The Dime Museum Murders Read Free Page A

to herd the crowd from one edge of the platform to the other,
allowing them the requisite 180 seconds to enjoy each of the acts. He
did this with uncommon skill. "Hurry along, folks!" he
would cry, with a slight edge of alarm to his voice. "You won't
want to miss our next Oddity of Nature!"
    The
Oddities of Nature, it must be said, were looking a little haggard,
since this was their tenth show of the day. Nevertheless, they
managed to rouse themselves as Albert urged the crowd forward. It
started with Miss Missy, the Armless Wonder, who sat drinking tea
from a China cup daintily clutched between her toes, and moved
on to the Human Skye Terrier, whose shaggy dog head benefited greatly
from artfully placed chin and chop pieces. Next came the Tattooed
Lady and the Moss-Haired Girl, followed by the Sword-Swallower and
the Double-Bodied Wonder, who had a pair of tiny legs—meant to
be the remnants of a Siamese twin— poking out of his
mid-section. The Living Skeleton, the Human Telescope, and Vranko the
Glass-Eater rounded out the entertainments.
    As
each act finished in turn, the performers were given thirty seconds
to hawk a souvenir item for a nickel or a dime, which gave them the
chance to augment the meager salary they drew from Mr. Beckman. For
the most part, these items took the form of a booklet or a keepsake
scroll that related the performer's brave and heart-rending struggle
against the cruel hand of nature. Miss Missy's story, I recall, was
especially touching. It was a miniature volume entitled "My
Blessed Life," with her portrait on the front in all her armless
glory. It began with the words, "I am never too busy to lend a
helping foot."
    Other
performers went for cheap wooden novelties. Harmi, the
Sword-Swallower, offered little wooden sabers, and Benny, the Human
Skye Terrier, did a brisk business in personalized grooming supplies.
I can't remember what my brother was selling that year—it was
either his "Teach Yourself Magic" booklet or "Professor
Houdini's Ten Steps to Perfect Health."
    When
all the novelties were bought, Albert herded the audience toward the
last act—Harry Houdini of Apple-ton, Wisconsin, performing as
"The King of Kards and Konjuring." My brother never got a
lot of credit for it, but he was a pretty fair card mechanic in his
day. While he waited for the crowd to shift down to his end of the room,
he stood at the front edge of the platform plucking card fans from
thin air. He was dressed in a black suit with a string tie and a
straw boater hat, and had his sleeves pushed back to show off his
muscular forearms. As the crowd circled, Harry went into some flashy
hand-to-hand cascades while Albert introduced him.
    "Kidnapped
by gypsies at the tender age of six months, the infant Harry was soon
earning his keep by plucking coins and wallets from the pockets of
unwary passers-by. By the age of five, the pint-sized prodigy was
apprenticed to Signor Blitz, the greatest of all the magicians in the
world, and by his twelfth year, the precocious prestidigitator was
the favorite of the sultans and sheiks of far-away lands. He appears
today by kind permission of the czar of Russia, to whom he serves as
court conjurer. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, the one, the
only—Harry Houdini!"
    It
was a stirring intro, and I could feel a building sense of
anticipation from the small crowd as they awaited this extraordinary
young man's first miracle. Then Harry spoiled it. He talked.
    I
was reading my brother's biography the other day. It had many kind
things to say about Harry's "mesmerizing stage presence"
and "compelling natural charisma." Clearly the author had
never been to Huber's Museum. The truth is, Harry didn't have a lot
of natural charisma at that time. He was only beginning to learn to
relax onstage. In a few years' time he became a lot breezier, and
learned to treat the audience as if they were all in on a big secret.
In those early days, he came across like some sort of German physics
professor. He