Tragic Magic
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TRAGIC 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, strangled 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
audiences.
the
mere
entertainment
of
their
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
1
presentlie went into Powles churchyard 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 oftenjealous 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, and
is 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 Rouclere. 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,” 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. 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
2
3
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 doublebarreled 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 vol
unteer 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
marked Bullet, added to
will
catch
in
his
hand
a
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.
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,
5
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.” 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
6
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
Magic: 1584–2007
of
Tragic
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
unreq
through her body in a passionate act of
uited
love.
Citations
The man
Thanks go to the following scholars for their helpkilled
himself
in researching, translating and editing: Denis
immediat
Behr, Mike Caveney, Gabe Fajuri, Richard Hatch,
ely
Volker Huber, Raj Madhok, Peter Rodgers, Ricky
afterwar
d
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,
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-UM(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.
The Sphinx, March 1931
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