THE GREAT WIZARD OF THE NORTH
Though Harry Houdini is lauded as the greatest magician of all time, he might not have seen such incredible success without Aberdeenshire illusionist John Henry Anderson, says Rosie Morton
Before Houdini there was Aberdeenshire master of illusion John Henry Anderson
Long before the days of Derren Brown’s psychological illusions and David Blaine’s elaborate endurance stunts, the great Harry Houdini had jaws dropping in theatres across the world. The master of illusion, the godfather of escapology, the greatest magician of all time – at his peak, Houdini’s death-defying tricks and taste for the masochistic saw his name in shining lights.
But while he worked his way into the upper circles of the magical sphere, he attributed much of his success to one Professor John Henry Anderson of Aberdeenshire. A revolutionary 19th-century magician dubbed ‘The Great Wizard of the North’ by Sir Walter Scott, Anderson was one of Houdini’s greatest inspirations. With his sleight of hand, relentless self-promotion and debunking of famous spiritualists, Anderson dominated the magical scene, giving a masterclass to the next generation on how to take the wonderful world of wizardry by storm.
‘In his day, Anderson was a zillion times bigger than Houdini,’ says Dave Goulding, vice president and secretary of the Aberdeen Magical Society, who is himself a dab hand at escapology and mentalism. ‘You’ve heard of the rabbit out of the hat trick? Anderson was the first magician to do it, certainly in the western world. You’ve heard of the linking rings trick? He did that too.’
Born in the Deeside village of Kincardine O’Neil in 1814 and orphaned at the tender age of ten, Anderson’s beginnings were incredibly humble, and his prospects slight. In 1830, a chance encounter with a travelling dramatic company set him on an
upward trajectory through the magical ranks – a stroke of luck that was to turn his life on its head.
Performing for such names as Lord Panmure of Brechin Castle, the 11th Earl of Dalhousie, was enough endorsement for him to launch a solo tour in his early twenties, and by the time he settled in the Big Smoke, where he opened the New Strand Theatre, he had been credited for transforming magic – formerly a street performance gimmick – into a theatrical sensation. He even caught the eye of Queen Victoria and Prince Albert, who are said to have summoned Anderson to perform for them at Balmoral Castle.
Whether he was catching bullets fired from the audience, making people ‘float’ by blowing ether on them, or developing the ground-breaking ‘inexhaustible bottle’ trick – where he’d pour seemingly endless amounts of any drink from a kettle on demand – he dazzled audiences with tricks that had never before been seen, many of which are still replicated today.
‘The fees he would command for shows were insane,’ says Goulding.
“He’d pour seemingly endless amounts of any drink from a kettle on demand
‘People would sometimes only make a couple of quid out of putting on his show, but for the prestige of saying, “Anderson was at our theatre”, it was worth it.’ Though the Great Wizard lost his fortune three times over – twice when his theatres burned to the ground, and once when forced to flee from the southern states of America during the Civil War, finding the locals less than impressed with his ‘Wizard of the North’ status – his international fame saw him right every time.
So, how did a small-town lad set himself apart? As well as taking great pleasure in exposing the ‘frauds’ of spiritualism, like the Davenport brothers who claimed supernatural forces to be at the heart of their shows, self-promotion was his extraordinarily simple way of gaining support. Writing in his Shilling’s Worth of Magic publication, Anderson said that ‘the chief requisites for success in the performance of feats of legerdemain are manual dexterity and self-possession. The former can only be acquired by practice; the latter will be the natural result of a well-grounded confidence.’
He had confidence in abundance, while publicising his work was his speciality. During his three world tours, for instance, during which he visited Europe, Australasia, Russia and North America, he’d visit all the local hotels in each city, gifting them handmade butter moulds.
‘So, when people came down to breakfast, on their butter was written, “Professor John Henry Anderson, The Great Wizard of the North at the Alhambra Theatre, all week”,’ explains Goulding.
And his commercial savvy didn’t end there. As well as printing handbills, posters and pamphlets galore, Anderson even convinced a travelling circus to walk down the high street with ‘Professor John Henry Anderson’ posters on their elephants’ sides, just a few days before his show.
‘If he hadn’t done all that promotion,’ says Goulding, ‘Houdini wouldn’t have dangled himself by his ankles outside newspaper offices in a strait jacket. That’s the big influence that Anderson had on Houdini – the lesson of publicity and the debunking of spiritualists.’
Houdini was born in 1874 – the year of Anderson’s death – but he publicly revered the Great Wizard. In 1909, shortly after launching himself manacled into the North Sea from a tugboat and freeing himself in 18 seconds, Houdini visited Anderson’s grave in Aberdeen and was said to have been delighted at having photographic evidence of doing so. He claimed to have donated a significant sum to have the gravestone restored.
Risking his life on a daily basis in the name of entertainment certainly earned Houdini a place in the history books, but the Great Wizard of the North, who promised ‘unparalleled sensations’ and ‘overflowing nightly ovations’, most certainly had a considerable influence on the direction of Harry Houdini’s career.
“Anderson took pleasure in exposing the ‘frauds’ of spiritualism