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Houdini's final days - Notes on a Strange World - Biography

Skeptical Inquirer, Nov-Dec, 2003 by Massimo Polidoro

One of the best things about lecturing around the world is the chance to meet a lot of interesting people. That's what happened, for example, when I was touring the United States in August 2001 to speak about my book Final Seance, about the curious friendship between Harry Houdini and Sir Arthur Conan Doyle.

Naturally, I was approached by many fans, students, and historians of both Doyle and Houdini, but also by other intriguing people. There was a man in Cleveland, Ohio, who told me I could get all the information I wanted on Doyle directly from him--meaning not the Clevelander, but "him," Doyle himself! This man did not claim to be a medium but, nonetheless, believed he had talked many times with the spirit of Doyle. To prove it he told me he had taped all these conversations and promised to send them to me. When after some time I received the tapes they were completely blank. Maybe he had made some mistake duplicating them, or they had been erased during shipping, or maybe the man had tried to tape conversations that only happened in his mind.

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A more fruitful meeting took place in Eugene, Oregon, at the Skeptic's Toolbox Workshop sponsored by CSICOP and held at the University of Oregon. I met Donald Sandweiss, M.D., who told me he had an elderly acquaintance whose deceased husband was the physician who initially attended Houdini during his terminal illness in Detroit. Would I be interested in having her tell me this story?

Of course I was! Though we could not meet in person, eventually Dr. Sandweiss graciously wrote me and sent a written memoir of Ethel Cohn Schatz, the widow of Houdini's physician.

Tragedy Strikes

In October 1926, Houdini, then fifty-two years old, was touring North America with his grand show of magic and escapes. He had opened on September 13 at the Majestic Theater in Boston, and when the tour had reached Albany on October 11, Houdini was getting quite tired. His wife Bess had been ill and he had not slept for almost three days in order to spend time close to her in New York. When he arrived in Albany, nonetheless, he went on stage and performed in the scheduled show. During the performance of the famous Water Torture Cell act, the apparatus that held him upside down suddenly snapped and he broke his left ankle. A physician ordered that he be taken immediately to the hospital, but Houdini refused, wanting to finish the show.

Only after the curtains had been lowered on the dosing act did Houdini agree to visit the hospital, but again he refused to get the needed rest; he had his foot put in plaster and resumed his scheduled tour. He continued to appear in his complete evening's entertainment of magic, escapes, and pseudo-spiritualism, moving from Albany to Schenectady. On the eighteenth he arrived in Montreal, Canada, where physicians strenuously advised him against continuing his public performances until his leg healed. But Houdini adamantly continued.

On October 22, Houdini was visited backstage by a few students. One of them began drawing a portrait of the magician, who was then laying on a couch reading his mail. To the students Houdini looked like someone "much in need of a long, carefree vacation"; still, he was kind, affable, and made them feel comfortable. They talked for a while, and Houdini answered all of their questions. "Is it true, Mr. Houdini," asked then a student named Wallace Whitehead, "that you can resist the hardest blows struck to the abdomen?"

The unexpected question took everybody aback. Houdini, who had never claimed such a thing, tried to change subject. But the student persisted. Houdini replied that he had strong muscles in his arms and back.

"Would you mind if I delivered a few blows to your abdomen, Mr. Houdini?" was the next surprising question from Whitehead.

Houdini accepted, but as he tried to get up from the couch, the well-built young man began punching him in the stomach with terribly forcible punches.

"Hey there!" cried out one of the students. "You must be crazy. What are you doing?"

Whitehead delivered a few more punches and, when Houdini murmured "That will do," stopped his attack. The atmosphere slowly returned back to normal as Houdini regained his breath. The portrait was finished and handed to Houdini. "You made me look a little tired in this picture," remarked the magician. "The truth is, I don't feel so well." He thanked the students and said goodbye.

That night he performed his show as expected, but between intermissions he rested on his couch in a cold sweat. After the performance he rushed to the station to catch a train for Detroit, where he was scheduled to open the next evening. On the train, however, the stomach pain became unbearable and a wire had to be sent ahead asking for a physician to meet them at the Detroit station.

The doctor found signs of appendicitis and urged him to enter a hospital. Houdini, instead, went to his hotel, where he shook with chills. On October 24 he went to Detroit's old Garrick Theatre and opened the show, although his temperature had reached 104 and he collapsed twice between intermissions. After the show was over, the magician returned to his room at the Statler Hotel and collapsed in the middle of the night.

Houdini's final days - Notes on a Strange World - Biography

Skeptical Inquirer, Nov-Dec, 2003 by Massimo Polidoro

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