horace goldin qhorace

IT'S FUNTO BE FOOLED

Horace GoldinHTML version by Marko

This version Copyright 1999--Jos Antonio Gonzlez

CONTENTS

It's Fun to be Fooled--Cover

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III

IIIIVV

VIVII

VIIIIXX

XIXII

XIIIXIVXV

XVIXVII

XVIIIXIXXX

XXIXXII

I Serve my ApprenticeshipMaking my Way in the World of MagicHow I Became a StarMy English PremirePlaying Before the British Royal FamilyTaking Magic to the Home of MagicDays in HawaiiThe Birth of "A Woman Sawn in Half"My Fight for my InventionAdventures the World OverThe Boston Mystic KeyMy Publicity StuntsThe Indian rope Trick; My Full ConfessionThe Story of Lily, The Tiger GodTwo Great Unperformed Miracles ExplainedBrushes with the Law and with SwindlersWhen I Cheated at CardsTricks from my RepertoireMy Magic TalkiesThe Psychology of an EggArtistes I Have HelpedAll Conjurers are Crazy!

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It's Fun to be Fooled--Cover

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It's Fun to be Fooledby Horace Goldin

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CHAPTER ONE

I SERVE MY APPRENTICESHIP

WHEN I was a boy I dreamed of theatres, of audiences rising to their feetto applaud me, of the great ones of the earth congratulating me. But in thosedreams I held a violin in my hand and the people were showing theirappreciation of a great musician. There was never a dream in which I wassurrounded by illusions and mysteries and in which the audience applaudedmy skill in baffling them.

Yet magic was present in my life from an early age. Cherry-stones were theonly effects I had for my first trick. I used to take six of them. Two I placedin my nostrils, two in the corners of my eyes, and two in my ears. I made apass across my face and all the stones appeared out of my mouth.

I invented that trick when I was thirteen years old, and I kept it in myrepertoire long after I had gone on the stage as a professional magician. Oneday, however, something went wrong. One of the stones did a privatevanishing trick of its own and lodged in my ear. There it stayed for thirteenyears, never bothering me very much. Then, when I had to spend a week inbed, it condescended to reappear, and I found it on my pillow one morningwhen I awoke.

There was little of the magic of happiness in my life in my early years. Iwas born in a farm-house just outside Vilna, in Poland. My parents tried tomake a living from fruit-growing, but they were not successful. We were farfrom rich, for my father much preferred singing in the local Jewish church,where he was cantor, to working in the orchards.

America was the country of which my father dreamed, and he used to gatherthe children round him and tell them marvellous stories of that distantcountry, of its great cities and busy people. Any money he managed to savewent into a little black box, which we children rarely saw and whosehiding-place was kept a strict secret. When he had collected enough moneyto buy a ticket to the United States he intended to escape from the drudgeryof the farm and seek new opportunities for all of us overseas. I had twouncles who were on the other side of the Atlantic and their occasional letterswere full of their progress in the New World and of the excellent prospects

I Serve my Apprenticeship

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for all who joined them. These letters whetted my father's longing to escape.I was only eight when my father counted up the money in the black box andfound that there was enough for the ticket and for incidental expenses on thevoyage. We were all called to a solemn family conclave. My father told usof his intentions.

"Children," he said, "I am going to leave you for a while. I shall go to find ahome for you in a new country. Soon you will be following me, and then weshall have a great deal more money and be very much happier than we arehere. I shall send you home the money for the journey very soon, I hope,and then this family will be reunited again."

We were all near tears as he spoke, but the resilience of childhood saved usfrom prolonged grief, and soon we were telling each other of the wonder ofAmerica, and making our plans for our new home. Mother cried at thethought of losing her husband even for a short time, but she cheered up atthe thought that there would be no more worry about poor crops and badprices.

These were our hopes and dreams; the truth was very different. Not till eightlong and toilsome years were passed did we see our father again. We whowere left fatherless came to know dire poverty. We all had to work, even thesmallest. My education had been somewhat interrupted, but I had shownmyself sufficiently bright at school to be offered a part-time post. I was thenonly twelve years old. I also showed some proficiency at music, and Motherdreamed, as mothers will, of the time when I should be able to develop thetalent of which she was convinced I was possessed. She stinted herself inorder to help me.

There is one incident from my childhood which stands out very clearly. Ithappened when I was only five years old, and it all came about because ofmy curiosity.

There was a deep well near my home, and this used to puzzle me a gooddeal. I wanted to know a great many things about it, and, when I discoveredthat my elders could not tell me how deep it was, or where the water camefrom, I set about finding out for myself.

I leant over and saw my own face reflected up from the water, and then Ibegan to experiment with a stick in an effort to find out the depth of thewater. I leant a little too far, and soon found out the depth by trying it withmyself.

Naturally the shock of this fall had a great effect upon me, and I developeda frightful stammer. This lasted until I was well on in my teens, and then Idetermined to cure myself. I succeeded so well that since I was seventeen Ihave been able to speak quite naturally, and the knowledge I gained throughthis curing of myself I have used to cure many people of this annoying



impediment.

Magic first came into my life when I was about twelve. I paid a visit to oneof the travelling fairs which occasionally stayed in Vilna. The show wasfree, and at most times I had little enough entertainment. As I wanderedround amongst the side-shows I saw a gipsy doing conjuring tricks. Hemade rabbits appear in the most unlikely places. He waved his handsand--hey presto!--out came long streamers and huge flags from people'spockets. He did strange things with cards and seemed to be able to lay eggsat will.

The crowd stood and gaped, but I, though only a small boy, was sadlydisappointed. I had a quick eye, and perhaps, even at that early age, I had asceptical nature and was not readily open to suggestion. I thought I saw howmost of the tricks were done, and I did not think much of the man who was.doing them. What did impress me was the rapturous reception given tothese poor efforts by the crowd. Here, I thought, is something easy,something well worth trying.

I haunted that fair-ground during the time the conjurer was there. TheStrong Man and the Fat Lady and the other motley inhabitants of the faircame to know me quite well. I watched the gipsy magician from all anglesand soon learned the secrets of palming cards and the other sleight-of-handtricks. Then I went home and in a quiet corner of the orchard I practisedhard until I could do a great deal of the conjuring act I had been watching socarefully.

When I gave my first display, which was in the privacy of the home, thefamily was astonished. My young brothers and sisters were alarmed, andeven suspected that my skill was the result of some pact with the Devil andthat the end would be my vanishing from amongst them, leaving behindnothing but a smell of brimstone. When, however, I had convinced themthat I was not practising the Black Art they conceived a marvellousadmiration for me, and spread my fame far and wide. From this I benefitedgreatly, for I was invited out to give displays in the homes of friends.

The acquisition of this accomplishment was one of the few bright spots inthe dark time when we were without our father. The money which we wereso anxiously awaiting came soon after I had reached the age of sixteen. Ineed not describe the joy and excitement which reigned in our house whenthat letter arrived. We had no regrets at leaving and we were all in the bestof spirits when we wished our neighbours good-bye and set off forHamburg, where we were to catch the great liner which would take us toNew York. There, so Father wrote to us, we should board a train whichwould take us to Nashville, Tennessee, where he was in partnership with myuncle in a general store.

It was not a great sum my father had been able to send, and by the time we



reached Hamburg there was only enough left for the ticket for Mother andthe half-tickets for us children. With those safely in our pockets we left theagents' office and set off for the docks.

There we saw the great vessel, a hive of activity. It was more impressivethan we had dreamed. We were tremendously excited. Mother offered ourtickets to the officer at the foot of the gangway. We were practically onboard.

Then the blow fell.

"How old is this boy?" inquired the officer.

"Sixteen," Mother told him.

"He's too old for a half-ticket. You must buy a full one."

We looked at each other in despair. What was to be done? Why had Fatheronly sent the money for a half-ticket? Had he forgotten that I was no longereight years old?

Mother tried persuasion. She explained that we had no more money and thatwe had to join her husband in America. To all this the official shook hishead, saying that he could not vary the company's rules. All veryunfortunate, no doubt, but there it was. The boy must have a full ticket

We retreated to a mean dock-side caf and talked and talked trying to thinkof some way of finding the extra money. At last I plucked up my courageand said that I would stay behind while the others went. "I am old enough tolook after myself," I asserted as confidendy as I could. Mother looked as ifshe was very doubtful about that, but there seemed no other course of actionand she had to agree to my staying. With tears in her eyes she assured methat as soon as she reached America she would find the money somewhereand post it off to me at once.

I had waited eight years to make that voyage, and now I had to wait eightmore weeks at least. All the bitterness of which disappointed youth iscapable rose in my heart as I turned away from the quay from which I hadwaved farewell to my mother and the others. I must have looked a lonelyand pathetic figure to them as they stood high above me on the liner's deck.When I could no longer see the ship I started to walk into the strange,inhospitable city in order to find work.

Fresh trouble awaited me. I found that I came under a law which forbademe to stay in any one town for more than two weeks at a time. I had onlythree marks, fifty pfennigs in my pocket.

A bakery gave me my first employment, and I carried bread in order to havea little to eat myself. After two weeks I moved to a town two miles awayand worked for another fortnight. Then I moved back to Hamburg, and this



time I was lucky, for I found a job in a small hotel kept by some goodpeople named Mendel. I worked for them in return for my board andlodgings.

I had kept up my little conjuring tricks, and these helped me to make goodfriends of the Mendels. They kept me in their hotel until the money arrivedfor my passage, and they were never tired of watching my littleentertainment. I gained quite a reputation during my stay in Hamburg.

This friendship was renewed in surprising fashion years afterwards. Aftermy first appearance in England, when I made a great stir at the PalaceTheatre and had become known as "the Royal Illusionist" I started on aContinental tour, and one of the first cities I visited was Hamburg, where Iplayed in the Hansa Theatre. After the show I was in my dressing-roomwhen a card was handed to me bearing the name "Mendel".

I had met a great many people since those early, lonely days in Hamburg,and I am afraid that I did not think who those people might be, straightaway. Throughout my stage career, however, I have never refused to seeanyone who wanted to see me, so I asked the attendant to show the visitorsin.

As soon as they stood in the doorway I recognized them. They were my oldbenefactors, now very wealthy, who had remembered the name of the littleboy who had entertained them and worked for them years before. After that,whenever I visited Hamburg I always made a point of seeing those goodpeople and of staying in their excellent hotel, where I once washed dishes.

When, after leaving the Mendels and spending three miserable weeks onboard ship, I arrived in America I was appalled by the noise and bustlewhich reigned in New York even in 1889. I was only sixteen, was unused tolarge cities, and could not speak a word of English. I had to submit to theindignity of having a luggage label with my destination written on it tied tomy coat. Whenever I thought that there was danger of my being lost Ipointed to my label and was pushed on the right road.

I sighed contentedly when at last I boarded the train which was to take meto Nashville. My uncle was to meet me one or two stations down the linefrom his home town, and, thinking my troubles were over, I fell asleep. Iwas still asleep when my uncle boarded the train. He wandered up anddown looking for me, and it was only after he had asked the guard if he hadseen a little boy with a label that he managed to find me. Even then we didnot have very much to say to each other, for he could not speak mylanguage and I could not speak English. But at least he showed himselffriendly, and therefore was to be preferred to these hustling Americans, whoshouted incomprehensible things around me and who seemed to have timefor nothing.



Mother was waiting on the doorstep for my arrival and the whole householdflocked round to welcome me. I was heartily glad to be back in the bosomof the family, to see my beloved mother again, and to meet the man whowas my father and whose face I had almost forgotten. Soon I was telling thetale of my adventures to the whole family assembled in the kitchen.

I found that the rest of the family were now comfortably settled in their newhome. The general store was doing quite well, and I was given a job straightaway. I became versed in the secrets connected with the selling of butter,cheese, and sugar, and was quite a favourite with the coloured folk whowere amongst those who patronized the store.

I used to pride myself on being a good judge of weight. I would cut a pieceof butter and say, "There's half a pound." When it was weighed it might be alittle overweight, and the negroes would be tickled to death. So it was thatthey used to say, "Me wait Massa Harr'ce," and I earned the reputation ofbeing a good salesman.

Nor were the darkies the only people who were interested by my tricks withsacks of flour and pounds of sugar; many white people heard of me, andquite a lot of custom came to the shop from people who wanted to see thelad from Poland guessing correctly to within a fraction of one per cent theweight of the goods in the shop.

From this post I graduated to one as travelling salesman in Roanoke,Virginia, where another uncle had a business selling cheap jewellery. I tookwith me, I remember, two chickens as a gift from my uncle, and those wereall my riches when I started my new job. I did quite well there, but my mindwas on other things. I was growing up and getting ambitious. I was stillcertain that I was going to become a great musician, and I did all I could tohasten my feet on the path of success.

I earned five dollars a week. One dollar I sent home to my mother, and withthe other four I paid for my music lessons and for my lodgings. I had a hardtime making ends meet, especially as landladies objected to my practising.They did not appreciate my early efforts on the violin, more particularlybecause I did not arrive in until ten o'clock at night and had to start then."Say, son," they used to say, "either you quit that row or you clear out." AndI used to clear out.

It was while I was working with this uncle that I met Reggie May. He wasthe son of a well-known doctor, and we became firm friends. I rememberhow we used to boast together, as boys will. "I'm going to be a greatdoctor," he used to say, "greater even than my father, and people will travelmiles in order to consult me."

"I'm going to be a great musician," I used to retort, "and great halls will befilled with the people who come to hear me play. They will cheer and clap



me and I shall be an enormous success." I did not say it quite as well as thatbecause in those days my English was not very good, but that was thegeneral idea.

Some years afterwards, in 1897, I went to play at the Orpheum in Oakland,California, after a short season at the Orpheum, San Francisco. After theshow a gentleman sent in his card. "Dr. May", I read, and I wondered whoDr. May might be.

Even when a gentleman walked in I failed to recognize him.

"Hello, Horace," he said.

"Hello," I answered, wondering what this familiarity might mean.

"Don't you remember me now that you are a great man?" he said. "I'm thelittle boy you used to play with."

Sure enough, as I looked at his face, I recognized my old friend. You caneasily imagine the long talk we had together, as we cracked a bottle togetherto celebrate our meeting. I found that he had made good his boast. He was avery successful doctor and had a large sanatorium at Oakland which wasvisited by people from all over the United States. For my part, I had to agreethat I was not a great violinist, but at least I had carried out part of my boast;I was on the stage, and the audience did pack the theatre and gave me agood reception.

But this is going on too fast. I must return and tell how I first had the idea ofbecoming a professional magician.

When I was wandering round the small towns of the Middle West, sellingcheap jewellery to storekeepers who did not want it, nothing was furtherfrom my thought than making a living out of the skill at sleight-of-handwhich I had acquired back in Poland. I still amused myself by entertainingand mystifying my friends, but I did not take it seriously. I was too busywith my jewellery and with learning to play the violin.This all changed as a result of a meeting in the town of Bristol, Tennessee.Staying in my boarding-house was a magician calling himself "Balthasar",though his real name was Boldey. I fell into conversation with him and wasinterested enough to go to his show in the hall.

All Balthasar's tricks were hand-tricks; he had no illusions. One trickconsisted of a skeleton, which walked on the stage and danced verysolemnly round, apparently of its own accord. "The Magnetic Wonder" witheggs in its hands could lift three men sitting in one chair. These and a fewmore tricks were the slender effects with which "The Greatest Magician ofAll Time" set out to bewilder the people of the smaller American towns.

The night I was there the audience fairly lapped it up, and that put an idea



into my head. I was tired of hawking jewellery round the country and ofgetting a pittance in return. Why should I not start in a new profession?

With this idea in mind I approached Balthasar when I next met him in theboarding-house, and I suggested to him that he take me as his partner. Ishowed him what I could do and I persuaded him that I should be a mostvaluable man to have as an assistant. We soon entered into an agreement,for it seemed to Balthasar that he was getting an assistant for nothing. Thearrangement was that I was guaranteed twenty-five per cent of the grosstakings exceeding ten dollars, and that he paid all expenses.

As I came to know Balthasar better I found that being a magician was nothis only accomplishment. He was also a good piano-tuner, and he couldpaint a good sign. All these talents were used in order to keep the showgoing.

Our wanderings were haphazard in the extreme. The show was not always apaying proposition, and then we had to set to work to raise the money tospend on handbills. I used to visit a house and point out that the piano wasout of tune. Along came Balthasar, and soon the piano really was out oftune. He charged five dollars to put it right again. Sometimes I wouldcanvas for sign-painting. In these somewhat questionable ways we managedto keep the show going.

Before I joined the show Balthasar had been able to keep body and soultogether. With me as an assistant his takings went up, but all the increaseand more went into my pocket. Balthasar was too muddle-headed to see forsome time that I not only drew a comfortable sum each week but was alsogaining experience at his expense. He taught me all his tricks, and I wassoon as expert as he was. He discovered that I could do his work, and thatby the time he had paid the expenses and my twenty-five per cent there wasnothing left for him.

When we first met he was careful to set a good example, and even treatedme to several long diatribes against the evils of drink. This was our goldenage. I had some ideas about publicity and these proved of value to the show.Every town in the United States has its own band. I hit upon the idea ofhiring the big drum. People who heard it thought that the band was out andrushed to the window to see why. Then they saw the great placard: "COMEAND SEE BALTHASAR, THE WORLD'S WONDER MAGICIAN,ASSISTED BY HORACE GOLDIN, THE MAGNETIC WONDER."Thanks to this idea we packed several halls, and my twenty-five per centwas well worth having. I saved one hundred dollars in three months.

By the time we had reached New Brunswick, Maryland, however, Balthasarhad fallen back into his old bad habits and he was in my debt to the tune ofninety-eight dollars. I knew that I had learned all I should learn from him,and I decided that it was time to part.



"Look here," I said. "You owe me ninety-eight bucks; what about it?"

That started him off on a long and piteous harangue which I was forced tointerrupt.

"You understand," I said, "that if I took this to law I should be authorized toattach the show?" The show, by the way, consisted of one large trunk.

He agreed dismally that that was so.

"Well," I said, "I don't want your show. I'm going to let you off yourninety-eight bucks. But this is where I get off."

With that I shook his hand and off I went. My apprenticeship was over. Inever saw Balthasar again.






CHAPTER TWO

MAKING MY WAY IN THE WORLD OF MAGIC

Horace Goldin at the beginningof his carrer

AMERICA in the 'nineties was thecountry of opportunity. A man might beworth three cents one day and be able tobank a million dollars within a week ortwo. Success was in the air, and it was aheady draught for any young man.

I was twenty when I left Balthasar, whohad given me my first real lessons, andwent out to conquer the world all bymyself. I had plenty of confidence. Iknew my job fairly well after the tour Ihad made of the small towns playing withBalthasar. My experience as acommercial traveller had made mesomething of a showman. I knew how tospin a tale. Above all, I was sure that I

was going to succeed.

Looking back, I marvel at my own audacity. I had thrown up a safe job andcould hardly expect to return to it. If I was "down and out" there was no onewho could give me a helping hand. However sympathetic my parents mightbe, they had their hands full with their family and the business in Nashville;they could not help me much. I had had no real experience in producing myown show and had not enough money to buy effects.

What it all amounted to was that I had to sell myself.

I decided that Washington was the best place to start in, so that was where Iwent.

The result of the first few applications I made knocked some of the conceitout of me, and I saw that I was not going to become a top-line performer ina day. Magic might be the line which would eventually bring me to success,but at present it was not likely to fill my stomach. I decided that for a whileI must look elsewhere for a position and keep plugging away at the magic

Making my Way in the World of Magic


business in my hours off until I had the "lucky break" which I wasconvinced would come my way soon.

A drapery store gave me my first occupation in Washington. It was one ofthose stores which stay in a town for only about three months. They do aroaring trade by somewhat questionable methods for the period of their stayand then they vanish when things become too hot for them.

I learned a great deal while I was there. Even now, when I am influencing aperson on the stage so that he does what I ask of him, I reflect that I firstlearned these methods behind the counter in that Washington drapery store.

That business kept me busy during the day; in the evening I did my realwork. I saw that I needed influence if I was to be a success on the stage. Iset to work to make influential friends, and I soon succeeded.

Washington, then as now, was one of the social centres in America. Therewere parties given continually throughout the season by the wives ofsenators and other important people. I managed to get several engagementsfor these private entertainments, and added considerably to my experience.My pocket also benefited.

One of my best friends was a Mrs. Winter, then very prominent in politicalcircles. She it was who obtained for me my first public appearance. It was inan entertainment given to the sailors in the navy yard, and my show was byno means the least successful of the turns put on.

For all this activity my main resources were drawn from my work in thedrapery store, and when it was announced that they were moving on I wasin a quandary. I was not yet in a position to rely only on my magic for myliving, so eventually I followed the firm to Philadelphia. There I settleddown to serious practising. Every night I stayed up late while I worked atsleight-of-hand tricks. I invented several small tricks, and enlarged myrepertoire as much as I could. My resources were limited, and I could onlydream of some of the things I would do when I had made my real start inthe theatre.

It goes without saying that I haunted the theatres during this apprenticeshipof mine. Whenever a conjurer was on I was to be seen in the gallery, and Ialso haunted the stage door. It was through this habit that I first learned theegg-in-the-bag trick.

While I was in Washington I met Herbert Albini, an Englishman born inManchester, and a very clever manipulator who held the audiencespellbound from the time he came on to the stage until he finished his actwith this egg-in-the-bag trick. He was really the inventor of this very clevertrick, and it made a great sensation at the time.

I went to see Albini after the show; he received me kindly and during his



week's engagement we became friends.

When I arrived at Philadelphia I bought an egg-bag from a man namedYost, a magic-dealer, for a shilling, together with the usual printedinstructions, which, after reading once, I threw away. Soon I thought I coulddo the egg-in-the-bag trick. I practised anywhere, at any time. Yet I knewthat I had not Albini's finishing touch, his ease and fluency.

I often performed the trick to perfect strangers, on railway-stations when Iwas waiting for a train. Still I could not please myself thoroughly.

I met Albini again in New York, and at that time I idolized him as aperformer. I got hold of a double-crown lithograph of him and hung it up inmy bedroom; I had it there for months. During one of our meetings I toldhim that I had been practising shadowgraphy and suggested that he come tomy room to see what I could do. He agreed.

When he entered my room and saw the lithograph I had hung up he wasvery much touched, for he realized the great admiration I had for him.

I lit a candle and put the lights out and proceeded for an hour to show himdifferent figures of shadowgraphy with my nimble fingers. He said that hethought I was good and that if he were as good he would show his skill tothe public. He then asked me how long I had had the lithograph in my room,and when I told him about a year he was amazed.

"I'd like to do something for you," he said. With that he took a photographfrom his pocket and wrote on it, "You are the only man in the world to havemy permission to do the egg-in-the-bag trick," and he signed it.

He then took my egg and my bag. "There's the egg and there's the bag. I'mnot going to do this trick the ordinary, mug's way. I am going to do it myway."

When he had done it I had to confess that he had baffled me.

"Hold my wrists, then perhaps you'll see."

He went through the trick with my hands round his wrists and my nose rightnear the opening of the bag. Still I did not guess the secret.

He smiled. "Don't worry about that. I've fooled plenty of experts with that."

Albini then showed me his own version of that famous trick, and that is theone I have had in my repertoire ever since. I have baffled thousands ofpeople with it. Kings and queens have held my wrists while I performed.All are agreed that it is one of the best tricks they have ever seen.

I owe Albini a great debt, and I am sorry to have to say that bad feelingsoon spoiled the friendship between us. Some years later, during an



engagement at the Great Northern Theatre, Chicago, he tried to stop me. Heissued a challenge that I could not do the trick as well as he could. This Mr.Salisbury, the manager of the theatre, persuaded me to take up, offeringhimself to stand surety for the five-hundred-dollar stake.

When the time came Mr. Salisbury announced the challenge from the stageand placed the money on a table in full view of the audience, who were tobe judges of the better performance. Albini was in the audience, but hewould not come on the stage to do the trick. He called me a liar and I calledhim a gentleman, and so we stayed unfriendly for many years.

If he had acted in a friendly way and asked me not to do the trick, I shouldhave been glad to please him. But he was rather fond of a certain beverage,and when he had had too much he acted in a very rough fashion. After all, Ihad his permission, and I believe I acted rightly in standing up for myrights.

Later on, when the bitterness of the animosity had worn off, we met, and Iam glad to say that we became friends again--but not the close friends wehad been before.

I learned the egg-in-the-bag trick soon after I had decided to devote myselfentirely to magic as my profession. I moved from Philadelphia toGloucester, New jersey, where there were seven theatres, all giving freeshows. I was afraid to try O'Brien's, the best, so I started on a tour of theother six. Disappointment met me in each manager's room. Six theatres didnot want a magician. That left O'Brien's.

Summoning up all my confidence, I entered O'Brien's and demanded to seethe manager. I was shown into the holy of holies. There sat the fearsomemanager, O'Brien himself.

"What do you want?" he snapped.

I told him that I was a magician and that I could be of use in his theatre.

"Let's see your act."

I showed him sleight-of-hand. I showed him the "Dancing Skeleton" whichBoldey had taught me.

I showed him a new trick I had invented in which I shot a canary from apistol into a bird-cage. Not one of these tricks seemed to interest him. Hehad an air of complete boredom, as if he had seen everything plenty oftimes before and he could not be expected to take the least interest now.

I decided that I must do something to rouse him from this lethargy. I askedhim to take out his hunter watch and to turn the hands round and round asoften as he wished.



"Now," I said, "you are quite certain that I can't see the face of the watch?"

He grunted that it was so.

I then took the watch from him, and without opening the case protecting theface I said, "The hands are pointing to twenty minutes past six." He openedthe watch and found that I was exactly right.

That really did interest him, and he engaged me on the spot. My wage wasto be a dollar a day, and I had to appear to fill the gap between the matineand the evening performance. My show ran for an hour, and I had to relyentirely on hand-tricks. My newly acquired egg-in-the-bag trick was thegreat feature of the show.

For three weeks all went well. I was good, and knew I was good. When asummons came for me to go to the manager's office, I went full of hope.This was a big rise, probably.

"Look here, Goldin," said O'Brien, "I'm going to give you the sack."

Somehow or other I managed to ask him why.

"You're too good for this show."

"But, Mr. O'Brien, that's no reason for giving me the sack."

"Oh yes, it is, my son," he told me. "I'm losing money all through havingyou here. You're so good that people forget to order drinks, and how do youthink I run this theatre except by selling drinks? You've got to go."

There was nothing for it but to pick up my things and go. It had been myfirst big chance, and I was a failure because I was too good.

New York saw me next, for I decided that I must try the big places and seeif I could not push my way through the dozens of other aspirants who werebesieging managers?

I was lucky straight away and started in a place in South Beach, LongIsland. I had to give eight shows a day and for that I got twenty dollars aweek.

The theatre was built on the beach, and when the tide was in the waves beatupon the wall behind the stage. During my first five shows the tide was out,but when the sixth show started the waves began their incessant dashing,and my act was inaudible. The audience began to complain, and my act wascut short.

The manager summoned me. When I found I had got the sack again, I wasvery angry. I did not see why managers should continually break theiragreements at my expense. I walked off to consult a lawyer.



His advice was not to take a penny from them. "Don't you worry about themoney for those five shows," he said. "We'll get the money for the fullperiod of your engagement."

I never saw that money. I wished afterwards that I had taken the money forthe five shows which the manager had offered me.

South Beach is a summer resort, and naturally it was full of schools for thechildren of the wealthy. My next job was with a Punch-and-Judy mannamed Oscar Still, who put on shows especially for these schools. He usedto advertise the show with placards, which read: "Every scholar who attendswill get a rabbit." When the children were inside the hall they would see anotice which read somewhat differently: "Every well-behaved child will begiven a rabbit." In practice no rabbits were given away.

I was not in a position where I could pick and choose my employment, andso I helped this fellow with his Punch-and-Judy show. All went well. for atime. We played to small children aged eight and nine, and they thoroughlyenjoyed the show and forgot all about the promised rabbit. But we wereriding for a fall.

One day we were due to play to a boys' school, and they were anything fromtwelve to sixteen years old. They came along to the Lyric Hall, SixthAvenue, Forty-second Street, where we were playing, with the fixedintention of having a live rabbit each. When it became obvious to them thatthey were not to have even a rabbit amongst them, they made it pretty clearthat we were to suffer for the lack.

They stormed the stage, and when that happened I decided that my presencewas not absolutely essential. I took to my legs, and a number of the boys,entering into the spirit of the chase, started after me. "Now," I decided, "I'veto decide between a good run and a good hiding." I had the good run allright.

Next day I set out to find my employer. I asked at his lodgings, but they hadnot seen him all day. I visited one or two restaurants where I thought hemight be. No one had seen him. I began to be weary through looking forhim.

Then I decided to try the hall. There again no one had seen anything of himsince the day before. I wandered into the building thinking I might see whatsort of a mess the boys had made of our show.

There was my employer standing in the middle of the floor, his clothescovered with dust, his whole appearance most woebegone.

"Hullo," I said. "Where have you been hiding yourself? I've been looking allover the town for you."



"My God!" he said. "I was so dead scared that I got underneath the stage,and there I've been the last twenty-four hours."

That experience convinced me that I was wasting my talents on Mr. OscarStill, and I decided to try my luck with the museums.

New York was full of these strange places at that time. People seemed tohave a passion for the unusual and the fantastic, and all the queer peopleand misshapen animals in the world seemed to congregate in thesemuseums. Magicians were taken on as well, to give variety to theentertainment.

The Globe Museum, where I eventually found a Position, was typical ofthem all. The floor was covered with platforms, on each of which there wasa freak. I was engaged to take my place on one of these platforms, to do myconjuring tricks. I had to give from fifteen to twenty-five performances aday, and for this I received a salary of from ten to twelve dollars a week.

When I applied, for this post I found that there was another applicant, ayoung fellow named Houdini. My experience as a commercial traveller andbehind the counter in drapery stores stood me in good stead, and Iconvinced the manager that I was the better man. After that Houdini boreme a grudge, and he was constantly trying to do me harm. At one time heactually ran a paper for the purpose of "roasting" me.

This grudge was intensified by an incident which happened some yearslater. The manager of Keith's Theatre, Providence, Rhode Island, splashedthe town with placards. "SEE HORACE GOLDIN. KELLAR, HERMANN,CHING-LING-FOO, AND HOUDINI OUTDONE." Houdini thought thatthis was my work, although I knew nothing at all about it. For fifteen yearshe refused to speak to me when we met. Then, at a meeting of the NationalVaudeville Association in New York, Houdini passed me when I was inconversation with the very manager from Providence. I thought it was timeI tried to stop this silly feud.

"Look here, Houdini," I said, "what's the matter with you?"

"You know perfectly well what is the matter," he answered.

"Certainly I don't," I told him.

"A man who bills himself as better than me can hardly expect to be myfriend," he said.

At that the manager chipped in.

"If you mean that placard in Providence, Houdini," he said, "that was mywork. Goldin knew nothing at all about it."

That eased things for a while, but I cannot say that Houdini and I were ever



warm friends. For all that, I have the greatest respect for his memory. Hewas certainly a very fine artist.

To return to the Globe Museum: I was given a platform between the Girlwith Six Thumbs and the Half-Man, Half-Woman. This latter was aningenious fraud. It was, of course, a man. He had a disfigured limb, whichcould be made to look like a woman's leg. He placed an artificial breastunder his tights and there was the Half-Man, Half-Woman.

At that time William Morris, later to be famous as an impresario, wasworking for an agent named Lehmann in offices on the corner of FourteenthStreet. I ran into him outside the museum one day.

"Hello, Goldin," he said. "You working here?"

I told him I was.

"Like a better job?""Of course."

"I can get you a job at ten bucks a week, playing with Lyman H. Howe. He'sat Wilkesborough just now."Lyman H. Howe was to be quite a great man later. He was very successfulwith motion pictures when the idea was still new, and he made a fortune ina very short time out of travelogues. At the time of which I am writing hewas touring the country with a new invention, the gramophone.

When I arrived at Wilkesborough I found that Howe was playing a dozenrecords, and that made up the first half of the show. He wanted me to fill thesecond half. We had a long talk, and at last he agreed to put up the moneyfor the apparatus I should need. I agreed to select and build it. I was to havean assistant for the road show, and a very good assistant Jacobs turned outto be.

The road show was a wash-out. The gramophone idea did not seem to catchon. At the end of two months I was owed seventy-five dollars, and myassistant had not seen a single cent since the beginning of the tour. We bothfelt that we had had enough of playing for nothing.

I tackled Howe about it. I put it to him: "What about our money?"

"Now, I'm sure sorry about that little matter," he told me. "I'd pay you todayonly I'm in a spot of trouble. That adviceman of mine has gone on the boozeagain and he's left the advertisements in a barber's shop. But just you waituntil I have another lot printed and then I'll pay you the whole lot, andJacobs as well."

That sounded a pretty tale. Jacobs and I put our heads together and decided



that we had had enough. It was Jacobs who had the bright idea.

We were in a small town in Pennsylvania at the time, and when we stole outof our lodgings into the snow-covered streets at four o'clock in the morningthere was no one about. At the theatre we selected tricks to the value ofseventy-five dollars and left a note for Mr. Lyman H. Howe saying that wehad taken our wages and hoped that he'd have a pleasant tour without us.

By five o'clock we were at the railway-station, having carried the heavycases through the snow by ourselves. We had no money to buy the tickets,but Jacobs, who was always a most resourceful man, assured me that itwould be all right.

"Don't you worry, now, Horace," he said. "I'll fix it."

When the train arrived he rushed on to the platform as if he had not hadtime to buy the tickets. He threw the trunks into the baggage-van and then,calling on me to follow, jumped into the coach.Naturally I was nervous as to what would happen when the conductorarrived, but Jacobs was quite imperturbable. He called the man aside andwhispered in his ear. I thought he looked at me somewhat apprehensively,but, however that may be, we arrived in New York safe and sound. I havenever discovered what it was Jacobs said.

We stood on New York's pavements and counted our money. That did nottake us long. I had ten cents, and Jacobs had nothing.

"Don't you worry," said Jacobs in his usual fashion; "just you go along tothe Bowery and buy two glasses of beer. There's a place there which givesyou a free lunch if you buy two glasses of beer. I'll be along about threeo'clock."

I did as he suggested, and sure enough he arrived on the stroke of three.

"Good news," he said, as soon as he saw me. "I've met a man who wants usto put on a show for the soldiers of the 69th Regiment."

"And where may they be?" I asked.

"Over at Columbus Avenue."

"I've got seven cents left," I told him. "How are we going to get toColumbus Avenue

"Maybe we could walk," he said.

I was not at all keen on that idea, but when he told me that they wereserving a big dinner, I agreed to go. So I had another opportunity to put onmy own show. This time it was to be a lucky appearance.



When we arrived at the barracks I had practically no effects, for we had notbeen able to carry the trunks we had brought from Wilkesborough. I had agreat idea in the middle of that long walk, and it was this idea which madethe show a success.

I walked on to an empty stage, and I carried nothing with me. By the time Ihad finished, the stage was covered with junk: flags, handkerchiefs, and thelike.

When the news of that show spread offers began to come in. I had six orseven offers for engagements at ten dollars a night, and one was forseventy-five. I began to feel that Horace Goldin might be making his way atlast.

I practised terribly hard in those days. If I was walking down the streets Iwould move my hands about, keeping them supple and performingimaginary sleight-of-hand tricks in my pockets. I practised in barbers' shops,and often the assistant would stop completely astonished when he looked atmy hand and

saw four billiard-balls where only one had been before In a caf I wouldtake up a glass and do a trick with it. When I was lighting a cigarette Iwould make the match-box disappear, swallow the cigarette, and then takeit out of my ear.

These little habits of mine led to one amusing incident. It was in a train, andthe gentleman opposite me had been drinking rather too well. Almostunconsciously I did the trick with the match-box and cigarette, not realizingthat anyone was watching me.

Suddenly I heard a startled exclamation from the gentleman opposite."Suffering Jupiter!" he muttered. "I've got 'em again. It's that damn' rye thatdoes it."






CHAPTER THREE

HOW I BECAME A STAR

IN 1894 the whole world was thrilled by one of the greatest spy-trials of alltime. General Alfred Dreyfus was brought before a military tribunal in Parisand was found guilty of betraying secrets to a foreign power. For this crimehe was sentenced to imprisonment on Devil's Island, the dread penalsettlement in French Guiana.

Dreyfus's misfortune was my opportunity. I saw the chance of a greatillusion, which would be all the greater for being topical. I would put on anact, "Dreyfus, Escapes from Devil's Island".

Dreyfus escapes from Devil's Island

The scene opened with Dreyfus beingdegraded. I myself, dressed as Dreyfus,stood before the soldiers. On one sidestood Esterhazy, the accuser, dressed asthe Devil. The officer in command of thesoldiers tore off the buttons from myuniform, then the epaulets, and finally hebroke my sword across his knee. Thesoldiers then forced me into a cagewhich stood in the centre of the stage.

Madame Dreyfus then entered weepingand clung to the bars of the cage. Thesoldiers, however, ignored her entreatiesand dragged her away.

Immediately after the exit of MadameDreyfus the cage was covered. Esterhazyordered the soldiers to present arms.There was a tense moment while theguns were levelled at the cage. Thencame the command to shoot. The coverfell and there stood Madame Dreyfus.

Esterhazy ordered the soldiers to depart, took off his cloak, and there wasHorace Goldin, who but one moment before was playing the part of

How I Became a Star


Dreyfus.

This was the first of my great illusions. I played it when I was at the PalaceTheatre in 1902 and it was witnessed there by King Edward VII and KingGeorge V. It was this illusion which put me on the road to fame.

I first put this act on at Tony Pastor's Theatre in New York, and it made asensation. At that time Dreyfus was still in Devil's Island, but the agitationagainst his sentence was growing rapidly and feeling was high. My illusiongained greatly by this topicality and I was re-engaged for a later appearance.I was now well established, and instead of worrying whether I should everbegin at all I had to try to become a great conjurer and not merely average. Ifelt it in me to be a great magician, and I knew that, in just the same manneras that in which I had succeeded so far, I should eventually become a star. Ihad to work hard and watch carefully for every opportunity.

During my stay in New York I appeared at Coster and Beil's, the greatestmusic-hall in America, then on Twenty-third Street, though they movedlater. There my performance was seen by the late Allan Dale, who wasconsidered in America to be the greatest of all critics. He had the uncannyhabit of being always right. If he said a show was good, it was very good,and ran for weeks. If he said that a show had such and such faults, healways hit upon the exact weaknesses. In fact, whatever Allan Dale said wassure to be sound criticism, and his opinions formed thousands of otherpeople's.

Of me he wrote:

Horace Goldin is a promising young man whowill one day make a name for himself. I enjoyedhis performance; but if you want to enjoy it Isuggest you put cotton-wool in your ears so thatyou do not hear his broken English.

I was much impressed by that criticism, and I thought and thought how Icould remove that defect. Then I hit on a daring plan. I would dispense withspeech altogether.

To perform illusions one has to fool the audience. One pretends to do onething while doing another. It is easier to distract attention by talking than byany other method, so by cutting out speech I was depriving myself of thechief instrument in the magician's stock-in-trade. But if I succeeded I shouldhave an act unlike any other on the stage. I should be unique, and thereforein demand.

By this means I hoped to turn a weakness into a box-office draw.

For weeks I worked patiently. I had to train my feet to help my hands. I had

How I Became a Star


to vary my act so that it gripped the audience's attention throughout. Idevised a show which comprised twenty-five tricks performed in the timewhich any other magician would have taken to perform four tricks.

I wrote and thanked Allan Dale for his helpful criticism, and told him of myimprovements.

The new show was a sensation, and led to my being engaged fo Keith'stheatre circuit and Hammerstein's Roof Garden for the entire summerseason of sixteen weeks. This meant that my headquarters were in theKeith's Theatre, Boston, where I played every eighth week, being on tourthe rest of the time. This engagement was the turning-point in my career,and I owe a great debt of gratitude to the late Mr. B. F. Keith and to thatBoston theatre.

At that time theatre shows used to run from early in the morning until late atnight. The show started at 10.30 and ran continuously until 10.30 p.m. Asthe junior act it fell to me to open the show at 10.30; my second appearancewas at five o'clock, and the third about 7 p.m.

Rising early has never been one of my virtues. Even as a small boy I earnedmany a hiding because of my slug-a-bed habits. Even when my livingdepended upon it I could not get up early. So I came to rely upon the goodoffices of my friend Jerry, the stage-doorkeeper.

Jerry, was one of my best pals, and he did a great deal for me in those earlydays. He was a great strapping Irishman, or rather he had been. He was oneof the most warm-hearted of men, and was never without a word ofencouragement to the beginner and a smile of congratulation for the manwho was making good. I used to spend hours chatting with him in his littleroom in the theatre between houses.

My little weakness for bed in the morning presented no difficulties to Jerry,Besides being doorkeeper he was stagemanager on Mondays, when he madeout the programmes, and he used to do a good deal of office-work into thebargain. It was his practice to have the stage-hands unp ack my tricks forme, so that everything was ready. Then he used to come along and pull meout of bed and force me into my clothes. I was never late when I played inBoston.

One day, however, I ran things pretty close. Jerry, was not able to call me asusual, and of course I lay too long. I managed to get to the theatre dead on10.30.

It was a rule in that theatre that the curtain went up at 10.30 whether the actwas ready or not.

There were the people in the stalls waiting for me. There was no time forme to change; I should have to play in my outdoor clothes.

How I Became a Star


Then, horror of horrors! Jerry, whispered in my ear, "The manager's outfront--Mr. S. K. Hodgedon."

I had never met the manager, and I did not know him by sight. I had heardtales of him, and I thought that this escapade would surely earn me the sack.But Jerry, did his best to encourage me as I waited for the orchestra to finishthe overture. Then with a pat on the back from Jerry, I stepped on the stageand my act began.

It is a strange thing that, though before I am on the stage I feel nervous,when the act has begun and I see the faces and hear the applause I am quiteall right and my nervousness vanishes. So it was on this occasion. When itcame to the egg-in-the-bag trick I wanted a partner from the audience.About three rows from the front there was a prosperous gentleman who Ithought would do excellently. I called him to the foot of the stairs that led tothe stage.

"Would you mind helping me by placing your foot on the bottom step?" Iasked.

He did so.

"Now give me your hand and put the other foot on the second step."

Again he did as I asked.

"Now repeat."

And that brought him on to the stage. I have practised that little deceptionthousands of time and I have never known it to fail.

He held my wrists when I did the egg-in-the-bag trick. Though I pushed hisnose into the bag he could not see how the trick was done. He was veryimpressed.

The act went well, and though I still felt rather worried because the managerwas somewhere in front of me, and I was still in ordinary clothes, I couldnot help but feel that I had been good that morning.

As I came off the stage I met Jerry,

"Well, I like your pluck, young Goldin," he said.

"Why?"

"There you stand, not properly dressed for the show, and then you have thecheek to ask S. K. Hodgedon, the manager who is employing you, to step onthe stage and hold your wrists for you. If you don't get re-engaged, don't sayit was my fault."

You can imagine my horror. I had had no idea that the prosperous

How I Became a Star


gentleman was the manager. But I put a bold face on it.

"Look you, Jerry," I said. "I may be thrown out now but, you mark mywords, I'll be in the star dressing-room soon."

As I walked back to my dressing-room at the top of the buildings, withJerry's laughter still in my ears, I met Sandow. He was top of the bill, and ofcourse he was in the star dressing-room, which was really a suite of roomsfurnished in palatial style, with hot and cold water in the bath-room and allsorts of unusual conveniences. I certainly had a long way to go.

In three or four weeks' time I was re-engaged, so evidently the manager hadnot been very displeased by my familiarity. This time I was third on the bill,and I did not appear until eleven o'clock on the Monday morning. I enjoyedan extra half-hour in bed.

B. F. Keith, the proprietor of this and many other theatres in the States,never came into the theatre before eight o'clock in the evening because therewere no important acts before that time. But it so happened that on theWednesday, as he entered the theatre, he saw a bowl of gold-fish on a standin the middle of the foyer with a large notice: "THESE FISH WERECAUGHT BY PROFESSOR HORACE GOLDIN OVER THE HEADS OFTHE AUDIENCE." Evidently he was interested.

The next night Jerry, came to me.

"He's in early, isn't he?" I said.

"Yes," answered Jerry, "Half an hour too soon. I can't think what's comeover him."

I was nervous when the act began, but again I controlled my nerves. I neverremember the show working so well. Everything ran smoothly. Theaudience was very responsive. All went well, and I scored an immensesuccess.

Naturally, I was gratified, and I rather expected that I might get both a risein wages and a more prominent place on the bill. I did not expect the goodfortune which was to be mine.

After the show Jerry, came up to me with a smile on his face.

"Well, my boy, I'm delighted. You've done it again. I think the old manliked your act. Anyway, I saw him applauding."

That was very good news.

Next day I was at the theatre and ready for my act at eleven o'clock, whenJerry, burst excitedly into my dressingroom.

"Oh boy, oh boy!" he shouted. "I've got the grandest news for you. Better

How I Became a Star


news than I've ever given anyone in this theatre or anywhere else. Old manKeith himself says that you're to do two shows instead of three for the restof the week. You're going to be the star headliner and they're getting out theextra advertising for you. The special electric wagon is going round thetown telling them all about Horace Goldin. I've got to change all the advertsand put you at the top of the bill."

At that Jerry, stopped for lack of breath, and his news left me stunned. Itwas more amazing than anything I had ever known before. Then I decidedthat it was just Jerry's fun. It was not true. It could not be true."Stop kidding me, you big mutt," I said. "Are you trying to get me sacked?"

"No, Horace, it's quite all right. You're to be the top of the bill."

I shrugged my shoulders, for I was a bit sore with him for trying to take mein, and I proceeded with my arrangements, getting all my paraphernaliaready for eleven o'clock. To my surprise someone else went on in my place.

I went up to Jerry, and, looking pretty black, I said to him, "Look here, whatis all this?"

"Don't be an ass," said Jerry, "It's all on the level. Here's the day'sprogramme."

I looked at the paper and, sure enough, there was my name in the star place;but, as I have said, Jerry sometimes drew up the programme, and I thoughthe had drawn up a special one in order to fool me. I carried on with mychanging.

"It's no good taking your clothes off," said Jerry, "You'll only have to putthem on again. All your things are upstairs."

I opened my wardrobe, only to find it empty. That made me wonder if itwas a leg-pull after all.

"Just a moment," he said. "Let me get you a paper." When it arrived heshowed me the rearranged advertisement with my name at the top of thebill. That was easily the greatest moment of my life, and it was some timebefore I recovered from the effect of my wonderful promotion from thebottom to the top of the bill on the Thursday.

I shall never forget going on at three o'clock for the first time, and having asensational reception by a packed house.

All sorts of methods were used then to advertise the halls. Streamers hungacross the main streets, horse wagons and smaller wagons driven by boystoured the streets, each covered with advertisements. On all of these myname appeared in large letters. It was a great thrill for me just to walk downthe main street and to see what a stir I had made.

How I Became a Star


After that success I was given a return date and went on tour, topping allbills. The success I had achieved in Boston I repeated in each town at whichI played. I felt I was on top of the world. I wrote delighted letters home tomy parents, who were amazed that any son of theirs should achieve such aposition at such an early age and in what seemed to them the strangest of allpossible fashions.

When I returned to Keith's Theatre, Boston, eight weeks after my firsttriumph there, I met Jerry, at the stage door. Without saying a word hethrust out his hand.

"What's this for?" I inquired.

"Put it there, my son," he answered. "You've got the star dressing-room."

As I wandered through the suite and saw the bathroom and the sitting-roomI was very much moved. I had achieved my boast. I had arrived.

Soon after this very successful run I made a profitable mistake. I may saythat I make a mistake practically every night on the stage, only the audiencenever knows anything about it. It would be surprising indeed if a show suchas mine, with many assistants, and effects which have to be timed to a splitsecond, should always go through without a hitch. But the mistakessometimes prove useful, and occasionally I find my improvements this way.

On the occasion of which I am now writing I was performing in the OperaHouse, Washington. The engagement had been a difficult one to get and Iwas nervous on my first night there. I began the trick with four ducks, but,unfortunately for me, one of the ducks, which I was supposed to wrap up inpaper and make to disappear, escaped me and began to walk round thestage. I knew nothing of this, but the audience saw what had gone wrongand laughed very heartily.

I could not understand this unusual outburst of merriment, and looked roundto see what had happened. As I did so the duck which had escaped gave aloud "Quack, quack!" of enjoyment and looked at me with a very wickedlook in its eye.

I must confess that I was white and frightened, for I knew that if such ablunder came to the ears of the manager my engagement would becancelled. I searched my brains for some way to cover my mistake.

Turning to the audience, I announced that I would take this duck and makefive out of it. I seized it, put it into a tub of water, clapped the lid on, lifted italmost immediately, and out came the five ducks as I had promised.

And didn't the audience applaud?

After the show Mr. Chase, the manager of the theatre, sent for me, and I

How I Became a Star


scented trouble at once. His office was two floors up and over the theatre,and as I went up to see him I became very depressed. Evidently someonehad told him of my blunder and I was to be given the sack.

To my surprise, when I entered the manager's room I found him lookingvery genial. He said, "You are evidently making a very big success here; Icould hear the laughter and applause up here in the office."

I agreed.

"Would you care to stay another week?" he asked.

I hesitated at that. Was he pulling my leg? I decided that if I was to besacked there was nothing I could do about it, but if he meant this offerseriously I might as well try to do myself well.

"I shall want a twenty-five-dollar rise," I told him.

"That's all right," he said, and he set about getting me the new agreement onthe spot.

Afterwards I discovered that he had heard the great burst of laughter whichhad gone up when the audience saw the mistake I had made, and, thinking Iwas going over big, he had decided that I was worth keeping.

That anecdote shows how very necessary it is for a magician to have all hiswits about him and to keep cool in an emergency. Another incident whichillustrates this occurred soon after the Washington affair.

I was playing in the town of Waterbury, in America, when suddenly thelights went out. There seemed a very good chance of a panic, but I shoutedout: "Ladies and gentlemen, I am about to perform a most marvellous trick.I have here a lemon, which, of course, you can't see. I propose to cut it intwo and bring an elephant out of it." Squash! I cut the lemon. "Now," Ishouted, "the elephant is walking off the stage! You can't see him, but if youlisten you will hear him all right."

Sure enough, a slow shuffling noise was heard, very like that made by anelephant. In reality, it was my fat stagemanager walking across the stage incarpet slippers.

The light returned, there was a great burst of applause and all was well. Butthe next day a man came to see me in my dressing-room and told me that heconsidered my new elephant-trick the best I had invented. Why hadn't Igiven it again that night?


How I Became a Star




CHAPTER FOUR

MY ENGLISH PREMIERE

WHEN I first crossed the Atlantic I was a lonely little boy of sixteen,travelling without my parents and going to a strange country where no onewould know my language and where no one would bother about me. WhenI crossed back again ten years later I left behind me a great reputation as anillusionist. I was going to England to appear in one of the greatest theatresof the time, the Palace Theatre. I felt that I was well up the ladder ofsuccess.

"The King of Coins", as Nelson T. Downes was called, was the man whosecured this engagement in England for me. He suggested that my agents,Nathan and Somers, book me at the Palace for one week's engagement. Iaccepted the offer, although it was for less money than I could have had inthe States, because I thought that it would be good for my reputation andbecause I wanted to visit England.

I arrived in London from New York on a Wednesday, and was to open atthe Palace Theatre the following Monday. I must confess that I was morenervous than I have ever been since. I had heard some of the remarks whichthe late Mr. Charles Morton, who was manager of the Palace at the time,had made to my agents, and they were hardly the sort of remarks to inspireconfidence.

I stayed at the Hotel Cecil, which has long since been replaced by a giganticblock of offices. I wandered through the streets and thought Londonwonderful. There seemed to be a blend of the old and the new worlds. Herewas busy Fleet Street, one of the world's arteries, and yet one had only tostep through a gateway to be in the Temple, the peaceful abode of lawyers,with its quiet cloisters and its green trees and lawns.

While I had these few days' holiday I visited a few music-halls to see whatsort of people the English audiences were composed of, and what sort ofentertainment they liked best. This, I find, would be called a "busman'sholiday" in England. The settings and the atmosphere of the theatres Ivisited gave me an encouraging inspiration. The audience was always readyto applaud a good act and was never cruel to the beginner. The people liked

My English Premiere


a good hearty laugh, and they liked to be thoroughly mystified. I felt that Ihad a show that they would enjoy.For all that my knees knocked together, and I felt like one awaiting sentenceof death. It was the first time that I had opened in a foreign country, and Iknew that it would be a long time before I recovered from a setback here.

At last Monday, June 8, 1902, arrived. I was up early, contrary to my usualhabit, and at twelve noon I was at the theatre ready for rehearsal, with theorchestra under Mr. Herman Finck. That went off all right. Then began thelong wait till the evening.

I was due to appear at 10.42, after Mr. Lewis Waller and before anAmerican Biograph booked by Mr. Ted Marks, whom I named "The Mayorof the Ocean" and who was at that time in London.

At six o'clock I tried to eat something, but I was much too anxious for that. Idecided that I had better lie down and have a rest.

At eight o'clock I arrived at the theatre. The show was due to start in aquarter of an hour, and the house was already full. The ten-and-sixpennystalls were all sold out, and as I peered through at the audience I could seenothing but a sea of evening dresses.

"If I make a success now," I thought, "there will be no holding me. I shallbe playing before the King of England soon."

That thought made me even more nervous.

I watched the first act or two from the wings, but this seemed to be thewrong thing to do in my nervous condition, and I decided that I had bettertake a walk.

With that I slipped out of the stage door and walked down the CharingCross Road. Turning to the right, I came into Leicester Square, and there Isaw the three great theatres, the Empire, the Alhambra, and the Pavilion.They were then enjoying their hey-day as music-halls, and there were"House Full" signs outside all of them. I continued my stroll until I came tothe Tivoli, in the Strand. That magnificent music-hall has gone the way ofthe others in Leicester Square and has become a cinema, but at that time itwas the haunt of the men about town and the gay ladies who ogled andflirted with them. Though it was then 1902 there was a good deal of the"Naughty 'Nineties" spirit abroad in London.

As I gazed at the outside of the Tivoli I noticed a clock in the foyer whosehands pointed to 10.10. Surely that could not be the time! I looked at myown watch only to find that it was too true. I had half an hour to get back tothe theatre, dress, and be ready for my act.

I called a hansom cab, told the driver not to spare the horse, and then we

My English Premiere


made the sparks fly up the Charing Cross Road. Arrived there, I found myassistants nearly crazy with anxiety. I tore off my clothes and dived into mystage clothes. I have never undressed and dressed so quickly in my life as Idid then. I was pulling on my coat in the wings as my music struck up. I hadjust escaped a terrible disgrace.Every cloud has a silver lining and this was no exception. My hurry curedmy nervousness. I forgot where I was. I forgot all about the premire. I feltat the top of my form, and the audience seemed in the best of humours.

I started doing one trick after another at top speed. The egg in the bagscored a great success, and Dreyfus's Escape from Devil's Island rousedimmense enthusiasm. Never have I felt such a congenial atmosphere as thatI felt then.

The people were shouting "Encore" and "Bravo" as I finished my act andleft the stage. I met Mr. Daymar, the stage-manager, in the wings.

"You've certainly scored a big success," he told me. "You'd better slipthrough the tabs and make a speech."

It was then that I realized where I was. My tongue seemed to be paralysedand my knees really did knock together. But I plucked up enough courage tostep through the curtains before that great applauding audience. All Imanaged to say was: "Thank you! Good night!"

As I made my way to my dressing-room a boy came up to me with aninvitation to join the directors in their room. There I found the four of themwaiting for me: Mr. Crematti, Mr. Poldon, Mr. Graydon, and CountHollander. The manager, Mr. Morton, was also present. They all welcomedme most warmly and drank my health in champagne. After I had been withthem a little while I felt that success and wine might go to my head. Butthen, I reflected, that does not matter much. I have made a hit.

We were soon joined by jack Somers, my agent. He was beaming all overhis face.

"Congratulations, my boy," he said, holding out his hand. "You've donewonderfully well. Mr. Morton wants to see you in his office tomorrow attwelve o'clock. If that isn't good news I don't know what is."

When that little party was over I went to my dressing-room and there Ifound Fred Niblo, later the producer of the film Ben Hur, waiting for me.He was also on the bill, and had been out in the front sitting behind some ofthe directors, and had heard them talking about me. He told me somethingof what they had said, and then he added:

"Take a friend's advice, Horace. You're on a good thing here. See that youmake the most of it."

My English Premiere


Next day I called to see Mr. Morton, and he informed me that they wereexercising the option of sixteen weeks which was included in myagreement, and that I was engaged indefinitely.

That I did not understand at all. There were no options in America, and I didnot know exactly what "indefinitely" meant. I pointed out that I hadengagements in America, but the manager said that I must break thembecause he had the prior call on my service. At last, remembering whatNiblo had said, I suggested a rise in salary, which the manager immediatelyagreed to.

This matter of salaries has some importance in the history of the theatre. Ata dinner of the Magician's Club the late Oswald Williams once said: "Everymagician should pay ten per cent of his salary to Horace Goldin, for it washe who first established us as artists worthy of high payment." When he saidthat he was thinking of my appearance at the Palace in 1902.

At that time magicians and escapologists were very popular in London, butthey were not well paid. Such men as Carl Hertz and Houdini wereappearing at the best theatres--the Oxford, the Tivoli, and the Pavilion--andthey were receiving normal salaries. For this they performed one illusiononly, and they took up the rest of their time with an elaborate introduction. Ichanged all this. I gave the audience a succession of illusions, and I wonsuch applause that I was able to demand more money for my act. Othermagicians benefited likewise.

My friend Will Goldston has said: "Had it not been for Goldin, Houdiniwould never have drawn his 900 a week at the Palladium in later years."That is why my performance at the Palace in 1902 is looked upon as amilestone in the history of stage illusionists.

During my run at the Palace Theatre I had an experience which gave me thegreatest pleasure. I was taken to a meeting of the Water Rats.

This society is formed by the greatest stage performers of the time, andincludes comedians, instrumentalists, and film stars, and many others whosewhole aim in life is to cater for the entertainment of the public. To be amember of this society is a great honour. Anyone who wishes to become amember has to apply, and his application has to be supported by two WaterRats. The committee then decides whether or not the applicant is fit to be amember of so exclusive a society.

I had been invited by Sir Edward Moss and Mr. Frank Allen to attend afunction at the Vaudeville Club, an affair that had been organized by theWater Rats. I was very much impressed by the people I met there, for theywere the biggest stars of the British and American stages. I asked if I alsomight become a member. My application was sent in after a few days, and itwas supported by two men who were then very well known: Herbert

My English Premiere


Campbell, who was famous for his pantomime association with Dan Leno,and Joe O'Gorman, then King Rat. I was unanimously elected, along withHarry Blake, famous for his rendering of the "Hiawatha" song.

Now Fred Russell, Harry Blake, and I are the oldest Water Rats, and wemeet regularly and have very good times together, with such fun-makers asPast King Rats Will Hay, Will Fyffe, and Wee Georgie Wood, and PresentKing Rat Stanley Damerell. The Water Rats are people I am always glad tobe with.


My English Premiere




CHAPTER FIVE

PLAYING BEFORE THE BRITISH ROYAL FAMILY

THE proudest moment of my life came when I had been playing in thePalace Theatre, London, for some months to packed houses and continuousapplause.

During the month of October 1902 I was invited to dinner at the EccentricClub, and after dinner was over I amused my hosts with a few dinner-tabletricks. It so happened that one of my audience was Mr. George Ashton, thenthe Royal Agent of King Edward VII's Household. He must have told theKing something of what he had seen.

Two nights later Mr. Charles Morton, the manager of the Palace, informedme that I was to play at Sandringham before the King and Queen. QueenAlexandra's birthday was to be celebrated, and amongst those present wouldbe the Kaiser.

Naturally I was immensely delighted. I had thought from time to time that aRoyal Command Performance would be the crowning achievement of mycareer as an illusionist, and now that dream was to come true.

When Mr. Morton told me this good news he also told me that I was to keepit a complete secret, because the King had planned the show as a surprisefor Queen Alexandra. That meant that I could not tell anyone of this greatevent. I had two weeks before the show, which was to be put on in theballroom at Sandringham on Wednesday, November 12, 1902.

Again I became terribly nervous. Lying in bed, I forgot what a great thing itwould be for me and only thought of the ordeal I had to go through. Againand again the temptation came to me to make the excuse "too ill to appear",but silent voices told me that I must not yield to this insidious appeal. Thisconstant worry deprived me of sleep, and by the time the great day came Iwas nearly a nervous wreck.

I had not told even my assistants where we were playing. I merely said thatwe were playing in the country, and they jumped to the conclusion that wewere going to some country club. We took a considerable amount ofbaggage, for I had to give as much of my stage show as possible, and we

Playing Before the British Royal Family


boarded a train for Norfolk. We arrived at the great house, and some of myassistants peeped through the windows. Imagine their surprise when theysaw the King, Kaiser Wilhelm, and other members of the Royal Family justreturned from shooting. Their delight did something to cure me of my attackof nerves. They were quite certain that we should be a huge success. I feltso too, more especially as I had Mr. Herman Finck to play my music for me.

When ten o'clock came, the time for my performance, there were about twohundred people assembled in the ballroom. At one end a small stage hadbeen erected on which I was to perform.

An aisle ran down the middle of the audience, and on the right of it in thefront row were seated H.M. King Edward and H.R.H. the Duke ofConnaught, and on the left were H.M. Queen Alexandra, the Kaiser, andH.R.H. the Prince of Wales, later King George V.

There had been two constant worries on my mind. The first was that someof the audience might have seen these tricks before and that they would notlike seeing them again. I found out afterwards that I need not have botheredabout that, for my show was new to practically everyone there, and TheirMajesties had never seen anything like it before. My second worry was thatI should make some bad blunder. This nearly happened.

Before the show began I had a few words with Mr. George Ashton, and hecoached me on all points of etiquette. I felt that I should be quite safe thereand should not say anything which would make me look foolish. He told methat I should not take my coat off when I did the egg-in-the-bag trick andthat it would not do to ask for the co-operation of any of my distinguishedaudience. When I asked him how far I could go in "spoofing" TheirMajesties and the others he told me that I could do what, I liked so long as Idid not make them look ridiculous.

I went on to the stage with my head full of Mr. Ashton's "do's" and "don'ts",but, strangely enough, I forgot all about them when I was once begun, and Iwent through my act as usual. And this, I am sure, did a great deal towardsmaking me a hit. I took my coat off and passed it to the Duke of Connaughtfor examination. I did a great many things which must have made Mr.Ashton say a few things about me under his breath. Yet I am certain that myunconventional attitude suited that unconventional monarch, Edward VII,and his gracious Queen.My first trick was with handkerchiefs. They are tied together by a memberof the audience and they become mysteriously unravelled at a word fromme. I took them down to the front row, where the most important guestswere sitting, and approaching the Kaiser I asked him if he would be goodenough to tie these handkerchiefs together for me.

Just as I finished saying the words I remembered that he had a withered



arm, and that he could not tie them together. For one horrible moment I wasfascinated by the terrible blunder I had made. Then I took them from him.

"Or rather no, sir," I said. "Perhaps it would be better if Her Majesty did thetying while you keep a careful watch that she isn't cheating."

Everyone laughed at this pleasantry, and I breathed again when I saw thatall was well. The Queen tied the handkerchiefs for me, and the King likedthe trick very much.

I asked Her Majesty to feel the knots in the handkerchiefs, but I so arrangedthem that she felt the places where there were no knots.

"Can you feel them?" I asked.

Her Majesty frowned a little and said she could not."Well, Your Majesty is not 'feeling' very well. There they are."I can hear the King's big laugh now.

The second time the Queen tried she said that she could feel them, and I toldher that I was delighted that she was "feeling" better. The King laughedvery heartily again, and I learned later that my little joke was particularlyapt because the Queen was then suffering from a bad cold.The egg-in-the-bag trick was the high spot of the evening. It seemed to methat His Majesty knew that it needed great skill to deceive the audience atsuch close range. It was the King himself who held my hands for the trick,and I introduced one or two new touches. I asked the King to feel inside thebag, and while his hand was still inside I produced the egg.

After that I "exposed" the trick in a humorous manner, but still leaving themmystified, performing the trick with one hand, which left my distinguishedaudience at a greater loss for an explanation than ever. I remember theKaiser applauding me by slapping his knee with one hand and snapping hisfinger and thumb.

The fish trick led me into a small mistake. In this illusion I take afishing-rod and bait it before the audience. Then I throw it out over theheads of the people and begin to catch fish. These I take off the line andplace in a glass bowl, where they swim round merrily. I took this bowldown amongst my audience to show them that there really were fish inside,but, feeling that this was too small a matter to interest Their Majesties, Ipassed before them and took my bowl towards the people who were sittingfarther back. But Mr. George Ashton met me and pointed out that I hadbeen discourteous in passing the King and Queen, so I retraced my stepsand made good my omission.

One of my card tricks made a deep impression that evening, particularly on



Queen Alexandra. In this trick the Duke of Connaught took a card from thepack and placed it in his waistcoat pocket. He then took up and held the endof a, piece of ribbon. I announced to the audience that by my magic power Icould pass a current through that ribbon so that if any bright object were tobe held against the end distant from the Duke the card would be reflectedtherein. I invited the Queen on to the stage to test this for herself.I used the inside of my watch for this trick, for the polished case acted as areflector. The Queen looked carefully into this as I brought the end of theribbon close to it. There she saw the nine of clubs.

Three years later, when I was giving an entertainment at the Duke ofMarlborough's home, Sutherland House, in Curzon Street, the King andQueen were again present. When I started the trick the Queen asked if shemight be the one to look in the watch. Again she took the end of the ribbonin her hand and again she saw the card appear. But this time it was adifferent card.

"Last time, at Sandringham, it was the nine of clubs," she said, turning tome. "It is now the five of hearts."

Evidently the Queen thought that the same card always appeared in thewatch. I was very much impressed by the fact that the Queen hadremembered the trick so carefully for three years.

To return to that earlier entertainment at Sandringham: I played beforeTheir Majesties for over an hour, and then I retired, giving place to AlbertChevalier, who sang some of his most popular songs: "The Future Mrs.'Awkins", "Wot Fur Do'E Luve Oi?", and "The Fallen Star". When thisperformance was over I was recalled to the ball-room, where the Kinggraciously conferred on me the Medal of Art. Later I was sent a pincontaining a letter "E", with the number VII inside it. This pin I wear everyday in my tie as a memento of a very genial monarch.

The letter I received with this tie-pin ran as follows



Buckingham Palace,March 27, 1903.

Dear Sir,

I have the pleasure by command of the King to send youthe accompanying pin as a memento from His Majestyof the my clever and interesting performance you gavebefore the King and Queen and the Emperor of Germanyand other members of the Royal Family at Sandringhamlast summer.

The little present would have been sent to you before,but until quite lately I have not been certain of youraddress.

I remain, Dear Sir,Yours faithfully,Dighton Probyn,Keeper of H.M. Privy Purse.

To Horace Goldi

horace goldin qhorace

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