The Palace

I saw my first sword-swallower at the opening of The Palace of Wonders, a carnival-themed bar in DC. The Palace opened in July 2006 in the H Street area of Northeast DC. I'd lived near the area for a few years already, but H Street had a reputation for being something of a no-man's land: fraught with crime, violence, and immune to the gentrification that was spreading slowly through the fringes of the established Capitol Hill neighborhoods. Page and I had visited the area during the evenings on a few occasions to dine at the Argonaut, a nautical-themed bar not far from my apartment, but until the Palace opened, there was little motivation to explore past the H Street/Maryland intersection.

Later, I learned that H Street had suffered terrible riots in the wake of Dr. Martin Luther King's assassination, and hadn't really recovered economically since the violence of 1968. The following AP photo illustrates the degree of damage H Street suffered through the riots, and the extent to which the same block has been reclaimed today:


Page and I were accustomed to trekking out to U Street or NoVA for drinks with friends; the prospect of having a 15-minute drive to a new watering hole was big news. We'd seen an announcement on DCist about a new carnival-themed bar a few blocks from Argonaut, and decided to head over on opening night to see what a carnival-themed bar really had to offer.

It was an astounding experience. I don't actually remember much about the opening night, except a feeling of amazement at seeing a sharply-dressed, middle-aged man stun an unsuspecting crowd by smashing and consuming a light bulb taken from a bar light fixture, and then a host of other acts I later came to recognize as part of the 'sideshow' or carnival repertoire of 'working acts'. More on those later. After that first wild night, Page and I pledged to return almost daily to see more shows - we were hooked on the weirdness of the acts and the strange ambiance of the bar. I'd never been to a carnival in my life, and to a circus only once - and just long enough to develop a lifelong terror of clowns - but I could see the gaudy appeal of tattooed burlesque dancers, fearless men and women sustaining improbable weights upon their bodies while lying supine upon a bed of nails, or unflinching performers swallow steel blades that came to rest at the very basin of the bowels. It was this last act that captured my imagination the most. All of the acts, if any danger was involved, were sure to include a spiel that defined (and perhaps slightly embellished) the risk to the performer, but it was the sword-swallowers who really seemed to court disaster in their act. Night after night, we returned to the Palace to witness daredevils swallow two-foot long steel blades, thin neon tubes, enormous broadswords and almost anything else that could possibly be accomodated by the esophagus.

After many months, I finally worked up the nerve to ask the resident sword swallower how she'd learned the craft. I was rebuffed at first; I was told sternly that the danger was real, and it wasn't a performance art for flippant, drunk bargoers looking for a party trick. To prove the risk of injury, the performer showed me a scar upon her neck. During a performance, one like any other, she had managed to injure herself seriously. After hospitalization and surgery, she'd been unable to swallow swords for weeks, but eventually decided to return to performing.

I didn't care, of course; I was sure of my sincerity, and felt intuitively that this was a stunt I could perform, with time and training. Finally, I was told to go Sideshow School, located in Coney Island in New York City. I'd never been to Coney Island - all I knew was that it had some kind of fair there - and I wasn't sure what kind of person signed up for this kind of class. My decision was made, though, and in late 2007, I enrolled in the fall session for Sideshow School.