The place was packed with people, and an enormous banner on the outside
depicted a savage-looking wild man. He was described as having been
captured in the caves of Kentucky. I followed my acquaintance upstairs,
and in due time, after a preliminary lecture, a door was thrown open,
disclosing what looked like a prison cell, in which, chained to an iron
grating, stood a man closely resembling the one represented in the
picture. His skin was of a tawny yellow, his body was covered with
hair, and he ravenously snapped at and ate the lumps of raw beef which
an attendant threw to him.
I cannot say that it was a pleasant sight, but from its effect on the
spectators it was undoubtedly a satisfactory one, and as the door
closed on it I said to my acquaintance:
"Where did you get him?"
He replied: "Why, you know the man well. He traveled with you two
seasons. Come inside and talk with him."
I followed him, and no sooner were we in the cage than the terrible
"wild man" held out his hand to me and said, "How do you do, Mr. Coup?"
The voice was strangely familiar. I scrutinized the fellow's features
and recognized in him a Russian who had been exhibited in our sideshow
as a "hairy man." He had allowed his skin to be dyed yellow and his
whiskers and hair black, and, for a consideration of about four times
his usual salary, was now posing as a wild man. He afterward went West
and continued this mode of exhibition for several months, until he was
played out in that capacity, whereupon a few warm baths enabled him to
resume his former employment as "Ivanovitch, the hairy man."
Another celebrated fake which met with success in the East was the
"dog-faced man." The Englishman before spoken of engaged a variety
performer who was an adept at imitating the barking of dogs. The
manager had in his possession an old photograph of "Jo-jo, the
dog-faced boy," and was resolved to place a good imitation of this
freak before the American public. He accordingly had made a very
expensive wig which covered completely the head, face and shoulders.
Dressing the man in the garb of a Russian peasant, he advertised him as
"Nicolai Jacobi, the Russian dog-faced man." So good was the disguise
that they exhibited an entire week at a Jersey City museum, deceiving
even the astute proprietor. Next they went to Boston, where they played
to the most phenomenal business on record. The proprietor of the museum
had a very clever cartoonist in his employ, and as the Englishman and
his dog-faced friend walked from the station to the museum they saw
nothing but pictures of dog-faced men. In front of the museum, in a
large cage, was one of the fiercest wildcats they had even seen,
labeled,
"The pet of the dog-faced man."
They played, as I have said, to phenomenal business. For two weeks
thousands of persons daily struggled for the privilege of paying ten
cents to see this amusing fake. At the end of that time one of the
employes betrayed the secret to a reporter and the attraction was
rendered valueless. Strange to relate, the success of this "fake" was
the means of bringing from Europe the original dog-faced boy, "Jo-jo,"
who for several years drew a good salary at the various dime museums,
but never created so much excitement by virtue of his genuineness as
the "fake" did.