The circus came to Santa Rosa in 1904, but that was only part of the fun that year. World heavyweight boxing champ James Jeffries also put on a show here, and John Philip Sousa’s famous brass band played a rousing concert. For a dime you could be thrilled by “The Great Train Robbery,” the first narrative movie ever made; audiences supposedly screamed and dived for the floor when a character turned his gun towards the camera and fired. But according to the Press Democrat, the most wonderful entertainment of all began when the Great McEwen came to town.

The Novelty Theatre, which offered vaudeville acts and movies on a bill that changed weekly, was a regular advertiser in the Press Democrat, with its program listed almost every day on the front page. The newspaper typically reciprocated with a few nice words about the show — see an example here — so it was no surprise when the paper reviewed that week’s schedule on August 16th, with special praise for the top act: “The Great McEwen, who has been aptly named the ‘Wizard of the West,’ proved a big entertainer. His work is far superior to other such vaunted jugglers…his magic work is new and when it comes to palming he is inimitable. His handling of four billiard balls at once with one hand, and with his left hand a that, is a clever bit of his work only appreciated by being seen.”

The next day there was another item: “…[L]ast night [McEwen] gave a fine exhibition of his ability as a mind reader, finding a number of articles previously hidden in the audience and in other ways demonstrating the wonder possibilities of the human mind.” The unusual followup review also promised that McEwen would exhibit his hypnotic powers in the theater that night, and the following day “drive blindfolded through the streets in search of hidden articles.”

Two days later, yet another item appeared: “McEwen the hypnotist visited the County Clerk’s office on Thursday morning, just dropped in to see the boys, and while there demonstrated his powers by opening the big safe. The performance was watched with much interest by the office deputies and reporters who chanced to come in at the time.” Santa Rosa was now on notice that someone remarkable was in town; not even the famous Houdini allowed people to watch him as he cracked a safe.

Three mentions of any entertainer in the same week was a sure sign that the editor was mightily impressed. Then on August 26, the item below appeared. Gone was any reference to McEwen being anything like a common entertainer; now he was just the “great mind reader.” Over half of the article was one long, breathless sentence, shortened slightly here by removing the names and job titles of his august witnesses in the buggy.

McEwen had a return engagement at the Novelty Theatre ten weeks later. No mention of billiard balls and playing cards in the newspaper this time; McEwen was simply the “great hypnotist and mind reader.” With all this praiseworthy media coverage, two questions hang over the story: Did PD editor Finley really believe the man had supernatural powers? And who was this “Great McEwen” guy, anyway?

M’EWEN DROVE AND GOT THE MISSIVE

MIND READER GAVE ANOTHER OF HIS FAMOUS BLINDFOLD DRIVES ON THURSDAY
Visited the Post Office Unlocked a Box and Took a Letter to Person to Whom It was Addressed

McEwen, the great mindreader, [sic] gave another of his wounderful [sic] blindfold drives on Thursday afternoon, and in it accomplished a triumph for his skill. Standing up in a vehicle he handled the ribbons over a spirited team and drove [a committee of four] over the route those gentlemen had previously agreed upon among themselves, got a combination of one of the lock boxes in the post office written upon a slip of paper from a person in H. L. Tripp’s Toggery on Fourth street, drove to the post office, went inside, unlocked the box, took a letter placed therein by the committee, got into the carriage again and drove to Rohrer, Einhorn’s store at Fourth and B streets and gave the letter to the person to whom it was addressed, W. H. Rohrer, and did all this without removing the blindfold. McEwen was watched by a large crowd of spectators.

While driving along Fourth street the wheels of the vehicle struck the railroad track and dislodged McEwen. Beyond receiving a severe shake-up he was uninjured. He quickly took his place in the vehicle and drove along as if nothing happened.

– Press Democrat, August 26, 1904

(Continues in part II)

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(Have you read part I?)

Safe-cracking and mind-reading aside, the Great McEwen was primarily a hypnotist, and at a time when controversy churned over its practice. Critics thought hypnotism was potentially dangerous and should be banned (it was outlawed in Cincinnati) or performed only under a physician’s care. After a stage hypnotist’s assistant died of diabetes in 1896, a coroner’s jury was told by one critical “expert” witness that repeated hypnosis might cause “cerebral softening,” and the jury decided that “nervous exhaustion, caused by hypnotic practices” was a contributing factor in his death. Scottish-born P. H. McEwen argued against any medical control of hypnotism. In his self-published 1897 book, “Hypnotism Made Plain,” he protested, “Not until doctors have proven themselves more intellectual and virtuous than their fellow men, should they be given the monopoly of one of the greatest God-given benefits to mankind.”¹

McEwen also insisted that hypnotism resulted in a spiritual transformation that “accomplished much towards the development of the soul” and had curative powers. He apparently claimed to be a lay healer, but it’s unclear whether he was promising cancer cures, a quick way to stop smoking, or something in between, or both. McEwen did have a reckless confidence in his skills; he convinced a physician to remove a tumor in a 50-minute surgery with only his hypnosis as an anesthesia.²

McEwen was somewhat of a contradiction. While he was making the case for scientific and spiritualistic respectability, he was also wowing small town crowds with his stage hypnotism, and his “mind reading” was purely magician’s skill. Known today to be muscle reading, McEwen watched his subject to reveal unconscious cues, or easier yet, did the trick while touching the subject in some way.

So ultimately McEwen was just a showman — and not even a particularly original one, at that. Every single thing McEwen did in Santa Rosa was exactly described in an earlier how-to book written by “Professor Leonidas.” Here can be found long sections on muscle reading, how to best perform a hypnotism act, and even tips on promoting your appearance via “driving blindfolded on the streets, locating hidden articles and unfolding the hidden forces of Mind.”³ Nor was the Great McEwen the only entertainer with a copy of Leonidas’ book in his back pocket; the “Great Newmann” was another hypnotist-mind-reader whipping through western streets blindfolded.⁴

Only a single trick appeared remarkable, and that was his cracking the safe. To explain that, the account published in the Aug. 18 Santa Rosa Republican reveals what really happened: “[McEwen] worked the combination of the mammoth safe by simply taking hold of the hand of Deputy G. W. Libby while he thought over the combination.” In other words, he had used elementary muscle reading.

The Republican’s account of the “street test” also lacked the golly-gee found in the Press Democrat. This paper offered a pair of terse paragraphs, concentrating mostly on the accident: “…though he afterwards denied injuries, there was every evidence to believe that he did injure his arm and head. That he escaped getting his neck broken is remarkable.” The item was only a few lines longer than the story in the adjacent column, which described a local man breaking his thumb.

It’s fair to say the Press Democrat coverage demonstrated a little (okay — a lot) of gullibility as to McEwen’s powers. Readers were badly misinformed. But editor Finley loved to tell a good story, and McEwen was a one-man factory turning out interesting tidbits daily. Again, McEwen was apparently following advice from Professor Leonidas’ how-to book, particularly the section where he urged fellow mentalists to work the “country route” because pickin’s were easier than in the cities. One key to success, the author suggested, was to cozy up to the editor of the local paper: “I know a Professor who is one of the most successful operators who, a few years ago, was playing mere villages and school houses up in Wisconsin. An editor of a country weekly got hold of him, sold out his plant, advertised in the right way and the whole company have been able to enjoy what comfort they desired. They made money, lots of money…” ⁵

¹Wonder Shows: Performing Science, Magic, and Religion in America; Fred Nadis, Rutgers University Press, 2005, pg 106- 108
²The Eclectic Medical Journal (Wm. Phillips & Co. 1907) pg 328
³Stage Hypnotism: A Text Book of Occult Entertainments; “Professor Leonidas,” Bureau of Stage Hypnotism, 1901 pg 97
⁴Wonder Shows, pg. 145
⁵op.cit, pg. 25-26

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