MY FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH HOUDINI.
I KNEW Harry Houdini before I had ever seen him. His reputation had reached me some years before I first encountered him, and, as is the habit of magicians, we corresponded for a considerable time before he gave his first performance in this country.
Strangely enough, it was quite by accident that I first ran into him. About twenty-nine years ago, I was walking down Lime Street, one of the main thoroughfares of Liverpool. It was winter time and snowing hard. As I hastened along, with my thoughts on nothing in particular, I noticed a short figure, coming towards me, with coat collar turned up and head bent to the ground.
As the man got nearer, I observed that he was carrying a small dog beneath his left arm. His clothes were shabby and unkempt, and it was this fact more than anything else which caused me to stare at him with more than usual interest. To my surprise, his face was familiar.
"Excuse me," I said, grasping him by the arm. "Are you Harry Houdini?"
"Yes," was the reply. "Who are you?
"I'm Will Goldston."
"Goldston, my dear fellow!" cried Houdini, shaking me by the hand as if I had been his lifelong friend, "this is indeed a pleasant surprise." His manner suddenly changed. "Tell me," he resumed, lowering his voice for no apparent reason, where can I get a pair of patent leather boots?
"Patent leather boots?
"Sure. I've tried almost every shop in the town. And then I want to find the American Bar. You must take me there."
We strolled along to a small footwear shop that was known to me, and Houdini bought the boots he required. When he had expressed full satisfaction at his purchase, I escorted him to the American Bar, wondering why he was so anxious to visit the place. I was not left long in ignorance.
When we arrived, I found that a collection was being made for the widow of a poor and unknown member of the profession. Houdini had been told of this, and had decided to give as much as he could afford. In those days he was not getting the big salary that he earned in later years, but subscribed two pounds to the fund.
I have mentioned this somewhat insignificant incident because it was absolutely characteristic of the man--warm-hearted and generous, always willing to help a brother or sister in distress. And later, when he told me that he himself was badly lacking in funds, I wondered what manner of man this strange Houdini could be.
As we left the American Bar, Houdini told me the story of his life--a story that could fill several volumes. "Do you know, Goldston," he said, "I have not had a decent meal for more than five years!"
"In Heavens's name, why not?" I asked.
"In my early days I couldn't afford it, and now I'm too busy."
At first I thought Houdini was pulling my leg. As a matter of fact, it was not until some years afterwards that I realised he had told me the truth. Although he was earning a hundred pounds a week, Houdini was a starving man!
After we had walked some little way in silence--I hardly liked to call the man a liar--Houdini resumed the conversation. "Are you responsible for the display of books in the shop next to the theatre?" he asked.
"Yes." I replied. "It struck me that your visit to this country would help the sale of my first book, I hired the shop window, and made a terrific splash of the whole thing."
Some months previously Houdini had given me his written consent to include the explanations of a number of his escape tricks in a book that I was writing. I had had a big placard painted with the words "How Houdini does his tricks," and had it, together with several copies of the book, placed in the shop window.
"It's a good idea, and you certainly deserve to get on," said my companion. "But it doesn't do me much good, does it?" And he smiled kindly. "You must call at my apartments to-morrow. I would like you to meet Mrs. Houdini."
The next day I called and had tea with the Houdinis. There we talked over different matters connected with our profession, and I remember advising the American to go down to the harbour and see a huge advertisement of his name. It was then that I urged him to have his name printed as 'Houdini,' with the Christian name "Harry" in very small type. Houdini thought this a good business idea, and eventually became known simply by his surname.
Before I left, he promised that he would write to me every week when he returned to America. He kept his promise for twenty eight years, sometimes sending me as many as three and four letters a week. During the whole of that time I only had one quarrel with him. This was due to a stupid misunderstanding.
It happened in this manner. When Houdini was making a big name for himself in America, the Cirnocs appeared in this country. This last was a double turn--father and son, and were indeed a very formidable combination. As a publicity stunt they declared they could escape from any police cell in which they were locked. This they did to the satisfaction of the public--but not to my own. I discovered they bribed the officials who had locked them in.
Houdini had done the same thing in America, but this had been a genuine escape. In justice to my friend I exposed the Cirnocs in a magical book. Houdini got hold of a copy of the paper and wrongly assumed that it was himself I had exposed.
Impetuosity was probably the strongest trait in Houdini's character. He immediately attacked me in a libellous article which appeared in his own American Magical magazine. I was at a loss to understand his conduct, for not only were his statements untrue, but hitherto we had been the closest of friends.
Explanations and apologies followed. Nobody was better pleased than myself to have the whole matter cleared up, for Houdini's friendship was something for which I would not have exchanged a dozen theatrical contracts.