ONDIN
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the man who
walked with death
by Bob Considine
Courage and a rope 2 inches wide
were all that separated history's
greatest tightrope artist from the
roaring chasm of Niagara Falls
hundreds of feet below.
ON June 30, just a century ago, a slim and
bearded Frenchman named Jean Francois
, Gravelet, who called himself The Great Blondin,
.ventured upon the giddiest walk of all time. The
; road he chose was a 2-inch rope stretched 1,000
feet across Niagara Falls from the American to the
Canadian side. One misstep meant death.
It was the most spectacular stunt of the era.
More than 100,000 gathered, fascinated by the pros
pect of seeing the daredevil in pink tights fall to
a spectacular death. Gamblers worked their way
through the mob on both sides, offering a variety
of odds on The Great Blondin's survival, how long
it would take him to cross, and other wagers.
Parasoled women looked about for a .bit of turf
on which to faint and thousands did.
One hundred feet along his breath-taking way,
Blondin stopped, balancing himself with a long
pole, then lay on his back on the rope as if to
take a nap. He repeated this contemptuous gesture
every 100 feet the rest of the way.
Precisely in the sagging center of the rope (it
had rained the night before and the entire rope -was
treacherously slippery) Blondin let down a
string to the steamer Maid of the Mist, far below,
and pulled up a bottle of champagne, which he
proceeded to drink. Then he balanced the pole on
its end, atop his head, and finished the perform
ance by throwing the stick away and proceeding
across without it.
For the next year and 10 weeks he performed
feats on that rope whose breath-taking nature
provoked international attention. He crossed with
his hands and feet shackled. He negotiated the
terrifying stretch with his feet encased in oaken
butter firkins. He escorted Elisa Volta Mantovani,
the great Italian acrobat, from the U.S. to Canada
by rope. He took a table, chair, and utensils to
mid-rope and cooked himself an omelet. Several
times he lunched en route on wine and cakes.
He performed his incredible stunt blindfolded,
walked across backwards, in' all forms of rough
and rainy weather. No one ever calculated how
many people saw him perform during his short but
historic stay, but all agreed that he was indeed
the "World's Outstanding Funambulist."
In the end, he cost too many gamblers too much
money, and a covey of them nearly did him in. It
happened on Saturday, Sept. 8, 1860, in the pres
ence of the Prince of Wales, later King Edward
VII, who had revised all travel plans in this
hemisphere to witness Blondin's performance.
On that particular occasion, reporters from all
over the country and from Britain and other lands
were on hand to cover whatever Blondin chose to
do in honor of the Prince. Two of the younger
American reporters were -William Dean Howells
and Mark Twain. The former's story of what tran
spired was subsequently "spiked" by an editor
who didn't believe it was true.
On this memorable occasion Blondin chose to
make his way across the sagging rope with his
manager, Harry Colcord, riding on a specially built
saddle on his shoulders. The betting was lively.
Indeed, there had been bets that nobody would
volunteer to be Blondin's passenger.
The gamblers "over-laid" the crossing. A group
of them, attempting to avoid stiff payoffs, decided
to do something about it. They cut the guy ropes
which supported the walking rope. The supporting
ropes snapped upward from their mooring places
like gigantic rubber bands. The tightrope, now
treacherously loose, swayed back and forth in the
. wind. Colcord, who had been giving a carefree
imitation of a barber shaving Blondin, let loose
a piercing scream and grabbed his client around
the neck, with legs entwined around Blondin's
hips. He became ill and began to retch.
Blondin faced the breath-taking task of con
tinuing along his desperately swaying 2 -inch road.
Far below lay the swirling vortex of the Whirl
pool. On his neck lay a delirious and sick man.
He had long since dispensed with his balancing
pole. Niagara Falls roared with deafening defiance.
Blondin crouched under the weight and sway
ing tension and made his way to safety as a huge
crowd cheered and a few gamblers went broke.
A band thumped the French national anthem.
The Frenchman and his ill manager split $2,500
for the performance, a fraction of the money that
was bet on and against him that harrowing day.
If Blondin could' be reincarnated, Ed Sullivan
would pay him a lot more to do it again tonight.
With or (preferably) without Colcord.
family Weekly, June 2, 1959
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