Corpse Blackamon

A favorite for long with Argentine circusgoers was "Blackamon, the Living Corpse." A swarthy, stocky Italian, Corpse Blackamon favored satin turbans and gaudy oriental robes, fascinated the steeply banked audiences in Buenos Aires' permanent single-ring circus by sticking pins through his cheeks and arms. Invariably he climaxed his performance by shuddering, screaming, and going into a trance. Uniformed attendants lifted the rigid Blackamon into a specially prepared glass-faced coffin, buried him eight feet deep in the sandy floor of the circus ring. For three hours he would remain there while clowns tumbled and horses cantered above him to be exhumed alive and smiling at the end of the evening.

A few months ago the original Corpse Blackamon, finding the long evenings in his coffin cramping and monotonous, gave up his original act, purchased a hussar jacket and a whip and toured South America, sticking his head into lions' mouths twice daily. But Argentine circusgoers missed their Living Corpse, managers searched for a successor. Last week the rococo fac,ade of Buenos Aires' Cirque Cordoba billed another "Blackamon, the Living Corpse." The new Blackamon, who had been one of the original Living Corpse's assistants, omitted his former master's self perforations last week, but successfully went into his trance, was buried in his glass-fronted coffin. Three hours later the sand was shoveled away, spotlights focussed on the coffin.

Men shouted in alarm, women and children screamed. The glass top of the coffin was smashed in. Inside lay the false Blackamon, dead, his hands and face horribly gashed by broken glass. Losing his nerve in the midst of his performance, he had evidently, vainly, fought to free himself from being smothered alive.