard from the parents again.”

On June 14, 2007, the Gun Trick claimed what is probably its most recent victim, Togo’s Kofi Brugah. While the cause isn’t clear, the whole thing reeks of foul play.

Brugah (stage name Zamba Powers) was one of Africa’s busiest magicians, and was touring Ghana at the time of his death. Having played his show in villages in Asamankese and elsewhere, Brugah found himself in the south at Adukrom, before a large, enthusiastic crowd.

Brugah performed traditional conjuring effects, including a production of money and candy, which were immediately distributed to spectators. For his last illusion, he offered to withstand the fire of a gun. Ghana’s largest newspaper, The Daily Graphic, reported the incident:

After a tense moment of silence, a gentleman stepped forward from the crowd and Brugah handed him the gun, stood upright and asked the volunteer to press the trigger. Boom! Horror of horrors! There lay Brugah in

a pool of blood screaming and pleading to be saved. Pandemonium ensued, and the “volunteer” who shot

Brugah fled the scene. The magician’s assistant, Kwabla Ali, helped assemble a team to transfer his fallen employer to Adukrom Health Centre. Brugah was dead on arrival.

When the group arrived at the hospital, everyone except Brugah’s assistant fled. The landlord of the performing venue and the volunteer who fired the gun are still wanted for questioning.

Unquestionably the most powerful gun trick fatality involves the magician Chung Ling Soo. His story is so unusual it might read as a fanciful embellishment of a magician’s life, but what follows is absolutely true.

At the turn of the twentieth century, William Ellsworth Robinson was a struggling American magician, and broke. He had traveled the world with the leading magicians of his time and learned from them, but he could not ignite a spark in his own career. In desperation, he remade himself as an Asian performer, copying the

popular Chinese conjurer Ching Ling Foo by adopting the similar but nonsensical “Chung Ling Soo.”

Robinson touched a nerve with his alter-ego, and his rise to fame was meteoric on the vaudeville circuit. He was an excellent magician, and he developed beautiful numbers to music; he never spoke, lest his secret American identity would become known. His newfound stardom presented obvious problems. To maintain the authenticity of his act, he had to be Chung Ling Soo all the time. This meant Robinson had to dress in Chinese robes and cover his skin with grease paint every time he went public. Speaking English was out of the question. Robinson had to give interviews with journalists via a “translator,” actually someone in secret concert with Robinson. The journalist would ask a question in English. The translator would mumble gibberish to Robinson. Robinson would answer in the same Chinese-sounding gibberish, and the translator would then answer the journalist in English. The 24/7 masquerade quickly became tiresome for Robinson, who also had to keep secret his American wife and family.

Robinson’s life of deception came to an abrupt end during the performance of his aptly titled act, “Condemned to Death by the Boxers,” his version of the gun trick. On March 23, 1918, Robinson and his company carried out the act as they had done many times previously. Audience members were invited onstage to mark the bullets and inspect the firearms. In the Chung Ling Soo method for the gun trick, the firearm is gaffed so that the loaded barrels do not fire. Instead, the ramrod tube below the barrel is secretly loaded with a blank, which gives off a grand noise but no discharge. The audience observes the gun being loaded and hears a noise, but the bullet is never actually fired. Over time, however, the metal inside the ramrod tube eroded, and on that fateful night in London, the bullet did discharge, lodging in Robinson’s chest.

“Oh my God,” he said, “Something’s happened. Lower the curtain.” These were the first and last English

words audiences ever heard from Chung Ling Soo. Life After Death

The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated. —Mark Twain

Not that it’s any consolation to the dead, but dying on stage can create prodigious publicity. The circumstances surrounding a performer’s death have always fascinated the press and public. It is futile to debate which variety of death in the pursuit of conjuring is the most deplorable. But clearly the least painful deaths are those in which the performer doesn’t die.

While researching magic’s casualties ,a few peculiarities were unearthed: Some performers died twice, while others have no death record at all.

And well into the nineteenth century, it was commonplace for imposters to take on the stage names of successful performers—living or dead (there are more than twelve known Boscoes, one of whom we’ve met). Given the limited documentation of earlier centuries, it can be hard to discern when a magician actually died and, for that matter, how many times.

For some conjurers, the publicity death brings is too enticing. Their ambition supersedes society’s prohibitions, and they stage their own deaths.

Will Dexter recounts the dramatic death of Kia Khan

Khruse: Kia Khan Khruse passes out a handful of ball-shot, has one

selected and marked, and takes his place by a Grecian pillar as the pistol is

loaded. His white teeth gleam as he flashes a smile round the packed, smoke-filled room. He bows his head as a signal to the marksman, there is a sharp

crack—and Kia Khan Khruse falls dead.

The marksman had used his own pistol instead of the weapon pro

vided by the juggler. Khruse was part of an East-Indian performing troupe that

toured Britain in 1815. Khruse demonstrated amazing and bizarre feats of legerdemain: threading needles in his mouth, transforming a ball into a snake, and frying bacon and eggs on a sheet of paper. He also advertised his own ability to “walk on his hands with his foot in his mouth,” which no doubt made him a sought-after party guest.

Kia Khan Khruse also performed a version of the Gun Trick in which he caught the bullet in his hands. And Khruse would have us believe this feat his last.

His purported death occurred at the Pall Mall Music Hall in Dublin in 1818; yet his own advertisement, postmortem as it were, reads:

And again (though it has been said he was killed in performing this astonishing Trick,) he will catch in his hand a marked Bullet, added to

the power-loading of a Pistol, which any one present may fire at him for that purpose. Khruse’s manipulation of the press appears as deft as his sleightof-hand. The death of Arnold Buck in 1840 is well documented. Some sixty years later, Houdini wrote of it, “Buck, the Englishman, had his right cheek shot off during this [Gun] trick.”

Buck was shot under unfortunate circumstances. At the Queen’s Theatre in London, the Irish-born Buck invited a formidable volunteer on stage to load a musket ball into a rifle. Buck proposed to catch the bullet between his teeth.

But the spectator was uncooperative, and asked to see the ball again, after it had been loaded. Buck, who had already and secretly dispensed with the bullet, said no. Unbeknownst to him, the contrary marksman had performed a devious sleight of his own: He had slipped a pocketful of nails or filings into the barrel of Buck’s gun. When it was fired at him moments later, Buck was sprayed with metal and half his face was torn off.

However, thirteen years after Buck’s reported death, another magician named “Buck” was recorded performing in the British provinces. Was he killed or not? Edwin Dawes solved the mystery with a period newspaper account, dated April 1, 1840: The [assistant] then leveled the piece, took aim and fired, and immediately after Mr Buck came forward, with the bullet between his teeth, and said, “Ladies and Gentleman, here is the ball but something else has been put in the gun—I’m wounded.” He then appeared to stagger, and, retiring to the back of the stage, the curtain fell [...]

On examination of Mr Buck, it appeared there were a number of wounds on his face and forehead. His left eye was also severely injured. The “pair of flats,” or the scene running across the stage, was also perforated with holes, and it seemed that the shot must have been mixed, from the holes being varied in

size. By some it is asserted that it was not shot but steel filings that was discharged at Mr Buck.

Dawes has concluded from this that while Buck did suffer this unfortunate accident, he probably survived and continued performing under his own name. In Arnold Buck’s case, his “death” was more newsworthy than his magic, and history remembers him this way.

This from The Billboard magazine, September 14, 1929: MOLDES, Cordoba, Argentina, Sept. 7. Blacaman, Hindu fakir, who has been touring this country featuring his buried alive stunt, died here this week while demonstrating his trick. After being buried for more than three hours, the coffin in which he was buried was dug up and his lifeless body found. Investigation showed that he had made strenuous efforts to free himself from his self-imposed tomb.”

Pietro Blacaman was an imposing figure with dark skin and remarkably long hair. He promoted himself as magician, strongman, pitchman and a mesmerist of animals. Touring all corners of South America with fifty crocodiles, thirty lions and fifty snakes, he professed to control them all through the power of his mind. He performed many dangerous feats, including a stunt in which he hung from his neck on the blade of a sword.

Nobel Prize winning author Gabriel García Márquez was apparently impressed after seeing Blacaman perform. Márquez wrote a story apparently inspired by Blacaman, Blacaman the Good, Peddler of Miracles. The story begins with Blacaman pitching an elixir to an enthusiastic crowd. Since the first Sunday I saw him, he seemed like a mule in a bullring, with his suspenders of velvet backstitched with filaments of gold, his rings with precious stones on all fingers and his braid of rattles, standing on a table in the port of Santa Maria del Darien [...] asking that they bring him a real snake to demonstrate in real life a poison antidote of his own invention, the only resistant one, ladies and gentlemen, against the bites of serpents, tarantulas, centipedes, and all types of poisonous mammals.

Márquez’s gloomy story is packed with detail on Blacaman’s repertoire. No account of the real Blacaman’s show has been discovered, but Márquez romanticizes various feats that were perhaps inspired by the real Blacaman’s repertoire: hypnotic tooth extractions, a pack of cards that predicts adultery, and a never-ending game of chess.

Márquez’s Blacaman dies—again and again. The narrator places him into an enchanted coffin, and after each death Blacaman is brought back to life, so that he can relive his own demise.

The real Blacaman came back to life, too. There is

unquestionable proof of his existence after his purported death in 1929. Ten years later, Blacaman appears on the silver screen alongside Charlie McCarthy and W. C. Fields in You Can’t Cheat an Honest Man, a film about a circus owner and his employees.

Blacaman quit show business shortly after the film was made, and lived out his life in Venezuela as a refrigerator salesman.

“I was honestly sorry to hear of Ricardo’s death,” Houdini admitted to The London Umpire in July 1909. Rex Ricardo, a self-proclaimed handcuff king, had jumped from the Luitpold Bridge in Landshut, Bavaria, on April 14 of that year. Unable to escape from his restraints, Ricardo died.

But it’s unlikely Harry Houdini was really sorry about Ricardo’s death because Houdini had orchestrated it.5

Rex Palmer Gordon was a Scottish performer with several aliases: Comanche Jim, Sir Rex Palmer, the Wonder Cowboy and, on Houdini’s request, Ricardo.

Gordon made his living as a cowboy magician and toured for a time with Buffalo Bill Cody. But in 1909, he was under the employ of Houdini. Ever the masterful promoter, Houdini hired Gordon to attempt and ultimately fail at the underwater handcuff escape. Houdini realized that an escape made deadly is headline news, and so is a performer who can best death with that escape. “I was fished out unconscious,” Gordon later wrote of his supposed death. “[Harry Houdini] did the job with the usual success.” Gordon and Houdini parted ways and both continued to perform.

Their paths crossed once more, according to Gordon. In 1925 Gordon challenged Houdini to escape from his “Triangle” apparatus. “I challenged him to escape from the triangle, as a friendly gesture, and he refused. It never was used as he died the next year.” So while Gordon “died” at Houdini’s request, in the end Gordon outlived his associate in escapology.

This brings us to Dr. Epstein’s return from the grave. Recall

that Epstein died in Paris in 1869, when the ramrod from his rifle, or a piece of it, was fired into his chest. This story, it seems, was Epstein’s greatest illusion.

When Epstein was shot, he was among Europe’s most renowned entertainers and at the height of his career. Epstein was born in Warsaw in either 1820 or 1827. His family was Jewish and wealthy, and he became privy to the expected spoils. By the time Epstein was a young man, he was well traveled and had an interest in world politics. He successfully toured Asia, the United States and Europe, and performed before the Kings of Prussia, Austria and Bavaria, the Queen of England and the Czar of Russia. He spoke twelve languages and delivered each of his royal performances in the language of the court. In France, Epstein was called back for a repeat performance before Napoleon III. There he was awarded a medal for being the “Best Prestidigitator” of his time. He authored a book on the later period of the Czar Nicholas. For this work Nicholas’s successor, Alexander, awarded Epstein another medal. (It probably helped that Epstein’s book was dedicated to Alexander. Dr. Epstein was not a fool.)

Magic earned Epstein a fortune and captured the attention of his peers. Houdini was intrigued with Epstein’s career and wrote of him, “He made more money than any mystery performance that ever visited Russia, not even barring the Davenport Brothers.” 6 Adam Salomon Epstein was skilled and versatile. He performed sleight-of-hand feats, stage illusions, ventriloquism, a plate-spinning act, séances and played harmonica. But for all his talents, Epstein was a troubled man. Disliked

Dr. Adam Salomon Epstein

by his peers, he was the target of racial slurs. Houdini remembered, “Epstein was called the ‘Nigger Jew’ on account of his thick lips.” His ads were boastful and his feats often dangerous. No wonder Houdini took notice.

Beyond magic and writing, Epstein’s interests were more prurient. He was arrested on multiple occasions for child molestation. He also had a gambling problem and the debts to prove it. Houdini recalled that Epstein “was a born gambler and lost all his money playing cards.” It is likely that in 1869, Epstein needed a boost in ticket sales.

History is fuzzy on what happened next. Several newspapers recount Epstein’s death much as it is described at the beginning of this article: a fragment of ramrod fatally fired into his chest.

A different, scandalous version of the story exists. He took ill in a bar and concocted a plan that would allow him time to recuperate and generate the publicity only death can bring about. He spread rumors about an accident during the Gun Trick and that his condition was “almost hopeless.” Roughly thirty years later, H. J. Burlingame recounts the incident: At first it worked like a charm; in those days people were unaccustomed to the exaggerations of the press. When it was reported that the professor’s recovery was expected in the near future, friends, to show their sympathy, commenced making preparations for his reappearance. The Casino was not large enough to accommodate the spectators, and instead of one performance, three had to be given.

But audiences are fickle, and nobody likes to feel the fool. The story

continues: When the magician made his appearance at other places, though, things were different; the public grew suspicious, felt itself deceived and did not

quite believe in the resurrection of a magician who had been

shot. From that time Prof. Epstein was “dead to the world.” Dr. Epstein performs for French royalty.

An open letter in Epstein’s own hand confirms his “recovery.” He thanks “the French people, the most spiritual and generous in the world.”

Apparently the public wasn’t so generous after Epstein’s deceit was exposed. He tried subsequent comebacks, the last one in Germany, circa 1885. All failed. He lost everything playing cards and moved to Russia, where he faded from public record into obscurity. According to Houdini’s notes, “Epstein became lame and performed lying in a chair. Died in miserable circumstances in Kiev.”

Cause of Death A magician who wants to die a natural death would do well to learn from the mistakes of others. At its irreducible minimum, the content of this article suggests three guidelines for magicians who wish to end their careers on their own terms:

• Avoid fire. • Avoid escape feats performed by Houdini. • Avoid the Gun Trick.

Despite appearances, it really isn’t magic that is dangerous. As we’ve seen, accidents and bad luck during performance account for more deaths than do magicians bent on peril.

Magicians’ attraction to death arises in part from their desire to be noticed. The likelihood of being noticed when death is evoked is underwritten by the natural fascination all humans feel for mortality. Whether the danger is real or an illusion, we all invest emotion in the outcome.

Magicians are irrevocably drawn to the seductive sensations produced by a flirtation with danger, and history shows that an actual death amplifies the attraction. Clever performers learn ways to cheat death; ambitious promoters develop methods to fake it. The unfortunate die trying.

Two constants remain: Death makes a great story—as does survival.

An Augmented Inventory of Tragic Magic: 1584–2007

Circa 1584: An anonymous, inebriated performer inadvertently stabs himself during an invincibility stunt. 1586: Earliest account of de Couleu, believed the first to have performed the Gun Trick, who is shot dead by a disgruntled assistant. November 8, 1829: Madame de Linsky is shot in the abdomen during the Gun Trick. She dies the next day. October 1837: An anonymous male commits a public suicide in Germany while feigning to perform the Gun Trick. June 20, 1883: 181 children are trampled to death at a magic show in

a British theater, in what becomes known as the Sunderland Disaster.

October 28, 1899: Michael Hatal is shot twice during the Gun Trick. One bullet misses his heart by three inches. Only moments before dying, he exonerates his audience volunteer.

1900: Madame Clementine’s anonymous assistant is mistakenly shot during the Gun Trick.

June 12, 1900: Balabrega ( John Miller) is blown to bits when a gas-bag (used in his performances) ignites. Lew Bartlett, Balabrega’s manager, occupied the unenviable position next to Balabrega when the gas-bag exploded.

1906: The Bullet-Proof Man dies of a wound to the groin. 1906: Elijah Renan, a British conjurer, accidentally stabs

himself while performing an effect with a pocketknife. Circa 1910: Vitrio, a Hungarian magician who toured Europe

with a poison-ingestion act, dies in London when an antidote fails to act.

May 9, 1911: The Great Lafayette (Sigmund Neuberger) perishes on stage in a fire.

March 23, 1918: Chung Ling Soo (William Ellsworth Robinson) is shot in the chest during the Gun Trick.

January 24, 1906: Blumenfeld Bosco is killed performing the Gun Trick. October 31, 1926: Houdini (Ehrich Weiss) dies of peritonitis

or another undiagnosed cause believed to be performance related.

Circa 1930: Australian Leon Arvo dies, unable to escape from a flaming pool of water.

October 9, 1930: Karr (Charles Rowan) is crushed by a car during a failed straitjacket escape.

November 8, 1930: Royden Joseph Gilbert Raison de “Genesta” fails to escape from a Milk Can and nearly

drowns. He later dies from injuries incurred.

December 21, 1930: T. Page Wright dies in an automobile accident. It later is assumed the result of his practicing card sleights while driving.

March 1933: Gymnast Erik Baumann chokes to death during a rehearsal gone wrong for an escape number.

1934: Anastasius Kasfikis is decapitated by an illusion crate while he is driven to a show.

Circa 1938: Dr. Vivian Hensley of Australia swallows a razor blade during the course of a trick and dies from the resulting injury.

December 15, 1938: Hilda Waterworth, an assistant to the Great Levante, is struck in the head by a stake during the Space Gun illusion and dies from associated injuries.

February 17, 1945: Walter and Margaret Price die during a mishap in the manufacture of flash paper.

February 1954: Thirteen-year-old Austin Graham Egan mistakenly hangs himself while emulating one of Houdini’s stunts.

November 16, 1954: Ronald Frank is hanged on stage in Jamaica. 1974: Doc Tahman Conrad is shot during a rehearsal for the Gun Trick. August 1981: Trevor Revel plummets four stories to his

death when the flaming rope that suspended him unexpectedly breaks.

December 1987: James Keller, nine, suffocates inside a clothes dryer. The boy was handcuffed at the time and imitating Houdini.

January 1988: Magic Marvo (Fernande Tejada) is killed by audience member Marco Asprella in Colombia. After Magic Marvo completed the Gun Trick successfully, Asprella

Marco believed him to be invincible and tested his theory with his own gun.

Circa 1990: Raymond the Great fails to escape from restraints during an underwater escape and drowns.

October 31, 1990: Joe Burrus is buried in a Plexiglas coffin under wet concrete and fails to escape. May 26, 1992: Murray Sobel is burned alive in his car while transporting a large quantity of flash paper. June 14, 2007: Kofi Brugah is most likely murdered on stage in Ghana during the Gun Trick. No Date: Mile Apps, a female magician, is killed on stage

when her assistant pushes a needle through her body in a passionate act of

Citations Thanks go to the following scholars for their help in researching, translating and editing: Denis Behr, Mike Caveney, Gabe Fajuri, Richard Hatch, Volker Huber, Raj Madhok, Peter Rodgers, Ricky Smith, Manny Sperling and Steve Walker.

And I would like to extend my sincerest gratitude to Magic Christian, Edwin Dawes and William Kalush, without whom this research would not have been possible.

The Death of Dr. Epstein Burlingame, H. J., Herrmann the Magician (1897), pp. 170–4. Clarke, Sidney W., The Magic Wand (vol. 14, no. 128, December 1925),

p. 202. Raynally, E., L’Illusioniste (vol. 3, no. 8, August 1904), pp. 261–3. Robelly, L’Escamoteur (vol. 1, no. 5, September/October 1947), pp. 61–3. Silverman, Ken, Notes by/on Houdini from the Sid Lorraine Collection,

unrequited love. The man killed himself immediately afterward

Box 15D, Conjuring Arts Research Center Library. The Sphinx (vol. 30, no. 7, September 1931), p. 319. The New Tops (vol. 8, no. 9, September 1968), p. 34. The New Tops (vol. 27, no. 8, August 1987), p. 34.

The Cussedness of Magic Blackmore, Kent, Oscar Eliason: The Original “Dante the

Great,” (Salt Lake City, 1984), n.p. During, Simon. Modern Enchantments (Cambridge, MA, and

London, 2002), pp. 131–2. Laffan, Charles, “Strange Facts,” Goldston’s Magical

Quarterly (vol. 1, no. 4, Christmas 1934), p. 89. Grossman, John Henry, Magic Circular (vol. 59, no. 659, April 1964),

p. 109. Rex the Magician, Genii (vol. 18, no. 2, February 1954), p. 227. Scott, Sir Walter, Lay of the last minstrel (1805), sixth canto, section 5,

lines 71–2. The Sphinx (vol. 30, no. 3, May 1931), p. 164.

The Wizard (vol. 8, no. 92, December 1955), p. 282. Stabbings

Anonymous Victim Abracadabra (vol. 58, no. 1459, September 1974), p. 239. Oldridge, Sidney, Mahatma (vol. 3, no. 1, July 1899), p. 260. Scot, Reginald, The discoverie of witchcraft (1584; John

Rodker’s 1930 edition), p. 198. George Lalonde Gunn, L. O., “Scattered Shots,” Genii (vol. 1, no. 5, November 1937), p. 26. The Linking Ring (vol. 16, no. 8, October 1936), pp. 609–10.

Mulholland, John, “Editor’s Page,” The Sphinx (vol. 35, no. 8, October

1936), p. 216. The Tops (vol. 1, no. 11, November 1936), p. 25. Death by Misadventure T. Page Wright Tigner, Steven, Journal of Magic History (vol. 2, no. 2, August 1980), p. 88. Wright, T. Page, Sixty Years of Lost Secrets (South Pasadena, 1991), n.p.

Anastasius Kasfikis Frazee, The Sphinx, “Squawks” (vol. 33, no. 8, October 1934), p. 233. Gibson, Walter and Morris Young, Houdini’s Fabulous Magic (1961), p. 106. Goldston, Will, “Magicians’ Mishaps,” The Linking Ring (vol. 16, no. 11,

January 1937), pp. 829–31. Laffan, Charles, “Strange Facts,” Goldston’s Magical Quarterly (vol. 1,

no. 4, Christmas 1934), p. 89. The Linking Ring (vol. 10, no. 9, November 1930), pp. 1122–4. The New Tops (vol. 34, no. 6, June 1994), p. 6. The Sphinx (vol. 46, no. 4, June 1947), p. 184. Wass, Verrall, Goldston’s Magic Quarterly (vol. 2, no. 3, Winter 1935), p. 84. Balabrega Caveney, Mike, MAGIC (vol. 16, no. 7, July 2006), pp. 22–3. Foster, Neil, The New Tops (vol. 2, no. 11, November 1962), p. 11. Hatch,RichardandNormNielsen,M-U-M(vol.96,no.3,March2006),p.82. Snyder, Al, Osirian (vol. 1, no. 1, August 1925), p. 8. The Sphinx (vol. 20, no. 7, September 1921), p. 240. Rouclere, Harry, The Sphinx (vol. 29, no. 6, August 1930), p. 243. Walter Price Hugard, Jean, Hugard’s Magic Monthly (vol. 12, no. 4, June 1954), p. 210. Jones, Lloyd E., The Bat (no. 24, December 1947), p. 130. Larsen, William, Genii (vol. 11, no. 6, February 1946), p. 241. The Sphinx (vol. 27, no. 4, June 1928), pp. 174, 214. Swoger, James, Genii (vol. 56, no. 7, May 1993), p. 467. The Tops (vol. 12, no. 4, April 1947), p. 25. Murray Sobel Information culled from a telephone interview with Murray Sobel’s close

friend and business partner, Manny Sperling. Interview conducted September 4, 2007.

Failed Escapes

Genesta Culliton, Patrick, Houdini Unlocked: The Secret Confessions of

Houdini, Book Two (1997), p. 137. Gibson, Walter and Morris Young, Houdini’s Fabulous Magic

(Philadelphia, 1961), p. 106. Kalush, William and Larry Sloman, The Secret Life of Houdini

(New York, 2006), pp. 215–9. The Linking Ring (vol. 10, no. 9, November 1930), p. 1124. Karr

Goldston, Will, The Magician’s Monthly (vol. 26, no. 11, November 1930), p. 137. Johnson, George, The Magic Wand (vol. 19, no. 148, December 1930), p. 168. The Sphinx (vol. 29, no. 10, December 1930), p. 412. Leon Arvo Genii (vol. 3, no. 7, March 1939), p. 219. Trevor Revel Abracadabra (vol. 72, no. 1854, August 8, 1981), pp. 177, 231. Ronald Frank Joglar, Frank (Milbourne Christopher), Hugard’s Magic Monthly (vol. 13,

no. 1, June 1955), p. 350. Tops (vol. 21, no. 1, January 1956), p. 19. Joe Burrus Dudgeon, Frank, The Linking Ring (vol. 71, no. 4, April 1991), p. 140. Larsen, William, Genii (vol. 54, no. 1, November 1990), p. 22. Shirk, Bill and Dick Wolfsie, Modern Day Houdini (Guilford, CT, 2003),

p. 137. Transcript from television Channel 24, courtesy of Steve Hook.

Home Projects Austin Graham Egan Rex the Ace Magician, Genii (vol. 18, no. 6, February 1954), p. 227. James Keller Genii (vol. 51, no. 6, December 1987), p. 401. The New Tops (vol. 28, no. 5, May 1988), p. 39. Magic Marvo Hagy, James, Perennial Mystics (vol. 8, 1990), p. 77. Erik Baumann Genii (vol. 49, no. 10, April 1985), p. 679. The Sunderland Tragedy This section relies heavily on the pioneering research of Edwin Dawes. Dawes, Edwin, The Magic Circular (vol. 73, no. 802,

December 1979), pp. 182–5. Dawes, Edwin, The Magic Circular (vol. 74, no. 803,

January/February 1980), pp. 3–5. Eastern Morning News ( June 1883), pp. 18–22.

The London Times ( June 1883), pp. 18–21. The Gun Trick

Anonymous Victim The Nürnberger Friedens- und Kriegscourier of Tuesday

October 24, 1837. Quoted by Hermann Sagemüller (no. 7482) in Circus-Archäologie, no. 57, January 1, 2007, p. 1078.

Madame de Linsky Huber, Volker, e-mail correspondence, August 2007. Rex the Ace Magician, Genii (vol. 18, no. 6, February 1954), p. 227. Michael Hatal Little, George, Mahatma (vol. 3, no. 5, November 1899), p. 304.

Robinson, Ben, Twelve Have Died (1986), p. 24.

Madame Clementine’s Assistant Robinson, Ben, ibid., p. 162. “Shots in the Limelight,” undated article from the files of Sid

Lorraine, 15D, the Conjuring Arts Research Center. Doc Tahman Conrad Abracadabra (vol. 58, no. 1439, September 1974), p. 239. Alfreds, Jim, e-mail correspondence with Mr. Alfreds, June 20,

2007, who passed on information from Clarke Crandall. Genii (vol. 16, no. 4, December 1951), p. 151. The New Tops (vol. 14, no. 3, March 1974), p. 47. The New Tops (vol. 14, no. 10, October 1974), p. 55. The Bullet-Proof Man Conjurers’ Monthly Magazine (vol. 1, no. 8, April 15, 1907), pp. 256–7. Kellock, Harold, Houdini: His Life Story (1928), p. 140. Hilda Waterworth With thanks to Peter Rodgers and Steve Walker, who

provided personal correspondence, clippings and a death certificate.

Blackmore, Kent, Levante: His Life, No Illusion (1997), pp. 134, 139–40.

Caveney, Mike, The Great Leon: Vaudeville Headliner (Pasadena, 1987),

p. 117. Derby Daily Express, December 17, 1938, unmarked newspaper clipping. Derby Evening Telegraph (Monday, December 19, 1938), unmarked

newspaper article. Genii (vol. 24, no. 8, April 1959), p. 272. Jonson, Wilfred, “Around the World of Magic,” The Sphinx

(vol. 37, no. 11, January 1939), p. 297. Tylney, Saxon, personal recollections in the form of a letter

to “Bryan,” provided by Steve Walker and Peter Rodgers. Mr. Tylney assisted Levante on tour for a period.

Kofi Brugah Kofoya-Tetteh, A., Daily Graphic ( June 14, 2007). Reprinted

at www. myjoyonline/news/200706/5758.asp. Kia Khan Khruse

Clarke, S. W., The Magic Wand (vol. 17, no. 140, December 1928),

p. 178. Dawes, Edwin, The Magic Circular (vol. 69, no. 759, February 1975),

pp. 31–2. Dexter, Will, The Riddle of Chung Ling Soo (1955), p. 136. Houdini, Harry, The Conjurers’ Monthly Magazine (vol. 1, no.

3, November 15, 1906), p. 73. Arnold Buck This section relies heavily on the discoveries of Dr. Edwin Dawes. Dawes, Edwin, The Magic Circular (vol. 95, no. 1017, March

2001), pp. 92–4. Houdini, Harry, The Magician (vol. 5, no. 3, February 20, 1909), p. 28–9. Robinson, Ben, op. cit., p. 14. The Wizard (vol. 8, no. 92, December 1955), p. 282. Blacaman Annemann, Theodore, The Jinx (no. 41, February 1938), p. 281. The Billboard (September 14, 1929), p. 36.

Marquez, Gabríel Gárcia, “Blacaman the Good, Vendor of Miracles,”

Leaf Storm (New York, 1972), pp. 113–22. The Sphinx (vol. 24, no. 8, October 1925), p. 238. Ricardo Anonymous, Adventure of a Versatile Artist (1922), p. 7. Kalush, William and Larry Sloman, op. cit., pp. 233–4. Sotheby’s JB Findlay Collection, Part 2, catalog of D. W. Findlay, n.p.

notes 1 Listed as “St. Paul’s-Church-Yard” by Henry Dean in The whole art of legerdemain: or, hocus pocus in perfection (1763, p. 97). Dean’s description plagiarizes Scot, making only a few small changes. 2 Nitric acid is an aqueous solution of hydrogen nitrate and is a principal element in the manufacture of TNT explosives. When the solution is more than 86% nitric acid, it is referred to as “fuming” nitric acid because of the white vapors it emits. The notion of making flash paper at home is analogous to removing a loved one’s molars. Some procedures are best left to professionals. 3 Price’s other claim to fame was inventing a simple matchbox animation that has become a staple in beginner’s books. Price’s method involved secretly pinching a small portion of tablecloth between the matchbox drawer and its sleeve. By pulling gently on the tablecloth, the matchbox stands on end, seemingly of its own accord. See Genii, vol. 10, no. 5, January 1946, p. 156. It was later featured in Martin Gardner’s column on impromptu magic in Hugard’s Magic Monthly, vol. 12, no. 7, December 1954, p. 227. 4 Translated from the Nürnberger Friedens- und Kriegscourier, dated Tuesday October 24, 1837. Quoted by Hermann Sagemüller (no. 7482) in Circus-Archäologie, no. 57, January 1, 2007, p. 1078. 5 This theory comes from Bill Kalush. See The Secret Life of Houdini, Kalush and Sloman (New York, 2006), pp. 233–4. 6 Ira (1839–1911) and William Davenport (1841–1877) performed a Spirit Cabinet act and were one of the most popular attractions of their day.

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