Jumping Through Hoops, by Betsy Golden Kellem - A Review
As outsiders in an era of delicate femininity, the bearded ladies, lion tamers, and strongwomen were all celebrated under the big top at the circus.
Trapeze artists lithograph circa 1890.
Because the circus was outside typical social structures, it was more open to nineteenth-century women than other vocations.
Jumping Through Hoops introduces the reader to many of these wonders, but the author notes that not every circus woman performed by choice.
“Human curiosities – that is, people whose anatomy, race, ability, or identity set them apart from the general population – were big business in nineteenth-century entertainment.”
Still, these women were breaking boundaries and were seen as a threat to the social order.
Circus performer circa 1905-1915.
Circus women traveled, earned an income, chose to marry (or not), and engaged in physical careers that put their bodies and skills on public display.
These early female circus performers navigated and resisted the constraints of the nineteenth century to become an essential part of American popular culture.
But it was the eighteenth century that brought the first lady of the circus into the spotlight.
Patty Astley, Equestrian
Patty Astley performs on horseback.
Today, Philip Astley is known as the “father of the modern circus.”
But in 1768, the London press gave top billing to his wife, Patty.
Mrs. Astley would do handstands on a moving horse, stand across a pair of racing horses with one foot on each saddle, and guide the animals over jumps at full speed.
The crowds adored her. And so did Mr. Astley. He would end the show with a booming shout: “When you have seen all my bill exprest, My wife, to conclude, performs the rest.”
Claire Heliot, Lion Tamer
Claire Heliot with one of her cats.
Claire Heliot was a renowned lion tamer who did not use intimidation to control the big cats.
“...Rather than bluster or crack the whip around her lions…Claire Heliot threw them a dinner party with the good dishes.”
In her early 1900s showpiece act, she invited a half dozen lions to the table for a formal dinner.
Dressed in a white gown, Heliot fed her animal guests with a long, elegant fork. Then, she offered her head for dessert. Her guests declined.
Typically, she finished her act by slinging a 350-pound male lion over her shoulders and triumphantly striding from the ring.
Lavinia Warren, Circus Performer
Lavinia Warren photographed by Matthew Brady.
Phineas Taylor (P.T.) Barnum is best known today for the circus that still bears his name.
Barnum’s reputation as a sideshow huckster was not entirely deserved. He was a reputable employer, paid well, and insisted his employees were living wonders, not freaks.
One of Barnum’s “discoveries” was Lavinia Warren, known as The Lilliputian Queen.
Born in Middleborough, Massachusetts in 1841, Warren only reached the height of 2 feet, 8 inches as an adult, because of a pituitary disorder.
At age 16, Lavinia was employed as a schoolteacher, but she wanted to see the world.
And she did, as a living wonder. When people met Lavinia, they wanted to touch her and hold her.
From Lavinia Warren’s autobiography: “It seemed impossible, to make people understand that, being a woman, I had the womanly instinct of shrinking from a form of familiarity…”
One person Lavinia did not shrink from was Charles Stratton, another circus performer, who was 3 feet, 4 inches tall and known as General Tom Thumb.
In 1863, Lavinia married Charles, even meeting President Abraham Lincoln on their wedding tour.
When the 6-foot, 4-inch Lincoln stooped to greet the couple, Lavinia expected him to say something humorous, but he only said, with a genial smile, “Mrs. Stratton, I wish you much happiness in your union.”
Lula Hurst, Magician
The magic of Lula Hurst.
In the 1880s, Lula Hurst, known professionally as Lulu, had several stage names, including “The Georgia Wonder.”
Just a teenager, Lulu stood 5 feet, 10 inches tall, with dark hair and dark eyes. One of Lulu’s “magic tricks” was physics.
Using force deflection, Lulu exploited body mechanics against male volunteers from the audience.
When these men gripped objects like umbrellas, canes, or chairs, Lulu placed her hands on those same objects. She subtly redirected their own muscular effort back against them, causing them to lose balance, stumble, and fall.
At a New York athletic club, Lulu deflected 20 men who had been determined to tire her out or expose the phenomenon as a fraud.
But, as one reporter wrote, “these athletes retired from the stage covered with perspiration and confusion.”
After the performance, the reporter asked Lulu a half-dozen questions, ending with “Don’t you feel frightened?” She replied succinctly, “What? At you?”
Jumping Through Hoops reveals the hidden history of many remarkable women and how they turned the circus ring into a showcase for what women could be and do.
Betsy Golden Kellem is a scholar of the unusual. She regularly teaches and speaks for academia and industry on how technology, media, history, and entertainment are inextricably linked in a carnival of popular culture.