CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

ARTISTES I HAVE HELPED

"THIS is no trickery," said Lord Northcliffe, the British newspaper proprietor, after seeing a performance given by the Zancigs at the Alhambra Theatre. "It is miracle-working."

Many people must have thought that after seeing that great thought-reading act. I certainly did when I first saw the marvellous pair, Julius and Agnes Zancig, working together. It was the first time I, or, I believe, anyone else, had seen a thought-reading act performed in silence. It held us all spell-bound.

I saw them at a performance they gave before the Society of American Magicians. This interesting society, the first of its kind, was founded in 1900 by Dr. Mortimer and Harry Houdini, and it used to meet every Saturday night at the back of Matincker's magical shop at 493 Sixth Avenue, New York. I joined as one of the original chartered members, and today my number is twenty-six. The membership is now numbered in thousands, and there are branches existing in nearly every town in the United States.

Incidentally, I have recently received the following letter from this society:

Whereas, by unanimous vote of the Executive Committee of the Parent Assembly, SOCIETY or AMERICAN MAGICIANS, the honorar degree Of MEMBER EMERITUS was made part of the By-laws of this Sociey: Therefore, be advised that HORACE GOLDIN, Member No. 26 of the Parent Assembly, shall heretofore bear the title MEMBER EMERITUS for the term of his natural life, to his own honour and that of THE SOCIETY OF AMERICAN MAGICIANS. Done under our seal this date MAY 1, 1937. JULIEN J. PROSTHANER, President EDWARD DART, Secretary

It was the custom, when the usual business had been transacted, for some of the members to perform various magical effects. It was at one of these performances that I saw the Zancigs perform their uncanny act.

They were then unknown and were working in a small tent in Coney Island. Mrs. Zancig would do palmistry for a shilling a person, and they used the thought-reading only to draw the crowd. Mrs. Zancig would stand blindfold before the tent and her husband would merely look at the print, holding the card or letter in his right hand and touching his temple with the third finger of the left hand, moving it as if he were using a Morse-code instrument. This would attract people, for they argued that if an act like that was displayed for nothing outside, the value they would receive inside must be very good indeed.

At this time I was playing a summer season at Hammerstein's Roof Garden, New York, and I decided to mention the Zancigs to Mr. Hammerstein the next time I saw him. The late Mr. William. Hammerstein was one of the greatest showmen in the music-hall world, and I knew that if he were interested in them their names would be made. Accordingly I told him all about them, and he went down to Coney Island to see for himself. Like myself, he was very impressed by what he saw, and he asked me to engage them for the Roof Garden for one week. If they were successful they were to stay for the remainder of the season. I suggested that he pay them 150 dollars a week. He agreed to this and gave me a contract for their signatures.

When I showed this to the Zancigs they would not believe it. They managed to make about twenty-five dollars a week, with some difficulty, and they could not credit their good fortune. They laughed at me and swore that I was playing a joke on them. I spent half an hour trying to convince them that this was a serious matter, and even after they had signed the agreement they did not really believe that their great chance had come and that they were to appear at Hammerstein's Roof Garden.

Mr. Hammerstein had thought of a great idea for publicity. At the back of the Roof Garden there was an artificial farm, a side attraction for the public to view before the performance and during the interval. There were miniature stables for horses, and cows, fowls, pigs, and other farm animals used to wander about. In the middle of this farm there was a large artificial pond. Mr. Hammerstein arranged that the Press should stand on one side of the water and the Zancigs on the other. The Press then had the remarkable experience of watching the transference of thought across water.

The following Monday was the Zancigs' first performance, and they were very nervous indeed. They told me time and time again that they could not believe it was true. I think they may have been too anxious.

Unfortunately it was very hot, being the middle of July. The sides of the building were opened for fresh air, and so was the roof. The noise of the passing traffic interfered very badly with the Zancigs' performance. The audience could not hear what was going on and became restless. The show was a flop.

I was sitting near Mr. Hammerstein, and it was easy to read disappointment written on his face. As soon as possible I made myself scarce. We watched the show again on Tuesday, and again it was a flop. Again I disappeared.

At that time Hammerstein's was a very expensive theatre. Only people with some money to spend could afford the prices. Standing-room cost a dollar, seats in the pit were two and a half dollars, and the stalls were five dollars. The audience usually left before the last act, which came on at about midnight.

On the Wednesday of the Zancigs' first week Mr. Hammerstein sent for me and asked me to tell my friends that they would finish on Saturday night, and that for the rest of the week they would close the show. This meant, as I have just explained, that few people would see their act.

It was with a very heavy heart that I went to break this bad news to Julius Zancig and his wife. To my surprise they took it very calmly, and their principal interest seemed to be whether they would receive their full salary on Saturday night. I said that there would be no question at all about this, and they seemed quite reconciled to the idea of returning to Coney Island.

On Thursday night they went on at five minutes to twelve. Most of the audience had gone and the rest found it difficult to hear what was being said. Someone at the back shouted, "Speak up; we can't hear you!" Zancig turned to the audience and told them that it would be very much better for all concerned if they would come to the front stalls. This was done, and it was a wonderful thing to see everyone moving forward. When Zancig began the act no one left the theatre. Instead there was a scramble when people tried to hand him various articles--cards, letters, and the like--for Mrs. Zancig to read blindfold. Everyone was convinced that this was real transmission of thought.

Instead of the act lasting for only fifteen minutes, it went on until a quarter past one--an hour and twenty minutes altogether. I could not see that there had been any difference in their act, but Mr. Hammerstein seemed much impressed.

Zancig himself explained the secret later. "You see," he said; "we are 'close' workers. We need an intimate atmosphere and a small space. That is why it is very difficult for us to succeed in the theatre. But at midnight the noise of the traffic has stopped, and there are fewer people in the theatre. Those who remain can come closer to us, and they can hear what is said. That is why we have been a success."

The next night I watched the show again, and so did Mr. Hammerstein. On the Saturday night there was almost a stampede. That convinced Mr. Hammerstein. He asked me to tell the Zancigs to stay the following week.

They went from strength to strength. Many of the public not only came for the second and third time but they would actually buy their seats at eleven o'clock in order to see this one act. As a result the Zancigs stayed on at the Roof Garden until the end of the season, at the increased salary of 750 dollars a week. At the end of that time their names were known and they were offered vaudeville contracts for considerable sums.

They were grateful to me for what I had done for them, and we became good friends. When I left New York to appear at the Palace Theatre, in London, they came down to see me off. They only arrived when my boat was pulling out, but I wrote on a card, "See you in London. You will be next." By the time I had finished this the dock seemed a great way away, but I threw my card and, strange to relate, actually hit Zancig. He was able to catch it in his hand. I am no expert in the throwing of cards, and that is easily the best throw I ever experienced.

Six months later the Zancigs opened at the Alhambra Theatre, and they made a sensation. They were commanded to appear before Their Majesties King Edward and Queen Alexandra.

During this time we met very often, and on one of our trips in my motor-car I witnessed something which made me wonder if there might not be something psychic in their relationship. I had often heard Zancig say, "Our two hearts beat as one"; now had confirmation of it.

We decided to make a trip one Sunday as far as Maidenhead. I helped Mrs. Zancig to enter the car first. Her husband followed, but he held on to the side of the car where the hinges were. I jumped in myself and, as was my custom, pulled the door to smartly behind me. The result was that I crushed his thumb terribly. Mrs. Zancig did not see or hear anything of this. Her husband put his hand in his pocket and winked at me, as much as to say, "Don't tell her anything about this."

We had not gone very far when Mrs. Zancig went very pale. I stopped the car when I saw that she was ill. "There is something wrong," she exclaimed. "I feel a pain in my hand and also in my heart." We tried to persuade her that nothing was wrong, but she insisted that somebody was hurt. Then she turned to her husband and said, "Are you all right?" He then told her what had happened and showed her his thumb. She was very relieved, and immediately set about dressing the injury. Mrs. Zancig had a very unpleasant day. I think she suffered more than her husband.

When I first heard of Howard Thurston he was enjoying a certain amount of popularity in the West of the United States, but he had a small act, most of which was card-manipulation. In 1899 he was being advertised extensively as "the man who fooled the Great Herman", but he was practically unknown in the music-halls of the East.

In later years he became America's foremost magician, and for many years he acted only in the best of theatres. He took over the show of the famous magician Harry Kellar, but he added many new attractions to it, and well deserved his prosperity. He would always acknowledge the great debt he owed to me.

When he arrived in New York he had only two good tricks. One was the rising-card trick, which had brought him the reputation for deceiving Herman--it certainly was a masterpiece--and the other he used as his finale. It was the production of a duck from beneath a man's coat collar, a very sensational act to watch. All the rest was "small beer".

I met him soon after his arrival and liked him at once. Here was a man it would be a pleasure to help. I could see that he was likely to be a credit to anyone who helped him, and to bring new laurels to our profession. I suggested to him that he should try to get an engagement with Chase's Theatre in Washington, which I thought a very likely place for his début in the East.

When Thurston discovered that I knew the proprietor very well he asked me if I would be good enough to write to Mr. Chase on his behalf. This I did, and so obtained his first engagement in the East of America. That started him on the path of success, and he never looked back.

I always found Thurston a most charming man, and he, on his side, was always grateful to me for what I had done. We remained very good friends. He bought from me many effects, including my great illusion "A Woman Sawn in Half", which he presented excellently. I watched the performance several times, and on each occasion he announced, "This illusion is the greatest conception ever invented, and is the invention of my friend Mr. Horace Goldin, who is present tonight." He then invited me to step on to the stage and would start the presentation of the illusion. When he was half-way through he would turn to me and invite me to finish for him. I very much appreciated that little act of courtesy. That would be in the years 1922-23. There were few men's deaths I regretted more than Howard Thurston's.

There has been, of late years, an American magician before the public eye playing under the name of "Dante". This is Harry Jensen, whom I engaged to present the illusion "A Woman Sawn in Half" under my supervision, when the interest in the act was at its height and the Keith Circuit were running six companies besides my own. One day I met Howard Thurston, and he asked me if I could recommend a young magician for his No. 2 company, plans for which he was developing at the time. I thought of Harry Jensen, who had pleased me with his presentation of my invention, and eventually I gave his name to Thurston. Arrangements were made between them, and Howard Thurston proceeded to build a duplicate show for Dante. He toured for a considerable number of years, presenting Howard Thurston mysteries.

I have already told how, when I was in Japan, I met a celebrated lady conjurer to whom I had given lessons many years before when she was a child, and how she used to say that she owed all her success to me. A similar case occurred in South Africa.

During my tour in 1914 I went to Johannesburg to fulfil an engagement I had made with my friend Sidney Hyman. After the show one evening a gentleman by the name of Rutterberg came to see me. He said that he had a son who was crazy about conjuring, though he was only thirteen years old. Would I give him a few lessons and see if he was likely to succeed? I said that I would not commit myself to anything, but that I would like to see his son's performance.

I invited a few friends round and we watched the youngster's act. He was a very forward young fellow, not at all afraid to open his mouth, and capable of making a very good announcement. He had a repertoire of ten or twelve tricks, but he had no idea of presentation and his technique was all wrong. For all that I thought it was a very good act for so young a performer, and I agreed that, if he would practise assiduously, I would give him two lessons a week.

I played in Johannesburg for eight weeks and he had about fifteen lessons. By the tenth lesson he was doing really well, and I asked the Press to come and witness one of his performances. All those present were full of praise for him, and he had columns of publicity in the South African Press as a result. He was hailed as "Horace Goldin's pupil; a find in South Africa".

These notices brought him many engagements, both with clubs and with small theatres. Often he would bring home ten pounds weekly, which was, of course, a fortune to him and his parents. They kept a little second-hand shop and were in rather poor circumstances.

Before I left South Africa I gave young Rutterberg many good effects, and I kept up the habit of sending him tricks for his repertoire for many years. The last I heard of him he was doing very well.

I When I was wishing the boy's parents good-bye they offered me payment for what I had done for their son. I told them that I did not expect this, because I had helped the boy for his own ability and not for anything I could make out of it. His mother sent me a little present--six handkerchiefs. They were, I remember, of very poor quality, and my initials were so badly worked that I could never use them. But one must not look gift horses in the mouth, and I appreciated the spirit which prompted the gift.

I first met Chung Ling-Soo in Philadelphia forty-three years ago. He was then a professional and I was only an amateur, but I was instrumental in making him a success.

It was at the time that I was working in a shop, and in my leisure hours I used to haunt a magical shop kept by a man named Yost. Here I met Robinson, who was later to become famous as "Chung Ling-Soo". He was then acting as assistant to the Great Herman.

Everyone in the shop was talking about magic and conjuring, and Robinson and I followed suit. He was very interested in some sleights I showed him, but he told me not to persist in my ambition to become a stage performer. He said that he had always regretted his own action and that if he had a chance he would give it up at once. I thanked him for his advice, but in my heart I thought that he was quite wrong.

We remained very friendly and I often saw him on the stage with the Great Herman. At that time there seemed little chance of his becoming a great name as a magician.

It was about 1900 that Ching Ling-Foo, a real Chinese conjurer introduced to America by Colonel Hopkins of Chicago, began to make a sensation. He came with a troupe of eight people, and they played for thirty-one weeks at Keith's Theatre, in Union Square, New York. It was almost a miracle.

That gave Robinson his great idea. He decided to imitate Ching Ling-Foo, and this he did so successfully that many people did not know that he was not a Chinaman.

Success began to come his way, and when I met him at Matincker's he was very different from the man who had seemed so downhearted in Philadelphia. He told me gleefully that Ike Rose had become his manager and had booked him for the Alhambra Theatre, London. This made me rather envious, for it was before my own appearance in London; but I showed him a new trick of catching gold-fish over the heads of the audience. He liked this very much and said that it would fit very well into his repertoire. I then gave it to him, little thinking how very valuable it was to prove.

Some little time later I heard the story of Chung Ling-Soo's first appearance at the Alhambra. Everything went wrong. The main feature of his act was the production of a bowl full of water. This had been Ching Ling-Foo's greatest sensation. But on this important appearance the bowl dropped too soon and the whole effect was ruined. It looked as if the act was going to be a flop. Then Chung Ling-Soo began the fishing act, and this saved him. He escaped disgrace and afterwards played throughout England with success.

As I have said, few people realized that Chung Ling-Soo was not a Chinaman. His make-up was marvellous, and so was that of his assistant, who in public announcements always referred to Chung Ling-Soo as his father. This magician proved to be a wonderful showman with a style of his own. He worked very slowly. Although his movements were dreamy, he held his audience spell-bound. He was a great mechanic and inventor, and invented many original and sensational illusions.

In the basement of Will Goldston's magic-shop, in Green Street, Leicester Square, there is a small theatre, and here Chung Ling-Soo expressed his thanks for what I had done for him. There were some 200 people present one Sunday night and Robinson was called upon to make a speech. In the course of it he told the audience this story of the fishing-act, and then he stated that he owed all his success to Horace Goldin.

Of Chung Ling-Soo's tragic death at the Wood Green Empire, while performing the "Catching a Bullet" trick, I have written elsewhere.