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ABC Practical Guide to Dog Training 1st Edition Steven
Appelbaum Digital Instant Download
Author(s): Steven Appelbaum
ISBN(s): 9780764567223, 0764567225
Edition: 1
File Details: PDF, 7.50 MB
Year: 2004
Language: english
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Date: 2005.02.06 14:20:52 +08'00'
ABC
Practical Guide to Dog Training

STEVEN APPELBAUM
 To my loving hound dog Buford. Thank you for reaffirming
the importance of patience and loving-kindness. Also, for
proving that unconditional love does exist.
This book is printed on acid-free paper. ∞
Copyright © 2004 by Wiley Publishing, Inc. All rights reserved
Howell Book House
Published by Wiley Publishing, Inc., Hoboken, New Jersey
Published simultaneously in Canada
All photos not otherwise credited are provided by the author.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in
any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or oth-
erwise, except as permitted under Section 107 or 108 of the 1976 United States Copyright
Act, without either the prior written permission of the Publisher, or authorization through
payment of the appropriate per-copy fee to the Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood
Drive, Danvers, MA 01923, (978) 750-8400, fax (978) 646-8600, or on the web at www
.copyright.com. Requests to the Publisher for permission should be addressed to the Legal
Department, Wiley Publishing, Inc., 10475 Crosspoint Blvd., Indianapolis, IN 46256,
(317) 572-3447, fax (317) 572-4447.
Limit of Liability/Disclaimer of Warranty: While the publisher and the author have used their
best efforts in preparing this book, they make no representations or warranties with respect to
the accuracy or completeness of the contents of this book and specifically disclaim any
implied warranties of merchantability or fitness for a particular purpose. No warranty may be
created or extended by sales representatives or written sales materials. The advice and strate-
gies contained herein may not be suitable for your situation. You should consult with a pro-
fessional where appropriate. Neither the publisher nor the author shall be liable for any loss
of profit or any other commercial damages, including but not limited to special, incidental,
consequential, or other damages.
For general information about our other products and services, please contact our Customer
Care Department within the United States at (800) 762-2974, outside the United States at
(317) 572-3993 or fax (317) 572-4002.
Wiley also publishes its books in a variety of electronic formats. Some content that appears in
print may not be available in electronic books. For more information about Wiley products,
visit our web site at www.wiley.com.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data:
Appelbaum, Steven.
ABC practical guide to dog training / Steven Appelbaum.
p. cm.
ISBN 0-7645-6722-5 (alk. paper)
1. Dogs—Training. I. Title.
SF431.A66 2004
636.7'0887—dc22
2003015628
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
CONTENTS

PREFACE v

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS vii

ABOUT THE AUTHOR viii

CHAPTER 1 A DOG STORY 1

CHAPTER 2 IF YOU HAVE A DOG, YOU ARE A TRAINER 11

CHAPTER 3 HOW YOUR DOG LEARNS: A BASIC PRIMER THAT

MAKES SENSE, WITHOUT A LOT OF JARGON AND
PSYCHOBABBLE 25

CHAPTER 4 YOUR DOG AS A FAMILY MEMBER 55

CHAPTER 5 SIMPLE, EFFECTIVE WAYS TO ADDRESS BASIC PROBLEMS,

PART 1 73

CHAPTER 6 SIMPLE, EFFECTIVE WAYS TO ADDRESS BASIC PROBLEMS,

PART 2 101

CHAPTER 7 OFF-LEASH OBEDIENCE 119

CHAPTER 8 FINDING A TRAINER WHO’S RIGHT FOR YOU AND

YOUR DOG 159

CHAPTER 9 HAVE FUN: RESOURCES FOR YOU AND YOUR DOG 179

INDEX 197

iii
PREFACE

As any visit to a book store or pet supply store will confirm, there are
dozens of books about dog training. With the proliferation of titles, the
question “Why another book on dog training?” needs to be asked.
The answer—or rather, answers—to that question are varied. First,
many dog training books are written by trainers who are looking to cre-
ate name recognition for themselves. Others are looking to impress col-
leagues, especially if these trainers want to pursue seminar or speaking
careers. Then there are those who are tired of training and hope to make
a living as writers. While there is nothing inherently wrong with any of
these motives, I think they miss what I believe must be the primary
motive for anyone who is writing a serious book on training: that any
such book must first and foremost be written for dog owners who are
looking for answers about how to properly train their pets.
In my experience, dog owners are looking for answers that are
humane and that work. This book is dedicated to them. I didn’t write
ABC Practical Guide to Dog Training to win points with other train-
ers, nor did I write it to build my business. Instead, I wrote it because
I am very passionate about certain things.
Shelter and rescue organizations throughout North America will
confirm the fact that at least 60 percent of all dogs in shelters are there
because of untreated behavior problems. They will also confirm, as
will many veterinarians, that millions of dogs are killed in shelters
every year. This makes untreated behavior problems the largest pre-
ventable cause of death of pet dogs in North America. That’s an
appalling statistic. As a trainer, it seems logical to me that a training
message based on methods that work needs to be shared with the pub-
lic, and what better way than a book?
This book is not for everyone. While the methods I have described
are strongly focused on using rewards, I make no bones about the fact
that correction sometimes has a place in the training process.

v
 Preface

It used to be that dog training was almost always based on compul-

sion. This means the dog learned to listen primarily to avoid some sort
of correction or punishment. The problem with these techniques is that
the physical punishment was sometimes emotionally and physically
damaging to the dog. Anyone who took a training class 25 or more
years ago will remember just how rough training classes could be.
We have made tremendous and exciting advances in the last decade
or so. Over time, a new attitude and understanding were embraced by
trainers. Instead of teaching the dog to avoid punishment based on what
she shouldn’t do, trainers focused on strongly rewarding appropriate
behavior. Correction was administered only after the dog had clearly
learned a desired response and decided at that point to disobey. These
methods are far more positive and are extremely effective. Today, greater
numbers of trainers have a stronger understanding about the scientific
principles of how dogs learn than ever before. Additionally, modern
methods based on the proper use of rewards can be incredibly effective.
But now, some trainers believe any physical correction is cruel and
unnecessary. Rather than debate that point with them, I decided to
write this book and share tried, true and tested techniques that work.
This, more than anything, is what will keep dogs out of shelters and
strengthen the bond between owners and their pets.
ABC Practical Guide to Dog Training is very user-friendly. It
focuses on what you, a dog owner, can do starting the very first day
you bring your dog home. The book explains what commonly used
behavioral terms really mean, explains “pack theory” in a way that
makes sense, delves into ways you can humanely and effectively
address behavior problems such as jumping, nipping, chewing, house
soiling, digging, barking and much more. The book also teaches you
how to train your dog off leash, and where and how you can find the
best dog trainers. It ends with an Internet guide to numerous sites
devoted to all things doggy, including sites about canine behavior, pet
supplies, locating trainers, dog parks, boarding kennels, pet-friendly
locations of every conceivable type, schools for dog trainers, veteri-
narians, dog books and magazines, and more. There’s even a dog law
site and resource guide for those readers who, after reading this book,
are so inspired that they wish to become trainers themselves.

vi
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The Monks of New Skete said it best when they said, “No one ever
learns in a vacuum.” In truth, all good teachers learn as they instruct.
That being said, I start off by thanking all of my students, both two-
legged and four-legged. Thank you for putting up with my imperfec-
tions and being open enough to learn and teach. Special thanks to an
amazing trainer and human being, Debbie Kendrick—we have
watched each other grow for 15 years. Without her I wouldn’t be here.
Kristyne Bennett, without whom I would never have been able to write
this book. The entire staff at ABTA, including but not limited to Sandy
Novotny, Sarah Drain and Candace Kendrick. Marc Appelbaum, even
though I don’t always say it, you make me proud. The entire staff of
Animal Behavior College, a truly amazing group. William Campbell,
whose training philosophy changed my direction. Richard Wolters,
whose training philosophy started me on the path. Pet business people:
Bill Lechtner, Randy Boyd, Mike Woodard, Stu Wolman, Paul Jolly,
Kathi Hoffman-Weiner, Michael Steinberg, Joel Silverman and numer-
ous others whom I have had the pleasure to know and work with over
the years. Ian Dunbar, Karen Pryor, Pamela Reid, Martin and Pat
Deeley, William Koehler, Job Michael Evans and dozens of others
from across the ideological spectrum, some of whom I know, some of
whom I’ve read and all of whom I’ve learned from. Mom, Dad,
Richard, Beth, Sybil, Lyn, Diane, Taffy Stern and Karen and Kristi
Lewis, all of whom have loved me through everything.

vii
ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Steven Appelbaum is the President and CEO of Animal Behavior and

Training Associates, Inc., the largest independent dog training com-
pany in North America. ABTA offers dog training classes in 47 states
and five Canadian provinces. It employs more than 500 trainers. In
2002, ABTA had well over 25,000 students in its training programs.
Appelbaum is also the President and Interim Director of Animal
Behavior College, Inc. (ABC). This highly innovative school for pro-
fessional dog trainers has students in all 50 states and Canada. With
graduating class totals of more than 400 in 2002, ABC is helping to
train the next generation of dog trainers. Steve also does consulting for
pet product vendors and manufacturers, and has had several articles
published in Off Lead magazine. He is currently on the Board of
Directors of the International Association of Canine Professionals. He
lives in Los Angeles with Buford, whom he considers to be the world’s
cutest Basset Hound. This is his first book.

viii
 CHAPTER 1

A DOG STORY

I am a professional dog trainer and have been one since 1980. I started
my business by drawing a flyer (I always fancied myself a bit of an
artist), making copies and posting them on bulletin boards in local
markets around the San Fernando Valley in North Los Angeles. The
first month in business I got 10 customers using this technique, and
from that day forward I worked as a full-time trainer. Looking back, I
cringe at what I thought I knew and, with the perspective of time, what
I didn’t know.
Like most of you reading this book, I’ve always had a deep, pas-
sionate love of animals in general and dogs in particular. This was true
at a very young age. One of my earliest memories is walking down the
street and having a large German Shepherd Dog come running up to
me. The dog, whose face was just about even with mine (I was six at
the time), sniffed me, and I happily let him while I scratched his side.
Thirty-seven years later, I can still see his leg going thump, thump,
thump on the sidewalk as I scratched a nice, sensitive spot on his body.
He then proceeded to lick my face. I have always loved doggie kisses
and I was just out there enough, even then, that I probably licked him
back.

1
 ABC Practical Guide to Dog Training

Our beginning love affair was interrupted by the dog’s owner, who
came running out of the house shouting at me, “Don’t move!,” while
he grabbed his dog. He sternly ordered me to stay where I was and dis-
appeared into the backyard, dog in tow. A minute or so later he came
back out and carefully checked me to make sure his dog hadn’t bitten
or injured me in any way. He asked me if I was all right. I was scared
at this point and only remember nodding yes. He asked my name and
told me to go home. That evening he called my parents and suggested
that I ought to learn not to pet strange dogs. My parents talked to me
about this and I recall saying, “But the dog came up and petted me.” I
remember my mom looking at me a bit strangely (not the first time or
the last), and the matter was dropped.
I learned later that this dog had bitten half a dozen people, includ-
ing a small girl. The dog was later euthanized. I didn’t hear of this for
several years, but I vividly recall the feeling of absolute sadness when
I heard this news. In truth, as I write this I still feel a little sad. Dogs
and I have always had a special kind of bond.
As a child growing up on Long Island, New York, we had a large
female Weimaraner named Misty. She was sweet, hyper, totally

Steve at age six.

2
 A Dog Story

I enjoyed rubbing Misty’s belly

almost as much as I liked chasing
her around the neighborhood.

disobedient and liked nothing better than to blast out of the house and
run around the neighborhood, often with half a dozen kids trying to
catch her. One day a few friends and I had the brilliant idea that we
could lasso her. We had to test this, and unbeknownst to my parents, on
a couple of occasions I deliberately let her out so that we could chase
her on our bicycles, throwing ropes in her direction. Given that there
weren’t a lot of people in the late 1960s on Long Island with roping
experience, or at least none who offered to teach my friends and me,
we never did succeed in catching her that way. This was undoubtedly
a good thing.
When Misty was about a year and a half old, my mom finally con-
vinced my dad to take Misty to obedience school. The classes took
place on Saturday mornings at 10 a.m. at a local park. I remember
going to class the second week. There were 10 or 12 other dog owners

3
 ABC Practical Guide to Dog Training

with a variety of dogs. I don’t recall all the breeds, although I do dis-
tinctly remember a couple of German Shepherds, a Cocker Spaniel and
at least two Irish Setters. All of the handlers were men, and there were
three other kids about my age in attendance, as well. The instructor, a
man who seemed ancient at the time but was probably in his early 40s,
had a crew cut and a very well trained Boxer. All the dogs were at least
six months old, with most closer to a year or older. All the dogs were
on choke chains, except for one who was on what I later learned was a
pinch collar.
The trainer was working on teaching the class how to properly
“heel” their dogs. I learned that “heel” meant the dog walked next to
you at your left side, even if you sped up, slowed down or turned
around. Most dogs in this class tended to pull ahead, which the trainer
called “forging.” To correct the forging behavior, the trainer instructed
the handlers to immediately turn in the opposite direction and literally
run the other way. Since most of the dogs were big, the kids couldn’t
participate in this exercise. I will never forget seeing what happened
when a 60-pound dog wearing a metal choke chain attached to a leash
held by a 180-pound man goes in one direction and the man runs in the
other. I saw dogs completely flipped off their feet, screaming, yelping
and, to be honest, more than a few learning very quickly not to forge
ahead.
After “teaching” this for about 15 minutes, the trainer separated the
class and had half walk about 50 feet away and face the other half. The
trainer then instructed the first group to heel their dogs toward the sec-
ond group, which was ordered to remain still. Any forgers were quickly
dealt with. When the moving group got about 15 feet from the station-
ary group, a man’s dog in the stationary group started barking at one
of the dogs moving toward them. This dog then lunged forward, drag-
ging his handler toward the other dogs.
The trainer moved quickly to the offending dog, took the leash and
sharply jerked it in an attempt to correct the barking, lunging behavior.
When this had no effect, the trainer shouted “No” and repeated the cor-
rection more strongly. It’s funny what things become etched in your
mind. I remember like it was yesterday watching the dog’s paws leave
the ground as the trainer yanked the leash. The dog turned toward the

4
 A Dog Story

Dad at 35.

trainer, and the trainer, perhaps thinking this dog was going to bite him,
completely lifted the animal off the ground and held him dangling in
the air. The dog’s barks became strangled yelps, and after 10 or 15 sec-
onds of struggling, the dog just kind of went limp. The trainer then put
the dog back on the ground, snapped the leash once more for good
measure and handed the leash back to his owner. The dog just kind of
stood there, still conscious but clearly dazed. I vividly remember wish-
ing I were old enough and strong enough to put the trainer on a leash
and collar and treat him exactly the same way. Great lessons for a kid
to learn, huh?
To his credit, my dad was sensitive enough to recognize that this
type of “training experience” was not appropriate for his 10-year-old
son. This was my first introduction to the world of dog training. My
dad and dog went back for a few more classes without me and then
they both became doggie school dropouts. We never did get Misty
trained, which never bothered me in the least. I liked chasing her.
As I grew older, my interest in animals grew, as did my passion for
dogs. I know I must have watched The Incredible Journey at least a
hundred times before I was 12. I started reading about dogs and about
training. Most books on the subject were tough going for a kid, but a
few stood out. One in particular, a book written in the early 1960s

5
 ABC Practical Guide to Dog Training

called Family Dog by Richard Wolters, was a favorite. This book advo-
cated some things considered very radical at the time, including doing
a good deal of obedience training with puppies much younger than six
months of age. Wolters’ methods were also considerably gentler than a
lot of others out there at the time—although still fairly rough by
today’s standards. In fact, many of the pictures in this book showed the
author’s young daughter doing a lot of the training. He also discussed
canine developmental periods and suggested many of the ideas that are
taken for granted now, 40 years later. I often wondered whatever hap-
pened to his daughter and whether the author ever knew how many
people his books influenced.
For many years I considered becoming a veterinarian, but was very
unsure that I would ever be able to euthanize a single animal. By the
time I was 20, I had probably read 80 or 90 books on the subject of
behavior and training. I also attended a number of training schools and
had decided to become a professional trainer. My reasons were varied,
but certainly included the fact that I could help dogs, as well as play
with them, and get paid for it. Imagine getting paid to be with puppies.
How cool is that? I thought it was extremely cool, and although the tri-
als and tribulations of building, managing and promoting two nation-
ally recognized training organizations can, at times, be anything but
cool, the truth is I still get paid to play with puppies!
I have always maintained a pragmatic and open mind toward train-
ing methods, recognizing that truly open-minded people don’t think
they know it all. I’ve always been aware that the day I felt I knew it all
would be the day I would cease to learn. Since I’ve always wanted to
learn about dogs, I’ve always been very clear that I don’t come close
to knowing all there is. What I do know is that I would never be like
the trainer I remembered from my youth. Not ever!
In my travels, I learned that positive reward-based training is
almost always more effective than training based on punishment.
However, correction does have a place, as does reward, good timing
and excellent communication in the training process. Very critically,
I’ve learned to remain sensitive and loving toward my four-legged stu-
dents, and even most of my two-legged ones.

6
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 “ ‘He is now receiving an interpretation from his masters,’ the
interpreter told me in a low voice. I did not notice it and interrupted
him. The doctor maintained his weird stare for a few minutes, during
which I heard from his corner of the room a vibrating sound such as
is produced by a Faradic battery. Monsieur rose from his reverie with
a sigh and hastily wrote something upon a sheet of paper upon his
desk. Then he resumed the conversation.
“ ‘Fortunately I have preserved extracts from all of the
journals which have been friendly to me,’ he said. I was shown a
shelf full of scrap-books and the translations of numerous clippings
from foreign journals. One of these, credited to the Paris Figaro,
1885, described experiments in ‘Magnetism and Fascination’
performed by Dr. de Sarak before a committee of scientists and {264}
journalists, during which he hypnotized a cage full of live lions.
There were many such accounts, including a description of
demonstrations made before the Queen of Spain in 1888; another
before the King of Portugal the same year. An article credited to La
Révue des Sciences de Paris, November 7, 1885, stated that in the
Grand Salle de la Sorbonne, Count Sarak de Das, in the presence of
the Prince of Larignans and 1,400 people, caused his body to rise in
the air about two meters and to be there suspended by levitation.
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me of my election as honorary member of the center, congratulating
me thereupon and inviting me to be present at the next meeting. I
was given the privilege of bringing a friend with me. I informed Mr.
Evans, and we agreed to attend the next séance, and make careful
mental notes of the events of the evening.”
 IV.
Mr. Watkins and I went together on the appointed evening to
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a stormy night, late in November; just the sort of evening for a
gathering of modern witches and wizards, in an up-to-date
Walpurgis Nacht. We were admitted by the interpreter and secretary,
whom I afterwards learned was Miss Agnes E. Marsland, graduate of
the University of Cambridge, England.
In the back parlor upstairs we were greeted by the Doctor,
who wore a sort of Masonic collar of gold braid, upon which was
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were conspicuously foreign in appearance, the latter about five years
old. We were then introduced to an elderly woman, stout and with
gray hair, who, we were told, was the president of the center. She
wore a cordon similar to Dr. Sarak’s, and soon after our arrival she
rapped with a small gavel upon a table, located in the bay window of
the front drawing-room.
When she called the meeting to order the Doctor seated
himself upon her right, and at her left—all behind the table—were
placed two other women, wearing large gold badges. The {265}

interpreter seated herself against the wall beside the Count. Shortly
a fifth woman appeared. The Count’s wife and child sat quietly upon
a sofa in the corner behind him. In the seats arranged along the
walls for the audience sat only myself, Mr. Watkins, and a reporter
for the Washington Times.
The mise en scène was well calculated to impress the
spectators with a sense of the occult and the mysterious. The table
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various cabalistic symbols. Upon it stood an antique brazier for
burning incense, and a bronze candelabra with wax lights arranged
to form a triangle. Against the wall, just back of the presiding
Mistress of Ceremonies and the little French Mage, was a niche
containing a large gilt image of the Buddha, who smiled placidly and
benignly at the strange gathering. The walls of the drawing-room
were draped with rich Oriental rugs and hung with allegorical
paintings. The faint aroma of incense soon permeated the
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thaumaturgist meditatively consulted a big volume in front of him—a
work on mysticism by either Papus or Baraduc, I forget which. I
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­ a­tion I was transported back into
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covered with a black cloth, embroidered with Masonic and
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silver sconces; incense rose from an antique brazier. And behold—
Cagliostro, necromancer and Egyptian Freemason, at his
incantations. The phan­tas­ma­goria fades away. I am back again in
Washington, and Sarak is speaking rapidly in French. I shall quote as
follows from Mr. Watkins’ note-book:
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his disappointment that only six were present. He then commenced
in French a long discourse, citing the alleged experiments of Baraduc
on the soul’s light, and mentioning the psychic researches of
Flammarion. He stated that Marconi had made partial progress in the
science of transmitting intelligence without wires, but that his
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masters there were able to place a fluidic wall before any man or
beast.29 The women watched their hierophant with intense
fascination, save the interpreter, who maintained her saintly gaze up
into space, and the wife, who sat by in sublime nonchalance.
“The Doctor then passed into a rear room, donned a long
robe of light blue material and returned with the piece of colored
glass which I had seen during my previous visit. It was still flitted to
the metal support, and with it he brought a bar magnet. He placed
the glass upon the table before him, making many passes over it
with his fingers, sometimes rubbing them upon his gown as if they
were burned. He explained that he had sensitized the glass with a
secret fluid which remained thereon as a film. He drew a sort of
tripod upon paper and placed the glass and magnet alongside.
“ ‘I demonstrated at the last meeting how this power—which I
called ‘yud’—could be exerted against human beings. You remember
that I caused the man to fall from his bicycle. Tonight I will exert the
power against an animal,’ said the fantaisiste.
“He stated that the lights would all be extinguished; that
those present would be stationed at the front windows; that at a
given signal he would cause a horse passing the street to halt and
remain motionless, to the amazement of the driver. Turning to me,
he asked, ‘Would Monsieur prefer that the horse be passing
eastward or westward?’ ‘Eastward,’ I said.
“Then the lights were put out, but previously his wife had
retired, ostensibly to put to bed the boy, who had grown sleepy. All
of the members present and the young man—a stranger, evidently a
reporter—were posted at the front windows. My companion and I
were stationed at two windows within a small hall room adjoining.
We were all asked to maintain absolute silence. Vines covered both
windows of our room and a street lamp burned before the house to
our right. The wait was long, probably twenty minutes, before {267}

the first vehicle ventured through the block.

29 Since Dr. Sarak’s séance, Col. Younghusband and a column of British soldiers
have penetrated into the holy city of Llassa without difficulty. The fluidic walls of
the masters have not impeded the progress of the British in the least degree.

“It was a buggy, drawn by a single horse, but, alas! it

proceeded westward. In it were seated two figures, whom I could
not see—both enshrouded in darkness.
“My impatience was now well nigh unbearable. In a few
minutes, however, I heard the clatter of hoofs from the opposite
direction—eastward.
“A buggy with a single horse came into view. One figure wore
a white fascinator or shawl about the head. The other was a man.
The horse slowed into a walk just before reaching the house. It
halted directly in front of us, then backed a few feet and the rear
wheel went upon the sidewalk opposite.
“ ‘What’s de mattah wid dat hoss?’ said a negro voice. ‘Nebber
seen him act dat way befo’!’ The horse stood still for a minute; then
the driver clucked him up and he proceeded on his way. It was too
dark to see the positions of the reins or the features of either
occupant of the vehicle. Soon afterward Madame de Sarak returned
with the child and pointed toward him, as if to say: ‘See, he has
recovered from his sleepy spell!’
“At this point the Doctor retired and returned gowned in
white. He passed to us a canvas such as is commonly used by
painters in oil. He placed this upon an easel. At his right was a table
bearing brushes and two glasses filled, one with dark blue and the
other with white paint. He then distributed large napkins among
those present and handed to me two balls of absorbent cotton.
These I was told to place over his eyes, and as I did so the two
other men and several of the women bound the napkins over the
cotton. They were tied very tightly and two were crossed. We
inspected the bandages and pronounced them secure. Then the
white-robed figure, in this grotesque headgear, asked me to lead him
to an arm-chair in the far end of the rear apartment, which I did.
Seated in the chair, his chin hanging down upon his breast, he
remained for some time, until suddenly he arose and walked
straightway to his wife and child, who were sitting behind the table
in the front room, upon the sofa as previously. He knelt before them,
kissed the little one, his back being toward us the while. Then he
walked directly to my companion and took the latter’s watch {268}

from his pocket without fumbling. He now proceeded to the easel,

and, selecting a brush from the table, dipped into the blue paint and
printed across the top of the canvas ‘Fifteen Minutes.’ I looked at my
companion’s watch and it registered half past 10. Evidently the
words denoted the time in which the picture was to be painted. One
of the women present requested that a moonlight scene in Thibet be
reproduced. Sudden movements of two brushes, dipped in the two
colors, transformed the letters into a clouded sky through which a
moon was bursting. Below was outlined a sort of tower, to the left of
which was painted a tree. After some detail in the picture was
outlined in blue, for example, the white paint would be applied in
lines exactly parallel to the first, and many such touches of the
brushes indicated that the painting was not made as the result of
memory alone. Near the end of the painting the Doctor again
approached his wife and child, leading the latter to the easel and
placing him upon a chair before it.
“The child was given a brush and dabbed paint upon various
parts of the picture. Sometimes he seemed to be guiding his father’s
hand, but during this operation the latter was not doing difficult
work. All the while the adept was chanting something which the
child repeated. The picture was signed with Oriental symbols placed
in one corner. Then the painter made a gesture of great fatigue,
sighed very audibly and staggered into the rear room. He fell upon a
sofa near the door and motioned to have the bandages removed. I
removed some, assisted by his wife, who brought him a glass of
water. The cotton was in its place as far as I could see. His eyes
remained closed after they were uncovered, and his attitude was
that of a man who had fainted. His wife held the water to his lips,
and then, lifting each of his eyelids, blew into them. Then the Mage
arose and, complaining of fatigue, resumed his seat behind the
table. Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked toward the canvas,
saying: ‘Behold the house in Thibet where I was initiated into the
mysteries of the Mahatmas.’
“After the exhibition of ‘double vision’ De Sarak performed the
cigarette paper test. {269}

“He concluded the séance with a brief speech, in which he

stated that it was customary to take up a collection for charity at
each meeting. A small cloth bag was passed by one of the women.
The secretary announced that $1.62 had been realized. Then the
president pounded with her gavel and adjourned the meeting. The
secretary ushered us to the door, and we went out into the
darkness.
“Such were the miracles of the adept Albert de Sarak, Comte
de Das, and such was his propaganda.”
 V.
Is it not strange that people can take such performances
seriously? The cigarette test—an old one—and familiar to every
schoolboy who dabbles in legerdemain, was a mere trick, dependent
upon clever substitution and palming. The absurd splatterdash which
the Mage painted while blindfolded had nothing of Thibetan
architecture about it, but resembled a ruined castle on the Rhine.
That he was able to peep beneath his bandages at one stage of the
proceedings seems to me evident. He perhaps arranged this while
kissing and fondling the little child. Long practice, however, would
enable him to paint roughly while his eyes were bandaged. The
horse episode was of course a pre-arranged affair, yet I admit it was
very well worked up and gave one a creepy feeling—thanks to the
mise en scéne. But the Comte de Sarak has other occult phenomena
up his sleeve, which I have not yet witnessed—among them being
the shattering of a pane of glass by pronouncing the words,
“Forward, ever forward”; the instantaneous production of vegetation
from the seed; and the immediate development of fish from spawn.
He doubtless owes much of his notoriety to the newspapers, which
herald his alleged feats of magic in sensational style.
A few months after my séance at the adept’s house, the
Washington papers announced the fact that the Count de Sarak, the
famous magician, was projecting a personally conducted tour to the
Orient for the members of his cult and all those who were {270}

interested in occultism. The pilgrims were to visit the inaccessible

shrines, pagodas, crypts, and lamaseries of the East, under the
ciceronage of the Count, who doubtless was to break down for them
by sheer force of will the fluidic barriers that surround Lhassa,
Thibet, where dwell the Mahatmas, in order that the tourists might
penetrate into the sacred city.
I never heard of anybody leaving Washington to go on this
expedition, except the Count—and he, I understand, got no farther
than New York City, where the French table d’hôte abounds, and
magic and mystery are chiefly to be studied in the recipes of French
chefs de cuisine.
 MAGICIANS I HAVE MET.
“To succeed as a conjurer, three things are essential—first,
dexterity; second, dexterity; and third, dexterity.”—R OBERT -H OUDIN.

I.
Imro Fox, “the comic conjurer,” was born May 21, 1852, in
Bromberg, Germany. He came to the United States in 1874, and
after serving as a chef de cuisine in several New York hotels, finally
came to Washington, where he presided over the kitchen of the old
Hotel Lawrence, a famous resort for vaudeville people. When not
engaged in his culinary duties, he practised sleight of hand tricks. In
the year 1880, a strolling company came to the city, having as its
bright, particular star a magician. The man of mystery, alas, was
addicted to the flowing bowl, and went on a spree after the first
night’s performance. The manager of the troupe, who was staying at
the Lawrence, was in despair. He told his woes to the proprietor of
the hotel, who informed him that the chef of the establishment was
a conjurer. Descending to the “lower regions” (a capital place, by the
way, in which to seek a disciple of the black art), the theatrical man
discovered the genial Imro studying a big volume. Near by a black
cat sat blinking at him. Upon the stove was a huge caldron. The
mise en scène of the place was decidedly that of a wizard’s studio.
But things are seldom what they seem.
The book which Fox was so industriously conning proved to
be a dictionary of the French language, not a black-letter tome on
sorcery. The chef was engaged in making up a ménu card, in other
words, giving French names to good old Anglo-Saxon dishes. The
caldron contained soup. The cat was the regular feline habitué of the
kitchen, not an imp or familiar demon. {272}

“The chef, I believe,” said the manager, politely.

“I am,” said Fox.
“You are an amateur conjurer?”
“I amuse myself with legerdemain occasionally.”
“You’re the man I’m looking for. I am the proprietor of a
vaudeville company playing at . . . . . . The gentleman who does the
magic turn for me has disappeared; gone on a prolonged
debauch. . . .”
“Ah, I see,” interrupted Imro, “a devotee of the ‘inexhaustible
bottle’ trick.”
“I want you to take his place,” said the manager, “and fill out
the week’s engagement. I will arrange matters with the hotel
proprietor for you.”
“Donner und Blitzen!” cried Fox. “Why, I never was on a stage
before in my life. I’d die with fright. Face an audience? I’d rather
face a battery of cannons.”
“Nonsense,” answered the theatrical man. “Do help me like a
good fellow. It will be money in your pocket.”
After considerable persuasion, Fox consented. The culinary
department was turned over to an assistant. That night Imro
appeared on the stage, habited in a hired dress suit that did not fit
him like the proverbial “paper on the wall.” With fear and trembling
he made his bow, and broke the ice by the following allusion to his
very bald pate: “Ladies and gentlemen, why is my head like
Heaven? . . . . You give it up! Good! Because there is no parting
there!” Amid the shout of laughter occasioned by this conundrum,
Fox began his card tricks. In the argot of the stage, he “made good.”
This event decided him; he abandoned cooking for conjuring;
ménu cards for the making of programmes.
His entertainment is quite original. The curtain rises on a
gloomy cavern. In the middle is a boiling caldron, fed by witches à la
Macbeth. An aged necromancer, dressed in a long robe with a
pointed cap on his head, enters. He begins his incantations,
whereupon hosts of demons appear, who dance about the caldron.
Suddenly amid the crash of thunder and a blinding flash of light, the
wizard’s cave is metamorphosed into a twentieth century drawing-
room, fitted up for a conjuring séance. The decrepit sorcerer is {273}
changed into a gentleman in evening dress—Mr. Fox—who begins his
up-to-date entertainment of modern magic. Is not this cleverly
conceived?
 II.
A few thumbnail sketches of some of the local magicians of
New York City will not come amiss. First, there is Elmer P. Ransom,
familiarly known as “Pop.” He was born in old New York, not far from
Boss Tweed’s house. He still lives in that quaint part of the city. He
knows New York like a book. Once he guided me through the Jewish
ghetto, the Italian and Chinese quarters. It was a rare treat. Ransom
is a good all around magician, who believes in the old school of
apparatus combined with sleight of hand. And so do I.
Next we have Adrian Plate, who was born in Utrecht, Holland,
in 1844. His rooms in upper New York are the Mecca of all visiting
magicians. He has a fine collection of books on magic, and a scrap-
book par excellence. Thanks to this clever conjurer, I have secured
translations of rare and curious Dutch works on necromancy. Plate
has always something new up his sleeve.
T. Francis Fritz (Frank Ducrot) edits Mahatma, a magazine for
magicians, and is a good conjurer.
Sargent, the “Merry Wizard,” and second president of the S.
A. M., is an adept in the psychology of deception and a recognized
authority on the subject of patter. His articles on magic, published in
Mahatma, are very interesting. He wields a facile pen as well as a
wand, and like Silas Wegg occasionally drops into poetry. His poetical
effusion, “In Martinka’s Little Back Shop,” brought out some years
ago in Mahatma, has been widely copied.
Henry V. A. Parsell, for a number of years the archivist of the
S. A. M., is a devotee of magic and freemasonry; a student of the
occult; and a mechanical engineer by profession. He is especially
fond of electrical tricks. He signs himself Paracelsus, not that he has
any special love for the Bombast of Hohenheim, but because the
name is a euphonic paraphrase of his own cognomen, and redolent
of sorcery. {274}

Dr. Golden Mortimer, first president of the S. A. M., is a

gentleman of culture. He was born in New York City, December 27,
1854. He began life as a magician, and was a pupil of Robinson, the
Fakir of Vishnu. He eventually toured the country with an
entertainment of the Heller order, known as “Mortimer’s Mysteries,”
and was very successful. Graduating finally as a physician, he
abandoned the art magique as a profession.
Krieger, the arch-master of cup-and-ball conjuring, the
successor of Bosco, often drops into Martinka’s. He is of Jewish birth.
With his little family he travels about, giving exhibitions of his skill, at
summer hotels, seaside resorts, clubs, lyceums, etc. The errant
propensities of the Krieger ménage gained for it the sobriquet of the
“Wandering Few,” a paraphrase of the title of Eugene Sue’s weird
novel, The Wandering Jew. To listen to Krieger’s funny accent; to see
him shake his bushy locks; to watch his deft fingers manipulate the
little cork balls, is to enjoy a rare treat. When the small balls grow to
large ones and finally change into onions, potatoes, lemons, and
apples you are quite ready to acknowledge that Krieger’s art is the
acme of legerdemain.
But the prince of Hanky Panky is undoubtedly Nate Leipziger.
For close work with cards, coins, watches, handkerchiefs, and the
like he is pre-eminent in this country, perhaps in any country. His
great forte is amusing after-dinner parties. His art is extremely
subtle and indetectable, even to those acquainted with the mysteries
of magic. He is the inventor of many new sleights and conjuring
artifices.
Leipziger was born in Stockholm, Sweden, in 1873, and was
apprenticed at an early age to an optical instrument maker. Grinding
and polishing lenses is his trade, but he abandoned it for conjuring
when he came to the United States. It is a curious fact that the
majority of great magicians have been recruited from among
watchmakers, optical instrument manufacturers, chemists, and
physicians. Hundreds of them have been doctors. Among our
American Indians medicine and magic are synonymous terms. The
“medicine man” is the High Priest, the Mage, of the tribe. As every
student of psychology knows, there is a good deal of humbug about
the practice of medicine. Suggestion aided by deception in the {275}
way of bread pills and harmless philtres effect as many cures as
potent drugs. Surgery is an exact science, medicine is experimental.
The medico takes naturally to magic, for he is already an adept in
the art of suggestion. Apropos of this let me quote a sentence from
an article by Joseph Jastrow (Psychological Review, Vol. 7, p. 617):
“A dominant principle, most frequently illustrated, is the kinship of
conjuring to suggestion; for it is the suggestion of things not done
quite as much as the concealment of those that are done that
determines the success of modern conjuring.”
 III.
Horace Goldin is known as the “Whirlwind Wizard,” so called
because of the rapidity of his work. His tricks and illusions follow
each other with kaleidoscopic effect. Goldin can compress more
magic feats in a twenty-minute turn, than the average conjurer can
execute in an hour. But his act is a silent one; he uses no patter
whatever. As a general rule this is to be condemned. Amateurs are
warned against it. Says Professor Jastrow, the psychologist: “The
‘patter,’ or setting of a trick, often constitutes the real art of its
execution, because it directs, or rather misdirects, the attention.”
More than that, artfully worded patter weaves about a conjuring
experiment an atmosphere of plausibility; people are often
convinced that red is black, etc. Consider the dramatic setting of
Houdin’s magic chest and aerial suspension. Without patter these
charming tricks would have degenerated to the commonplace. But
Goldin is a law unto himself, and must not be judged by any
standards other than those laid down by himself. He is a genius.
Goldin, who is of Jewish descent, was born in Wilana, Russia,
December 17, 1874. He began life as a traveling salesman. He took
to conjuring to amuse himself and his friends. Afterwards he went
on the stage. He has played before Edward VII of England and
William II of Germany. While playing an engagement in New York
City, at Hammerstein’s Theatre, August, 1904, he went about the
city in an automobile known as the “red devil.” Some of his facetious
friends described him as a “little white devil” in a “big red devil.”
Among the numerous clever illusions performed by him is the {276}
“Invisible Flight,” an exposé of which was published in the Strand, as
follows:
“A pedestal about seven feet high is seen in the centre of the
stage. The performer introduces a liveried assistant and entirely
envelops him in a black cloak and hood, and puts a pistol in his right
hand. He then fetches a ladder, places it against the pedestal, walks
up, and steps from it on to the top of the pedestal, behind a curtain,
which is hung in front, just reaching to his feet. The assistant puts
the ladder back and fires the pistol, when immediately the curtain
rises and a great surprise meets the gaze of the audience, for there
on the pedestal, where the performer stepped only a moment
previously, stands the liveried servant; but the climax is reached
when the supposed assistant pulls off the cloak and hood, showing
him to be none other than the performer himself.
“To perform this illusion it is necessary to have two assistants
as near alike as possible and of similar stature to the performer
himself, the rest being quite simple but requiring much exactness in
execution. The performer cloaks assistant No. 1 and hands him the
pistol, then goes to fetch the ladder, part of which is showing
between the wings, the other part being held by assistant No. 2,
who is made to look, at a quick glance, exactly like the performer.
The performer catches hold of the ladder and steps between the
wings, leaving one leg showing; the assistant (No. 2) steps out
backwards with the ladder, covering the performer momentarily, who
then steps right in between the wings. The natural movement of the
assistant in stepping back at the right moment looks as if it is still
the performer; indeed, he is never suspected to be otherwise.
Assistant No. 2 places the ladder against the pedestal, walks up,
and, stepping behind the curtain, unhooks a duplicate livery from it,
quickly puts it on, pockets wig and mustache, or any other make-up
which went to match the magician’s appearance, and stands ready
for the curtain to be raised, at the sound of the pistol, by a string
leading inside to one of the stage hands. During this time assistant
No. 1 has taken the ladder back to its original place, and the
performer, who has meanwhile quickly donned a cloak and hood
exactly as worn by assistant No. 1, reverses his previous action,
stepping back with a pistol in his right hand, this again being so {277}
natural as not to excite suspicion. He then fires, when assistant No.
2 is seen upon the pedestal, believed by the audience to be assistant
No. 1, the idea of a duplicate never occurring to them, as they have
not seen the change take place. The performer then takes off his
cloak and hood, bowing smilingly to the bewildered audience.”
 IV.

T HE I NVISIBLE F LIGHT.

One of the most entertaining men in the profession is

Frederick Eugene Powell. He is a man of scholarly attainments.
Powell was born in Philadelphia, and was attracted to magic after
having witnessed a performance by good old Signor Blitz. He
became quite an expert at the art and gave entertainments for the
amusement of his fellow students at the Pennsylvania Military
Academy, at Chester, from which institution he graduated in 1877
with the degree of Civil Engineer and the rank of Lieutenant. After a
short career on the stage as a magician, he entered into mercantile
life. Eventually he returned to his old love, magic, and began a
series of entertainments at Wood’s Theatre, corner of Ninth and Arch
Streets, Philadelphia. His “second-sight trick,” in which he was
assisted by his brother Edwin, was one of his strong cards. {278}
Robert Heller had just died, and there was no one to continue the
art of second sight but Powell. After touring the United States and
Spanish America he left the stage to take the intermediate chair of
mathematics at the Pennsylvania Military Academy, which post he
held for three years. The sedentary life affected his health, and he
returned to the stage. Powell has played several long engagements
at the Eden Musée, one of them lasting for six months. In the year
1892, he produced at this theatre for the first time to a New York
audience the illusion “She.” In 1902 he visited the Sandwich and
Samoa Islands, and played in the principal cities of Australia. Powell
was the first conjurer to introduce the improved “coin ladder” in this
country.
Howard Thurston, the American illusionist, was educated for
the ministry, but abandoned theology for conjuring. He possesses
great skill with cards, and is an inventor of many novel feats of
spectacular magic.
His stage represents an Oriental scene. Enter Thurston
dressed somewhat after the fashion of a Tartar chieftain: loose
trousers, short jacket, turban and high boots. He introduces his act
with card manipulation, after which he produces from a shawl
thrown over his arm a bowl from which bursts a flame, then another
bowl from which spurts a jet of water like a fountain. He stands on a
small stool of glass and produces a great quantity of water from a
large tin can, by dropping into it the half of a cocoanut shell. Enough
water wells up from the can to fill several receptacles. The
thaumaturgist then defies the laws of gravitation by suspending a
large ball in the air, à la Mahomet’s alleged coffin at Mecca, and
passes a hoop about the ball. When he leaves the stage, the ball
follows him. This feat is accomplished by a stream of compressed air
which plays upon the globe from a receptacle secreted in the sleeve
of the performer. The conjurer walks to a stool, covers it with a
shawl, and produces a life-size statue, which undergoes various
pretty transformations. The illusion suggests that of Professor
Pepper. Finally he produces pigeons from a borrowed hat, and toy
balloons which float in the air. Altogether it is a pleasing and curious
act. {279}
P OWELL, THE P RESTIDIGITATEUR
 {280}

V.
William G. Robinson for years acted as Alexander Herrmann’s
stage manager and machinist. He is a devotee of the magic art, a
collector of rare books on legerdemain, and the inventor of many
ingenious sleights, tricks, and illusions. When not employed at the
theatre, he spends his time haunting the second-hand book stores,
searching for literature on his favorite hobby. He has found time to
write a profoundly interesting brochure called Spirit Slate-Writing,
published by the Scientific American Company. After reading this
work, I cannot see how any sane person can credit the reality of
“independent slate-writing.” It is a mere juggling trick.
 C HUNG L ING S OO.
(Mr. Wm. G. Robinson.)

Robinson was born in New York City, April 2, 1861, and

received a common school education. He started life as “a worker in
brass and other metals,” but he abandoned the profession of Tubal
Cain for conjuring. After the death of Herrmann, Robinson went as
assistant to Leon Herrmann for several seasons, and then started
out to astonish the natives on his own account, but without any
appreciable success. Just about this time there came to the United
States a Chinese conjurer named Ching Ling Foo, with a repertoire
of Oriental tricks. One of them was the production of a huge bowl of
water from a table-cloth, followed by live pigeons and ducks, and
last but not least a little almond-eyed Celestial, his son. This was but
a replica of the trick which Phillippe learned from the Chinese many
years ago. Foo’s performances drew crowds to the theatres. It was
the novelty of the thing that caught the public fancy. In reality, the
Mongolian’s magic was not to be compared with that of Herrmann,
Kellar, or Goldin. Beneath the folds of a Chinese robe one may
conceal almost anything, ranging in size from a bedpost to a cannon
ball. When Foo’s manager boastfully advertised to forfeit $500 if any
American could fathom or duplicate any of the Celestial’s tricks,
“Billy” Robinson came forward and accepted the challenge. But
nothing came of it. Foo’s impressario “backed water,” to use a
boating phrase. Robinson was so taken with Ching Ling Foo’s act
that he decided to give similar séances, disguising himself as a
Chinaman. Under the name of Chung Ling Soo he went to England,
accompanied by his wife and a genuine Chinese acrobat. He {281}

opened at the Empire Theatre, and not only reproduced Foo’s best
tricks but added others of his own, equally as marvelous. His success
was instantaneous. Theatrical London went wild over the celebrated
Chinese wizard, and gold began to flow into the coffers of the
Robinson ménage. So well was the secret kept that for months no
one, except the attachés of the theatre, knew that Chung Ling Soo
was a Yankee and not a genuine Chinaman. The make-up of himself
and wife was perfect. Robinson even had the audacity to grant {282}
interviews to newspaper reporters. He usually held these receptions
at his lodgings, where he had an apartment fitted up à la Chinois;
the walls hung with silken drapery embroidered with grotesque
dragons. The place was dimly lit by Chinese lanterns. Propped up on
silken cushions, the “Yankee Celestial” with his face made up like a
finely painted mask, sipped his real oolong, and laughed in his
capacious sleeves at the credulity of the journalistic hacks. He gave
his opinion on the “Boxer” trouble, speaking a kind of gibberish
which the previously tutored Chinese acrobat pretended to interpret
into English. Gradually it leaked out in theatrical circles that Chung
Ling Soo was a Yankee, but this information never came to the
public ear generally.
At the close of the “Boxer” uprising the real Ching Ling Foo
had returned to his beloved Flowery Kingdom, loaded down with
bags full of dollars extracted from the pockets of the “Foreign
Devils,” yclept Americans. Under his own vine and bamboo tree he
proceeded to enjoy life like a regular Chinese gentleman; to burn
joss sticks to the memory of his ancestors, and study the maxims of
Confucius. But the longing for other worlds to conquer with his
magic overcame him, and so in the year 1904 he went to England.
Great was his astonishment to find that a pretended Mongolian had
preceded him and stolen all of his thunder. In January, 1905,
Robinson was playing at the Hippodrome, London, and Ching Ling
Foo at the Empire. There was great rivalry between them. The result
was that Foo challenged Soo to a grand trial of strength, the articles
of which appeared in the Weekly Despatch. “I offer £1,000 if Chung
Ling Soo, now appearing at the Hippodrome, can do ten out of the
twenty of my tricks, or if I fail to do any one of his feats.”
A meeting was arranged to take place at the Despatch office,
on January 7, 1905, at 11 a. m. The challenged man, “Billy”
Robinson alias Chung Ling Soo, rode up to the newspaper office in
his big red automobile, accompanied by his manager and assistants.
He was dressed like a mandarin. The acrobat held over his master’s
head a gorgeous Chinese umbrella. Robinson gave an exhibition of
his skill before a committee of newspaper men and theatrical {283}

managers. Foo came not. The next day arrived a letter from Ching
Ling Foo’s impressario saying that the Mongolian magician would
only consent to compete against his rival on the following condition:
“That Chung Ling Soo first prove before members of the Chinese
Legation that he is a Chinaman.” This was whipping the Devil (or
shall I say dragon?) around the stump. The original challenge had
made no condition as to the nationality of the performers.
 The Despatch said: “The destination of the challenge money
remains in abeyance, and the questions arise: ‘Did Foo fool Soo?
And can Soo sue Foo?’ ” {284}

The merits of this interesting mix-up are thus summed up by

Mr. John N. Hilliard, in an editorial published in the Sphinx, Kansas
City, Mo., March 15, 1905:
“While we do not take the controversy with undue
seriousness, there is an ethical aspect in the case, however, that
invites discussion. In commenting disparagingly on the professional
ability of the Chinese conjurer, in belittling his originality and his
achievements in the magic arts, Mr. Robinson (Chung Ling Soo) is
really throwing stones at his own crystal dwelling place. Despite the
glowing presentments of his press agent, one single naked truth
shines out as clearly as a frosty star in a turquoise sky. It is violating
no confidence to assert that had it not been for Ching Ling Foo, the
professional status of Mr. William E. Robinson, masquerading as a
Chinaman, and adopting the sobriquet of ‘Chung Ling Soo,’ would be
more or less of a negative quantity to-day. Ching Ling Foo, the
genuine Chinaman, is indisputably the originator, so far as the
Western hemisphere is concerned, at least, of this peculiar act, and
Robinson is merely an imitator. Robinson is shrewd and has a ‘head
for business.’ He doubtless realizes, as well as his critics, that in the
dress of the modern magician he would not be unqualifiedly
successful, despite his skill with cards and coins and his knowledge
of the art. The success of Ching Ling Foo in this country was his
opportunity. Adopting the dress and make-up of a Mongolian, and
appropriating the leading features of Ching’s act, he went to Europe,
where the act was a novelty, and scored a great success. Of course,
from a utilitarian point of view, this success is legitimate; but in the
light of what the American magician really owes to the great Chinese
conjurer, it is ridiculous for Robinson to pose as ‘the original Chinese
magician,’ and for him to say that Ching Ling Foo is ‘a performer of
the streets,’ while he is the ‘court magician to the Empress Dowager.’
This may be good showmanship, but it is not fair play. The devil
himself is entitled to his due; and, the question of merit aside, the
indubitable fact remains that it is Ching Ling Foo who is the ‘original
Chinese magician,’ while ‘Chung Ling Soo’ is an imitator of his act
and a usurper in the Oriental kingdom. But outside of the ethical {285}

nature of the controversy, we refuse to take it seriously.”

 A L ONDON S IGN B OARD OF C HUNG L ING S OO.

Robinson calls himself “Chung Ling Soo, he of the One Button

[mandarin], Royal Chinese Conjurer.” Chung Ling Soo, in the
vernacular of Confucius, means Double Luck, or extra good luck.
Wherever he goes he puts on exhibition in the lobby of the theatre
the resplendent robes of his ancestors—“a piece of sacrilege,” says
an English paper, “no Chinaman the world has ever known has been
guilty of before. Some of the exhibits are from the Imperial palace at
Pekin.” These gorgeous garments were doubtless purchased in some
Chinese bazaar in London. According to a Holloway journal,
Robinson is the possessor of a wonderful collection of Oriental
embroideries, carvings, armor, and swords, and last but not least, “a
splendid palanquin which cost the Chinese equivalent of 1,000 {286}
guineas. It was presented to him by the late Dowager Empress of
China, and is constructed of solid ebony inlaid with gold and
precious stones.” In this palanquin, Robinson comes on the stage to
perform his bullet-catching feat, supposed to be a replica of a similar
adventure when he was attacked by “Boxers” in China. This is
Herrmann’s old trick, with an Oriental setting. Some years ago, a
German-American wizard, Prof. Mingus, invented a method of
catching live gold fish on the end of a line fixed to an ordinary
bamboo fishing rod. The line being cast in the air, a gold fish
appeared dangling upon the hook. The fish was then thrown into a
bowl of water and shown to the audience. Several fish were caught
in this manner. Robinson adopted this trick with great success.
Pestered to death for an explanation of the mystery by his
journalistic friends, he finally condescended to explain (?) it. He thus
described it in the News of the World, Holloway, England, April 9,
1905:
“Anyone may know how Chung does the goldfish trick, but it
does not follow that having been told one can do it. When Chung
Ling Soo makes casts in the air with his rod and line, little Suce
Seen, the Celestial handmaiden, stands meekly some yards away,
holding a glass bowl of water. The hook is a powerful magnet, and if
one could examine the goldfish caught, one would detect pieces of
metal attached to the bodies of the finny captures. The live goldfish
repose in little Suce Seen’s sleeve, and when a more than usually
skillful cast brings the magnetic bait for a second into the interior of
the girl’s sleeve, a ‘catch’ has at once been effected, and the fish is
seen dangling and wriggling in the air at the end of the line.”
It is needless to remark that this is a fish story. Chung Ling
Soo is romancing. The gold fish are concealed in the handle of the
rod. The fish that appears on the hook at each cast of the line is an
imitation affair of silk, which is hidden in the hollow lead sinker. A
substitution is made, and the real fish thrown into the bowl by the
conjurer. The dainty little Chinese maiden (Mrs. Robinson) has
nothing more to do with the trick than the people in the audience.
She merely holds the bowl and looks cute.
The following is a sample of some of the nonsense published
about Robinson, taken from the Weekly Despatch, April 9, 1905: {287}

“Chung Ling Soo rose from the ranks, and his fame as a
sorcerer penetrated to the Chinese Empress Dowager, who
commanded him to court, where, after years of service, he was
promoted to many Celestial honors, and ultimately the rank of
Mandarin was bestowed upon him. His skin is yellow, his eyes are
black and oblique, and his teeth are absolutely inky, as all true
Celestials of rank should be.” Any one acquainted with the art of
stage “make-up” knows how easily these facial effects can be
produced. There is even a black paste for the teeth. I don’t doubt
this much of the journalist’s story—but the “Celestial honors” and the
“rank of Mandarin”—shade of the illustrious Münchausen preserve
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