Some sixty years ago in New York, theatrical agents were being visited by a persistent young man; shabbily dressed and of unprepossessing appearance, who was keen to obtain a footing in the entertainment world. His theme was Magic. Nimble with a pack of cards and having collected a few box tricks, he was confident that if only he were given a "break" he could prove himself a performer. Generally speaking, he was treated as a joke by agents. Artists of the entertainment profession became accustomed to seeing him being turned away from the different agencies. One or two became interested in his continued perseverance and a few eventually showed an interest. Of the latter, two great American showmen were curiously impressed, Houdini, the Handcuff King, and George Bohee (of the Brothers Bohee Famous Banjo team—coloured artists with a world-wide reputation).
On one particular morning, George Bohee met our would-be magician looking particularly despondent and stopped to offer a word of encouragement. He was astounded by the result. Tears of rage filled the eyes of the young man who turned on Bohee in a fury, spitting out these insulting words, "Take your kindness to Hell! I'm down but not low enough to accept help from a nigger", adding, "They think they're mighty but before I die I'll make them think I'm Almighty."
Bohee, besides being a great artist, was also a great Christian and his reaction was typical. Realising the depth of humiliation this boy had suffered, he turned quietly away and set to work at once to help a youngster who had been driven to breaking point. To the New York agents the word of George Bohee was law, and due to his influence, that struggling youth was given his chance.
Shortly after this incident, the Bohee Brothers left for a tour of Europe, visiting the Continent and arriving in London in the late 'nineties. Some years passed and, in 1910, my husband Charles: Showman, Illusionist, Hypnotist, and inventor of magical apparatus, was engaged at St. George's Hall, under the Maskelyne & Devant management.
It was on this night many of us heard for the first time the name of Laffayette, a newcomer who was making a sensation as an illusionist. There were stories of the magnificence of his "set-up," the daring in his method of presentation, and his lavender and chromium automobile with handsomely liveried flunkeys, one to act as chauffeur, the other as footman. Last, but not least, the manner of his stage entrance—not on foot but on horseback! It all sounded too fantastic to be anything but a fairy tale but the reality turned out to be more breathtaking than the promise. After dinner was over, "Good nights" were said and Morritt invited Houdini round to his flat, off Great Portland Street, for a last drink; these two men having become great friends. It was on this occasion that Houdini expressed his intention to give up the "handcuff and escape" act and take up the presentation of illusions. Knowing of his reputation as an inventor, he suggested Morritt should build for him a complete act and coach him in the presentation.
At this time, Houdini was engaged on a tour of Moss Empires and would be returning to Leeds 'on the following day. As it was now past midnight, it was decided nothing could be settled until the matter was given further consideration and Houdini arranged to return on the Saturday midnight train and spend Sunday with us.
The next morning post brought a letter from George Bohee telling us of the death of his brother Jim. This meant to him not only the loss of a beloved brother but also the break up of their famous act. He said he intended to come to London shortly and he looked forward to the welcome which he was always so sure of from Charlie. The weeks passed, each Sunday morning bringing Houdini to breakfast and to spend the day talking illusions and getting used to the idea of presentation.
The day also came for George Bohee to pay his promised visit instead of which we received a message asking if we would go to see him. He was in London, but in bed with a chill. We lost no time in getting round to the address he gave us (in York Road) and were distressed beyond measure to find he was not only ill but almost penniless. Even his cherished banjo and that of his brother were in pawn. Our visit proved a great tonic, especially as I told him I had been waiting for him to give me some lessons on the banjo and, for my sake, those banjos must come home- that would be my responsibility. He recovered and those lessons did take place. I have still in my possession the banjo on which George Bohee taught me.
The long-awaited visit of Laffayette was now due and he eventually arrived with Houdini on a Sunday, just before lunch, when I was already dressed for my usual visit to Bohee, taking as I always did a basket with a few dainties. After welcoming our guests and handing drinks, I asked permission to leave, explaining my errand. At the mention of Bohee, Laffayette jumped as though shot. "Did you say `Bohee'?" he asked. On my reply he put his hand into his pocket and pulled out a handful of sovereigns and, without counting them, dropped them into my basket, saying "Take those to a whiter man than I am. I called him a 'nigger' when all the time he was a saint. If he knew they came from me, he would not touch those coins, so make up any tale you like ". This fabulous Laffayette was the shabby young man who had pestered the New York agents!
I was able to invent for Bohee a convincing story of a "whip-round" among anonymous friends. When I reported my success and told Laffayette of the joy he had brought to a great man in misfortune, this strange, embittered and unapproachable man cried unashamedly. We were not surprised when he asked to be excused from prolonging his visit and begged permission to come and spend a day later. Little did any of us dream we were never to see him alive again. We were, alas, soon to be shocked by the tragic news of the fire at the theatre in Edinburgh where Laffayette was engaged.
The only living occupant of the building at the time of the outbreak was the horse on which Laffayette made his stage entrance; one of the two animals so dear to the heart of this lonely soul who had led such a loveless life. Hearing of the fire, his first thought was for his horse.
The show being built for Houdini was eventually completed and stored, awaiting the finish of his provincial tour so that he might rent a hall for the purpose of rehearsing the actual presentation. It was, of course, necessary for Morritt to be present as coach and adviser. So that meant waiting for the summer vacation at Maskelvne's. In the meantime, I had continued taking my banjo lessons from George Bohee who had, like everyone else, been shocked by the tragedy of Laffayette's death.
It now occurred to me that death released me from my promise of secrecy about the shower of sovereigns and I thought the confession might be the means of wiping out any lingering thought of that cruel "Nigger" insult. I need not have worried. There was nothing but happiness on that dear black face and only at that moment I realised the greatness of this man when he said "That boy's words never hurt me for a moment. I only know his suffering was greater than mine."
I have only now to add that, by a strange coincidence, the Maskelyne vacation came when Houdini was showing at the Alhambra, Edinburgh. We decided to spend our holiday there, take up the Houdini Illusions and hand them over. This was eventually carried out and the rehearsals were a complete success, which we never for a moment doubted, knowing Houdini would never be satisfied with anything less than perfection.
In the early nineties, my husband was lessee of the Princes Hall, Piccadilly, London where we put on a high-class entertainment of Mystery and Music. Our own act consisted of Illusions and Silent Transmission of Thought. The musical part of the programme was supplied by Maurice Farkoa, tenor and matinee idol of the nineties; a young Indian pianist, Doroswami; and those world-famous banjoists the Bohee Brothers. I suppose there are few people living today who can claim to have had the great privilege of knowing personally those superb artists.
In addition to giving two shows a day at the Princes Hall, we were constantly engaged for private parties. On one memorable occasion, we received a letter from Sir Arthur Sullivan who was giving a party at his home in Queen Anne Mansions, at which His Royal Highness the Prince of Wales (later King Edward the Seventh) was to be present. We were to give our Thought Reading Act and Sleight of Hand and bring the Bohee Brothers who had, of course, separate and special invitations. That night will live in my memory for ever, and I get angry whenever I hear people speak slightingly of the possibilities of the banjo. Jim and George Bohee surpassed themselves on that occasion. After several selections, including a wonderful arrangement of “Home Sweet Home," someone jokingly suggested they should honour their host by playing one of his compositions, no doubt sharing the general assumption that the banjo was a very limited instrument. However, the Bohees immediately responded with a magnificently harmonised version of "The Lost Chord" and, at the conclusion, Sir Arthur himself was so overcome his eyes were filled with tears as he tried to thank them. His Royal Highness was so impressed he invited Jim Bohee to give him lessons. It was as a direct result of that experience that I made up my mind I would do all in my power to further the cause of the banjo.