The books used to produce this podcast included:
“Houdini: The Career of Ehrich Weiss,” by Kenneth Silverman, also
“The Secret Life of Houdini,” by William Kalush and Larry Sloman.
Music used during this podcast included:
Intro, part one: “Rain Drops,” by Track Tribe
Outro, part one: “Ice and Fire,” by King Canyon
Intro, part two: “The Trapezist,” by Quincas Moreira
Outro, part two: “Silver Waves,” by Track Tribes
In March of 1895, Oscar Wilde enjoyed fame and fortune as one of Britain’s foremost literary figures. Only four months later he was inprisoned for the crime of “gross indecency,” convicted of violating Britain’s laws against same sex relationships. Upon his release, he exiled himself to France, his career in ruins and never saw his family again.
At Oxford, Wilde continued his immersion in the classics. The school was definitely a step up in class, his fellow students having matriculated at Eton, Harrow or similarly upper class English preparatory environments. Many were also comparatively much wealthier than the modestly affluent Irish native. A later journalistic account described him as initially, naïve, embarrassed, with a convulsive laugh, a lisp and Irish accent.
Wilde sailed for America, arriving in New York on January 2, 1882. Oscar, who received a great deal of attention in London’s society columns, and whose tour was widely publicized in both Britain and the US, was swamped by journalists, even before he was able to clear customs and disembark, the press actually hiring boats to interview Wilde offshore.
Wishing to represent himself as an aesthete in appearance as well as philosophical perspective, Wilde greeted the press in a full length green topcoat, trimmed with fur on the cuffs and collars, a similarly colored and trimmed rounded green hat on his head, hair much longer then was typical. A large collared shirt with light blue tie was visible underneath this outer layer. He also wore a large seal ring with a classical Greek profile.
Oscar Wilde also remained focused on Constance Lloyd. In Dublin, for a series of lectures, he was invited to the home of relative’s of Constance’s mother, Adelaide Atkinson Lloyd. There, Oscar and Constance spent time together and socialized for the next few days, Constance attending both of Wilde’s Dublin lectures. On November 25, the couple were left alone in the drawing room of the Atkinson home, the same room where Constance’s father proposed to her mother. Here, also Oscar Wilde proposed to Constance Lloyd. She accepted immediately and was described as, “insanely happy.”
But just as Wilde reached the heights of public popularity, his private life resulted in his complete personal ruin and professional destruction. Although his vow of celibacy applied to his relationship with his wife, it did not preclude Wilde from consorting sexually with men, on a frequent basis that included what were termed, “rent boys,” young, working class males typically in their late teens. Wilde was also emotionally involved with Lord Alfred Douglas, nicknamed Bosie, a student at Oxford when Wilde was introduced to him. The two began a tempestuous lengthy relationship that was also quite indiscrete.
On February 28, 1895, Wilde entered a private club of which he was a member, the Albemarle Club. He was hailed by the doorman, who handed him an envelope, stating that the enclosed card was dropped off ten days earlier. Inside was a card embossed with the Marquess of Queensbury’s name and written in script, “For Oscar Wilde- posing Somdomite,” the last word misspelled but written with clear intent. Only the card was delivered, it was judiciously placed in an envelope by the doorman and could have easily been seen by staff, as well as members, which included women.
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In March of 1895, Oscar Wilde enjoyed fame and fortune as one of Britain’s foremost literary figures. Only four months later he was inprisoned for the crime of “gross indecency,” convicted of violating Britain’s laws against same sex relationships. Upon his release, he exiled himself to France, his career in ruins and never saw his family again.
Unfortunately, their reunion was so successful that both men began contemplating running off to Naples, the consequences be damned. Robert Ross and various other associates and friends of Wilde soon heard about this development and were all uniformly dismayed. Wilde was literally living off his wife’s allowance, funds that would be jeopardized if the news of his rekindled relationship with Bosie became known to her and especially her attorneys. Even so, he needed to borrow money just to get to Naples by train, leaving this important fact out of any discussions he had about his reasons for heading to Italy.
Robert Ross’ belief that Wilde’s literary reputation would eventually be reconstituted occurred faster than even he anticipated. By the beginning of the 20th century, various critical analyses and biographies and accounts of Wilde’s life appeared to great interest. His plays never really disappeared for any length of time, their popularity in British regional theater continued and all of Wilde’s theatrical works returned to popularity internationally as the century progressed. By 1908, Ross had successfully repurchased all of Wilde’s copyrights that were sold off during Oscar’s bankruptcy proceedings. These rights were then returned to Wilde’s sons.
John Sholto Douglas, the ninth Marquess of Queensberry. Aggressively masculine and a sportsman, as opposed to his sons, the elder Douglas, is credited with creating what are known as boxing’s “Queensberry Rules,” the ten basic rules that govern boxing even today. Despite great wealth, Douglas was extremely hostile, and possibly mentally ill.
Although his wife also restored a modest allowance of ten pounds a month upon hearing of his break with Douglas, Wilde received the news that she died on April 7, 1898 after a botched operation to relieve her paralysis. She was buried in Genoa, her gravestone using her newly assumed name of Holland with no mention of Oscar Wilde.
Finding Wilde borderline delirious and hearing that he had no more than days to live, Ross then went to the nearest Catholic church and brought back an Irish priest who quickly went through the official ceremony of converting Wilde to Catholicism. Ross also sent cables to Frank Harris and Alfred Douglas, warning them of Wilde’s current state. By the morning of November of November 30, Wilde had lost consciousness and was completely unresponsive. He died that afternoon.
Ross also transferred Wilde’s remains from Bagneaux to the more prestigious Parisian cemetery at Pere Lachaise, already the resting place of Chopin, Balzac, Moliere and eventually Sarah Bernhardt, Edith Piaf and Jim Morrison. Ross also collected funds for a magnificent sculpted abstract sphinxlike creature, requesting that the artist Jacob Epstein include a compartment for the internment of Ross’ own ashes, a request that was not fulfilled until 1950, 32 years after Ross’ death at age 49 of a heart attack. Epstein’s monument is perhaps too magnificent, it was repeatedly vandalized by lipstick kisses until cemetery authorities cleaned it and installed plexiglass to prevent such future vandalism.
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The books used to compose this podcast included:
“Oscar Wilde,” by Richard Ellman.
“Oscar Wilde, A Life,” by Matthew Sturgis
“Oscar Wilde: The Unrepentant Years,” by Nicholas Frankel
The intro for Part One and outro for Part Two was, “Floating Home,” by Brian Bolger
The outro for Part One was “French Fuse,” by Somewhere Fuse.
The intro for Part Two was, “Hopeless,” by Jimena Contreras
On August 7, 1974, a twenty-five year old man named Philippe Petit walked across a 200 foot wire between the twin towers of the World Trade Center, 1,350 feet above the ground, something that even the policeman who arrested him described as a once in a lifetime event.
On the night of June 25th and the early morning of June 26th ,1971 Philippe Petit and his associates ascended the towers of Notre Dame Cathedral. Blondeau tossed a fishing line attached to a tennis ball to Petit in the other tower. A thicker rope was attached to this initial line and then pulled across the gap between the two towers, this process repeated with thicker ropes until the heavy metal cable was attached to a rope and pulled across the open space. Petit and Blondeau worked all night, securing the wire until the early morning hours of Saturday. Then, to the amazement of the ever increasing group of tourists that gathered in the plaza in front of the cathedral, Petit, dressed in his typical all black clothing walked on to the cable and for three hours, juggled balls and pins, walked rapidly back and forth and even lay on his back as the crowd applauded below.
Assisted by some local Australians he met in Nimbin, he persuaded a local wire distributor to give him the requisite cable in exchange for a performance of magic and juggling for the company’s employees. With huge padlocked doors impossible to pick or penetrate, Petit hacksawed his way in through barred gaps high above the ground and, with his newfound friends, reconnoitered both pylons at night. Eventually they were able to rig the bridge in preparation for the crossing scheduled to occur on June 3, 1973. At rush hour on the morning of June 3, Petit ascended the wire and crossed several times, pausing again to perform his trademark move of lying on his back for several minutes, supported only by the thin cable, almost three hundred feet above the ground.
It was three weeks before Petit took the subway downtown and, for the first time, got a look at the Twin Towers in person. Even he was humbled by the magnitude of both buildings, recalling later that the same word kept unconsciously repeating in his mind: Impossible! But, even on this first attempt at reconnaissance, Petit would access forbidden stairwells, avoid police and, when encountering construction workers, act as if he belonged. Although it took an hour, he finally emerged, alone on the top of one of the Twin Towers. Far from complete, the building did not even have a guardrail. It was 1,350 feet high and eventually contained 110 stories. Petit was still so intimidated that when he got to the edge of the structure he could barely look down and focused instead on the distance between the two towers.
It is approximately 7 AM, soon the entire area will be crawling with workers and security. Petit knows it is now or never. He is utterly exhausted and has gotten virtually no sleep for two consecutive days. Later, Blondeau would call the wire the worst they had ever rigged together. Both he and Jean Francois Heckel were also terrified, believing that it was very possible that Petit could fall. But Petit had already made up his mind.
“I had to make a decision of shifting my weight from one foot anchored to the building to the one foot anchored on the wire. This is possibly the end of my life, to step on that wire, but on the other hand something that I could not resist, I did not make any effort to resist, something called me on to the cable. And death is very close.”
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On August 7, 1974, a twenty-five year old man named Philippe Petit walked across a 200 foot wire between the twin towers of the World Trade Center, 1,350 feet above the ground, something that even the policeman who arrested him described as a once in a lifetime event.
After Philip and Jean Francois are booked and fingerprinted, they were handcuffed to chairs while paperwork is composed that specifically defines the charges of Criminal Trespass and Disorderly Conduct. In the details of the complaint, the headline reads “Man on Wire.” It only takes Petit a few minutes to charm most of his captors by balancing a policeman’s hat on his nose and flipping it on to his head repeatedly.
. It is ultimately decided that both men are to be conveyed to a downtown hospital where Philippe is to be given psychiatric examination. The doctor in charge quickly pronounces him sane. He is taken back to a precinct house, where he is told that his sister is on the phone, a ruse to allow Annie to attempt to speak with him. An hour later, in front of a judge, the deal is made official. Ultimately, this little show will turn into a October 29 high wire walk across Central Park’s Turtle Pond, in front of 5,000 spectators. Both Jean Francois and Philippe are released and their cuffs removed. They are free to go, however Jean Francois was eventually officially deported.
Merely walking through the lobby, he heard his name being called and turning to the source of the voice he saw a very well dressed man with a striking handlebar moustache. The man ebulliently explained that he saw Philippe performing in Paris while the stranger was on vacation. He introduced himself, also responding to Philippe’s already probing questions telling the aerialist that he works on the 82nd floor of the South tower. His name is Barry Greenhouse, employed by the New York State Insurance Department and most importantly his office is on an upper floor. When Barry asked Philippe again what he is doing in the World Trade Center, Philippe invited him to dinner, realizing that Greenhouse may be the most valuable accomplice in his entire crew. At dinner, with Annie participating, Petit wheeled out his photo album scrapbook of his antics in Paris and Sydney and, thinking, based on Greenhouse amused reaction that the streetwise New Yorker probably has figured out what he is up to, Petit spells out his plan exactly, asking for the older man’s help. After asking some general questions, probably to see how serious Petit was, Greenhouse offered to assist in any way that he can.
On the street below, Annie Allix was much more effusive. “I saw Philippe up there, it was extraordinary, it was so, so beautiful…It was like he was walking on a cloud.”
Jean Louis and Jean Francois have already flown home, Heckel’s excited anticipation over potential future coups dampened by Jean Louis’ admonition that he will never work with Petit again and he believes that their friendship is irrevocably broken.
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On November 14, 1959, two petty criminals, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, crossed Kansas, murdered the Clutter family in the tiny hamlet of Holcomb, Kansas and unwittingly enabled a New York City writer named Truman Capote to achieve immortality for all three of them.
When Truman Capote arrived in Kansas, Smith and Hickock were not yet on law enforcement’s radar. Capote’s initial intent was to write about the reaction of the town and its inhabitants but he had at least enough self awareness to understand that it would be next to impossible for someone with both his New York and blatantly homosexual persona to ingratiate himself to the appropriate degree.
Capote enlisted Harper Lee as his partner in journalism and set about trying to induce the locals, both law enforcement and private citizens, into sharing any valuable insight. His initial wardrobe of a pillbox style hat, long sheepskin coat and scarf that hung all the way to his feet did him no favors but Harper Lee seems to have helped him win over his most productive source and access to important information. Alvin Dewey, as a member of the Kansas Bureau of Investigation or KBI, the state agency with jurisdiction over the investigation and a resident of Garden City, was logically designated to coordinate the investigation with other assigned members of the KBI. Initially repelled by Capote, Dewey eventually was charmed especially by Harper Lee, who also became friendly with Dewey’s wife Marie, and it wasn’t long before Capote and Lee were getting regular invitations to dinner.
Arriving shortly after midnight on the morning of November 15, a full moon completely illuminated both the Clutter home, and the expansive series of barns, which Smith said excited Hickock, Dick thinking the proprietor of such a spread had to possess a great deal of money. With no need for headlights, Hickock shut them and the car engine off and parked behind a tree, allowing the two men to appraise the situation.
Richard Eugene “Dick” Hickock was born on June 6, 1931 in Kansas City, Missouri. His parents, Walter and Eunice, were typically devout, hard working lower middle class Kansas Midwesterners who raised their family on a 44 acre farm in the small town of Edgerton. Walter Hickock worked as a mechanic by day and farmed his acreage during off hours. Industrious, he built the farm’s main family residence by himself. His oldest of two sons, Dick was popular in high school and lettered in several sports but Dick’s parents were unable to provide the financial means to send Dick to college after his graduation in 1949. Instead, he went to work for the Santa Fe Railroad and pursued another interest, women. Many surmise that the critical event in Hickock’s life was a serious car accident in 1950, in which he was almost killed, spent days in the hospital and emerged with disfigured facial features and possibly permanent brain damage. Married at age 19 to his 16 year old girlfriend who produced two children, Hickock seems to have undergone a personality change in which he suddenly began gambling, kiting checks and living beyond his means. He also managed to conceive a child with another woman, prompting a divorce from his first wife. Saying that he wanted to “do the right thing,” he married the mother of his third child but continued to subsidize menial jobs, mostly as an auto mechanic, with petty crime. Whether it was for writing bad checks or stealing a rifle from a private residence, Hickock finally caught his first five-year jail sentence in 1956 for “cheating and defrauding.” He was paroled from Kansas State Penitentiary on August 13, 1959.
Perry Edward Smith was born in Huntington, Nevada on October 27, 1928, perhaps appropriately, his birthplace is now a ghost town. His father John “Tex” Smith and mother Florence “Flo” Buckskin were rodeo riders who performed in small towns across the northern great plains. Described as a full blooded Cherokee by Capote, Flo was in fact Shoshone-Paiute. In 1929, Smith’s parents moved to Juneau, Alaska, where Tex hustled a living as a bootlegger. Both parents were alcoholic, Tex violently abusive to both his wife and his four children and frequently absent for lengthy periods of time. During these absences, Flo engaged in numerous adulterous affairs, eventually precipitating an especially violent beating at the hands of Tex in 1935, behavior that convinced Flo to flee to San Francisco. Usually in an alcoholic haze, she was unable to care for her children, who were eventually placed in a series of institutions and Catholic orphanages, Perry already arrested by the age of eight. Subjected to repeated physical abuse, especially at the hands of the nuns he frequently encountered, Smith evolved into an angry and aggressive loner, constantly in conflict with others. Eventually, his father intervened, removing Perry from San Francisco and taking him throughout Nevada and Alaska, settling in the latter state until Perry’s enlistment at age 16 in the Merchant Marine. After that, in 1948, he enlisted in the US Army, serving in both Japan and Korea and receiving the Bronze Star for action as a combat engineer during the pivotal Battle of Inchon. But, despite his honorable discharge, he frequently fought with other soldiers and civilians and spent lengthy periods in the stockade. He intended to return to Alaska and live with his father but, most likely because of their tempestuous relationship, he moved to Washington State in the summer of 1952 and there he suffered a serious motorcycle accident that almost forced the amputation of both legs and left him with a permanent limp, constant pain and an aspirin addiction. While in Washington he also fathered an illegitimate son, who was raised by an Army buddy as his own child. Smith then spent a year convalescing in a hospital before returning to Alaska, where he hoped to reunite with his father. They built a hunting lodge together in a remote part of the state, called the Trapper’s Den Lodge but had a serious and violent falling out in 1955, when the lodge failed. Smith drifted across the Midwest and with a partner, broke into an office in Phillipsburg, Kansas where they stole anything of value. Arrested after a traffic stop, Smith and his accomplice broke out of jail, stole a car and it was New York City before Perry was apprehended by the FBI and taken back to Kansas to face the music. In 1956, he received five to ten years for the previous burglary and interstate flight. It is at the Kansas State Penitentiary that he met Dick Hickock, at some point sharing a cell.
The 1967 film reproduction of the book only added to Capote’s celebrity runway. While some have attributed the author’s downward spiral to the emotional trauma of his involvement with Hickock and Smith, Capote’s thinly concealed eagerness for the two men’s execution and his alcoholism and drug abuse were only enabled by the ability to coast along on his reputation, his great wealth allowing a lifestyle of indulgence and artistic inactivity.
By the time the two suspects were returned to Garden City, Capote had so ingratiated himself with Alvin Dewey that he was granted a privilege denied to every other journalist covering the Clutter case; interview access to Hickock and Smith. This would not be the only benefit granted by Dewey but it was extremely significant. The egotistical, verbose Hickock was an easy subject for Capote who drained him of as much information as possible but Perry Smith was initially wary. Ultimately fascinated by Capote and, insecure about his lack of formal education, that a man of letters would be interested in conversing with him, Smith also established a close relationship. After getting this exclusive access, Capote then returned to New York with Harper Lee, as there was nothing for him to do but wait for the trial, scheduled for March 22, 1960.
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On November 14, 1959, two petty criminals, Dick Hickock and Perry Smith, crossed Kansas, murdered the Clutter family in the tiny hamlet of Holcomb, Kansas and unwittingly enabled a New York City writer named Truman Capote to achieve immortality for all three of them.
This arrest was most likely the result of the efforts of KBI investigator Harold Nye, who, in the interim after the Wells revelation, had traveled to Las Vegas to question individuals who might have encountered Perry Smith while Smith stayed in the city prior to returning to Kansas. Nye also met extensively with members of the Las Vegas Police department and impressed upon them that Smith especially was known to frequent the city and that Smith and Hickock’s apprehension was extremely important. While the attentive Las Vegas patrolmen who spotted the stolen plate and vehicle deserve credit, most likely they were focused as a result of information transmitted throughout the department, the result of Harold Nye’s diligence.
Hickock and Smith, not wanting to drag a lot of miscellaneous items with them when they returned from Mexico and had to resort to hitchhiking, mailed a box to Post Office General Delivery in Las Vegas containing, among other things, the boots they wore the night they killed the Clutters. Their arrest occurred only a few minutes later and had the police nabbed them sooner these critical items that physically linked them to the murder scene might never have been recovered.
Hickock went first although no one was really sure how that was decided, perhaps alphabetically. He made a brief statement; “I don’t have any hard feelings. You’re sending me to a better place.” He then thanked the KBI agents for being there and was helped by guards up the thirteen steps of the gallows. There, while the 23rd Psalm was intoned by the prison chaplain, a hood was placed over his head, a noose tightened around his neck and the long hood. At 12:19 AM he was positioned exactly on the wooden platform and then the hangman, paid six hundred dollars for his effort, pulled a lever opening a small trap door, Hickock falling straight down until the rope snapped taut breaking his neck. A doctor present for this official purpose took 22 minutes to pronounce Hickock dead, after his heart stopped beating.
Smith was next, driven to the gallows and arriving a little after 1 AM. In Capote’s book, he is supposed to have issued an apology but his last official words actually were: “I think it is a hell of a thing that a life has to be taken in this manner. I say this especially because there’s a great deal I could have offered society. I think capital punishment is legally and morally wrong. Any apology for what I have done would be meaningless at this time. I don’t have any animosities toward anyone involved in this matter. I think that is all. Then Smith ascended the steps to the gallows, underwent the same process as Hickock, dropped through the trap door at 1:07 AM and was pronounced dead 12 minutes later.
Capote’s fall from grace was so complete that he exiled himself to California and published only fragments and short pieces, Answered Prayers remaining unfinished. In August of 1984, having not published anything of substance for almost twenty years and while apparently living at the home of his newest best friend Joanne Carson, talk show host Johnny’s second wife, Capote died of liver cancer. Gore Vidal, who successfully sued Capote over accusations of drunkenness at the White House and also famously claimed that Capote’s voice was audible only to dogs called it a good career move.
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The books and journalism used in this podcast included:
“Capote: A Biography,” by Gerald Clarke
“Truman Capote: In Which Various Friends, Enemies, Acquaintances, and Detractors Recall His Turbulent Career,” by George Plimpton
“And Every Word Is True,” by Gary MacAvoy
“In Cold Blood,” by Truman Capote
Also journalism about “In Cold Blood,” which appeared in the Wall Street Journal by Kevin Helliker, chiefly, “Capote Classic, ‘In Cold Blood,’ Tainted by Long Lost Files,” published on February 8, 2013.
The intro in both Parts One and Two was “Three Wise People,” by Jammy Jams. The outro in Part One was “Blue Mood,” by Robert Munziger and the outro in Part Two was “Cruiser,” by Magic In The Other
