Readers Remember

On Oct 24, 1926, one week before Halloween, my late husband, Dr. Daniel Cohn, house physician at the Detroit Statler Hotel, was summoned in the middle of the night for an emergency call on Harry Houdini.

The magician had arrived by train from Montreal for his first show at the Garrick Theatre. It turned out to be his last. Before Houdini left Montreal, a McGill student, without giving the magician time to tighten his muscles, had punched him repeatedly to test his ability to withstand abdominal blows.

Despite the pain, Houdini proceeded to Detroit, where, after the show, he collapsed and the hotel physician was called. My husband diagnosed appendicitis and rushed him to Grace Hospital, where he was operated on by the chief of surgery, who discovered a ruptured, gangrenous appendix.

Numerous consultants examined Houdini but, without antibiotics, medical science had nothing with which to save the 52-year-old magician’s life. Daniel, a young novice with few patients, spent day and night at Houdini’s bedside and in the process became friend and confidant to the dying magician.

One evening, Houdini said, “I have a yen for Farmer’s chop suey.” Daniel walked to a deli on Woodward Avenue and ordered two portions of the favorite Jewish dish. While they were eating, his patient spoke of his late mother and of his own impending death.

“Don’t be surprised,” he said, “if phony spiritualists declare a national holiday.”

ETHEL SCHATZ

Los Angeles

In 200 words or less, send us your memories, comments or eyewitness accounts. Write to Century, Los Angeles Times, Times Mirror Square, Los Angeles, CA 90053, or e-mail century@latimes.com. We regret that we cannot acknowledge individual submissions. Letters may be edited for space.