When I got back, I had to make a decision about my priorities. Clearly, sword-swallowing was my main goal. I set the stretched coat hanger and mouthwash out since those would be my main practice tools. Fire performance was the second most appealing act, but I was faced with the lack of a good practice space. Even using the smallest torches constructed out of an 8" piece of metal and a swath of cotton could produce a flame that would blacken the ceiling of my apartment; indoor practice was out of the question, and I didn't know how my neighbors would react to the sight of me prancing about in the courtyard behind my apartment, spitting flame and waving torches.
I decided to concentrate almost solely on swords. I set up a practice area in my bathroom, and settled on a simple daily routine:
- Wash down practice 'sword' (the coat hanger) with non-flavored Listerine and rinse in hot water. The coat hanger had been scoured of any rough edges or paint, and had been pulled into a narrow diamond shape, approximating that of an actual blade.
- Assume the correct posture: legs firmly planted, back straight, head tilted nearly straight back, eyes fixed to ceiling, mouth wide open.
- Gently guide the coat hanger down along the tongue, past the uvula, and down until it encountered the epiglottis.
- Attempt to relax the epiglottis and let the coat hanger pass.
- (Optional) Gag horribly and vomit/cough violently/tear up/make loud retching sounds.
- Repeat the above seven times daily.
At Sideshow School, we'd been admonished to practice 'seven times daily, seven times a week'. It sounded a little numerological, but in practice one could probably practice that many times a day and not incur too sore a throat from the constant spasming and poking. I, of course, threw restraint to the wind and practiced one to two and half hours a day. Coworkers commented on my scratchy voice, and I constantly nursed an aching throat with tea, ice water, and anything else that could ensure I'd be able to practice again that evening.
A week after returning from Sideshow School, I managed to get the hanger down. The sensation was startling, and my body rejected the full length of the hanger for the first few times I managed to pass the epiglottis. I realized I'd made a crucial mistake - my mental image of how my GI tract was oriented in my body was out of alignment with the reality of how my body was constructed. By angling a little to what I felt was my left, I was actually placing the hanger in the correct position. After a day or so of thrilled practice, the hanger could be reliably inserted all the way down my esophagus and into my stomach.
I decided to try using a real sword. Page, my girlfriend, had spent years as a reseller for Cutco, a cutlery company. Like all sales organizations, there were plenty of competitions and recognition for top sellers, and Page had walked away after five years with an assortment of trophy swords, daggers, and other mementos in recognition of her achievement. Page had since moved on to a business of her own, and most of the swords lingered in disuse, gathering dust in closets or wedged between dressers.
Page offered me a perfect starter sword. The blade was 13" - shorter than the coat hanger - made of thin, flexible steel, with a flat, unornamented blade and a securely fixed handle. The only task was to smooth the edges and point - the tip was sharp enough to draw blood if you weren't cautious around.
I returned to my bathroom workshop and set about dulling the sword. I'd purchased steel wool of various grades, and a handheld steel file, and a respiratory mask to prevent the inhalation of steel shavings. After about an hour's work, I'd buffed away the sharp edges, and reduced the steel tip to a gently rounded nub. My technique for removing edges was amateurish, and it showed: the blade was scored around the tip, leaving an unsightly crosshatch of scratches that I'd have to dull out later. I inspected the sword, rubbing it with my fingers, tissue paper, and microfiber cloth to detect any nicks or rough areas I'd missed. After a few touchups, I considered the blade ready.
It took another week to be able to swallow my new sword. Although my body was accustomed by now to the rounded shape of the coat hanger, it was completely unfamiliar with the sword. The sword was also much thinner and more rigid; consequently, I had to be much more gentle with it, as it could still cut or hurt me despite the dulled tip. I think that week was the most painful of all, as my throat worked to accommodate this new object.
Finally, two weeks after walking out of Sideshow School, I had technically achieved my goal of being a sword-swallower. I could pass the blade down, bringing the cross-guard (the 'flanges' of the hilt extending to the sides) to rest atop my cheeks. I proudly demonstrated my new ability to a horrified girlfriend, who cheered and winced at the same time. I felt no fear, although I was acutely aware of the dangers involved.
I settled into a regimen of daily practice with both the coat hanger and the short sword. December had arrived, and I purchased my second sword: a 'Robin Hood' sword, with a 20" blade.
I can still vividly recall the day I received my first purchased sword. I tore open the long box, cast aside the receipts, catalog and bubble wrap, and withdrew the sword, sheather in a rigid leather scabbard. I pulled the sword out and laughed in fear; the blade was nearly an inch wide, and as I held the blade in front of myself in the mirror, I could see how deeply the tip would penetrate - much further than the practice 13" sword had gone.
Although the coat hanger and the Robin Hood sword were approximately the same 'blade' length, this was a real sword; steel, less flexible - capable of inflicting injury, even after I'd worked away the sharp tip and the nicked edges. I began prepping the sword, working away over hours to bring it to a uniform, smooth surface. Eventually, I began gingerly experimenting with the new sword; letting my throat and tongue explore its dimensions, and slowly working towards the same level of comfort I possessed with the coat hanger and short sword.
By early January, I had the long sword down, so to speak. I was growing in confidence, and the sore throats were becoming a thing of the past as I grew in ability to suppress the gag reflex and pass the swords as if it were perfectly natural. I worked on a few variations; I could lean forward with the blade lodged in place, and let a volunteer (i.e., Page, the only person I trusted to do this) remove the sword with their hands, as I'd seen other performers do. I could even manage a slight 'drop'; I could insert the sword part-way, and then allow the muscles of my throat to control and then release the blade, allowing gravity to complete the 'swallow'.
February saw the acquisition of three new weapons, one of which I couldn't use. I purchased a cavalry rapier which seemed grossly out of scale to the image on the website. I would have need an esophagus the size of a paper towel roll to accommodate it, so the sword went untouched into the closet, perhaps to serve as a home defense weapon if we should ever be assaulted by brigands. The next sword was a disappointment and a pleasure at the same time. Described as a 'Classic German Sword', the blade appeared to be ideal: slightly longer than the Robin Hood sword at 23", the new sword would test the limits of my physical ability to swallow a sword. Furthermore, it was lighter and thinner: performing a drop would be easier, and having a smaller sword would open the possibility of swallowing two swords at once.
Unfortunately, at no point did the seller (Budk.com) make any mention of the crudely-embossed swastikas all over the hilt of the sword. I was furious upon opening the box; the sword lay like a snake on my bed, spiteful and untrustworthy. I had a dilemna. On one hand, the sword was perfect for my needs; the dimensions and weight were just right, and the sword was dull to begin with, lessening the amount of time I'd need to get it into a usable state. On the other hand, the hilt was desecrated with ersatz Nazi icons; it looked like a rebellious middle-schooler's school-notebook sketch of what he might imagined an SS officer's dress sword might look like.
I don't think of myself as a superstitious person; I'd call myself an enthusiastic skeptic, if anything. But it was hard to look at that cheap sword, crudely illustrated by some lunkhead with a fetish for Nazi imagery, and think of it as something I wanted to risk my life with. If anything, my revulsion at the thought of having a swastika poised an inch from my mouth in a very intimate pose could be dangerous; I needed to maintain my concentration and relaxation, two things which would be threatened if I were constantly distracted by an image I felt uncomfortable around.
It was then that I recalled a similar sword I'd seen at Sideshow School. Someone at Coney Island had fallen into the same trap and ordered a sword only to discover it was embossed with swastikas. The solution had been to wrap the sword in black electrical tape; since the handle was black, the overall effect was to produce a nondescript appearance that prevented the audience (or the performer) from seeing the hateful symbol at the base of the blade. I decided to use the same compromise - I wrapped the hilt in black tape, tamping it down to match the contours of the handle. In the end, I was satisfied. The blade didn't look great, but it didn't look evil, either.
The next weapon - not a sword, per se - was much more exotic. I'd never seen one used before, but an instructor at Sideshow School had spoken of the sai as the one sword he could never manage to swallow successfully. Intrigued, I'd ordered a pair - they didn't come singly, it seemed. I knew nothing about sais, save that they were some kind of martial arts weapon, and a member of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles had wielded one.
I strongly suspect that what I'd purchased was a parody of the authentic martial arts weapon. The sais that I received were basically two-pound octagonal steel spikes with a tip that tapered off into a blunt end, with decorative curved flanges ("tsuba") on the side. What these weapons lacked in grace, they made up for in menace; for all the world, they looked like ornamental tire irons.
The sais were trickier to prepare for use. Although no part of the sai was sharp, the ends terminated in a blunt tip where the end had clearly been sheared away. It took hours to wear the edge down into a rounded end approximately 1/8" in diameter.
In the long run, I never really got comfortable with the sais. I could swallow them, and they looked great, especially when bowing to the audience as you looked positively demonic with the flanges spread back across your cheeks. Still, their odd shape and heft made them hard to work with; a drop of any kind was out of the question, and even bowing was hard because of the additional weight placed on the throat. Still, the sais became part of my repertoire, which was now focused on the Robin Hood sword, the long masked sword, and the sais. The short sword had been relegated to practice-only.
Throughout early 2008, I was performing for friends and parties, practicing daily alone or in front of anyone who would watch. My routine followed a basic progression: the Robin Hood sword, with a bow to the audience with the sword in situ, the sais, optionally with a bow if I felt I could manage it, the long thin sword, with a drop at the end, and finally two swords simultaneously. Swallowing two swords involved pressing the Robin Hood and long sword blades flat against each other in alignment, and then swallowing them like any other. Weirdly, this was actually easier for me than swallowing one sword, but vastly more dangerous. If I failed to maintain posture, lost my balance or became jarred, the blades could scissor inside of me, cutting away at tissue, or - worse - perforating dual sides of my esophagus or stomach. This portion of the act always received the most extreme care from me. If you've ever seen me swallow two swords, the look of trepidation on my face was absolutely genuine.
Throughout all this, you've probably noticed that my focus was entirely on the technical aspects of sword-swallowing. Presentation was absolutely secondary. This became a problem in February, when I was offered a slot in the March Weirdo Show at the Palace of Wonders. The Weirdo Show is kind of like open-mic night, with a little more structure. The performers aren't pulled off the street, but you're never quite sure what you'll get, and it's a great opportunity to try out new acts or show the Palace crowd acts that wouldn't normally be included in the typical sideshow or burlesque event. Suddenly, I was faced with a new challenge: Sure, I could swallow a sword. How could I make an act out of that?
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