Picture this. It's January 27th, 1908. You're sitting shoulder-to-shoulder in a crowded

theater in St. Louis, Missouri. The lights are dark, the curtain is closed, then suddenly

a spotlight turns on, and a compact muscular man in his 30s steps onto the stage. His hair

is dark and wavy, his eyes are piercing and blue. You notice he's wearing a bathing

suit, the one-piece kind with a snug fitting tank top and shorts. His name is Harry Houdini,

and he is the most famous magician and illusionist of all time.

Ladies and gentlemen, in the first act of my magic show, I dazzled you with card tricks,

transformation acts and other feats of mystery, like turning my assistant into a bouquet of roses

and so following a 100 sewing needles, then pulling them out of my gullet strung on a piece

of thread. But right here, on this very stage, I will perform something new, something

never seen before. It is, I guarantee, the best, most death-defying escape I have invented

to date. With a flourish, Houdini pulls open the curtain to reveal the milk can.

Houdini gestures toward a vessel like the one's milkmen use to deliver milk. Only this

one's made of iron, and it's taller than a five-year-old.

I will now invite a member of the audience to come on stage and examine this can. Make

sure there's no trap doors or escape hatches. No funny business.

Houdini's eyes roamed the audience before landing on, butterflies invade your stomach as you

step up to the stage. The canned surface looks smooth, no doors, no hatches, no funny business.

Thank you, my friend. Houdini gives your hand a firm shake, then one of his many assistants

leads you back to your seat. All right, ladies and gentlemen, let's begin!

Houdini's assistants begin filling the milk can with buckets of water. Houdini holds his hands out,

and one of the men binds the magician's wrists in gleaming metal handcuffs.

...