Houdini - From Sensational Tales of Mystery Men by Will Goldston

Although it would be impossible to record a detailed account of Harry Houdini's life story in the small amount of space at my disposal, I feel I should be guilty of a grave omission if I failed to give a brief synopsis of the great magician's early struggles and subsequent rise to fame. Many of the published stories concerning Houdini have been remarkable for the manner in which they have deviated from the truth. The facts which I am about to set down, however, were given to me by the magician himself, and have been verified from several authoritative sources.

 

Houdini was born very humbly in New York. His father was a poor and overworked Jewish clergyman named Weiss, whose income was insufficient to provide even the plainest food for his large and growing family. Mrs. Weiss' life was one long struggle to keep things going, and the fact that she was starving herself into an early grave was not lost upon young Harry. He loved his mother beyond anyone else in the world, and the sight of her slaving to keep up the appearances her husband's position demanded, caused him the most acute mental agony.

 

Unknown to his parents, he sold newspapers in the streets. The few cents he was able to earn in this manner were given to his mother with the explanation that he had "just been doing a job." That Houdini never so much as retained a single dime from his small earnings speaks volumes for his youthful courage and unselfishness.

 

For a time this scheme worked well. But it was inevitable that the truth should become known. When Houdini's parents discovered the source of their son's income they begged him to find some other calling.

 

"You see, Harry," his father explained, I have my position to consider. What would my congregation think if they knew my son was a newspaper boy?" This argument was convincing enough, and Harry determined to try his luck in other fields.

 

Without much difficulty he obtained a post in a necktie factory. His particular job was to cut out the tie linings, and although the pay was very poor, he found this somewhat more lucrative than his former occupation. Strange as it may seem, Houdini would probably never have become a magician had he not started out as a necktie cutter, for it was in this factory that he had his first introduction to the art of conjuring.

 

The youth who worked on the bench next to him was interested in a small way in magic. One day he suggested to Harry that they should both go along to the Bowery to purchase a few tricks.

 

"Tricks?" said Houdini, "Whatever for?"

 

"My hobby is conjuring," was the reply. "It's great fun-you should try it."

 

The demonstration in the Bowery was a great success. Harry was so amazed at the apparent miracles which the salesman performed, that he determined there and then to become a conjurer. That he was almost penniless did not worry him in the least. His youthful imagination was fired, and he decided that nothing on earth would stop him climbing the ladder of magical fame.

 

His first step was to go to the public library, where he spent many hours in studying all the books on magic. The volume that appealed to him above all others was Professor Hoffmann's "Modern Magic." He read and re-read this work until he knew practically every word by heart. He demonstrated his "infinite capacity for taking pains" more at this period than at any other time during his life.

 

He was far too poor to purchase any tricks for he still adhered to his policy of handing over all his earnings to his mother. However, he invented many ways of performing tricks by using ordinary unprepared household objects, and most of his spare time was devoted to practising.

 

He gave several entertainments at charity bazaars and similar functions, charging a small fee for his services. But his tricks were too commonplace, and he had not the necessary money to buy fresh illusions. It did not take him long to realise that he was a failure, and dreams of making himself world famous began to fade as quickly as they had materialised. He realised bitterly that money means power in this hard and unsympathetic world.

 

It was at this time that Fate, which had hitherto been so unkind to him, lent a helping hand and set his footsteps in the right direction. An out-of-work conjurer offered Houdini a small box escape. After much haggling a price was agreed upon, and young Harry, for the first time in his life, was forced to borrow money. He bought the trick and decided to incorporate it in his programme.

 

His luck continued. A few days later he was introduced to a performer named Dexter, who specialised in handcuff escapes. He purchased a few of Dexter's secrets, and decided he would have an entirely new show consisting only of handcuff escapes, with the box trick as a grand finale.

 

But a new problem presented itself. How was he to get an assistant? His income was hardly sufficient to provide for himself, let alone pay a second salary. This difficulty provided Harry with much food for thought. And then he met Bessie.

 

This young lady was much taken in Houdini's personality. She had her fair share of good looks, but was very young and had little knowledge of the world. In fairness to Houdini I must say that he was considerably attracted by Bessie, and it occurred to him that two might live as cheaply as one. He persuaded her to leave home and they had a romantic runaway marriage. Thus was the problem of the assistant solved.

 

Houdini acquired his skill in handcuff, chain and leg iron escapes by studying the methods of the various magicians with whom he came in contact. He made a point of meeting locksmiths and key makers, and his knowledge increased considerably. When he thoroughly understood the workings of locks and master keys, he invented many ingenious fakes for his own use. There is absolutely no truth in the widely spread story that Houdini spent many months as a locksmith's apprentice. He never worked in a locksmith's shop in the whole of his life.

 

Houdini brought the escape business to a fine art. He also understood the value of newspaper stories and articles as a form of publicity. He once confessed to me that he spent every cent he could spare in advertising himself. He learnd to swim, and his first sensational trick was an escape from a milk can filled with water. This illusion was invented by one of his assistants.

Sensation! That was Houdini's password. He was not, of course, the first man to escape from handcuffs and boxes, but he certainly was the pioneer in escapes of a sensational nature. He aimed at being different from all other performers, and I have known him to scrap many illusions because he thought he was being imitated.

 

At the beginning of his performances, Houdini always told the audience that he did not possess supernatural powers. He emphasized the fact that his escapes were tricks--not miracles. In spite of this assurance, many people were firmly convinced that he had the power of dematerializing his body at will. When Houdini's fame had spread through England and the Continent, many imitators sprang up. The American reduced their number in an incredibly short time by means of a scheme which was as simple as it was effective.

 

He organized a service of professional "challengers." These men attended the shows of the various imitators, and challenged the performers to escape from an "ordinary" pair of handcuffs. These ordinary handcuffs were so constructed that once they were closed they could only be opened with a special key. After a good deal of helpless struggling, the performers invariably admitted defeat.

 

There was however, one escape act which Houdini could not humble. This was "The Brother Cirnocs". The Cirnocs were not Imitators in the strict sense of the word, for they were performing in England some time before Houdini came to this country. Their turn was very similar to Houdini's, and, what was more important from the American's point of view, it was equally as clever.

 

In vain did Harry try to corner the Cirnocs by means of his "challengers." At last he gave it up as a bad job. But, realising that he had opponents in England who were just as astute as himself, he decided to delete the handcuff escapes from his program.

 

My First Encounter with Houdini

I knew Harry Houdini before I had ever seen him. His reputation had reached me some years before I first encountered him, and, as is the habit of magicians, we corresponded for a considerable time before he gave his first performance in this country.

 

Strangely enough, it was quite by accident that I first ran into him. About twenty-nine years ago, I was walking down Lime Street, one of the main thoroughfares of Liverpool. It was winter time and snowing hard. As I hastened along, with my thoughts on nothing in particular, I noticed a short figure, coming towards me, with coat collar turned up and head bent to the ground.

 

As the man got nearer, I observed that he was carrying a small dog beneath his left arm. His clothes were shabby and unkempt, and it was this fact more than anything else which caused me to stare at him with more than usual interest. To my surprise, his face was familiar.

 

"Excuse me," I said, grasping him by the arm. "Are you Harry Houdini?"

 

"Yes," was the reply. "Who are you?

 

"I'm Will Goldston."

 

"Goldston, my dear fellow!" cried Houdini, shaking me by the hand as if I had been his lifelong friend, "this is indeed a pleasant surprise." His manner suddenly changed. "Tell me," he resumed, lowering his voice for no apparent reason, where can I get a pair of patent leather boots?

 

"Patent leather boots?

 

"Sure. I've tried almost every shop in the town. And then I want to find the American Bar. You must take me there."

 

We strolled along to a small footwear shop that was known to me, and Houdini bought the boots he required. When he had expressed full satisfaction at his purchase, I escorted him to the American Bar, wondering why he was so anxious to visit the place. I was not left long in ignorance.

 

When we arrived, I found that a collection was being made for the widow of a poor and unknown member of the profession. Houdini had been told of this, and had decided to give as much as he could afford. In those days he was not getting the big salary that he earned in later years, but subscribed two pounds to the fund.

 

I have mentioned this somewhat insignificant incident because it was absolutely characteristic of the man--warm-hearted and generous, always willing to help a brother or sister in distress. And later, when he told me that he himself was badly lacking in funds, I wondered what manner of man this strange Houdini could be.

 

As we left the American Bar, Houdini told me the story of his life--a story that could fill several volumes. "Do you know, Goldston," he said, "I have not had a decent meal for more than five years!"

 

"In Heavens's name, why not?" I asked.

 

"In my early days I couldn't afford it, and now I'm too busy."

 

At first I thought Houdini was pulling my leg. As a matter of fact, it was not until some years afterwards that I realised he had told me the truth. Although he was earning a hundred pounds a week, Houdini was a starving man!

 

After we had walked some little way in silence--I hardly liked to call the man a liar--Houdini resumed the conversation. "Are you responsible for the display of books in the shop next to the theatre?" he asked.

 

"Yes." I replied. "It struck me that your visit to this country would help the sale of my first book, I hired the shop window, and made a terrific splash of the whole thing."

 

Some months previously Houdini had given me his written consent to include the explanations of a number of his escape tricks in a book that I was writing. I had had a big placard painted with the words "How Houdini does his tricks," and had it, together with several copies of the book, placed in the shop window.

 

"It's a good idea, and you certainly deserve to get on," said my companion. "But it doesn't do me much good, does it?" And he smiled kindly. "You must call at my apartments to-morrow. I would like you to meet Mrs. Houdini."

 

The next day I called and had tea with the Houdinis. There we talked over different matters connected with our profession, and I remember advising the American to go down to the harbour and see a huge advertisement of his name. It was then that I urged him to have his name printed as 'Houdini,' with the Christian name "Harry" in very small type. Houdini thought this a good business idea, and eventually became known simply by his surname.

 

Before I left, he promised that he would write to me every week when he returned to America. He kept his promise for twenty eight years, sometimes sending me as many as three and four letters a week. During the whole of that time I only had one quarrel with him. This was due to a stupid misunderstanding.

 

It happened in this manner. When Houdini was making a big name for himself in America, the Cirnocs appeared in this country. This last was a double turn--father and son, and were indeed a very formidable combination. As a publicity stunt they declared they could escape from any police cell in which they were locked. This they did to the satisfaction of the public--but not to my own. I discovered they bribed the officials who had locked them in.

 

Houdini had done the same thing in America, but this had been a genuine escape. In justice to my friend I exposed the Cirnocs in a magical book. Houdini got hold of a copy of the paper and wrongly assumed that it was himself I had exposed.

 

Impetuosity was probably the strongest trait in Houdini's character. He immediately attacked me in a libellous article which appeared in his own American Magical magazine. I was at a loss to understand his conduct, for not only were his statements untrue, but hitherto we had been the closest of friends.

 

Explanations and apologies followed. Nobody was better pleased than myself to have the whole matter cleared up, for Houdini's friendship was something for which I would not have exchanged a dozen theatrical contracts.

 

Houdini and the Magical Illusions

I spite of his wonderful success as an escape artist, Houdini was always very keen to build and present a number of ordinary magical illusions. It was with this end in view that he called at my office one morning about twenty years ago, and told me of his secret ambition. "What do you think of it, Will?" he asked, finally.

"Your escapes are good and the public like them," I replied cautiously.

"I know that, but I'd like a change. Can you tell me the name of an illusion inventor who can keep a secret?"

"Yes. Why not try Charles Morritt who has built stuff for Maskelyne and Devant Ltd.?"

Houdini took my tip and paid a visit to Morritt's workshop. After some discussion he agreed to buy several of Morritt's own tricks and commissioned the inventor to build them for him.

Harry decided to give his new show a trial run in the provinces. For some reason best known to himself, he left me definite instructions not to be present at the first night. Naturally I respected my friend's wishes, but I had a full account of the performance from another magician who was present.

One of Harry's best tricks consisted of producing five hundred gold sovereigns from an apparently empty bag. The audience received the programme well enough, but, in order to give if an extra fillip, Houdini thought out an extraordinary publicity stunt.

On the following day he hired a number of detectives to accompany him to the local bank. There, with a good deal of unnecessary ceremony and palaver, he paid in the five hundred sovereigns. Of course, the money was drawn out again for the next performance. This strange proceeding naturally caused a stir in the provincial town which was just what Houdini wanted. There was a long account of the affair in the newspapers next morning, and no doubt the magician felt his trouble had been worth while.

He was wrong. The magical show was an utter and complete failure. After a week's trial he wisely decided to return to his escapes. "If the English want escapes, they can have them," he explained to me afterwards. "But I'm determined to give a good magical show before I die." So he shipped all his apparatus to New York to be stored for use at some later date.

 

Houdini's Film Failure

Te err is human, and Houdini was a human being. He did not make many mistakes during his lifetime, but it must not be supposed that his judgment was always infallible. The greatest blunder he ever made was to act for the films.

Harry had an idea that he could make a fortune on the movies. He decided to produce a film bringing in his more daring escapes and was convinced that he would be an enormous success. Pride, they say, goes before a fall.

Houdini was never cut out for film acting. Some years later he told me that his venture had cost him more than £100,000. But that was not all. Arnold de Biere, who had been persuaded to put some money into the scheme, also lost several thousands. In this manner was a long and affectionate friendship smashed beyond repair.

De Biere and Houdini were very great friends before the unhappy failure. Afterwards they became bitter enemies. De Biere's long and painful story casts very little credit on the American magician.

I remember Houdini calling on me one morning in one of his ugliest moods.

"Hello, Harry," I said pleasantly. "A friend of yours has just been in."

"Oh? Who's that?"

"De Biere."

"That b--," cried Houdini, using an epithet that would have sounded better from the lips of a bargee. "Does he often come in here?"

"Yes, quite often."

"Well, if I meet him, I'll fling him down the stairs. So to save you any bother, p'raps I'd best not see him. Say, how do you switch on that light outside your door?"

"I have a switch on my desk."

"That's O.K. When be Biere's in here with you, switch on the light. If I come up the stairs and see the light on, I'll know who's in, and come back later."

I sighed. "Alright, Harry," I said. "It's a fine idea."

After his film failure, Houdini decided to return to vaudeville. He remembered the magical apparatus that had been stored since his failure in England, and thought the time had come when he should again present his conjuring act. Yes, he would stage a programme that America had never seen before, and call it the "HOUDINI ROAD SHOW."

Now he wanted the American Press to boost him again, and it was some time before he hit on the right scheme. At last he had an idea inspired by a number of spiritualistic lectures which Sir Arthur Conan Doyle had been giving in the States. Houdini would expose the spiritualists!

So Harry, the hero of sensational escapes, disguised himself and attended several of the séances which were being held as a direct outcome of Sir Arthur's tour. Then he declared he had discovered that Spiritualism was nothing but a gigantic fraud. He invited several pressmen to follow his lead, and find out the truth for themselves As he had anticipated, his "disclosures," as he called them, created a great sensation,

As a spiritualist myself, I know Houdini was not sincere in his statements. Every Jew believes through his religion that the spirit which passes out from the body at death, lives on. And Houdini was really a good Jew. On the death of his mother, he prayed that her spirit would be guarded and protected, and that she would be eternally happy. No real disbeliever would do that.

When he had the Press of the country with him, Houdini put his show on the road. His campaign against the spiritualists had met with such astounding success, that he decided to incorporate further propaganda in his programme. His performance consisted of

1. Magic and illusions.

2. Escapes (he could not entirely forget his old love).

3. A lecture against spiritualism, introducing apparatus which, he declared, was used by "mediums" for faking spirit effects.

During the course of this lecture Houdini was in the habit of throwing a photograph of myself on to the screen. "This is a friend of mine in England," he would tell the audience. "He is a magician, an author, and an inventor. But what astounds me more than anything else is this--he is a firm believer in Spiritualism!"

 

Houdini at the Palladium

I can recall an amusing story of Houdini which throws an interesting sidelight on his extraordinary character. To appreciate the full point of this little yarn, it must be remembered that I am a professional magician of many years experience in performing and inventing. In addition, I was Houdini's greatest friend for a long period of years, and on many occasions he asked me to help and advise him with his illusions.

When the American last appeared in this country, he was engaged at the London Palladium for a fortnight at the enormous salary of £900 a week.

Before he was due to open, he informed me that he was running a "really great show." One trick in particular was a "winner," and he wanted me to be in the theatre to see it. I could clearly see what the man was driving at, for I guessed he would be as pleased as Punch if he could mystify me as well as the rest of the audience.

As I was talking to him in his dressing room before the performance, an assistant rapped on the door, and entered.

"Well?" asked Houdini.

"It's all right, boss," came the answer.

I've fixed up those two confederates in the stalls and circle."

"You b-- fool," screamed Harry jumping to his feet, his face white with rage. "Can't you see we're not alone?"

 

Houdini at Manchester

"Come immediately, spend two days as my guest. Have arranged rooms for you at my digs--Houdini."

Such was the telegram I received from my American friend when he was performing at Manchester many years ago. It so happened that I had no important engagements at the time, and decided to accept the invitation.

When I arrived at the address Houdini had given me, my astonishment was so great that I could hardly find words to greet my host. The house was an insignificant theatrical residence, with typically cheap furniture and threadbare carpets. At first I was inclined to think I was the victim of a practical joke, for I knew that Houdini was earning well over £300 pounds a week.

"Tell me. Harry," I said at length. "Why in the name of goodness are you staying in a frowsy hole like this?"

"Frowsy? Houdini raised his eyebrows in surprise. Frowsy? Is it really now? I hadn't noticed. Anyway, Will, it doesn't matter much. The landlady is a heavenborn cook, she can dish up anything in first rate style."

And with that I had to be content. In vain did I try to persuade Houdini to change his lodgings for a good class hotel. "Appearances count nothing with me," he said. "But with some decent food inside me, I feel that all's right with the world."

The following day was Saturday, and Houdini asked me if I would care to see the show he was presenting at the Manchester Palace. I readily agreed, and was installed in a comfortable seat before the second performance.

Houdini was accorded a tremendous reception when he appeared. Following his usual procedure he performed several minor illusions prior to doing his "feature" trick, an escape from ropes and chains. When the audience had been worked up to a suitable state of excitement, he told them he was about to present "the world's greatest act," and asked if half a dozen gentlemen from the stalls would come on to the stage to secure his fastenings.

Several men stepped on to the stage, including myself. The volunteers did their work well, and Houdini was securely bound and chained. But one man with ruddy cheeks and a waxed moustache, was bent on making things uncomfortable for him. "I don't like the look of this knot," he said, "It looks as if it might slip easily."

Houdini was never happy when people found fault with his performance, and in order to avoid all public embarrassment, he instituted a system which permitted his show to proceed with its accustomed smoothness. While the disgruntled one was airing his protests, Houdini gave a secret sign to a man who was standing in the wings, well out of sight of the audience.

The confederate took the cue and smilingly beckoned to the victim. The man paused, scratched his head wonderingly, and walked off the stage. That was the last the audience saw of him. Incidentally it was the last he saw of the audience.

As soon as the unfortunate interrupter had walked well into the wings, he received a terrific cuff on the ear. In nine cases out of ten this treatment was sufficient persuasion that silence was by far the best policy at Houdini's performances. In this particular case, however, the victim showed fight. So much the worse for him.

He lashed out wildly with both fists. But from the start he was hopelessly outnumbered. Three or four of Houdini's assistants pounced on him and speedily but effectively silenced him. When the poor man had been knocked almost unconscious, he was placed beneath the stage to recover at his leisure.

As Houdini was returning to the dressing room after the performance, he was approached by the house-manager. "What in God's name have your men done to that interrupter?" he gasped. "They've half murdered him!"

"They've done what?" asked Harry, assuming innocence. "I never told them to touch him. He must have got fresh."

The battered one was brought forward for inspection. He was indeed a sorry sight. Both eyes were closed, his lips were cut. and his nose had assumed elephantine proportions. The assistants had done their work not wisely but too well. However, the magician was not in the least perturbed.

"Really, my man," he said, producing a five pound note from his pocket, "you must not upset my staff like this. I'm afraid you made them loose their tempers. However, I will discharge them. Meanwhile, George here will put you in a taxi, and send you safely home. Good night."

The note changed hands. The victim, torn between a desire to thank Houdini for the fiver and an impulse to dot him in the eye, was led away half protesting by, the smiling George.

"Well, well," said Houdini to me in his dressing room. "It's all in a lifetime, you know Will, it's all in a lifetime. By the way have you heard that story about the wife who broke her husband's nose with a flatiron...?

 

A Regrettable Incident

Houdini was a great man in many ways. He had courage, determination, and infinite patience. In other things he was often unscrupulous and dishonest.

On one occasion I asked him to dine with me at my flat. At that time my hobby was collecting pictures of which I was said to be no mean judge: I was especially proud of one that I had recently bought, a small water colour of a handsome woman. It was a real work of art, and occupied an important position on my drawing room wall.

"How do you like that, Harry?" I asked, pointing with the stem of my pipe at my latest acquisition. "Pretty good, eh?"

"Good heavens, Will, that's mine!" came the startling reply.

"Yours?" I returned, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"Of course it's mine. It was promised to me."

"Don't talk such rubbish. I can show you the receipt for it."

"I can't help that. It was offered to me, and I said I would consider the matter. I must have it."

"But I've paid for it."

"What you have done is no concern of mine. I claim that picture."

"Harry," I said, gently. "Your friendship is worth more to me than that picture. Don't let's have words over it."

"No. Don't let's. I'll take it."

Houdini removed the picture from the wall. I watched him in silence, wondering at the incredible smallness of the man's character. The next time I saw my water colour, it was hanging in the bedroom of Harry's New York home.

 

The Houdini Packing Case Escape

On one occasion when Houdini was performing in London, he decided to try out a new packing case escape. The trick was very successful and he was well pleased with the reception he obtained. Half way through the week he invited me to dine with him, and suggested I should accompany him to the theatre after the meal.

As we were putting on our hats and coats prior to setting off to the show, Houdini turned to me with. a startled expression on his face. "Will!" he cried.

"Yes, Harry?" I replied, not knowing what to expect.

"Do you know how I escape from that packing case?"

"I haven't given it a thought, Harry."

"You're lying," Houdini shouted. "tell me the truth.''

"I assure you, Harry--"

"Don't lie, Will." Houdini's manner had become quieter now. "To be honest, I want to know if magicians are getting wise to my secrets. If you don't know them, I'm not afraid of the others. Please tell me."

I took a pencil and note-book from my pocket, and sketched an instrument which I thought could be used for the packing case escape. Without speaking, I handed over my diagram to Houdini.

He went deathly pale. My long shot had gone home. "I'll take this," be said at last, tearing the sheet from my notebook. "This has finished me with packing cases. After this performance, I'll have no more."

 

 

Houdini and "The Unmasking of Robert Houdin"

I have already made some reference to Houdini's love of publicity. It was his very life blood. He invented so many schemes for bringing his name before the public that I could fill several volumes on those alone. Some of them failed, most of them succeeded. Had they not done so, he might easily have died a poor and unknown man.

Harry was not blind to the value of sentimental publicity. One of his favourite schemes was to hunt out the graves of any magicians who had lived in the particular town or district in which he was appearing. Then, accompanied by an army of press photographers, he would take a huge wreath to the graveside, standing bareheaded whilst his photograph was taken. On the following day his likeness would appear in the papers with such words as "Great Magician pays homage to a departed conjurer." This idea tickled Harry immensely, and incidentally had the desired effect of increasing his popularity.

When he was performing in Paris before the war, he decided to carry out this same programme, and accordingly hunted up the grave and records of Robert Houdin, the eminent French illusionist. He went even further, and inquired for the whereabouts of Houdin's surviving relatives. To his utter astonishment, these good people refused to meet him, and informed him in a manner which left no room for doubt, that they wished to have nothing to do with him.

This public rebuff made Harry very bitter. That anyone should refuse to see him, the great Houdini, was totally beyond his comprehension. I have never learnt the reason for this refusal on the part of Houdin's relatives, more likely than not they desired to be left in quietness. Possibly they hated the thought of publicity. But Houdini could not, or would not, take this point of view.

"Heavens, Will," he said, "what's wrong with me? Anyone would think I'm a leper! But they'll be sorry for it before I'm finished."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"I'm writing a book on Houdin that'll make those folks of his sit up. He's going to get the worst write up he ever had. He was an imposter."

"Rubbish, Harry," I returned, heatedly. "You know that's not true. Why be so vindictive? Houdin was a great magician, and you know it as well as anyone."

"He was an imposter, I tell you. I have collected my facts to prove it. And anyway," he added lamely, "the public will believe anything I tell them. 'The Unmasking of Robert Houdin' will make everyone take notice."

"You are making a great mistake, Harry. Nobody will think you a better man for such a beastly action. Houdin is dead and cannot answer back. One of these days somebody will write a book on you, and call it 'The Unmasking of Harry Houdini.'"

He looked up sharply at my words. "If anyone does that it will be you," he said slowly.

I laughed. "Maybe you're right." I replied. "But if I ever write on Houdini, it will never be out of vindictiveness."

When the book eventually appeared, it was an utter failure. Although Harry had taken much trouble to delve out his facts, he had also allowed his imagination to run, and the information was not generally accepted as accurate, It was as well. Robert Houdin, "The French Father of Magic," was a man whom we all loved and respected. His spirit should rest in peace.

 

Houdini Objects to Someone Else's Boost

I have already made some reference to the weaker side of Harry Houdini's nature, his childishness, his irritability, and his quick temper. While it is not my intention to stress the faults of one who for many years was a friend, I feel it is my duty to present to the public a true pen picture of the man as I knew him.

The weakness of Houdini's character was never better illustrated that at an annual dinner of the Magicians' Club, eight or nine years ago. We had decided that the gathering would provide a splendid opportunity of making him a presentation, for he had been our President since the inauguration of the club.

It so happened that the only available magician of any repute willing to occupy the chair and make the presentation was The Great Raymond. And Harry detested Raymond. "I won't accept anything from that --," he declared hotly. "Why, he pinches my ideas," and then he went on to tell me in a few well chosen words just what he thought of Raymond's capabilities.

I felt the position very keenly, but, to my relief, I managed to talk Harry over. I was a happy man when he finally agreed to allow Raymond to officiate.

We had several hundred cards printed for distribution amongst our members. But they didn't please Houdini.

"These are all wrong," he said, when they arrived back from the printers.

"What's the matter with them?" I inquired wondering what my friend had at the back of his mind.

"You've got here 'In the Chair--The Great Raymond.' He's not great at all."

"I shouldn't let that worry you. It's only a professional name."

"Well it'll have to be altered. Call him just 'M. F. Raymond.' Even that's a damn sight too good for him. Don't let's argue about it, Will. Either you have these cards reprinted as I like them or I'll refuse to attend the dinner, and resign the presidency of the club in the bargain."

There was no argument. The cards were reprinted.

 

Did Houdini Fail?

I can recall only one occasion when Houdini was baffled in an escape act. That he did eventually succeed in escaping from a pair of specially constructed cuffs after seventy minutes struggling was in itself a great triumph, but he afterwards told me it was the most nerve racking ordeal in all his long magical experience. There was one thing, however, which he refused to disclose. That was the manner in which he freed himself.

A well known newspaper challenged Houdini to escape from a pair of handcuffs made by a Birmingham blacksmith. This man had taken five years to perfect his invention, and it was said that the manacles could only be opened by a special key. Houdini, fearing nobody, and realising the value of the challenge as a free advertisement, readily accepted.

The test was held at the London Hippodrome, and it was generally expected that Houdini would free himself from the wonder cuffs in his customary time of two or three minutes. The manacles were placed on his wrists, and, following his usual procedure, he entered the small cabinet which exposed only his face to the audience of two thousand people.

Five, ten, twenty minutes passed, and still Houdini had not escaped. The audience grew restless. Had Houdini met his Waterloo? There was a cry of relief as he walked to the footlights at the end of half an hour, but when it was seen that his wrists were still secured, it turned to a sigh of disappointment. Perspiring profusely, he examined the handcuffs in the full glare of the electric light, and returned to his cabinet.

A few minutes later, he requested that a pillow might be placed on his knees in order to make his position more comfortable. But still the time went by, and he seemed no nearer success. The audience was amazed.

Fifteen minutes more elapsed, and Houdini asked that his coat might be removed. This request was refused since it would have necessitated removing the handcuffs. So he procured a penknife from his pocket, and slashed the lining of the coat to ribbons.

At the end of an hour, he asked his wife to bring him a glass of water. This she did, placing it on the edge of the cabinet. Houdini took the glass between his hands and drained it. Ten minutes later, he emerged from the cabinet, and flung the handcuffs on to the stage. He was free, and his appearance was greeted with thunderous applause.

How did Houdini escape? Presumably he manipulated the handcuffs by his ordinary methods, but in this case the locks had proved so stubborn that it had taken him over an hour to persuade them to yield. That, at least, is what the public concluded. Perhaps the public was right, it may have been deceived. I do not know.

I only know that on the following day I was told a very different story. A man whose sources of information were usually correct told me that Houdini never escaped from the handcuffs.

After an hour's struggling, said my informant, the magician realised he would never escape. So he asked his wife for a glass of water, and gave her to understand she would have to procure the key at all costs. Bessie, realising the terrible predicament of her husband, called one of the journalists aside, and frankly told him that her husband was beaten. Since failure would have meant the end of everything for Houdini, whilst to the paper it meant but little, she asked to be given the key to pass on to her husband.

This request was granted. It was rumoured that Bessie placed the key in the glass of water and took it to Houdini on the stage. Shortly afterwards, he walked from the cabinet with the handcuffs free from his wrists.

Personally, I think this story is an exaggeration. I can readily believe that Houdini was capable of such a plan when he found his escape impossible, but whether a newspaper man of standing would have consented to deliver up the key is quite another matter. One must remember it would have been a great triumph from newspaper's point of view to have brought about the defeat of such a celebrated escapologist as Houdini.

When Hondini came in to see me two days later, I put the question to him point blank, "Say, Harry," I said, "they're telling me you unlocked the handcuffs with the journalist's key. Is that true?"

"Who's been saying that?" he demanded.

"Never mind who. Is it true?"

"Since you know so much, Will, you had better find out the rest," was all he said.

This refusal of information on Houdini's part should not be construed as an admission of guilt. I expected it, for knowing him as I did, I guessed he would welcome the story as a means of quiet publicity. even if it was untrue. On the other hand, if he did actually fail to escape, one would hardly expect him to admit it.

I am afraid we shall never know what actually happened, but you can take it from me that Houdini had the greatest shock of his life. He afterwards told me that he would sooner face death a dozen times than live through that ordeal again.

 

Is Houdini Earth Bound?

Is Houdini earth bound? I think he is. The great American has been dead now for over three years. That is sufficient time for the spirit of the average human being to realise that he or she is something different from the flesh and blood of us mortals. In all that time, however, I have only once seen Houdini manifest himself in spirit form -- this in spite of the fact that I am an ardent spiritualist, and have several times endeavoured to get in touch with my departed friend.

The solitary occasion of which I speak was at Hannen Swaffer's flat, early in the spring of 1928. There were several people present at the time, including a well-known amateur trance medium. It was through this person that Houdini appeared to us, strangely different from the man we had known in life.

His wrists were held together as though fastened by unseen handcuffs. He was struggling violently, evidently endeavouring to free himself. "I'm Houdini," he whispered in a hoarse, almost unrecognisable voice. "Don't you know me?" He appeared to want to tell us something, but lacked the power. At last he pulled his wrists apart as though he had escaped from the manacles. A few seconds later he was gone.

The appearance was brief, but sufficiently long to tell me that Houdini was an altered man. "Why should he be?" I asked myself. "There is no reason." Then I hit on what I believe to be the true explanation.

Houdini is lost in his new sphere. He was always a difficult man to convince, and I think it more than likely that he does not realise he is dead, dead, I mean, in an earthly sense. He has lost his perspective, and, as a spiritual being, cannot realise his true position in regard to the friends he has left on earth. He thinks he is still one of us.

He may be at my side as I pen these words, perhaps trying to attract my attention. Who can say? I am not clairvoyant, and am quite unable to sense a spirit presence. I am convinced there is much he has to tell me, that he is determined to tell me. How many attempts he has made to communicate with me since his tragic death he alone knows. This particular séance had been held because an entity who called himself Houdini had said, "Send for Will." So I went along....

On this, the only occasion when he actually succeeded in getting into touch with me, I was struck by the desperate and eager way in which he endeavoured to make himself known. That he failed to tell me all that he wished is ample proof that his spiritual education is not yet complete.

 

Is Bessie Houdini A Cheat?

So much has been said and written of the Houdini spirit message to the Rev. Arthur Ford, that I feel I should be doing an injustice to the great American magician if I did not spare a small amount of space in order to clear up the matter once and for all. Many of the statements that have been issued on this matter have been so entirely contradictory and false that many otherwise credulous members of the public have put the whole thing down as a somewhat irreverent, but not entirely unsuccessful, publicity stunt.

In the first place let me say definitely that Houdini was never a spiritualistic medium. I should like to make this point quite clear in view of the fact that Sir Arthur Conan Doyle suggested in the "Strand Magazine" that many of the American's amazing illusions were effected by means of spiritualism--in short, that Houdini was an unconscious medium. As a matter of fact Houdini was nothing more or less than exceedingly clever conjurer who knew the art of showmanship from A to Z. Had I the mind to do so, I could explain every one of the American's illusions.

But in spite of the fact that he was always endeavouring to expose and ridicule every spiritualistic medium with whom he came in contact, Houdini was never entirely convinced that spiritualism was a fraud. Although he gained much publicity by publicly denouncing the religion as one of the biggest and cruellest forms of swindling in existence, he knew that he was no more qualified to speak on the matter than millions of other people. And, in order that the truth should eventually be known to either him or his wife, he arranged that whichever of the pair should die first should endeavour to send over a secret code message which was known only to themselves. The code message was secreted in a sealed compact, and placed in a bank vault.

As all the world knows, Houdini himself was the first to die. Some months afterwards the Rev. Arthur Ford received a spirit message which purported to come from the dead magician. He communicated the message to Mrs. Houdini, who confirmed the fact that it was the secret code word which her husband had arranged.

The news created a great sensation in the United States. A few of the smaller magicians who were unable to offer a reasonable explanation of the affair immediately decided that the whole thing was a fake. A certain section of the American press boosted the views of these magical nobodies, and in a short while, Mrs. Houdini and the Rev. Ford were openly accused of fraud.

I have the pleasure of knowing both the people in question. Mrs. Houdini is a sweet, demure little woman, known among her friends as "Bessie the Nun." She is rich, and has absolutely nothing to gain in bringing her name before the public. The Rev Arthur Ford is a well respected man in New York, and it is difficult to believe that he would enter into any form of swindling. It is interesting to note that he declares that he does not know whether he received the Houdini message or not. But, as he himself writes, "Mrs. Houdini said I did, and the sealed compact which Houdini left in the bank vault seems to prove it."

The following letter which Mrs. Houdini wrote to Mr. Walter Winchell of the staff of the New York "Graphic" should leave little doubt upon the matter. The letter runs as follows:

Dear Mr. Walter Winchell,

This letter is not for publicity. I do not need publicity. I want to let Houdini's old friends know that I did not betray his trust.

I am writing you this personally because I wish to tell you emphatically that I was no party to any fraud.

Now regarding the séance. For two years I have been praying to receive the message from my husband, for two years every day I have received messages from all parts of the world. Had I wanted a publicity stunt I no doubt could have chosen any of these sensational messages. When I repudiated these messages, no one said a word, except the writers who said I had not the nerve to admit the truth.

When the real message, the message that Houdini and I agreed upon came to me, and I accepted it as the truth, I was greeted with jeers. Why? Those who denounced the entire thing as a fraud, claim that I had given Mr. A. Ford the message. If Mr. Ford said this, I brand him as a liar. Mr. Ford has stoutly denied saying this ugly thing, and knowing him as well as I do, I prefer to believe Mr. Ford. Others say the message has been common property and known to them for some time. Why do they tell me this now, when they knew my heart was hungry for the true words from my husband?

Of the many stories told about me, I have no way to tell the world the truth or the untruth, for I have no paper at my beck and call. Everyone has a different opinion of how the message was obtained. With all these different tales I would not even argue. However, when any one accuses me of giving the words that my beloved husband and I labored so long to convince ourselves of the truth of communication, then I will fight and fight until the breath leaves my body.

If anyone claims that I gave the code, then I can only repeat they lie. Why should I want to cheat myself? I do not need publicity. I have no intention of going on the stage, or as some paper said, on a lecture tour. My husband made it possible for me to live in the greatest comfort. I don't need to earn money. I have gotten the message that I have been waiting for from my beloved, how, if not by spiritual aid, I do not know.

And now, after I told the world that I had received the true message, everyone seems to have known of the code, yet never told me. They left it for Mr. Ford to tell me, and I am accused of giving the words. In conclusion, may I say that God and Houdini and I know that I did not betray my trust. For the rest of the world I really ought not to care a hang, but somehow I do, therefore this letter. Forgive its length.

Sincerely yours,
BEATRICE HOUDINI.

In justice to Bessie Houdini, I feel obliged to allot a small amount of space to the true explanation of the failure of the magical entertainment with which she contemplated touring America.

After the death of her husband, Mrs. Houdini decided to give up all her connections with stage life. But, partly owing to the persistent arguments of her friends, and partly owing to her own inherent love of the footlights, she decided to alter her decision. She realised she could not do better than carry on her late husband's work as a magician.

She decided to produce an escape from a solid block of ice, and for several months she was coached by illusionists of repute in America. At the rehearsals, however, she became dissatisfied with the construction of her apparatus, and the manner in which the act was produced.

She was not enjoying the best of health at the time, and finally thought it best to proceed no further with the show. Several of her friends were in agreement with her, for they had no desire to see her appear in an act which was not in keeping with the true Houdini tradition.