Houdini Exploited Public Interest in Criminals and Prisoners

face of a prisoner

Harry Houdini’s first mass-market book, The Right Way to Do Wrong, used well-established rhetorical routines to exploit public interest in criminals and prisoners.^ Houdini’s book was published in 1906. Houdini was then performing escapes from police stations and jails in conjunction with touring Benjamin F. (B. F.) Keith’s circuit of vaudeville theaters. The Right Way to Do Wrong seemed to allude to escaping from punishment for doing wrong. An interview with Houdini in January, 1906, in Keith’s Theatre News, which B. F. Keith published, pointed to that possibility:

“You would give the police a tough time if you should turn criminal.”

“There’s no doubt about that,” {Houdini} said with a smile. “However, there is no danger. I make all the money I want honestly.”^

The Right Way to Do Wrong seemed to offer to others the knowledge and skill that Houdini possessed. Unlike Houdini, others might feel that they are unable to make all the money they wanted honestly. But Houdini advised:

IT DOES NOT PAY TO LEAD A DISHONEST LIFE, and to those who read this book, although it will inform them “The Right Way to Do Wrong,” all I have to say is one word and that is “DON’T.”

Why then publish The Right Way to Do Wrong? The book claimed that its purpose was to promote public safety:

to safeguard the public against the practices of the criminal classes by exposing their various tricks and explaining the adroit methods by which they seek to defraud. “Knowledge is power” is an old saying. I might paraphrase it in this case by saying knowledge is safety.

Houdini further explained:

In this book I have told of the methods of criminals, and held them up to your gaze, not as heroes, but as malefactors; not as examples to be emulated, but as corruptions to be shunned, as you would shun a plague.

Encouraging oneself or others to explore vices in order to gain knowledge about evil others or to learn what to avoid is a common trick of verbal distancing. You show me a salacious photo and say, “Look at what others are looking at!” I enjoy a long look and respond, “That’s terrible. How could they do that?” To serve those seeking a more straightforward vicarious thrill, Houdini included a small advertisement:

As this book is not a history of crime or criminals, to those wishing to read positive facts of great criminals…I can safely call attention to the book called “Our Rival the Rascal!” written by my friend Chief Inspector of Police, Wm. B. Watts, of Boston, Mass. This book is the greatest book on the subject that I have ever seen.^

Accounts of criminals and crime have been at the center of the historical development of mass media. Houdini’s book is squarely within that genre of public discourse.

Houdini represented crime and criminals primarily through already publicized stories, conventional descriptions of criminal crime-types, emotional clichés, and hearsay. In the second paragraph of The Right Way to Do Wrong, Houdini declared:

You who live your life in placid respectability know but little of the real life of the denizens of this world. …Of the real thoughts and feelings of the criminal, of the terrible fascination which binds him to his nefarious career, of the thousands – yea, tens of thousands, of undiscovered crimes and unpunished criminals, you know but little.

The imperative to know the truth — “the real thoughts and feelings of the criminal” — plays out here in the field of attention-seeking public representations such as “the terrible fascination which binds him to his nefarious career.” Houdini described a burglar in theatrical disguise (“a specially made wig, with false side-whiskers and a moustache of the best quality”) and a burglar walking backwards to disguise his tracks. He described “a smart young married couple” living in “a smart little villa in one of the suburbs” while the husband led a double life as a pathetic beggar:

One arm hung helpless by his side, his head hung with the weakness of paralysis. His right leg was paralyzed, and he laboriously dragged it after him. No one on earth would have supposed a connection between the crippled match-seller, always so grateful for alms, and the snug suburban home.

Houdini then declared: “nine times out of time – yes, ninety-nine times out of one hundred – every coin that goes into the tin cup or the hand of a street beggar goes to a fraud of the worst description.” Houdini quoted criminals based on what he heard from detectives, used descriptions taken directly from books and newspapers, and described famous crimes and criminals. Houdini also drew upon the burgeoning scholarly literature of criminal anthropology:

The ordinary criminal’s hand has a peculiar rough shape, the thumb being very plump and short, while the fingers are uneven and heavy. The small finger is turned inward, and bluntness is the hand’s chief characteristic.^

Houdini’s description of criminals aren’t empirical observations. They are a mélange of established public representations.

Houdini’s accounts of crime follow conventions of attention-seeking public stories. The plot is simple, and the narrative emphasizes character and feelings:

The wayward youth sees only the advantage to be gained by unlawful acts. He does not see the years of ignominy, the furtive hiding from the law, the shame of not being able to look his fellow-man in the face – no, nor the inevitable arrest, conviction, and punishment which ends it all in ninety-nine cases out of every one hundred.

According to Houdini, “great criminals” have had a uniform fate:

all of them have either died in the poorhouse or are yet counting the weary days in prison cells, divorced from wife, from children, and from all ties that human beings hold so dear.

Houdini described prisoners as disgraced and ruining their families with shame:

Disgraced, they are ruined for life, often ruining all their family. It is a terrible thing to have the finger of fate point at you with the remark, “His father is serving time for doing so and so,” or “Her brother is now in his sixteenth year, and comes out in five years.”^

While families of prisoners may be subject to social censure, the actual hardship of prisoners’ families primarily concerns loss of communication with the prisoner and lose of personal and material support from the prisoner. Disgrace, which primarily is public status in relation to elite (socially graceful) society, has little significance in most persons’ ordinary communication.

Houdini’s attempt to meet with a disgraced prisoner failed. In The Right Way to Do Wrong, Houdini noted:

Thanksgiving, 1905, during my engagement at Keith’s Theatre, I gave a performance for the prisoners in the country jail in Cleveland.

Held in the Cleveland Jail at that time was forger and swindler Cassie Chadwick, known as the “Duchess of Diamonds” and the “Queen of Ohio.” On March 10, 1905, after a trial that attracted enormous publicity, Chadwick was convicted of conspiracy to bankrupt the Citizen’s National Bank of Oberlin, Ohio. Posing as the illegitimate daughter of the business tycoon Andrew Carnegie, Chadwick had received a $800,000 loan from the Citizen’s National Bank and between $10 million and $20 million in total in loans from various banks. Houdini’s interest in entertaining the prisoners in Cleveland Jail probably was related to Chadwick’s presence there. Chadwick, however, balked:

Mrs. Chadwick was to be entertained in her cell; but fifteen minutes before I was to show her a few conjuring tricks, she changed her mood, gave the jailer an argument, and refused to allow any one near her cell.^

Houdini’s relation to criminals and prisoners was show business. Chadwick, who like Houdini was an expert in manipulating public perceptions, apparently decided not to allow Houdini to exploit her fame to create publicity for himself.

Harry Houdini’s Relationship with His Mother

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Harry Houdini had an extraordinarily close relationship with his mother. Houdini’s father brought his family, including Houdini, from Hungary to the U.S. in the 1870s. Houdini’s father struggled to find and hold work as a rabbi. Through a childhood of poverty and marginal social status, Houdini came to view his mother as “a figure of transcendent love and selfless devotion,” an “angel.” Houdini considered himself to be a “mothers-boy.” One biographer noted:

Houdini would claim throughout his life a special relationship to her, as, apparently, she did to him. …she would insist that even as a baby, he never cried. If he started to fret, she would hold him to her breast, and the sound of her heartbeat soothed him. Well into his adult life, Houdini and his mother would gratify each other by reenacting this embrace.^

As an adult, Houdini described his mother as “the guiding beacon of my life.” Houdini wore only clothes that his mother had picked out for him.^ He delighted in bringing her to see his performances. He acknowledged, “if I do anything, I say to myself I wonder if Ma would want me to do this?”^

Even after twenty years of marriage, Houdini’s wife did not outrank his mother in his expressed affections. Houdini described his mother and his wife Bess as “My two Sweet-hearts.” In 1904, after he achieved financial success, Houdini bought a home in the German section of Harlem. He lived in that home with his wife Bess and his German-speaking mother until his mother’s death in 1913 at age seventy-two.^

Houdini suffered greatly from news of his mother’s death. In the course of his career as a performer, Houdini had added death-defying feats to his handcuff and prison escapes. Amid a press conference in Denmark after performing for an audience that included members of the Danish royal family, Houdini received a cable informing him of his mother’s death. He fainted. He regained consciousness sobbing, “Mother – my dear little mother – poor little mama.”^ Houdini later wrote, “I who have laughed at the terrors of death, who have smilingly leaped from high bridges, received a shock {from his mother’s death} from which I do not think recovery is possible.”^

Houdini apparently insisted that his mother not be buried immediately, as was Jewish custom. Upon receiving news of his mother’s death, Houdini broke his European performance contract and returned immediately by ship to New York. Twelve days after his mother’s death, Houdini was at her body’s side in their home in New York.^ He stayed there all night. His mother was buried the next day. In the weeks after her death, Houdini rarely left their house other than to visit her grave:

He visited his mother’s grave every day and also every night at fifteen minutes past midnight, the instant of her death. He lay flat on the ground, his arms embracing her grave, his face pressed close to the earth. There he talked to her, begging her to let him know her last words.^

Houdini was still lying down next to his mother’s grave and speaking into the earth to her a year after her death. Houdini also gathered all the letters he had received from his mother:

He had them transcribed in “good German,” typed out, and put in book form so he could read them easily. Each letter, he observed in his diary, was “a love story, a prayer to God to protect her children, a plea that we should be good human beings.” In gathering and reading them he shed, he said, “many a bitter tear.”^

In burial instructions that he wrote in 1915 and re-initialed in 1916 and 1921, Houdini declared:

It is my wish that all of my Darling Beloved Mothers letters also the 2 enclosed letters, shall be placed in a sort of black bag, and used as a pillow for my head in my coffin, and all to be buried with me.^

Grave goods have been found in human burials from about 14,000 years ago through to the present in a wide variety of cultures. Personal letters from a dead relative are, however, a rather unusual grave good.

Houdini expressed in many ways the loss he felt from his mother’s death. Houdini used black-bordered stationary to indicate his mourning. He also sold the Harlem house where he had lived with her. He explained, “the Home is a Home no longer for me and must be disposed of.” Extravagantly celebrating Mother’s Day, Houdini contacted the daughter of the woman who founded the commemoration, collected Mother’s Day decorative sayings (“every day is mother’s day for me”) and on one Mother’s Day sent flowers to the graves of all the mothers he knew.^ His wife Bess would wake at night to hear Houdini calling out to his mother. According to one biographer, “Bess believed that he was never the same man after the death of his mother; the old vitality was gone.”^ Houdini wrote to his brother:

Am hoping that eventually I will have my burning tears run dry, but know that my Heart will ALWAYS ACHE FOR OUR DARLING MOTHER. …my very Existence seems to have expired with HER…I feel as if my heart of hearts went with HER.

About sixteen months after his mother’s death, Houdini recorded in his diary his loneliness and his longing to die and be with her again:

Here I am left alone on the station, bewildered and not knowing when the next train comes along so that I can join my mother.^

Houdini – the magician, the handcuff king, the jail breaker, the escape artist, the daredevil – was painfully bound by his mother’s death.

Houdini’s communication about his mother went beyond generic conventions. Houdini authored a mass-market book in 1924.^ An optional, conventional component of a book is a dedication. Dedications typically consist of a name and occasionally a relationship description. Houdini dedicated his book to his mother with extravagant praise and capital letters:

IN WORSHIPFUL HOMAGE
I
DEDICATE THIS BOOK
TO THE MEMORY OF MY SAINTED MOTHER
IF GOD
IN HIS INFINITE WISDOM
EVER SENT AN ANGEL UPON EARTH IN HUMAN FORM
IT WAS MY
M O T H E R

Houdini went on to declare in the preface:

I believe in a Hereafter and no greater blessing could be bestowed upon me than the opportunity, once again, to speak to my sainted Mother who awaits me with open arms to press me to her heart in welcome, just as she did when I entered this mundane sphere.

These words powerfully express desire for communion. Houdini included this intensely personal communication within a mass-market book.

Differences Between Houdini and Spiritualists

face of a prisoner

Harry Houdini’s intense grief over his mother’s death did not create his interest in spiritual communication with the dead. Houdini’s mother died on July 17, 1913. Houdini as an adult had an extraordinarily close relationship with his mother. He acutely felt the lose of her presence. Houdini’s interest in spiritualism, however, long predated his mother’s death. Houdini actively sought public attention for debunking spiritualists only long after his mother’s death. Personal grief had little relevance to Houdini’s engagement with spiritualists.

Houdini regarded spiritualist as illegitimate illusionist competitors. In a mass-market book Houdini authored in 1906, Houdini stated:

Spiritualism has many followers, and at one time I was almost a believer, but this was before I made a thorough investigation, which I have followed up even to the present day. I have never seen a materialization or a manifestation which I cannot fully explain. …

Spiritualism is really a beautiful belief for those that are honest and believe in it; but as I have visited the greatest spiritualistic meetings in the world, I am sorry to say that no one has ever produced anything for me that would smack of the spiritual. …

In the future, I contemplate writing a book on spiritualistic methods, and how they do their tricks. I do not mean genuine spiritualists who have no tricks, but those mediums who use their knowledge of magic to gain a living.^

Houdini began his career earning a meager living as an undistinguished magician doing card tricks and other illusions, including the sensational bullet catch. What differentiated Houdini from spiritualists?

Houdini extensively studied the possibility of communicating with the dead. In the introduction to his book, A Magician Among the Spirits (1924), Houdini noted:

It is this question as to the truth or falsity of intercommunication between the dead and the living, more than anything else, that has claimed my attention and to which I have devoted years of research and conscientious study. …

During my last trip abroad, in 1919, I attended over one hundred séances with the sole purpose of honest investigation; these séances were presided over by well-known mediums in France and England. …

During the last thirty years I have read every single piece of literature on the subject of Spiritualism that I could. I have accumulated one of the largest libraries in the world on psychic phenomena, Spiritualism, magic, witchcraft, demonology, evil spirits, etc….

In contrast to the natural human tendency, particularly among grief-stricken persons, to communicate with the dead, Houdini insisted that such communication must meet particular standards of proof, such as test conditions and expert, objective observers. It was not enough for communication with the dead to be possible only in personal, subjective experience. Houdini insisted that communication with the dead must be validated as public knowledge.

Houdini found no evidence of communication with the dead. He stated:

after twenty-five years of ardent research and endeavor I declare that nothing has been revealed to convince me that intercommunication has been established between the Spirits of the departed and those still in the flesh.

Houdini’s investigations indicated that claimed instances of communication with the dead were merely human effects:

everything I have investigated has been the result of deluded brains or those which were too actively and intensely willing to believe.^

Such human activity was not consistent with public knowledge in twentieth-century America. Houdini thus judged communication with the dead to be fraudulent.

Consider, for example, one attempt to communicate with the dead. Arthur Conan Doyle, aware of Houdini’s intense longing for his dead mother, arranged for his wife, who claimed to be a medium, to attempt to contact Houdini’s mother through “automatic writing.” Houdini’s father, a Jewish rabbi from Hungary, believed in life after death, and so did Houdini. Houdini concentrated intensely and sought success. Lady Doyle, rapping her hand repeatedly on the table to indicate contact, drew a Christian cross on the paper and began to rapidly scribble banalities in English. Houdini’s mother did not speak English. As a poor, Jewish immigrant, Houdini’s mother undoubtedly had a much different style of expression than Lady Doyle. Houdini concluded that this alleged communication was not just delusion and deception, but an even more troubling indication of “religious mania.”^

Houdini felt that spiritual activities ruined the life of John W. Edmonds, an eminent nineteenth-century prison reformer. Houdini noted Edmonds’ grief over his wife’s death. Houdini then described Edmonds’ fall:

One midnight he seemed to hear the voice of his {dead} wife speaking a sentence to him. It was his doom. He started as though shot and from that time on devoted all his time, money, and energy to Spiritualism.

Houdini explicitly related himself to Edmonds:

He {Edmonds} died April 5th, 1874 (the very date of my birth). I doubt if the history of Spiritualism can point out a man of greater brilliancy who ruined his life following up this “will-o-the-wisp” to relieve his grief.^

Although Houdini didn’t turn to spiritualist communication in his grief over his mother’s death, that wasn’t because he lacked personal capacity for fantasy. Houdini actually was born on March 24, 1874. In a letter to his brother after his mother’s death, Houdini explained the date on which he would celebrate his birthday:

always APRIL 6th. It hurts me to think I cant talk it over with Darling Mother and as SHE always wrote me on April 6th, that will be my adopted birthdate.^

Houdini shifted his birthday one day more in relating himself to Edmonds. The public record of Houdini’s birth remained secure, although it went unexamined until decades after his death. Like much personal communication, Houdini’s own declaration of his birthday had little public importance.

Houdini began publicly exposing spiritualists as frauds in 1922. In October, 1922, Houdini authored an article, “Ghosts that Talk — By Radio” in Popular Radio magazine. The article included a fabricated exposé of an unnamed medium’s use of a radio receiver hidden in a tea kettle to produce a talking tea kettle. The article outraged magicians, who complained that Houdini had improperly exposed a trick.^ Houdini also occasionally gave learned lectures on spiritualism, e.g. “Spiritualist Phenomena and the Psychology of Deception Among Fraudulent Mediums.” By this time the only magician whose professional success exceeded Houdini’s was Howard Thurston.^ At the Society of American Magician’s banquet in October, 1922, Thurston and Houdini gave opposing speeches on spiritualism.^

In early 1924, Houdini intensified his efforts to build a business as a debunker of spiritualists and media. Houdini was then about fifty years old. His recent attempts to develop a film business featuring himself had failed. Houdini pivoted to the intellectual business of battling spiritualists. In January, 1924, Houdini secured a spot on a committee, sponsored by prestigious magazine Scientific American, to investigate spiritualists. In February, 1924, he signed on with the Coit-Alber Chautauqua Company as a lecturer on spiritualism and fraudulent mediums. He then set off on a twenty-four town, twenty-four lecture tour ranging from Ohio to Florida. That spring Houdini also nominally authored a book exposing spiritualists, A Magician Among the Spirit. In addition, he nominally authored two short stories on fake spiritualists for a popular magazine. Houdini did another eight-week lecture tour on fraudulent mediums in October and November, 1924. Houdini’s lecturing, publishing, and scientific work provided rich opportunities for cross-promotion.^

While spiritualists exploited popular demand for personal communication with the dead, Houdini the magician provided mass-market entertainment. Houdini set up a network of undercover agents to investigate spiritualists. The summary reports of one who investigated about three hundred mediums probably provide a fair description of the business:

Her summaries paint a tired world of furnished rooms and back parlors, where for a dollar or two handed to some Reverend Odessa Champlain, the spirits of dead infants and faithless fathers relayed twenty minutes of clarification, advice, and solace: The baby died of throat trouble; Do not marry a Catholic; I am happy and with father.^

Spiritualists usually didn’t broadcast communication with the dead. They mainly provided communication between family and friends, ordinary communication except for one party being dead. The telephone industry, which began growing rapidly in the U.S. in 1895, provided a similar personal communication service between living persons. The first experience of a telephone call was probably more astonishing to many persons than was communication with the dead.

Houdini’s after-death communication spectacle illustrates that Houdini’s show business was much different from ordinary communication with family and friends. Before his death, Houdini arranged to attempt to deliver a coded message to his wife Bess after his death. In Hollywood on Halloween in 1936, the year of the tenth anniversary of Houdini’s death, a nationally broadcasted séance on the roof of a Hollywood hotel attempted to communicate with Houdini. Attending were “200 persons, including newspaper men, newsreel crews and the attendants for a temporary radio station.” Despite calls to him on a powerful public address system, Houdini did not deliver the message. Bess then declared that she did not believe that Houdini could come back to her or to anyone. She turned out the light burning in front of his picture, and declared, “It is finished. Good night, Harry.” Subsequently explaining that she did not believe in the possibility of communicating with the dead, Bess declared, “Ten years is long enough to wait for any man.” Passing on a specific message, particularly as part of an extraordinary public spectacle, is not ordinary communication with family and friends, even dead ones.

Houdini and other magicians used mastery of public knowledge to differentiate their activities from activities like spiritualists’ communicating with dead relatives. Spiritualist mediums were persons with special capabilities of unknown origin. The communication services that they provided could not be explained with authoritative, public knowledge. Houdini, in contrast, emphasized his mastery of public knowledge:

“My mind,” he {Houdini} is often quoted as having said, “is the key that sets me free.” The magician informed and developed that mind through intensive reading; as he did so, he built a formidable library. When, in the 1920s, Houdini strode into the public arena to confront fraudulent mediums, he proceeded from an inner fortress lined with books and manuscripts.^

Houdini described himself as living in a library. He measured the size of his library against that of leading theatrical libraries around the world. Houdini also authored books documenting and analyzing magic across a huge historical and topical scope. He ultimately donated his library to the Library of Congress. Houdini’s magic developed from well-established channels of public knowledge. It potentially was accessible to everyone.

Public status, rather than the individual mind, was the key to modern magic. Magic that could be satisfactorily explained with authoritative public knowledge, but wasn’t, counted as authentic (modern) magic. Magicians sought to prevent exposure of such magic. Spiritual activities that claimed to be based on mysterious powers separate from public knowledge counted as fraud. Houdini and others vigorously sought to expose such magic, particularly when it attracted significant public attention. The Society of American Magicians (SAM) set some relevant professional guidelines:

Basically it proposed that Spiritualist manifestations used by magicians should be considered magic tricks, and not exposed; Spiritualist manifestations produced in darkness that could not be produced in the light, might be exposed without penalty.^

The Superintendent of the United States Jail in Washington, D.C., attesting to Houdini’s amazing, unprecedented, and mysterious escape, showed awareness of this distinction. He noted, “Mr. Houdini impressed his audience as a gentleman and an artist who does not profess to do the impossible.”^

Public deliberation favored Houdini’s magic over spiritualist communication. Public deliberation abstracts from personal interests and favors communication that is publicly accessible. Houdini’s magic was publicly accessible entertainment. Spiritualist communication was mainly personal communication not meant to be meaningful to a broad audience. Houdini’s magic displayed the value of public knowledge and technical skill by challenging spectators to explain tricks through normal means. Houdini’s magic worked within the public knowledge that orders public deliberation. Spiritualists claimed to use special personal powers that authoritative public knowledge could not explain. Spiritualist communication began from outside the boundaries of public deliberation.

Particular Communicative Forms of Public Access to Prisons

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About 1850, an author lamented restrictions on public access to London prisons. This author had recently achieved popular success with a romantic biography of John Howard.^ The author followed up that success with a new book, The London prisons: with an account of the more distinguished persons who have been confined in them. In that work, he declared:

To secure their efficacy, punishments should be rendered more public than they are now. …The surest way to create a popular interest in the prison, (and in the problems with which it deals) is to submit it to the influences of public sentiment and public opinion.

The Preston House of Corrections offered an example of free public access. That prison admitted without an admission fee all visitors except for specific persons for which strong reasons for denying access had been established. The prison thus attracted persons of all classes and professions:

In the visitors’ books, the strangest contrasts may be read. On the same page may be seen the signature of the Russian prince and the Yorkshire artisan; the French marquis and the Preston hand-loom weaver; the minister of state, the journalist, the magistrate, and the peasant.

The author argued that this publicity fostered good prison governance:

This {free access to the prison} is as it ought to be everywhere; the cause or the consequence of this publicity is, that the great experiment of penal correction is being both more humanely, and, everything considered, probably more successfully, conducted in the Preston House of Correction than in any other prison in this country.^

Public access is central to ideals of political liberty and deliberative democracy. Allowing personal communication between prisoners and their family and friends outside the prison is one form of public access. Exhibiting prisoners to the public is another form of public access. In the nineteenth century, penal officials suppressed prisoners’ communication with family and friends, but exhibited prisoners to the public.

Auburn State Prison Led in Exhibiting Prisoners

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Auburn State Prison, exemplar of the world-famous Auburn System for suppressing prisoners’ personal communication, also led in exhibiting prisoners to the public. Fees from exhibiting Auburn prisoners to the public amounted to about 3% of Auburn Prison’s operating expenses from 1820 to 1850. In addition to generating revenue for the prison, exhibition of Auburn prisoners also helped to promote the Auburn System in the world-wide penal deliberation on how to best suppress prisoners’ communication.

Auburn Prison began attracting a large number of spectators soon after it went into operation. The Auburn Prison received its first prisoner in 1817. No later than 1819 the prison began to admit spectators for a fee of 12.5 cents per person. In 1820, about 7900 persons entered Auburn Prison as spectators. That was about three and a half times the total population of Auburn. Revenue from spectators’ admission tickets in 1820 amounted to 5.4% of Auburn Prison’s operating expenses. Given the large number of spectators relative to the population of Auburn, non-local spectators probably contributed significantly to the local economy.

In 1822, Auburn Prison doubled its spectator admission fee to 25 cents per person. That admission fee was sizable relative to earnings and prices at the time. At 25 cents, the admission fee was then equivalent in monetary value to about one-third the daily wage of common labor, five quarts of milk, or a quart of lamp oil. In 1826, the Auburn Prison Board of Inspectors stated that they doubled the admission price “not with a view to increase the revenue, but to operate as a check upon a certain class who overthronged the prison.”^ Prison officials could have used non-price means, such as limits on sales of tickets, for discouraging such visitors.

Auburn’s doubling of admission fees probably was related increased visitor demand to see prisoners working in a common room. In December, 1821, Auburn adopted a policy of solitary confinement for prisoners. However, in the summer of 1823, Auburn shifted to what became known as the Auburn (Congregate) System of prison discipline.^ Under the congregate system, prisoners worked in each other’s presence in large workshops. By the late 1820s, spectator revenue at 25 cents per ticket was about 50% higher than in 1820 at 12.5 cents per ticket. Increased spectator revenue financially benefited the prison. The Board of Inspectors’ denial of that objective suggests some uneasiness about revenue from prison spectators.

Auburn Prison subsequently made extensive provisions for spectators. About 1828, the Auburn prison constructed special viewing avenues for spectators:

These avenues are about three feet wide, partitioned off from the back side of the shops which stand against the wall. There are narrow, horizontal apertures in the partition, through which spectators can, unperceived, have a full view of those within. These avenues extend around all the shops, about 2,000 feet.^

These facilities provided for better disciplined exhibition of the prisoners:

Instead of being conducted through the shops among the convicts, as formerly, spectators are now taken though the inspection avenues in the rear, and which surround all the shops, where they can have a full view of the convict, without the convicts being able to see the spectators, who are to refrain from levity, noise, and loud conversation, and are not to speak the names of the convicts they may see in the shops, or on any subject so loud as to be heard by them.

Spectators are also conducted through the north wing, and all other departments, except that of the females and the hospital; they are treated politely, and all desired information furnished them.^

Spectators could purchase a guidebook for an additional 25 cents.^ According to a British penal official who visited Auburn Prison in 1835, “convicts are viewed {by spectators admitted to the prison} as objects of curiosity, not unlike animals in a menagerie.”^

When the New York State Fair was held in Auburn in September, 1846, 5323 spectators paid admission to Auburn Prison in just that month. That was by far the largest monthly number of spectators admitted to the Auburn prison from 1831 to 1863. A local fair probably occurred regularly in Auburn in September. September, along with February, were seasonal high points in spectator revenue at Auburn Prison.

Spectators at Auburn Prison were much more numerous relative to Auburn’s population than spectators at prominent early European penal institutions. Spectators passing through Auburn Prison around 1840 numbered roughly 9300 per year. That was 1.7 times the total population of Auburn. In 1659, spectators at Amsterdam’s famous rasphouse (also called the rasphuis or tuchthuis) numbered about eight thousand. That number was equivalent to 5% of Amsterdam’s population. Spectators passing through the prison at Leiden in 1671 numbered about 12,400 persons, equivalent to 17% of Leiden’s population. Like at Auburn, an annual fair at Leiden attracted a relatively large number of spectators to the Leiden workhouse. A majority of the spectators at the Amsterdam and Leiden penal institutions were local residents and people living in the area. Family and friends of the prisoners were not distinguished from spectators.^

In addition to masses of ticket-purchasing spectators, Auburn also entertained distinguished visitors. In 1826, with obvious pride in the institution he ran, the Agent of the Auburn prison, who also served then as the Keeper, noted that the prison had “for some time past, attracted much public attention.” He added:

Many distinguished individuals, from various parts of the United States as well as from Europe, are almost daily calling, to examine, personally, its management and the peculiarities of its construction and discipline.^

According to the Agent/Keeper, visitors regarded the prison highly favorably. They usually sought detailed written information to take away with them. The Agent/Keeper wrote an eighty-two-page guidebook to provide detailed information about the prison and its system of prison discipline.^

Deliberative competition between the Auburn System and the Pennsylvania System apparently increased the flow of spectators to Auburn Prison. The exemplar of the Pennsylvania System, Eastern State Penitentiary, began operations in 1829. Spectators at Auburn Prison increased steadily from 1832 (the first year of consistent annual statistics) to 1836. In 1836, about 10,400 spectators passed through Auburn Prison. Spectator revenue equaled 5.6% of the Auburn prison’s operating expenses. In 1837, a financial panic severely hurt the New York economy. It probably accounts for a sharp drop in spectators in 1837. The number of spectators at Auburn Prison rose again through 1841. The vociferous, public arguments between proponents of the Auburn and Pennsylvania Systems fostered publicity and encouraged persons to visit the models of the arguments.

Eastern State Penitentiary may have recognized over time that being open to spectators promoted its model of imprisonment in public deliberation. Eastern State Penitentiary initially did not welcome spectators. It received only about 100 distinguished visitors per year from 1829 to 1834.^ The prison’s visiting policy then apparently changed. In 1835, the number of spectators passing through Eastern State Penitentiary jumped to 1108, about ten times more than in the previous year. Spectators numbers climbed steadily in subsequent years to 4000 spectators in 1839.^

Unlike other state penitentiaries, Eastern State Penitentiary did not require spectators to pay an admission fee. However, most spectators were not allowed to see prisoners:

The public are freely admitted, without fee; but they can only walk up and down the corridor between the cells; they see no prisoner, unless they be persons of known character – nor even then, if the prisoner exercises his right, and objects to receiving the visit.^ ^

To the extent that family and friends of prisoners visited prisons as spectators to see a specific person, the arrangements at Eastern State Penitentiary lessened the number of spectators. Spectators could see only the circumstances of imprisonment. Nonetheless, spectators still numbered in multiple thousands per year.

Some prisoners and prison officials disliked spectators. In his report to the prison inspectors in 1848, the Physician of the Ohio State Penitentiary observed:

A suit of portable screens has been provided for use in the middle ward {of the prison’s infirmary}, where the greater number of beds is contained, by means of which the prostrate patients may be entirely occluded from the view of that promiscuous throng of strangers so frequently traversing the apartment. I had long been convinced that the exposure of the sick and suffering convict to the searching gaze of every curious visitor, amounted to little less than a cruel and undeserved punishment, inflicted upon him, but that it also, unfailingly exerted a highly pernicious influence on his disease. Many have made the declaration to me, that they would greatly prefer to meet the pain of the lash, than be obliged to encounter the scrutinizing look which it seems the pleasure of every passer by to fix upon them.^

The officers of the Mississippi Penitentiary objected to spectators generally:

It is evident some wholesome restriction should be laid on all visitors. The fewer the number admitted the better. The attention of the convicts should be attracted as little as possible ; they would probably be more easily controlled, and pursue their labors with more alacrity and profit.^

As policy, “the fewer, … the better” takes exhibiting prisoners outside of a decision calculus that includes spectator admissions fees.

New York’s Sing Sing (Mount Pleasant) Prison in the mid-1840s explored various spectator admission policies. In the early 1840s, Sing Sing reported hundreds of dollars of spectator revenue per year. In November, 1844, Sing Sing’s spectator admission fee was reduced to zero. That may have been the result of judicial or political order. Policy subsequently reversed. Sing Sing prison officials complained:

multitudes of idle visitors throng the prison daily, having no interest, either in the purposes of the institution, or the fate of its inmates; who require the almost constant attendance during the day, of from one to three of the guard.^

The officials argued that seeing prisoners did not deter spectators from crime, because they didn’t see the the true breadth of prisoners’ sufferings. Other evidence also indicates that New York officials were uneasy about spectators and spectator admission fees. On the other hand, Sing Sing officials explicitly tabulated the large amount of revenue that Auburn Prison collected from spectator admission fees. Sing Sing Prison officials decided to establish a spectator admission fee, called a “tax,” of twenty-five cents.

Through the early 1850s, the Auburn prison reported more spectator revenue than other prisons in the U.S. Most state prisons at this time exhibited prisoners for an admissions fee. The Massachusetts State Penitentiary at Charleston, the next leading public attraction among prisons, reported in the mid-1840s about 75% of the spectator revenue that Auburn received. Other penitentiaries reported much less. Despite Sing Sing Prison being located close to the large population of New York City, Sing Sing prison’s spectator revenue from October, 1847 through September, 1849, amounted to only 12% of Auburn Prison’s. State prisons in Connecticut, Vermont, and Maryland reported in 1849 only 23%, 8% and 6% of Auburn’s spectator revenue. In addition to Auburn’s fame as a model for suppressing prisoner’s communication, Auburn may also have had better administrative control on reporting prison spectator revenue.

While open access or transparency in government institutions now tends to be associated with accountability to the public, exhibiting prisoners in mid-nineteenth-century America provided little public accountability. Spectators were not allowed to converse with prisoners. Prison officials could carefully control what spectators saw. As a British official observed in 1835:

I am aware that the appointment of official Visitors, and the general admission of strangers to the Auburn prison, on the payment of a quarter-dollar, are regarded by many as some security against the infliction of excessive punishment. But this is an error.^

Public access to prisons now tends to be considered in terms of press access, not mass spectatorship.^ In its pure commercial form, the press merely provides mediated mass spectatorship. Even with enlightened public interest, neither direct exhibition nor mediated spectatorship is a good substitute for personal communication with prisoners.

Exhibiting Prisoners Prevalent but Officially Deplored

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Exhibiting prisoners to spectators for a twenty-five cents prison admission fee was prevalent in mid-nineteenth-century U.S. prisons. An extensive investigation in 1866 of U.S. prisons (excluding prisons in former states of the rebelling southern confederacy) reported:

In nearly or quite all the prisons of the United States, general visitors are admitted, daily, during business hours, and are conducted, with very few exceptions, over the entire premises, including the workshops. No restrictions are imposed, other than that they be under the escort of an officer, and abstain from speaking to the convicts or delivering any article whatever into their hands; and they are, besides, quite commonly admonished not to indulge in laughter, loud conversation, or boisterous conduct of any kind.^

The common admonishments about spectator behavior imply that such behavior was common. Other evidence indicates that exhibiting prisoners was prevalent from no later than the 1840s.

Women predominated among prison spectators. Wardens generally reported that two-thirds of spectators were woman (in one prison, five-sixths). Many mid-nineteenth-century state prisons held only men. The few that held a small number of women probably didn’t exhibit the women. Male prisoners’ girlfriends and wives may have come to prisons as spectators. A more general female interest in male prisoners probably also influenced the spectator sex ratio. The 1866 prison study declared:

A moral influence, of an exceedingly pernicious character, an influence which sets itself in deadly antagonism to all efforts at personal reformation, and which need not here be more specifically described, emanates from the presence of such a multitude of female visitors in our prison. Numbers of wardens both spoke to us and wrote to us of this influence, in terms as emphatic as they were condemnatory.^

Other prison officials more specifically described male prisoners’ sexual response to female spectators.

Exhibiting prisoners generated revenue for prisons. The 1866 study observed:

in the great majority of American prisons, an entrance fee of twenty-five cents is charged, which gives the custom still more the air of a public exhibition, and makes the state a showman for a few paltry coppers. All this is derogatory to the dignity of government, and we have never seen the price of admission taken by prison authorities without a feeling, almost, of personal degradation, as being, in some sort, identified with the system.^

Spectator revenue, particularly at Auburn State Prison, was substantial. While prison officials expressed aversion to the practice, exhibiting prisoners continued in the U.S. until the early twentieth century. Given their value in generating revenue for prisons, prisoner exhibitions probably were successfully rationalized as being for the benefit of prisoners.

From Exhibiting Prisoners to Exhibiting Historic Prisons

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Although it displayed its prison rather than its prisoners, Eastern State Penitentiary overcame Auburn State Prison’s lead in attracting spectators. From 4000 spectators in 1839, spectators at Eastern State Penitentiary increased throughout the 1850s and reached about 10,000 in 1859. From 1862 to 1871, which includes four years of civil war that probably depressed prison tourism, the Eastern State Penitentiary averaged about 11,400 spectators per year. Spectators at Auburn Prison, in contrast, remained roughly about 7,000 from 1820 to 1864 despite New York’s growing population. In 1860, only about 5,000 spectators passed through Auburn Prison. That’s about half the number attracted in 1860 to Eastern State Penitentiary.

Public tours of prisons continued in the U.S. through the beginning of the twentieth century. The U.S., which led the world in suppressing prisoners communication, also exhibited prisoners more openly and for a longer time than did other industrialized countries. In 1903, a penal scholar declared:

Nowhere in the civilized word is admission to prisons so open and unconstrained as in most places in the United States. The reporters for the daily press are permitted to range at their will. On Sundays crowds of curious excursionists make a visit to a penitentiary a part of their holiday. Not seldom do visitors give serious offence to the convicts and disturb order and reformatory measures.^

The scholar approvingly noted that, in England, visiting a prison was not allowed for “persons who have no special qualifications for making good use of the opportunity,” and in Saxony, visitors were required to “give proof of a special scientific or official intention.”^

U.S. prison officials quickly ended public prison exhibitions early in the twentieth century. In 1904, Eastern State Penitentiary officials declared:

For various reasons, which will be apparent to almost anyone, the Board think it improper for men, women, and children to wander through the corridors of the Penitentiary, merely for motives of idle curiosity. Therefore, without good and sufficient reason, no visitors passes will be issued in the future.^

The Superintendent of Prisons in Virginia proposed in 1910 to eliminate visits by the “morbidly curious” spectator: “I feel that it is wrong to inflict further humiliation upon the prisoner by subjecting him to the gaze of this class.”^ Many U.S. prisons had been doing exactly that for over seventy years. The reasons that prison officials gave for the change in policy were hardly compelling in light of the long-established policy of exhibiting prisoners. What seems to have changed is prison officials’ desired public position. They apparently shifted from seeking publicity and spectator revenue to seeking public distance associated with administrative professionalism.

Historic prisons that no longer hold prisoners now attract many spectators. For example, in 1970, Eastern State Penitentiary ceased regular operation as a prison. It was restored as a public monument in 1994 and opened for daily tours, a haunted experience called “Terror Behind the Walls” (according to its website, “one of the largest and most successful haunted attractions in the county”), art exhibits, movie filming, and other special events. In 2004, the Eastern State Penitentiary received more than 100,000 spectators. It has subsequently expanded its exhibits to the public. Another example is Australian convict sites, recognized by UNESCO as World Heritage sites. Among the Australian convict sites is Fremantle Prison. It ceased functioning as a prison in 1991. It subsequently opened as public exhibition. It currently attracts about 175,000 spectators per year.^ Auburn State Prison offers a contrasting example. Now called the Auburn Correctional Facility, it operates much like any other prison. It attracts little public interest despite its great historical importance.

Illicit Communication in Auburn and Eastern State Model Prisons

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Eastern State Penitentiary and Auburn Prison were world-famous models for suppressing prisoners’ communication. Despite large investments in physical plant and extensive administrative efforts, neither prison actually succeeded in completely suppressing communication among prisoners.

Eastern State Penitentiary was designed to keep prisoners physically separate at all times. To serve that purpose, it featured innovative building services:

each prisoner had his or her own private cell, centrally heated, with running water, a flush toilet, and a skylight. Adjacent to the cell was a private outdoor exercise yard contained by a ten-foot wall. This was in an age when the White House, with its new occupant Andrew Jackson, had no running water and was heated with coal-burning stoves.

These extraordinary architectural investments made Eastern State Penitentiary one of the most expensive buildings in early 19th-century U.S. It had a per-prisoner cost seven times greater than other contemporary prisons.

Yet even within the bounds of Eastern State, prisoners found ways to communicate. An authority on Eastern State Penitentiary noted:

It is quite certain that prisoners were able to communicate by means of tapping on pipes, floors, and walls…. As one reads the journal of punishments kept for a time by the wardens, the number of cases in which the offense was “talking with another prisoner” exceeds all others. Inmates obviously went to great lengths to contact those near at hand by means of water pipes, tapping on cell walls, by communicating with others while in exercise yards, and by actually shouting in their cells.^

Prisoners also domesticated a rat and used its ability to crawl between cells to convey messages.^ In 1834, the convicts communicated through sewer pipes extensively enough to plan a general insurrection.^ In the summer of 1838, sewer pipes in one prison block were modified to prevent such communication. Similar changes in the other prison blocks were planned for 1839.^ The contraction and expansion of hot-water pipes also created cracks that provided communication media. Monitoring by the Prison Keeper from within Eastern State’s corridors apparently was also necessary to suppress communication.^ Even Eastern State’s highly expensive architecture was not sufficient to suppress prisoners’ communication.

Auburn Prison, which allowed prisoners to congregate in silence, likewise struggled to suppress communication in practice. Some prisoners developed an alphabet of finger motions. Observers worried about a prisoner who was a professional ventriloquist.^ Even convicts who were not ventriloquists were reportedly able to communicate, without moving their lips, by speaking “in a low tone from the throat.”^ Prisoners were innovative, shrewd, and resourceful in attempting to communicate:

Stopping communication at night was especially difficult; inmates would make intelligible noises and, if caught, tell the keepers that they had been talking in their sleep. Besides, it was extremely hard to identify the precise cells from which sounds were emanating in the darkness. If word-of-mouth contact was impossible, prisoners scratched notes on leather, wooden chips, or anything else that was available. Hiding scraps of paper, pencils, or even bits of coal, they tied strings around messages written with these materials and threw them from door to door.^

At the Auburn prison in 1845, 173 whipping were administered “for offenses consisting of or including conversation.”^ About 40% of instances of punishment at the Auburn and Sing Sing prisons in 1845 were for talking.^ The frequency of such punishments indicates great practical difficulties in suppressing prisoners’ communication.

Most County Prisons and Local Jails Never Suppressed Communication

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Many prisons that had little prominence in public deliberation never attempted to suppress prisoners’ communication. In the U.S. in the early nineteenth century, the penal system included county prisons and local jails in addition to state prisons. The transnational penal-policy consensus in favor of suppressing prisoners’ communication did not change how most county prisons and jails operated. The Warden of the internationally famous Eastern State Penitentiary attempted to direct attention to this problem:

In our penitentiary, this great evil to which I have alluded {communication among prisoners}, is prevented; or, I should rather say, its progress arrested; but in the county prisons, whence we derive our inmates, it exists to a deplorable and disgraceful extent.

The Warden suggested that the failures of county prisons hurt the performance of his institution:

Convicts received by us from such country prisons, may indeed frequently be reformed by our discipline; the lessons of vice which they have learned, when placed in a confinement which the law intended should be salutary, may sometimes be eradicated afterwards; but the great, the irremediable evil, has already been effected. … Hence our institution cannot produce all the advantages of which it is susceptible, until the county prisons are reformed by the same plan of separate confinement, &c. which we pursue.^

The need for comprehensive reform is a common excuse for failure. Such comprehensive reform never occurred. A Pennsylvania prison inspector, describing the Alleghany county jail (encompassing Pittsburg) in the early 1860s, declared:

it was most distressing to see convicts, burglars, murderers, young and old, guilty and innocent, black, and white, all having unrestricted access to each other’s cells, many of whom were amusing themselves by playing cards, smoking cigars, and doing whatever else they chose for passing away the time.^

Extensive communication among prisoners was also common in other jails. In New York State in 1847, 46 out of 49 country jails placed more than one prisoner in a cell. Only 15 out of 49 of those jails claimed to prohibit conversation among prisoners.^

A similar lack of comprehensive reform existed in England. Despite the Select Committee on Gaols and Prisons’ resolutions in 1835 that urged highly restrictive communication policies, communication policies varied widely across English gaols. Some gaols allowed extensive communication between prisoners and family and friends.^ Despite the consensus in favor of it among penal authorities, suppressing prisoners’ communications was never a policy implemented comprehensively in practice.

Prison Economics Favored Congregate over Separate System

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Prison economics favored the congregate system of prison discipline relative to the separate system. As technological change shifted jobs away from handcrafts and towards a more capital-intensive division of labor in manufacturing, congregate labor became more economical than labor in separate cells. Congregate eating and exercising for prisoners was also more economical and administratively simpler. In addition, the congregate system made it simpler to have prisoners work in prison operations such as preparing food, washing clothes, and building maintenance and construction.

In the U.S. by 1860, every state that had adopted the separate (Pennsylvanian) system, other than Pennsylvania, had shifted to the congregate system.^ Many prisons in Europe, however, retained the separate system into the twentieth century.^ This may reflect less political pressure to reduce fiscal cost and greater professional solidarity in upholding the existing, separate-system administration.