Quit being hypnotized because sleeping was so hard

This column is clearly labeled “Opinion,” and so it would be a shame if I failed to represent mine. My zeal for your amusement is no excuse.

A passionate chastisement from Helpful Reader after my June 14 Old News reminds me to be more circumspect. In writing about a performer billed as Albertus (and Alburtus) who in 1921 got crowds to watch a woman sleep in a display window for 24 hours, I suggested that Little Rock people ought not to have been so easily impressed: For more than a generation, they had seen hypnotized people sleeping in store windows twice and three times that long — as well as other much, much more elaborate experiments, including a five-day live burial.

But I failed to state that I think of hypnosis today as a legitimate tool in humane fields from psychology to criminal justice, and that, also, I think it is great fun to read about theatrical hypnosis and the grand talents who excelled at it.

In my opinion, it is important that I make my opinions as plain as my face today, because the Old News I bring you below is about a tattletale who did not respect hypnosis. I came across it while researching the June 14 Old News. The Arkansas Gazette picked up this story from the Kansas City Star and published it July 9, 1911.

Everything that follows from here down to my email address is quoted from the Gazette:

A FLOP TELLS OF HIS TRYING WORK

Because sleeping for a hypnotist is harder work than barbering, Elmer Whitlow, 2424 Charlotte Street, is back on the latter job.

For more than a year Whitlow worked as a “flop” for a traveling hypnotist. Then, emaciated and nervous, he quit. Standing for long hours on his feet and cutting hair is play compared with lying on his back and simulating sleep, says Whitlow.

He is thoroughly at outs with all forms of “sleeping” jobs, and he vows that never again will he permit himself to be beguiled away from the sign of the patriotic poll by the promise of easy

money in exchange for dozing away his days. …

Having their own interests at heart, “flops” seldom expose the secrets of their profession while working at it. The secrets of the game have been carefully guarded. But Whitlow is positive that he is through with the business, and he is not averse to telling some of his experiences. Inasmuch as his exhibitions were always free to the public, he being engaged merely to advertise a show, he does not feel that his faking ever harmed anyone or fleeced anybody.

There are two classes of “flops.” One “goes to sleep” on stages and amuses the audience by doing foolish antics suggested by the hypnotist. A second — and by the way the real dyed-in-the-wool “flop” — sleeps in some public place, usually a show window, for from two to three days.

Whitlow was one of the latter class. His contract called for alternate weekly “naps” of 54 and 72 hours. Having “flopped,” he would settle down surrounded by placards and bills announcing the coming show, and a lecturer would divide his time telling about the remarkable subject under the influence of the professor and the wonders that were to be seen under the big top during the following week. …

Laughing, when recognized a few days ago by a man who had witnessed one of his slumber parties, Whitlow said:

“Yes, I am an ‘ex-flopper.’ I started into that business down in Kentucky. The hypnotist was in dire need of an assistant and I took the job on 12 hours’ notice. The first ‘flop’ was a short one, but it was the most trying of all I ever undertook. I lost five pounds in weight during the 54 hours I slept. The second ‘flop’ was much easier and in a month I could appear to be as much asleep as a mummy.

“Strange as it may seem, the hypnotist I worked for had me so completely under his control that he always put me to sleep by talking to me over the telephone. He would frequently talk to me from a distance of more than 100 miles and I never failed to flop at the count of 10.

“Our advanced man always had a committee of prominent citizens on hand to see that I went to sleep in good shape. After assuring the professor over the telephone in the presence of the committee that I

was in excellent condition to pass under the influence, he would dole off the figures from one to 10. By the time he had counted seven I was wobbly in the knees. When he reached 10 I would fall into the arms of the committeemen. They would gently lay me in the show window and the show would be on.

“I was always covered by a screen of mosquito bar. … Some ‘flops’ eventually get such complete control of themselves that they need no covering and even permit people to stick them with pins to prove that they cannot be awakened. I never qualified as a human pincushion, although my employers were willing that I should.

“Most people wonder how a ‘flop’ manages to get along without food during these long ‘sleeps.’ They do not always do it. If all the spectators have left along in the early hours of the morning, the ‘subject’ rises and disposes of a meal and a quart or two of cold water.

“Many times, however, it was necessary for me to go through an entire exhibition without food or drink. In small towns where most of the people go home early, I got more chance to take nourishment than I did in larger cities where nighthawks were wont to prowl. A ‘flop’ is taking a long chance on arising if any citizen is likely to see him. Even though the prowler keep his own counsel — which is almost unheard of — the ‘flop’ is liable to be fined, if not discharged for being caught.

“Fasting is not near so difficult as the majority of the uninitiated imagine. When no energy is being expended by the body, less food is required to keep the machinery going. Hence, a ‘flop’ can get along on a small amount of food. Several times after making exhibitions of 72 hours duration I have risen to find that I did not want anything to eat. Sometimes it would be several hours after the professor had awakened me before I would eat. But I was always thirsty after each ‘flop.’ One time, unable to longer combat my thirst, I arose after 30 hours and drank a quart of water. For doing this I was fined.

“Persons with an overdeveloped sense of curiosity make life trying for the ‘flop.’ Oftentimes, usually in small towns, I have known persons to remain in front of a show window throughout a ‘sleep,’ to be on hand in case the ‘flop’ moved. Sometimes they worked in shifts, relieving one another for sleeping periods.

“Maintaining the same position and keeping the muscles absolutely immobile is what wrecks a ‘flop’s’ constitution. One must train himself to do nothing but breathe — as a man in perfect sleep would do. …

“One must not cough, sneeze or scratch. There is no greater misery imaginable than to have your nose itch and be unable to scratch it. … “Of course a ‘ flop’ does some real sleeping. I usually managed to get in about nine hours a day. It was not refreshing sleep, however. When I would doze off, I constantly worried about whether I would be able to awake without moving. For one must come out of repose without the knowledge of the crowd that is watching him. It is not for him to awake with a yawn and a stretch if he cares anything about his job. Neither can he awake with a start. Constant training will teach a man to emerge from a sleep slowly, but it is no easy task. Retire tonight with a determination that you will not move upon awakening tomorrow morning and see how difficult it is to make a success of your plan.

“Many flops are called but few remain in the business. It looks easy enough until you try it, a conscientious ‘flop’ is as loyal to his professor as a soldier is to his country. I know a ‘flop’ that was wounded by a stray bullet while doing a ‘sleep’ down in Tennessee. He suffered a severe wound but rather than expose the hypnotist as a fakir he remained in repose for 12 hours after he was injured. The exhibition closed, he was hurried to a hospital and it was six weeks before he was able to return to work.”

But it seems “flopping” would pay better than barbering, it was suggested to Whitlow.

“Oh yes,” he replied. “I received $12.50 a week for doing short ‘flops’ and $15 a week for long ones. I was afraid that if I stuck with the business, I would become the owner of a bank — and banking is too confining for me.”