HOUDINIS FINAL DAYS

How a young punk became the magicians physician

One of the best things of lecturing around the world is the chance to
meet a lot of interesting people. Thats what happened, for example, when I
was touring the US in August 2001 to speak about my book Final Sance,
which dealt with the curious friendship between magician and skeptic Harry
Houdini and author of the Sherlock Holmes stories and Spiritualist Sir
Arthur Conan Doyle.
Naturally, I was approached by many fans, students and historians of
both Doyle and Houdini, but also by some other intriguing people. There
was a man in Cleveland, Ohio, who told me I could get all the information I
wanted on Doyle directly from him, meaning not him the Clevaland-man,
but him, Doyle himself! This man did not claim to be a medium but,
nonetheless, he believed he had talked many times with the spirit of Doyle.
To prove it he told me he had taped all these conversations and promised to
send them all to me. When after some time I received the tapes they were
completely blank. Maybe he had done some mistake duplicating them, or
they had been erased during the trip, or maybe the man had tried to tape
conversations that only happened in his mind.
A more fruitful meeting took place in Eugene, Oregon, at the Skeptics
Toolbox Workshop sponsored by CSICOP and held at the University of
Oregon. Here I met Donald Sandweiss MD who told me he had an elderly
aquaintance whose deceased husband was the physician who initially
attended Houdini during his terminal illnes in Detroit. Would I be interested
in having her told me this story?
Of course I was! We could not meet in person; however, after a while Dr
Sandweiss graciously wrote me and sent me a written memoir of Ethel Cohn
Schatz, the widow of Houdinis physician.

Tragedy Strikes

In October 1926, Houdini, then 52 years old, was touring North

America with his grand show of magic and escapes. He had opened on
September 13 at the Majestic Theater, in Boston, and when the tour had
reached Albany on October 11, Houdini was getting quite tired. Bess, his
wife, had been ill and he had not slept, for almost three days, in order to
spend time close to her in New York. When he arrived in Albany,
nonetheless, he went on stage and performed in the scheduled show. During
the performance of the famous Water Torture Cell act, the apparatus that
held him upside down suddenly snapped and he broke his left ankle. A
physician ordered that he be taken immediately to the hospital, but Houdini
refused since, first, he wanted to finish the show.
Only after the curtains had been lowered on the closing act, Houdini
accepted to go to the hospital, but again refused to get the needed rest; he
had his foot put in plaster and went back to his scheduled tour. He
continued to appear in his complete evenings entertainment of magic,
escapes and pseudo-spiritualism, moving from Albany to Schenectady. On
the 18th he arrived in Montreal, Canada, where physicians strenuously
advised him against continuing his public performances until his leg was
healed. But Houdini was adamant. He went right on.
On October 22, Houdini was visited backstage by a few students. One
of them began drawing a portrait of the magician, who was then laying on a
couch reading his mail. To the students Houdini looked like someone much
in need of a long, carefree vacation; nonetheless, he was kind, affable and
made them feel comfortable. They talked for a while, and Houdini answered
all of their questions. Is it true, Mr. Houdini, asked then a student named
Wallace Whitehead, that you can resist the hardest blows struck to the
abdomen?
The unexpected question took everybody aback. Houdini, who had
never claimed such a thing, tried to change subject. But the student insisted,
he wanted to know. Houdini replied that he had strong muscles in his arms
and back.
Would you mind if I delivered a few blows to your abdomen, Mr.
Houdini? was the next surprising question of Whitehead.
Houdini accepted, but as soon as he was trying to get up from the
couch, the well built young man began punching him in the stomach, with
terribly forcible punches.
Hey there!, cried out one of the students, you must be crazy. What
are you doing?
Whitehead delivered a few more punches and, when Houdini
murmured That will do, stopped his attack. The atmosphere slowly
returned back to normal as Houdini regained his breath. The portrait was
finished and handed to Houdini. You made me look a little tired in this
picture, remarked the magician. The truth is, I dont feel so well. He
thanked the students and said goodbye.
That night he performed his show as expected, but between
intermissions he rested on his couch in a cold sweat. After the performance
he rushed to the station to catch a train for Detroit, where he was scheduled
to open the next evening. On the train, however, the pain at the stomach
became unbearable and a wire had to be sent ahead asking for a physician
to meet them at the Detroit station.
The doctor found signs of appendicitis and urged him to enter an
hospital. Houdini, instead, went to his hotel, where he shook with chills. On
the 24th he went to the Detroits old Garrick Theatre and opened the show,
although his temperature had reached 104, but collapsed twice between
intermissions. After the show was over, the magician returned to his room at
the Statler Hotel but collapsed in the middle of the night.
Enters Dr. Daneil Cohn.

The Dying Magician

Daniel, remembers Ethel Cohn Schatz, not yet my husband at that

time, was only 25 years old, a young punk as he described himself. He had
recently completed his residency at Grace Hospital and had just opened an
office to start private practice. He had earned his medical degree at the
University of Michigan Medical School.
How did it happen that a young, inexperienced practitioner was
called in to see the great Houdini?
An older colleague of Daniels, leaving on vacation, continues Mrs.
Cohn Schatz, asked him to substitute as house physician at the Statler.
Daniel, with few patients of his own, complied with enthusiasm. As soon as
Daniel examined Houdini and heard his story, as told by his wife Bess, he
called Dr. Kennedy, chief of surgery at Grace Hospital. Sick as Houdini was,
however, he refused to go to the hospital until Daniel called Houdinis own
physician in New York and explained the urgency of the case. His physician
persuaded him to go, he was admitted to the hospital and Kennedy operated
immediately.
There were no antibiotics then and without the miracle drugs that
we take for granted today, medical science knew of nothing to save
Houdinis life. When the surgeon operated and discovered a ruptured,
gangrenous appendix, the doctors realized the magician was doomed.
Innumerable medical men were called in consultation to treat him.
They were all well-established, outstanding physicians with many patients of
their own. Only one young physician had nothing but time.
Daniel welcomed the opportunity to spend night and day at
Houdinis bedside. At the end, an awestruck young novice became friend
and confidant to a dying magician.
When Daniel wrote the case history, he found it intriguing that
Houdini designated his occupation first as an author and second as a
magician. The world knew him then as it remembers him now, as an
extraordinary magician and showman. But he prided himself much more on
the many books and articles he had written, books and articles rarely read
today.
Every evening Daniel sat at Houdinis bedside listening to his halting
sentences as he reminisced mostly about his childhood. Born in Hungary, he
grew up in Appleton, Wisc., the son of a rabbi.
 Though he had no appetite for food, he said to Daniel one evening,
I have a yen for Farmers Chop Suey.
Farmer Chop Suey is a favorite dish in Jewish homes, consisting of
raw vegetables combined with sour cream. Daniel walked over to a nearby
delicatessen on Woodward Avenue and bought two portions. As they were
eating, Houdini said, If I die, dont be surprised if phony spiritualists
declare a national holiday. His public battles with spiritualists were well-
known.
The operation, however, did not save Houdini, the infection had
already spread through Houdinis body. The situation was desperate, and
the physicians issued a statement indicating the he was near death. Houdini
seemed to improve, after the doctors gave him an experimental serum; but
he had to be operated again and the situation got worse.
On October 29, he told Bess to be prepared, if anything happens,
meaning by this not only to expect the worse, but also to be ready should he
try to come back from the other side. On the 31st Houdini said to his
brother: Im tired of fighting, Dash. I guess this thing is going to get me.
At 1:26 PM, October 31st, Halloween, Harry Houdini died.
The insurance company, continues Mrs. Cohn Schatz in her writings,
questioned whether abdominal punches could possibly cause an appendix
to rupture and lead to a fulminating streptococcal peritonitis. All the
physicians on the case testified that this was the first case of undoubted
traumatic appendicitis they had ever seen. The New York Life Insurance
Company then paid Bess Houdini double indemnity.
Daniels name appeared in newspapers and in newscasts in Detroit and
all across the country, even abroad. After hearing that he was the doctor
who took care of the great Houdini, countless patients called his office for
appointments.
Daniel was overwhelmed by the widespread publicity and the sudden
burgeoning of his medical practice. But more than anything, he treasured
for the rest of his life, the memory of the serendipitous stroke of chance
that led a young punk to meet, treat and get close enough to know as a
warm, likeable person, a renowned magician on his deathbed.

Massimo Polidoro

Note
I would like to thank Mrs. Ethel Cohn Schatz for leaving a written testimony
of her husbands experience and Dr. Donald Sandweiss for letting me have
it.