I went ahead and read this one, but was disappointed to learn upon receiving it that it wasn't the Landmark series book that I was anticipating (U.S. Landmark Books (#64) Published Jan. 1, 1956 by Random House). In fact, if it weren't in the Landmark series, I wouldn't be inclined to read it at all, as P.T. Barnum really isn't a figure to celebrate, frankly. One thing that can be said for him (two, really): Barnum certainly wasn't lazy - he was always looking for new opportunities to make a buck, and was relentlessly driven to remain the center of attention.
Barnum definitely deserves credit for being a go-getter from childhood, but not in a good way. He was utterly unscrupulous in his business dealings and indefensibly exploited his workers and the general public, repeatedly perpetrating hoaxes that are still general knowledge today.
As one might expect from a book company which chose to write a biography of him, this volume is less than balanced in the view of their subject. Although it include some of his more well-known hoaxes and fraudulent activities, it doesn't really engage in any criticism of his dirty deeds, instead choosing to gloss over many of the more unsavory aspects of Barnum's life and career.
The three-star rating is also for how the book was written - and it's generous at that. I really would have liked to see a more balanced view of him, because I think it's a missed opportunity to impart a moral lesson. Yes, being ruthlessly ambitious can lead to great wealth and fame, but at what cost to the people around you? The primary issue I have with it is that a children's book should have been more honest and forthcoming about Barnum's very ambivalent legacy.
Phineas Taylor Barnum (1810-1891) is often billed, as in the title, "The World's Greatest Showman," when he should have instead been called the World's Greatest Swindler. He is most well-known for founding the longstanding but now defunct Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, which he formed with business partner James Anthony Bailey.
There is no real evidence that most famous quote attributed to him, "there's a sucker born every minute," was one he actually spoke, but he might as well have: his entire life was essentially spent attempting to defraud as well as bedazzle the masses for the purpose of filling his own coffers, usually by exploiting others in ways that would be considered human rights violations today.
Born in Bethel, Connecticut to innkeeper and storekeeper Philo Barnum and his second wife, Barnum, P.T. Barnum, like his father, who also conducted several enterprises simultaneously (he was reportedly a farmer, part-time proprietor of a local tavern, and ran a rental horse-and-carriage business) ran multiple businesses before finding his true calling, which included a general store and a lottery network, the latter of which were all the rage in the mid-nineteenth century (and were almost totally unregulated). He later became a real estate speculator, and even founded a weekly newspaper in Bethel, "The Herald of Freedom," in 1831.
Barnum's true character showed itself early, however: he was thrown in jail for several months after he was found to have committed libel against some elders of a local church, which also gave rise to multiple lawsuits. As such, Barnum's stint in the publishing business only lasted until November, 1834, when he sold the paper to his brother-in-law. Barnum's own father had died when he was only sixteen, leaving substantial debts that his wife was left to settle.
Barnum took up a career as a showman in 1835, at age 25, when whatever he still retained that might have passed as character went up in smoke. His opening salvo was the "lease" of a blind, elderly and nearly paralyzed enslaved woman, Joice Heth, who was being peddled around Philadelphia as George Washington's former nurse - which made her ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY ONE YEARS OLD. Because slavery was illegal in New York, where Barnum was at the time, he employed a "loophole" in the law that allowed him to lease rather than outright buy her. Apparently, Heth played the part admirably, recounting stories about the American Revolution, including her encounters with some "Redcoats."
As he did with just about everyone and everything else in his life, Barnum exploited the frail, elderly woman mercilessly, forcing her to work and tell her stories anywhere from ten to twelve hours a day. When she died in February, 1836, he agreed to allow doctors to perform an autopsy to determine what her true age was. But - there was a catch. He then hit upon the idea of SELLING TICKETS TO SPECTATORS TO WITNESS HER AUTOPSY: he hosted a live event whereby Heth's body was publicly autopsied in a New York saloon in front of an audience who had paid .50 cents a head to witness the event.
As if that weren't enough, the doctors pronounced that the woman wasn't a day over eighty. He was rightly thoroughly denounced (but only for misrepresenting the age of the woman, not for shamelessly exploiting a vulnerable, elderly blind woman). Apparently, it was true in this case that there's no such thing as bad publicity... the criticism didn't slow him down.
His next flim-flam was to promote a juggler he had discovered in Albany, New York, but apparently that just wasn't exotic enough and wasn't likely to draw sizeable crowds. Thus, Barnum changed the man's name to Signor Vivalla and falsely claimed that he had just arrived from Italy. Some modest success gave rise to a traveling variety troupe called "Barnum's Grand Scientific and Musical Theater."
That enterprise was met with mixed reviews, but he did better after he purchased Scudder's American Museum in 1841 in Manhattan, which he renamed "Barnum's American Museum." He transformed the roof into a garden from whence he launched hot air balloon rides, and brought in a revolving door of entertainers, including giants, little people, albinos, magicians, and lots and lots of exotic animals.
Still not satisfied with the level of sensationalism he had managed to stir up, he thereupon began to engage in a series of elaborate hoaxes. The first, and one of the most well-known, was the so-called Fiji Mermaid, a frankenstein creature which had the body of a monkey and a fish tail which he had leased from another museum owner in Boston. When he was called out for what was an obvious (and poorly-executed) hoax, Barnum took it in stride, reportedly claiming that "I don't believe in duping the public, but I believe in first attracting and then pleasing them."
His next dupe was the exhibition of a dwarf FOUR-YEAR-OLD CHILD whom he misrepresented as an eleven-year-old he called "General Tom Thumb" (whose real name was Charles Stratton). No sympathy here for the parents, who allowed their fragile, vulnerable child to be paraded around the country in a traveling freakshow for money. Barnum subsequently purchased a whole host of other museums featuring other similar exhibits, which, in a sad commentary on the nature of man, drew a reported 400,000 patrons a year.
Another of his rather odd moneymaking enterprises was a partnership with so-called "Swedish Nightingale" Jenny Lind, a soprano opera singer whom he promoted to such a degree that she was met at the docks by some 40,000 people, making her one of the greatest celebrities in the country before she had even arrived. Lind was reportedly undertaking the tour to raise money for one of her school charities in Sweden. Her tickets were in such great demand that Barnum began selling them at auction. Lind quickly tired of the circus-like atmosphere, however, and bailed on the tour, invoking a provision in her contract which allowed her to legally do so. She had performed 93 concerts for Barnum, however, raking in an estimated $500,000 for him, the equivalent of some $18.3 million in 2023 dollars.
Flush with success (and cash), Barnum soon thereafter embarked upon a whole host of shows, involving everything from Shakespearean plays to flower shows, dog and other livestock shows, and baby beauty pageants. He is also credited with creating America's first public aquarium. He then completed an autobiography which sold more than a million copies.
Perhaps his greatest failure soon followed, however: Barnum found himself singularly out of his depth when he undertook an investing enterprise which ended in bankruptcy and four years of litigation. Not everyone loved his spectacles. His downfall was celebrated by many illustrious figures of the day, including Ralph Waldo Emerson. Barnum had more lives than a cat, however, and by 1860 he was yet again touring Europe, from which he earned funds sufficient to build a mansion he called Lindencroft.
Somewhat surprisingly, however, Barnum didn't get involved with the enterprise for which is is today most well-known, Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, until age 60, when he put together a traveling museum, menagerie and circus, the most famous aspect of which was its "freakshow." His was the first circus to display three rings. Its first primary attraction involved yet another household name: Jumbo the African elephant, which Barnum had acquired from the London Zoo in 1882. He was also among the first to move his traveling circus by train.
Perhaps the craziest undertaking of all was Barnum's eventual turn in politics: despite the initial undertaking which had made him famous (or more properly, notorious) - the exploitation of an elderly enslaved black woman - Barnum joined the anti-slavery Republican party, and, despite claiming that "politics were always distasteful to me" (but apparently the despicable exploitation of fellow human beings employed in his "freakshows" wasn't), he was elected to the Connecticut General Assembly in 1865. After losing a congressional race to his third cousin in 1867, he ran for and was elected mayor of Bridgeport, Connecticut. Yikes.
Barnum died of a stroke at his home in 1891 at age 80. The circus which would bear his name for over a century was sold to Ringling Brothers in 1907 for $400,000, the modern equivalent sum of about $13 million. "The Greatest Show on Earth" was certainly long-lived: it ran uninterrupted from 1871 to 2017, a period of 153 years. Widespread criticism, especially the use of live animals - the most egregious aspect of which was the abusive "training" methods they were subjected to, probably led to its downfall and eventual closure.
Jumbo himself died at only 25 years of age, in fact, in a freak accident, but still at only a fraction of what would have been a normal lifespan in the wild, which is comparable to that of a human. Jumbo (and "Tom Thumb") were struck by a freight train in a railway yard in Ontario, Canada, which was fatal for the elephant, while Tom Thumb reportedly suffered a broken leg. Jumbo essentially died in what should have been the prime of his life.
Barnum remains a controversial figure: he was wildly successful and died a wealthy man - but at what cost? His exploits were, well, based on exploitation: of animals, his employees, and the general public. He was heralded at the time of his death, despite his many scandals, as a great entrepreneur and entertainer, but his image has probably rightly been tarnished in the present day. He is a good example of the dark side of celebrity, although admittedly, his methods of promotion set the gold standard for decades to come.
Barnum definitely deserves credit for being a go-getter from childhood, but not in a good way. He was utterly unscrupulous in his business dealings and indefensibly exploited his workers and the general public, repeatedly perpetrating hoaxes that are still general knowledge today.
As one might expect from a book company which chose to write a biography of him, this volume is less than balanced in the view of their subject. Although it include some of his more well-known hoaxes and fraudulent activities, it doesn't really engage in any criticism of his dirty deeds, instead choosing to gloss over many of the more unsavory aspects of Barnum's life and career.
The three-star rating is also for how the book was written - and it's generous at that. I really would have liked to see a more balanced view of him, because I think it's a missed opportunity to impart a moral lesson. Yes, being ruthlessly ambitious can lead to great wealth and fame, but at what cost to the people around you? The primary issue I have with it is that a children's book should have been more honest and forthcoming about Barnum's very ambivalent legacy.
Phineas Taylor Barnum (1810-1891) is often billed, as in the title, "The World's Greatest Showman," when he should have instead been called the World's Greatest Swindler. He is most well-known for founding the longstanding but now defunct Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, which he formed with business partner James Anthony Bailey.
There is no real evidence that most famous quote attributed to him, "there's a sucker born every minute," was one he actually spoke, but he might as well have: his entire life was essentially spent attempting to defraud as well as bedazzle the masses for the purpose of filling his own coffers, usually by exploiting others in ways that would be considered human rights violations today.
Born in Bethel, Connecticut to innkeeper and storekeeper Philo Barnum and his second wife, Barnum, P.T. Barnum, like his father, who also conducted several enterprises simultaneously (he was reportedly a farmer, part-time proprietor of a local tavern, and ran a rental horse-and-carriage business) ran multiple businesses before finding his true calling, which included a general store and a lottery network, the latter of which were all the rage in the mid-nineteenth century (and were almost totally unregulated). He later became a real estate speculator, and even founded a weekly newspaper in Bethel, "The Herald of Freedom," in 1831.
Barnum's true character showed itself early, however: he was thrown in jail for several months after he was found to have committed libel against some elders of a local church, which also gave rise to multiple lawsuits. As such, Barnum's stint in the publishing business only lasted until November, 1834, when he sold the paper to his brother-in-law. Barnum's own father had died when he was only sixteen, leaving substantial debts that his wife was left to settle.
Barnum took up a career as a showman in 1835, at age 25, when whatever he still retained that might have passed as character went up in smoke. His opening salvo was the "lease" of a blind, elderly and nearly paralyzed enslaved woman, Joice Heth, who was being peddled around Philadelphia as George Washington's former nurse - which made her ONE HUNDRED AND SIXTY ONE YEARS OLD. Because slavery was illegal in New York, where Barnum was at the time, he employed a "loophole" in the law that allowed him to lease rather than outright buy her. Apparently, Heth played the part admirably, recounting stories about the American Revolution, including her encounters with some "Redcoats."
As he did with just about everyone and everything else in his life, Barnum exploited the frail, elderly woman mercilessly, forcing her to work and tell her stories anywhere from ten to twelve hours a day. When she died in February, 1836, he agreed to allow doctors to perform an autopsy to determine what her true age was. But - there was a catch. He then hit upon the idea of SELLING TICKETS TO SPECTATORS TO WITNESS HER AUTOPSY: he hosted a live event whereby Heth's body was publicly autopsied in a New York saloon in front of an audience who had paid .50 cents a head to witness the event.
As if that weren't enough, the doctors pronounced that the woman wasn't a day over eighty. He was rightly thoroughly denounced (but only for misrepresenting the age of the woman, not for shamelessly exploiting a vulnerable, elderly blind woman). Apparently, it was true in this case that there's no such thing as bad publicity... the criticism didn't slow him down.
His next flim-flam was to promote a juggler he had discovered in Albany, New York, but apparently that just wasn't exotic enough and wasn't likely to draw sizeable crowds. Thus, Barnum changed the man's name to Signor Vivalla and falsely claimed that he had just arrived from Italy. Some modest success gave rise to a traveling variety troupe called "Barnum's Grand Scientific and Musical Theater."
That enterprise was met with mixed reviews, but he did better after he purchased Scudder's American Museum in 1841 in Manhattan, which he renamed "Barnum's American Museum." He transformed the roof into a garden from whence he launched hot air balloon rides, and brought in a revolving door of entertainers, including giants, little people, albinos, magicians, and lots and lots of exotic animals.
Still not satisfied with the level of sensationalism he had managed to stir up, he thereupon began to engage in a series of elaborate hoaxes. The first, and one of the most well-known, was the so-called Fiji Mermaid, a frankenstein creature which had the body of a monkey and a fish tail which he had leased from another museum owner in Boston. When he was called out for what was an obvious (and poorly-executed) hoax, Barnum took it in stride, reportedly claiming that "I don't believe in duping the public, but I believe in first attracting and then pleasing them."
His next dupe was the exhibition of a dwarf FOUR-YEAR-OLD CHILD whom he misrepresented as an eleven-year-old he called "General Tom Thumb" (whose real name was Charles Stratton). No sympathy here for the parents, who allowed their fragile, vulnerable child to be paraded around the country in a traveling freakshow for money. Barnum subsequently purchased a whole host of other museums featuring other similar exhibits, which, in a sad commentary on the nature of man, drew a reported 400,000 patrons a year.
Another of his rather odd moneymaking enterprises was a partnership with so-called "Swedish Nightingale" Jenny Lind, a soprano opera singer whom he promoted to such a degree that she was met at the docks by some 40,000 people, making her one of the greatest celebrities in the country before she had even arrived. Lind was reportedly undertaking the tour to raise money for one of her school charities in Sweden. Her tickets were in such great demand that Barnum began selling them at auction. Lind quickly tired of the circus-like atmosphere, however, and bailed on the tour, invoking a provision in her contract which allowed her to legally do so. She had performed 93 concerts for Barnum, however, raking in an estimated $500,000 for him, the equivalent of some $18.3 million in 2023 dollars.
Flush with success (and cash), Barnum soon thereafter embarked upon a whole host of shows, involving everything from Shakespearean plays to flower shows, dog and other livestock shows, and baby beauty pageants. He is also credited with creating America's first public aquarium. He then completed an autobiography which sold more than a million copies.
Perhaps his greatest failure soon followed, however: Barnum found himself singularly out of his depth when he undertook an investing enterprise which ended in bankruptcy and four years of litigation. Not everyone loved his spectacles. His downfall was celebrated by many illustrious figures of the day, including Ralph Waldo Emerson. Barnum had more lives than a cat, however, and by 1860 he was yet again touring Europe, from which he earned funds sufficient to build a mansion he called Lindencroft.
Somewhat surprisingly, however, Barnum didn't get involved with the enterprise for which is is today most well-known, Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey Circus, until age 60, when he put together a traveling museum, menagerie and circus, the most famous aspect of which was its "freakshow." His was the first circus to display three rings. Its first primary attraction involved yet another household name: Jumbo the African elephant, which Barnum had acquired from the London Zoo in 1882. He was also among the first to move his traveling circus by train.
Perhaps the craziest undertaking of all was Barnum's eventual turn in politics: despite the initial undertaking which had made him famous (or more properly, notorious) - the exploitation of an elderly enslaved black woman - Barnum joined the anti-slavery Republican party, and, despite claiming that "politics were always distasteful to me" (but apparently the despicable exploitation of fellow human beings employed in his "freakshows" wasn't), he was elected to the Connecticut General Assembly in 1865. After losing a congressional race to his third cousin in 1867, he ran for and was elected mayor of Bridgeport, Connecticut. Yikes.
Barnum died of a stroke at his home in 1891 at age 80. The circus which would bear his name for over a century was sold to Ringling Brothers in 1907 for $400,000, the modern equivalent sum of about $13 million. "The Greatest Show on Earth" was certainly long-lived: it ran uninterrupted from 1871 to 2017, a period of 153 years. Widespread criticism, especially the use of live animals - the most egregious aspect of which was the abusive "training" methods they were subjected to, probably led to its downfall and eventual closure.
Jumbo himself died at only 25 years of age, in fact, in a freak accident, but still at only a fraction of what would have been a normal lifespan in the wild, which is comparable to that of a human. Jumbo (and "Tom Thumb") were struck by a freight train in a railway yard in Ontario, Canada, which was fatal for the elephant, while Tom Thumb reportedly suffered a broken leg. Jumbo essentially died in what should have been the prime of his life.
Barnum remains a controversial figure: he was wildly successful and died a wealthy man - but at what cost? His exploits were, well, based on exploitation: of animals, his employees, and the general public. He was heralded at the time of his death, despite his many scandals, as a great entrepreneur and entertainer, but his image has probably rightly been tarnished in the present day. He is a good example of the dark side of celebrity, although admittedly, his methods of promotion set the gold standard for decades to come.
