The Secret Life of Houdini

by William Kalush

  One intriguing theory proposed by Ricky Jay, eminent magic historian, paraphrases Gore Vidal: For Houdini it wasn’t enough to succeed; others had to fail. He felt he must discredit his mentor in order to make himself seem greater. Even so, his attack on Robert-Houdin was wrong. It also backfired. Robert-Houdin is still considered preeminent, and Houdini’s twisted agenda permanently discredited him as an historian.

  The controversy over The Unmasking of Robert-Houdin never touched Houdini the Superman. That creation remained safe and bulletproof. But cut through the chains, peel off the layers of mythology, and you’ll find an uneducated boy bearing a grudge—a dark venom that permanently stained Harry Houdini the man.

  With his immersion into historical and literary pursuits, it seemed that Houdini was finally going to make good on his longstanding desire to retire from the grueling work of being an escape artist. As soon as he put out his first issue of Conjurer’s Monthly, his old sidekick from the Professor Marco days, Bert Kilby, wrote him and timidly asked him if Houdini would sell his act to him, since he had heard from the professor that Houdini was in New York publishing a magazine and was “going to give up the business.” He added that he would never have even asked his question had he not heard that Houdini was about to retire.

  Houdini had been threatening retirement, even in print. In the premiere issue of his magazine, in an article called “Tricks with Handcuffs,” Houdini rationalizes that it’s all right to tip some of his handcuff methods “as I claim to have the honor of having placed on the market an act or performance by which many an individual is now making a livelihood, whilst I am about to retire.” On November 4, 1907, he told The Kansas City Post that these were his farewell dates in America. He planned to leave for Europe in May of 1908, fulfill his commitments for two years, and then “it will be to retire to private life and conduct my research in the field of magic.” Ten days later, he wrote his old friend Dr. Waitt and told him he was certain he’d play Boston again before sailing for Europe but “perhaps the LAST TIME!”

  By the end of 1907, the audiences seemed to be becoming inured to Houdini’s myriad escapes. By now they knew that handcuffs, leg irons, straitjackets, packing cases, locked and roped trunks, glass boxes, coffins, and even giant footballs couldn’t contain him. On January 6, 1908, Houdini began an engagement at the Columbia Theatre in St. Louis. The next day his mother came for a visit, and she stayed a little over a week. Perhaps it was his desire to make up for all the time lost with her, maybe it was just fatigue from the last three years on the road, and maybe it was just the audience’s perception that Houdini was back with the same old material, but the box office receipts were drastically down. On January 20, two weeks into his scheduled four-week run, manager Tate called Houdini down to his office.

  Tate motioned for him to have a seat. Houdini warily sat down.

  “I suppose you know why I called you in,” Tate said.

  “No, not really,” Harry lied.

  “Well maybe you can’t see it from your little cabinet, but there are a helluva lot of empty seats out there,” Tate growled.

  “Well, it has been cold…” Houdini started.

  Tate slammed some papers down on his desk.

  “It didn’t stop Eva Tanguay from selling out in Chicago,” he said, and bolted up from his chair and walked around his desk to where Houdini was sitting.

  “I don’t know how you can do it. But you better come up with something quick. You have two more weeks here, and if this keeps up, you are not worth a $5 bill to me.”

  Houdini just stared straight ahead. Tate’s words had cut him as badly as Hodgson’s brutal chaining. Perhaps he was closer to retiring than he thought. Houdini got up out of the chair.

  “I hope you are mistaken, Mr. Tate,” he said.

  12

  Death Visits the Stage

  THE AUDIENCE GASPED AS THE MAGICIAN disappeared from sight into the oversize milk can, water splashing over the edge from the displacement. Time was of the essence, so his assistants rapidly affixed the metal cover. Grabbing the locks from the six audience members who were onstage surrounding the can, they rapidly locked the cover down. The cabinet was pulled out, surrounding the can, and the curtain was drawn. Now all that was left was the escape. Or else a death by drowning.

  What the hell? Why isn’t this moving? Is this some sick trick?

  He was pounding on the inside of the can more and more frantically. The can itself was gimmicked, the neck consisting of two walls, an outer and an inner. The lid had been locked to the outer neck. So all the performer had to do was to push up on the top of the can and the whole outer neck (and locked-on lid) would telescope up and off. What he didn’t know was that the can had been dropped by stagehands as it was being unloaded from the truck prior to the performance. Its side had been dented enough so that the two nested necks couldn’t slide. Now he was truly locked inside a milk can filled to the brim with water.

  The orchestra played and the audience waited. And waited. After two minutes, one of the assistants sensed that something was dreadfully wrong. He peered into the cabinet. The can was undisturbed. Frantic now, he overturned the cabinet and rushed to unlock the padlocks.

  The committee from the audience just got in the way. They meant well, but they confused things, and now the keys to the individual locks were all mixed up. Meanwhile, the audience, realizing that something dreadfully wrong had happened, was in a state of frenzy. And now, to compound things, the magician’s wife rushed onto the stage, hysterical.

  Houdini’s Milk Can escape. From the collection of Tad Ware

  Precious seconds ticked away as the correct combination of locks and keys was found. Finally the locks were all opened, and the assistant ripped the lid off the can. The seemingly lifeless magician was pulled out of the can and laid on the floor, the water cascading all over the stage. By then, thankfully, the theater curtain had come down, and a house doctor rushed up and began to administer artificial respiration. The escape artist was partially revived and rushed to the local hospital, where he told the doctors that in more than ten years of performing this escape, this was the first time that he had failed to free himself. It was also the last. Royden Joseph Gilbert Raison de la Genesta, who performed as simply “Genesta,” died in that hospital shortly after admission. He died in 1930, performing the magic effect that had resurrected Houdini’s career in 1908.

  With the Milk Can escape, Houdini was able to bring to the stage the element of the real risk of death that was present in his outdoor handcuffed jumps into bodies of water. This was a crucial turning point, not only for him but also for the magical arts in general. Other than bullet catching, which despite its real bullets and real guns was still usually perceived by the audience as a “trick,” real, palpable, life-and-death danger had never been presented as a dreadful consequence of a performance on the magician’s stage.

  Genesta’s tragic death was not the only mishap incurred performing the Milk Can. Hardeen came close to death in the can. One night he fainted inside it, and his two assistants had to literally cut slits in the bottom of the container with a fire ax and then pull him out, unconscious. After a few days’ rest, he was back in the can and performed the effect until he died at age sixty-nine.

  Houdini might have thought that he would dissuade imitators by conceiving of such a dangerous effect, since it took him months of rigorous physical training before he would attempt the feat. Always blessed with a prodigious ability to hold his breath for prolonged lengths of time, Houdini began practicing and routinely broke the three-minute mark. On December 17, 1907, he did a trial run of the effect without adding water to the can, calling it “an escape from a galvanized liquid air can.” He was trying it out both on his audience and, more important, on Bess, who had just returned from New York where she had undergone an operation. “She saw me do the can trick, thinks it is great. I offered her ten dollars if she could tell me how it was done. She failed to fathom trick. GOOD,” he wrote in his diary.<
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  Houdini’s new great effect was being developed by his friend Montraville M. Wood, a brilliant inventor and past associate of Thomas Edison. Wood did an entertaining show, displaying his innovations on the Chautauqua lecture circuit. He was a Chicago area resident, and his inventions spanned from the two-button electrical light switch to a new type of torpedo and a gyroscope that would assist pilots so they could fly at night or in windy conditions. He also touted the use of a monorail to span long distances and worked on a way to allow wallpaper to store enough light during the day that it could illuminate rooms at night. Houdini and Wood exchanged numerous letters during this early phase of development of the can, and Wood would later come up with eight different methods for Houdini to escape from the can after it had been thoroughly examined by audience members.

  Montraville M. Wood strikes an elegant pose.University of Iowa

  That Houdini’s debut of the Milk Can escape is tied to St. Louis Theater manager Tate’s dismissal of his drawing power is evident from his diary. The next day after he was berated, he began testing his underwater endurance. Upset that he could only hold his breath for two minutes, he began a running regimen to strengthen his lungs. Two days later, he started practicing in the actual can, finding that it took twenty-two pails of water to fill it and seven more pails to refill the water displaced when he entered the container.

  Houdini before immersion. From the collection of Roger Dreyer

  Satisfied that the effect looked “very good,” Houdini debuted it on January 25, 1908. Even though he invited the St. Louis press to be present for the new escape, no one bothered to show up. They missed a great display of showmanship. Before beginning the performance, Houdini invited a committee onstage to carefully examine the airtight galvanized-iron can. Once the committee was satisfied that the can was legitimate, Houdini’s assistants began filling it with pails of water, while the magician left the stage to change into a bathing suit. When he returned, he announced that “deprived of life-sustaining air,” a man can only survive a short time underwater. Yet he would first demonstrate his ability to stay underwater for longer durations than most mortals by doing a one-minute test. An assistant brought out “the world’s largest stop watch,” to time the immersion. Houdini invited the audience to test its own ability to hold its breath, beginning the moment that his head disappeared under the water line of the can.

  Houdini then stepped into the can feetfirst and slithered his way through the narrow opening into the can. Water splashed over the sides. The audience gasped, as if Houdini had already performed something wonderful. With Houdini’s head still visible, his assistants refilled the tank up to the brim. Houdini waved and then submerged himself. As he disappeared from view, the entire audience began to hold its breath. The auditorium was completely silent. After thirty seconds, most of the crowd was gasping for air. At the end of a minute, one of the assistants would kick the can, a signal for Houdini to reemerge, looking none the worse for wear. The audience gave him an ovation.

  Inside the can.Library of Congress

  Now the real work began. He crouched back down into the can and additional water was used to fill it. Then the lid of the can was quickly secured by six padlocks, and the cabinet was put in place. The orchestra broke into a popular song, and many in the audience mouthed the lyrics: “Many brave hearts lie asleep in the deep. Sailor, beware; sailor, take care.”

  The giant stopwatch chronicled the passing of the seconds. After it reached ninety, a worried Franz Kukol appeared carrying a fire ax. He briskly walked to the enclosure and put his ear to the cloth. His hand tensed around the ax handle. By two minutes, the tension in the theater was almost unbearable. When the watch had ticked off three minutes, there were cries of concern in the crowd. Kukol raised the ax and was about to throw the curtain open and attack the metal, when suddenly a dripping-wet Houdini threw open the curtain and basked in the sheer adulation of the crowd. In the background, the assistants drained the tank of its contents, showing the audience that the water had indeed remained inside the can.

  Houdini’s water can escape was so stunning that it refreshed the debate over his methods. There were even some Spiritualists maintaining that Houdini succeeded through some miraculous psychic power. He seemed willing to blur the line. If an interviewer didn’t broach the subject, Houdini would often gratuitously inject the word “supernatural” for him. Of course he would also invariably deny such powers, but it’s possible that he was using the word to plant the suggestion that this was indeed a possibility. Being the master showman that he was, he understood that if you mention something and then deny it, the denial is often overlooked or forgotten. When one is asked to forget something specific, it’s this very thing that stands out in the mind and therefore the most difficult to forget.

  When he allowed his name and image to be used in an advertisement in a Providence newspaper in 1907, the artist created an image of Houdini dematerializing and escaping in a shroud of smoke from a packing case. One might assume he would have objected and refused to let the image be printed but, to the contrary, he kept this image of himself as a supernatural being and used it for years to come in his own advertising. That same year, Boston audiences marveled at his escape from a thin, fragile paper bag. How could he make his way out leaving the bag, the cord, and the knots that sealed the neck of the bag intact? This was fundamentally different than the majority of his other escapes. It was not imprisonment; anyone could escape, but not without destroying the paper bag or envelope. Clearly keys or picks would be no help; he had another secret. In 1914, Houdini used the phrase “a feat which borders on the supernatural” in advertising another of his miraculous escapes. Later, he went so far as to supply various prepackaged stories that papers could run verbatim, using their own byline. More than one proclaims that “he is credited with the power of dematerialization. But he maintains a mysterious silence.” From his earliest days, Houdini knew he would be dogged with questions about how he effected his escapes. In response, he created a brilliant strategy where he would deny that he had supernatural powers but suggest that he had one secret that explained everything he did. The master, of course, didn’t have one secret; he had hundreds. When he claimed one thing could explain all his powers, it made him even more intriguing and mysterious.

  An alternative explanation for Houdini’s escape. From the collection of George and Sandy Daily

  Houdini was thrilled with the reception of his new escape. “The new Can trick is the best that I have ever invented…. It’s a fine-looking trick, and almost defies detection,” he told Waitt. Both in the United States and later in Europe, audiences were mystified by his escape, but for as long as he performed it, Houdini could never come up with a catchy name for the effect. By May, Houdini was so desperate he advertised a reward of $25 to anyone who could suggest a proper name for “this mystery.” With entries like “The Genii of the Can” and “The Ali Baba Can of Mystery,” the reward money went unclaimed.

  Climbing past the first story was fairly easy. The bricks were large, and he could get a good grip on the mortar between each stone. Once Houdini was twenty feet in the air, his task got a little more difficult. The balcony railing helped. He hoisted himself up to it and took a break. On the street below him, some bewildered passersby paused to peer at him, but others didn’t even break their stride. While climbing up the sides of buildings using only hands and feet wasn’t an everyday occurrence, there were enough “human flies” around that the average jaded New Yorker might not even notice one. That is until they fell off the building and splattered on the ground, which was the fate of Harry F. Young, “The Human Fly,” who fell twenty stories from the edifice of the Hotel Martinique to his death in 1925. Then again, Houdini wasn’t one to dwell on the danger. What was occupying his mind was the task at hand.

  When he was about four feet from the third story, Bess stuck her head out of the window and, when she saw him, screamed. She was a bundle of nerves for the next few seconds until he
had safely climbed through the window and presented her with the red roses he had carried in his teeth, roses that marked their fourteenth wedding anniversary.

  It’s a telling story, an exquisitely accurate representation of their relationship. Houdini the adventurous, romantic, swashbuckling daredevil. Bess the anxious, fragile worrywart. By June of 1908, they had spent fourteen years together and there was still a spark between them that could inspire such extravagant gestures. Or perhaps it speaks more to Houdini’s inability to relinquish center stage. At any rate, it had not been a good year for Bess. She had been spending less time on the road with Houdini, due to a variety of illnesses, which usually got diagnosed as nervous exhaustion. Touring had taken its toll on her, and with the introduction of the water can escape, the Metamorphosis had faded from the act. Now her time was spent in making sure that Harry remembered to change his underwear.

  In March, Bess was still sick. “Mrs. Has not been well of late, and she needs a rest,” Houdini wrote Waitt. By the middle of April, a friend inquired whether Bess had recovered enough to be back on the road with Harry. Life on the road was never easy with Bess. She had long-standing superstitions that were abnormal even by eccentric performers’ standards. If she learned that someone had whistled in a dressing room, no matter how many years had elapsed since that event, she would never enter that room, convinced that it was still under an evil spell. You could never find her wearing anything yellow. After Houdini had a hard time with an escape in Burnley, England, in 1902, Bess stormed into her dressing room and pulled off a pair of new yellow tights that she had worn for the first time. Enraged, she ripped the tights to shreds, convinced that they had hoodooed her husband.