The Grand old man of Magic
By William Pack | Magician, Historian, and Educator, https://libraryprogramming.com/
Harry Blackstone Sr.
(Henry Boughton)
B. September 27, 1885 – D. November 16, 1965
Henry (Harry) Boughton started his life in unrelenting poverty on Chicago’s South Side. One of seven boys, he followed family tradition by attending as little school as possible, never getting past the fifth grade. As a child, he was fascinated with magic and loved to perform, performing minstrel shows that his brothers put on in the backyard.
By 15, he was employed in a machine shop. Harry demonstrated a talent for woodworking and metalwork. One day, an order came in from Chicago magic dealer August Roterberg, and Harry begged to do the fabrication.
The inside knowledge he learned and the fabrication skills he developed would give him an edge over other magicians who depended on someone else to build their props. There was also a more immediate impact on his magic. Once he filled the order for Roterberg, he made an extra prop for himself, outfitting his show with professional equipment for free.
He performed anywhere he could, with a variety of partners and under a variety of names. By 1909, he had shortened his name to Bouton and found the most important partnership of his career, his brother Pete.
“The mainspring of my watch,” Harry said of Pete. Younger by two years but nearly identical in appearance, Pete could have been taken as Harry’s twin. He was an indispensable backstage manager and Harry’s on-stage alter ego. As Harry Bouton & Company, the two brothers developed an act called “Straight and Crooked Magic.” The “Straight” was Harry. He was the dashing, elegant magician performing standard tricks, like the production of a bowl full of goldfish. Pete, dressed as a clown, provided the contrasting “Crooked.” He pretended to eat the goldfish, and then, as soon as he got offstage, the audience heard a loud crash as if the fishbowl was dropped. The humor was broad and burlesque. They worked their way through small-time vaudeville and rose to be a solid middle.
Harry added more tricks to the show. When a magician died or retired, Harry purchased his props. He dreamed of a lavish production like his idols, the great magicians Herrmann and Kellar. At the same time, the “Crooked” part was being phased out as Harry decided there could only be one star.
Harry was always short on money, a condition that lasted throughout his career. He cut corners where he could, like with advertising. It was essential for shows to have a supply of colorful lithograph posters for promotion. Occasionally, the classifieds in the performers’ trade magazines would advertise cut-rate lithographs. Usually, this meant that the printing company was stuck because a performer had not paid his bill. In 1915, Harry purchased a whole complement of posters for next to nothing. However, the name on the poster was Fredrik the Great. So, Harry became Fredrik the Great.
Harry was always
short on money,
a condition that lasted
throughout his career.
The company was growing, adding several assistants. Harry upgraded the look of the props and costumes. The show was becoming high-class. Things were better than ever until the fall of 1917. America had entered World War I. The public thought Fredrik the Great was German. They stopped buying tickets.
On January 7, 1918, Fredrik the Great disappeared, and Harry Blackstone made his first performance. But more shows would have to wait. An influenza epidemic raced through America. Blackstone was luckier than most; none of his employees got sick, but many other troupes weren’t so fortunate. Theaters were closed. Public gathering places avoided. The Blackstone troupe disbanded, and his assistants got jobs working in the shipyards for the war effort.
In the 1920s, Blackstone’s popularity rose. The illusions were baffling, the show lavish, but as one newspaper wrote: “…the real interest of the audience is centered about Blackstone himself. Although surrounded by many assistants and much properties, Blackstone was best alone against a back drop. Quick as a flash, a clever talker, and with a personality of natural charm, he commands admiration.” Harry would begin to compete, with begrudging respect, with the greatest magician of the time, Howard Thurston. Thurston feared Blackstone and offered to promote him as “Presented by Thurston.” Harry refused. Harry would also have a bitter professional rivalry with Houdini, who cultivated feuds on and off stage for most of his life.
By 1935, the Blackstone show was at its peak, professionally and artistically. However, it would take another ten years to achieve any financial success. Even then, life was a series of obstacles to be overcome.
The Depression and World War II would create hardship for Blackstone. Harry was well past military age, but many of his experienced assistants weren’t and were drafted. The show moved by truck. With rationing, civilian trouping got harder and harder. Audiences shrank with so many men off to war. The U.S.O. was the answer to his problems.
Quick as a flash,
a clever talker,
and with a personality
of natural charm,
he commands admiration.
Blackstone was the first magic company signed on to perform. They would entertain at military bases throughout the nation. It was the most grueling schedule of his career, 111 shows in total. Many of the shows were one-nighters, which meant setting up, performing, tearing down, and traveling to the next performance on the next day. The stages were makeshift. The stagehands were inexperienced soldiers. The dressing rooms and accommodations were nonexistent. The experience was hard on the troupe and, yet, rewarding considering what it meant to the G.I.s in the audience. For the majority of the soldiers, it was the last show they would see before deploying.
The U.S.O. tours did more for Blackstone than the previous forty years of performing. As did his thoroughly white hair, he cut a grandfatherly figure and performed in that comfortable, gentle manner. When the war ended, the returning servicemen knew all about the magician Blackstone. They had money to spend, were happy to be home, and eager to take their wives and girlfriends to see a show.
But the day-to-day life of an itinerant performer is one of constant problem-solving. Some problems more extreme than others.
It was September 1942, only the second engagement of the season in Decatur, Illinois. They were minutes away from starting the “Bunny Matinee.” The theater was filled to capacity with children waiting for Blackstone to give away the thirty-five rabbits he promised. Unexpectedly, the fire chief came backstage and told Blackstone that the theater had to be evacuated; thick black smoke was pouring out from the pharmacy next door.
Theater fires were common, and you couldn’t troupe a show for over thirty years without it touching your life. He was eighteen when Chicago’s Iroquois Theatre fire killed some 600. The memory of that time was still fresh. He had seen other fires and heard stories of many more. Being burned alive was horrible enough, but panic was just as great a danger. Panic resulted in people being trampled, suffocated, trapped.
He paced back and forth in the hallway. His years of experience confronting every possible challenge helped him formulate a plan. Suddenly he turned to his assistants and said: “Let’s go, guys, I think I’ve got it.”
Blackstone stood center stage with an assistant on each side. The curtains parted, revealing the great magician. After the cheers and applause subsided, he made an announcement. “Boys and girls, today we are going to attempt something never before performed by a magician—a trick so large we can’t do it inside the theater.”
The children were transfixed.
“The side exit doors are going to be opened and we are all going outside to see the trick,” Harry continued. The audience began to murmur in excited anticipation. Then came Blackstone’s masterstroke.
“My assistants will be out there among you, so anyone shouting, talking, running, or pushing, will be sent back to their seat and not allowed to see the trick.”
Harry stood on the stage directing his assistants. Each section left in turn. The auditorium emptied in about fifteen minutes. The children were herded down the alley and away from the smoke and fire engines in front of the theatre. The firemen prevented the theatre from catching fire.
The next day the Decatur Herald credited Blackstone’s coolness as the reason disaster was averted.
Post-war, Harry was never more famous. He appeared as the hero in several comic books. A Blackstone radio show had the magician solving crimes with his magical know-how. However, the post-war buzz turned into a hangover for entertainers by the mid-1950s with the explosion of television.
Harry was 70, performing for 50 years. He had been hit with increasingly more severe bouts of asthma. 1955 was his last tour. He didn’t retire from magic completely. He started an industrial show business, providing magical presentations for corporations. He did a few theater and club dates.
In the 1960s, he moved to Hollywood. Bert Wheeler’s Hollywood Magic Shop became a hangout for Harry. He was now the grand old man of magic, and magicians flocked to sit at the master’s feet. In his final days, he held court at the newly established Magic Castle, entertaining members and guests with stories and close-up magic tricks.
On November 16, 1965, Harry Blackstone died at home. He was 80 years old.
“I think Harry died with few regrets,” a friend observed.
“He only had one,” said Charles Kirkham, who had once been a Blackstone assistant.
“What was that?”
“He hadn’t done a magic show that day.”
