PREFACE

Like Robert Ripley of “Believe It or Not!” fame, I have always been attracted to the odd and the curious. Growing up in a small eastern-Kentucky town, I rarely missed the visiting solo acts—armless wonders or bullwhip artists—who performed at the local ball park. I paid admission to countless magic, hypnotism, and spook shows, not to mention animal and juggling acts, that played at the school auditorium or the local theater. And I must have attended every carnival and circus that came around. Once, in the mid-1950s, my father and I even visited the state fair and its big sideshow. I can still recall being dazzled by the fire-eater, whose feats helped light a boy's interest.

In 1969 I worked as a magic pitchman in the carnival at the Canadian National Exhibition (CNE). It was there that I met El Hoppo the Living Frog Boy and witnessed Atasha the Gorilla Girl, who transformed from beauty to beast before the eyes of frightened spectators (see Nickell 1970). Over the next three years I worked as a magician, learning the secrets of conjuring that lay behind many sideshow performances and illusions. During summers I was resident magician at the Houdini Magical Hall of Fame in Niagara Falls, Ontario. The Falls’ Clifton Hill—with its street vendors and attractions such as Ripley's and Tussaud's and Frankenstein's museums—was rather a carnival itself.

When I was not at Houdini's, I spent the remainder of the year performing on the school circuit as Janus the Magician, Mister Twister the Magic Clown, or Mendell the Mentalist. Each fall, I visited the CNE midway. There I saw— or, more accurately, studied—such sideshow exhibits as the bullet-riddled auto of Bonnie and Clyde, a Sasquatch frozen in a block of ice, animal freaks, and such human oddities as the famous Siamese twins Ronnie and Donnie. I also caught the short acts of fellow magicians, at least one of whom recognized me in the crowd and acknowledged my presence with a wink.

During travels in Europe, Asia, and North Africa in 1970 and 1971, I beheld various street acts, including nighttime fire-breathing and Houdinistyle escape performances in Paris, a “dancing” bear in Istanbul, a little old wandering conjurer at the Pueblo Español in Barcelona, and a snake charmer and other entertainers at the Medina in Marrakech.

During the summers of 1975 and 1976 I was in Dawson City, Yukon Territory, dealing blackjack in Diamond Tooth Gertie's casino. I also operated a crown-and-anchor game—that is, a wheel of fortune like those on carnival midways. I even created an appropriately carnivalesque spiel: “This train leaves for Lucky Land! Hurry, hurry, last call for winners! Poor man's roulette, just half a buck to bet! It must be down to win!”

In short, I’ve spent much of my life investigating carnivals, particularly sideshows. Even during my years of graduate work and teaching (1979–1995) and my subsequent work as a full-time paranormal investigator with Skeptical Inquirer magazine, I maintained that interest. I often stopped by a roadside carnival or struck off on a weekend to visit a big fair within driving distance. For the past few years, however, recognizing their endangered status, I have more energetically studied these one-time mainstays of circuses and carnivals.

I have met such legendary showmen as Bobby Reynolds and Ward Hall, the last of a vanishing breed, and have been permitted behind-the-scenes access to their shows. My colleague, Skeptical Inquirer managing editor Benjamin Radford, who shares my interest, accompanied me on several trips to interview Reynolds, Hall, Hall's partner Chris Christ, and others, as well as to meet such sideshow notables as Poobah the Fire-eating Dwarf.

At one time or another I have petted five-legged cows, inspected trick boxes like the one used for No-Middle Myrtle, witnessed human pincushions (painfully up close), and posed for pictures with snake girls. I have also examined shrunken heads (both real and fake), chatted with sword swallowers and electric girls, obtained the autographs of sideshow notables (including celebrity fat man Harold Huge), and taken close-up photos of Eddie the Blockhead pounding screwdrivers into his nostrils. And that's just for starters.

Sometimes my sideshow studies overlapped my paranormal ones, as I tried my hand (and other body parts) at some of the feats performed by street, fair, and sideshow entertainers. With the guidance of David Willey, physicist and resident “mad scientist” of the Tonight Show, I have dipped my hand in molten lead, made a twenty-five-foot fire walk, and laid on a bed of nails while Willey used a sledgehammer to smash a cinder block on my chest.

Secrets of the Sideshows is based on these endeavors, as well as on historical and other research. In the following pages, you will read about the evolution of circuses and carnivals and their accompanying midway features, especially the locations and functions of the so-called freak shows and other types of sideshows. You will learn to “talk carny,” as we discuss roughies setting up a ten-in-one with its distinctive banner line and bally platform. There you may see an anatomical wonder or a snake charmer, while the bally talker (not a “barker”) skillfully turns the tip. Inside, you will meet the lecturer (still not a “barker”), who will introduce you to such wonders as Spidora, encourage you to buy a pitch card from an alligator boy, and send you to the blowoff wondering if the pickled punks there are really gaffed. You will meet many of the showmen and especially the human oddities and other remarkable performers, even peeking behind the curtains at their often equally remarkable personal lives. You will learn the secrets of illusions such as the headless girl; become an expert on the finer points of fire eating and sword swallowing; and visit menageries, flea circuses, and single-Os, such as one featuring a giant rat.

There is much, much more, ladies and gentlemen. Hurry! Step right this way! It's on the inside!