The Secret Life of Houdini (46 page)

Back at the bridge, Rosebush told Donnelly that the captain wouldn’t help them out.

“In that case, you might as well go home, because I have no intention of allowing you to carry out this exhibition.”

“How about if we jumped from a rowboat?” Rosebush suggested.

May 22, 1907 in Pittsburgh. Houdini is mid-jump.
From the collection of Dr. Bruce Averbook

“If you try that, I’ll get the harbor squad to send up a police launch and stop you.”

Rosebush pulled Houdini and Hardeen aside. They conferred and agreed. Rosebush pulled the reporters aside and told them to watch the river from the bridge.

Rosebush had obviously prepared for this eventuality, because within minutes, a boat rowed by Frank Jones, bearing Rosebush and Houdini and his brother, stopped in the middle of the Harlem River, in perfect line of sight of the reporters congregated on the bridge. Just as Hardeen had affixed the leg irons to his brother, and as he was clamping the handcuffs on him, a police launch drew up alongside.

“Serves him right,” Sergeant Donnelly said from the bridge.

The police on the boat began arguing with Rosebush and threatened to run the whole lot of them into the station.

“Look, we’ll be finished with this in two minutes,” Houdini promised. “I’ll dive in, release myself, and the lads from the papers will get their stories. There’s nobody else here. There’s no boat traffic. If this exhibition doesn’t turn out successfully, I’m the only one who stands a chance of being hurt.”

Either Houdini’s eloquence or Rosebush’s display of gratitude finally swayed the policemen’s minds. They literally turned their backs, and Houdini plunged into the river, and came up unfettered but wet. The next day, the coverage in the papers was minimal. The
Mirror
ran less than a column inch, noting that Houdini freed himself in less than a minute. The
Telegraph
coverage was downright embarrassing, spending almost the entire article on the negotiations between the police and Rosebush. When it came time to talking about Houdini’s leap, all the reporter could say was, “Why prolong it? He won.”

By April of 1912, Houdini had never really conquered his home city. One of his few close calls came in a New York City jail in Yorkville, where “Chief Searcher and Locker-Up” Hughey Cooney peeked through a grate and saw Houdini working at the lock with “a piece of wire.” In actuality, what they thought was a piece of wire was probably a needle that had been retained in his mouth after doing his Needles effect, which was often a preamble to his jail escapes. Houdini had revealed that technique in his book
Handcuff Secrets
. To remedy his neglect in his home city, Houdini had to come up with one great stunt that could force the jaded ink-stained scribes to sit up and take notice.

The feat was scheduled for eleven
A.M.
on July 7. By the appointed hour, Pier 6 on the East River was “crowded to suffocation” with curious onlookers. Even the pilings of the pier were festooned with a bevy of small boys, clinging on for a good view of the proceedings. Houdini and his entourage, which numbered about fifteen, and the box were aboard a barge that was connected to the
Catherine Moran
, a well-known local tugboat. Unlike his previous attempts at bridge jumps in New York City, the newsmen came out full force to see this stunt, arriving in groups of six or more. There were at least twenty photographers present and a film crew that Houdini had hired to document the event.

Unfortunately, the police were also present, and they made it clear that they would not allow Houdini to proceed from any pier under their jurisdiction. If Houdini didn’t drown himself, they were convinced that someone in the massive crowd would wind up in the drink. Undaunted, Houdini implemented Plan B. He would fill up the barge with his friends and reporters and photographers and steam out to Governor’s Island, which was federal property and not subject to local police control. Houdini retreated to the bridge of the barge and, like a doorman in an exclusive club, began selecting the people who would be allowed onboard. The assembled crowd on the pier howled with disappointment as the tug began its journey.

Once in the federal waters, the preparations began. Houdini stripped down to a nice new white bathing suit and demonstrated that he had no implements on his person. The box was brought out and examined by all the newsmen present, to assure that there were no gimmicked sliding panels. Dr. Leopold Weiss, the attending physician, and Houdini’s brother, informed the press that the box was precisely twenty-four inches wide, thirty-six inches high, and thirty-four inches long. At the appointed time, it would be weighted down with 180 pounds of iron. At this time, the handcuffs and leg irons were passed around for the newsmen’s inspection and two reporters were enlisted to place two pairs of each on Houdini, Houdini’s cinematographer capturing every minute of the preparation. Then the pine box was opened, and Houdini crouched inside it. The lid was placed on the box and nailed down, and then iron bands were also nailed to the crate. Thick rope was wound around every side of the enclosure, and the leaden weights were attached. Dr. Weiss pointed out that there were many holes punctured into the box, in order for it to sink most rapidly.

Then it was time. A platform was placed on the outside of the barge leading into the water. A small rowboat manned by a longshoreman, holding two of Houdini’s assistants, was launched. The assistants held tightly to a safety rope that was tied to the box, so that it wouldn’t drift away in the strong current. And then the crate was pushed into the water.

Within seconds, it was completely submerged. After about a minute, some of the newsmen began to get a bit antsy.

“This is going too far,” one of the concerned scribes said.

“’E’s all right,” one of Houdini’s assistants reassured him.

And just then, “smiling and puffing,” Houdini resurfaced. He held his arms aloft in a victory salute, to show that his hands were unencumbered. Two nearby tugs tooted a salute, and the passengers on a passing Staten Island Ferry, which was jam-packed with people hoping to get a glimpse of the escape, cheered themselves hoarse. Houdini swam back to the barge. The box was retrieved and carefully inspected by the newsmen. It was intact. The escape artist was congratulated, and then the tug rushed back to Pier 6, where hundreds of people mobbed him until he was spirited away by a waiting car.

“If the public knew how much I really flirt with death in some of my stunts, I would never be accused of getting advertising free,” Houdini later told a friend. It was certainly true with the underwater packing case. Even though Houdini had cleverly gimmicked the crate, there was always the danger that the box could get stuck in mud and trap him underwater. Joe Rinn, Houdini’s friend who observed the escape, held his breath in suspense until he saw his friend resurface. He understood the risk his old running partner was taking.

Two years later, Houdini replicated his feat, but this time he turned it into a citywide extravaganza. He obtained permission from Police Commissioner Woods to be thrown into the water from a tugboat two hundred feet from Pier A in Battery Park. The event was highly publicized and an hour and a half before the spectacle, four cars left Hammerstein’s in the theater district in a slow cavalcade down Broadway toward the Battery. Stuffed with theater officials, newspapermen, carpenters, even Dr. Weiss with his medical satchel, they were followed by Houdini himself, clad in his swimsuit and driving a sixty-horsepower flashy racing car, with Hardeen riding shotgun. The procession was stopped twice by police and reprimanded for distributing handbills announcing the event. All along the parade route, Houdini and the other cars were cheered by passersby. When they finally arrived at the Battery, more than 100,000 people had lined the seawalls, filled up the streets, and were hanging out of the windows of the business district skyscrapers for a view of the proceedings. Additional police reserves had to be called to push the crowd back as the early-bird spectators were in danger of being pushed right over the seawall into the water.

From the collection of Dr. Bruce Averbook

Houdini’s going, going…

Library of Congress

…gone.

The river was filled with boats of every description, as the McAllister lighter, with its thirty-five-person-strong official party, steamed out into the water. Earlier, an altercation had taken place when two moving picture cameramen were thrown off the ship. Houdini had protested that he didn’t intend to do an act for the benefit of moving picture theaters; the place to see him was at Hammerstein’s. One of the enterprising cameramen managed to get aboard a police patrol boat and got his footage.

Houdini was shackled; the box was inspected. Then its human cargo was loaded in and the lid secured. This time, one of Houdini’s assistants had a stopwatch and timed the escape. If he didn’t reappear in three minutes, they were instructed to fish him out. It took him a minute and forty-five seconds to make his escape, and when he resurfaced and swam a little victory lap, “the shrieks of the tugs and steamers and the applause of the multitude were deafening.”

Houdini’s 1912 underwater box stunt earned him his greatest publicity in New York to that date and, to capitalize on it, Houdini replicated his feat in a large tank of water that had been used for a previous act at Hammerstein’s. The indoor escape from an underwater packing case was a major hit and Houdini was held over through the middle of August. During that engagement, he made an unusual request to the management—that his entire week’s salary be paid in gold pieces.

“What’s the idea?” William Hammerstein asked. “Don’t you think regular United States currency is good enough?”

“It’s not that, Mr. Hammerstein,” Houdini replied. “But I have good reason for asking, and I wish you would grant my request.”

Impressed by Houdini’s sincerity, Hammerstein acceded.

A heavy bag laden with coins was duly dispatched to his dressing room. Houdini had two of his assistants polish up the double eagles, then took a cab up to Harlem, and went straight to his mother’s room. He rushed to her and embraced her.