Annie Taylor, the First Person to Cheat Death Over Niagara Falls

Standing on the Canadian side of Niagara Falls with several newspaper reporters idling nearby, Annie Edson Taylor started to cry. It was October 23, 1901, and the 62-year-old had been causing a stir by proclaiming that she intended to seal herself in a pickle barrel and allow the water current to carry her along the Niagara River to the 177-foot drop over the falls. It was a feat so ill-advised that local authorities threatened her manager, Frank Russell, that he could be charged with manslaughter if his client perished in the process.

Their caution was justified. No one had ever made it over Niagara Falls and lived, with one newspaper describing the act as being undertaken only "in the deliberate commission of a suicide." Taylor had her own reasons for trying, but the delay—the current had been too choppy for the boatmen charged with getting her into the water—lent credence to naysayers who believed she was either a kook or a liar. Disappointed, she began weeping.

The following day, a determined Taylor returned to the site, this time sealing herself in the barrel. For the retired schoolteacher from Michigan, going over the falls was going to be her ticket to a new, better life—assuming she was able to hang on to it.

Situated on the border between the United States and Canada, Niagara Falls is made up of three waterfalls—Horseshoe Falls, American Falls, and the Bridal Veil Falls—that converge into a massive overspill of 6 million cubic feet of water per minute. As with Everest and other great natural wonders, thrill-seekers are rarely content to admire the view. They want to see if they can endure the forces of nature.

In 1829, a man named Sam Patch built a platform that stood 85 feet above the lower Niagara River. He dove into the water and survived. Emboldened, he dove a second time from 130 feet. (A third jump, not into the Niagara but into the High Falls of the Genesee River in Rochester, New York, killed him.) In 1859, a tightrope walker named Jean Francois Gravelet-Blondin successfully inched his way across a wire spread over the Niagara gorge, a feat that ignited a series of copycat attempts.

No one, however, had made an announced attempt to start at the upper river and allow themselves to be carried by the violent current over the crest of the falls. To do so without any kind of special equipment, it seemed, would mean certain death.

None of this appeared to deter Annie Taylor. Born in 1838 in Auburn, New York, Taylor married at 18 and subsequently suffered a series of tragedies. Her son died shortly after birth; her husband was killed in the Civil War. Surviving on an inheritance from her wealthy parents, Taylor began traveling around the country, teaching school and offering dance classes in Bay City, Michigan and elsewhere. As the years went on, her income remained modest while her savings dwindled. Being "poor," she once told a reporter, was something she had not had a chance to grow accustomed to, and considering her financial woes, she "might as well be dead."

While in Bay City in 1899, she happened to overhear a tavern owner brag about having gone over the falls in a padded rubber suit. Taylor found the idea ridiculous, and the man couldn’t substantiate his claim, but it gave her an idea. What if Taylor survived such an attempt? The resulting fame would likely lead to a fortune in speaking engagements, photos, and other publicity.

Whatever fear should have accompanied her plans seemed to be trumped by her fear of poverty. She told the Detroit Free Press that she set about "carefully studying the problem for three months," enlisting the services of a boatman who knew the Niagara River well. The man advised her that she stood the best chance of surviving by being placed in the Horseshoe on the Canadian side, where the water was deepest.

The unlikely daredevil—who told the press she was 43, not 62—set about contracting the West Bay City Cooperage lumber yard to make her a barrel suited for stunt work. The roughly 5-foot-tall, 3-foot-wide oak-and-metal container weighed 160 pounds and included an interior harness to prevent Taylor from being shaken inside like a pinball. A 200-pound ballast was fitted on the bottom to help keep it upright; it would be vacuum-sealed to prevent water from seeping in, but had a valve that allowed for air—enough to keep her alive for an hour, should her rescuers have any trouble locating her.

Since the attempt would be all about publicity, Taylor hired a promoter named Frank Russell to drum up interest. Russell started by displaying the barrel in a store window with a logo on it that read "Queen of the Mist." Talking to reporters, he was coy about the identity of the person who intended to go over the falls. On October 8, he finally revealed it was an ex-schoolteacher named Annie Edson Taylor. She would make the attempt on October 23—unbeknownst to reporters, the day before her 63rd birthday. The interest was predictably high.

Two days before her scheduled voyage, Taylor found a "volunteer" to test the barrel—her aptly named cat, Niagara. The feline was sealed in the makeshift vessel and sent tumbling over the falls and 177 feet to the river below, where he was retrieved and seemed no worse for the wear.

Of course, a cat was hardly a proof of concept for the survival chances of a 60-something, full-grown woman. Soon, it would be time for Taylor to climb in.

Annie Edson Taylor in barrel with boat
Rivermen ready to row Annie Edson Taylor into the Niagara

The boatmen who eyed the choppy waters on October 23 and vetoed her first attempt returned the following day and gave their approval: They’d be willing to get into a rowboat and tow Taylor’s barrel into the middle of the Niagara River, where it would float before being picked up by the strong current near the mouth of the falls, toppling over and—hopefully—coming to rest in the lower river below.

In an effort to preserve her modesty, Taylor excused herself and put on a dress more conducive to risking her life—one that ended just under the knees instead of hanging down to her ankles. Her team helped her into the barrel, strapping her into the harness and stuffing the interior with pillows for cushioning before sealing the top shut.

With a crowd of several thousand witnesses gathered below, Taylor was towed out about a mile from the brink and left to fate. The barrel bobbed gently along the river before the force of the falls enveloped it. Accelerating, Taylor didn’t so much go over the falls as she was ejected from it, being propelled forcefully from the mouth and free-falling to the water below.

After a pause, the barrel emerged bobbing in the lower river, and handlers paddled over to it. The barrel was sealed so tight that a worker had to use a hand saw to cut the top off. Peering inside, someone exclaimed, "My God, she’s alive!" A shaken Taylor was helped out, the only visible damage a 3-inch gash on her scalp. (Having later admitted she lost consciousness for a brief time, it’s likely Taylor suffered a concussion.) The stunt made national headlines, which is precisely what Taylor anticipated.

But the expected windfall never came. Russell, who she believed would be instrumental in helping her monetize the stunt, disappeared with the barrel, a key prop in any public setting. Despite hiring private investigators to track its whereabouts, she never located it.

Relegated to selling 10-cent booklets about her experience or charging small fees for photos and appearances, Taylor had risked her life for relatively little reward. She died in 1921 at the age of 82 with so little money that her burial in Niagara, New York was funded as a result of donations.

Despite Taylor’s admonition after going over the falls that "no one ought to ever do that again," several people have tried. Between Taylor’s attempt and 1995, 15 people did so intentionally: 10 survived, an attrition rate that made her attempt all the more spectacular.

Although fortune eluded her, Taylor was right about the stunt attracting fame. She will forever be known as the first daredevil with the stomach and aptitude to have survived the drop—or the second, if you count her cat.

This Course Will Teach You How to Play Guitar Like a Pro for $29

BartekSzewczyk/iStock via Getty Images
BartekSzewczyk/iStock via Getty Images

Be honest: You’ve watched a YouTube video or two in an attempt to learn how to play a song on the guitar. Whether it was through tabs or simply copying whatever you saw on the screen, the fun always ends when friends start throwing out requests for songs you have no idea how to play. So how about you actually learn how to play guitar for real this time?

It’s now possible to learn guitar from home with the Ultimate Beginner to Expert Guitar Lessons Bundle, which is currently on sale for $29. Grab that Gibson, Fender, or whatever you have handy, and learn to strum rhythms from scratch.

The strumming course will teach you how to count beats and rests to turn your hands and fingers into the perfect accompaniment for your own voice or other musicians. Then, you can take things a step further and learn advanced jamming and soloing to riff anytime, anywhere. This course will teach you to improvise across various chords and progressions so you can jump into any jam with something original. You’ll also have the chance to dive deep into the major guitar genres of bluegrass, blues, and jazz. Lessons in jam etiquette, genre history, and how to read music will separate you from a novice player.

This bundle also includes courses in ear training so you can properly identify any relative note, interval, or pitch. That way, you can play along with any song when it comes on, or even understand how to modify it into the key you’d prefer. And when the time comes to perform, be prepared with skilled hammer-ons, pull-offs, slides, bends, trills, vibrato, and fret-tapping. Not only will you learn the basic foundations of guitar, you’ll ultimately be able to develop your own style with the help of these lessons.

The Ultimate Beginner to Expert Guitar Lessons Bundle is discounted for a limited time. Act on this $29 offer now to work on those fingertip calluses and play like a pro.

 

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11 Fascinating Facts About Tamagotchi

Tamagotchi is the toy that launched a thousand digital pet competitors.
Tamagotchi is the toy that launched a thousand digital pet competitors.
Chesnot/Getty Images News

They blooped and beeped and ate, played, and pooped, and, for ‘90s kids, the egg-shaped Tamagotchi toys were magic. They taught the responsibility of tending to a “pet,” even though their shrill sounds were annoying to parents and teachers and school administrators. Nearly-real funerals were held for expired Tamagotchi, and they’ve even been immortalized in a museum (of sorts). Here are 11 things you should know about the keychain toy that was once stashed in every kid’s backpack.

1. The idea for the Tamagotchi came from a female office worker at Bandai.

Aki Maita was a 30-year-old “office lady” at the Japanese toy company Bandai when inspiration struck. She wanted to create a pet for kids—one that wouldn't bark or meow, make a mess in the house, or lead to large vet bills, according to Culture Trip. Maita took her idea to Akihiro Yokoi, a toy designer at another company, and the duo came up with a name and backstory for their toy: Tamagotchis were aliens, and their egg served as protection from the Earth’s atmosphere. They gave prototype Tamagotchis to high school girls in Shibuya, and tweaked and honed the design of the toy based on their feedback.

2. The name Tamagotchi is a blend of two Japanese words.

The name Tamagotchi is a mashup between the Japanese words tamago and tomodachi, or egg and friend, according to Culture Trip. (Other sources have the name meaning "cute little egg" or "loveable egg.")

3. Tamagotchis were released in Japan in 1996.

A picture of a tamagotchi toy.
Tamagotchis came from a faraway planet called "Planet Tamagotchi."
Museum Rotterdam, Wikimedia Commons//CC BY-SA 3.0

Bandai released the Tamagotchi in Japan in November 1996. The tiny plastic keychain egg was equipped with a monochrome LCD screen that contained a “digital pet,” which hatched from an egg and grew quickly from there—one day for a Tamagotchi was equivalent to one year for a human. Their owners used three buttons to feed, discipline, play with, give medicine to, and clean up after their digital pet. It would make its demands known at all hours of the day through bloops and bleeps, and owners would have to feed it or bathe it or entertain it.

Owners that successfully raised their Tamagotchi to adulthood would get one of seven characters, depending on how they'd raised it; owners that were less attentive faced a sadder scenario. “Leave one unattended for a few hours and you'll return to find that it has pooped on the floor or, worse, died,” Wired wrote. The digital pets would eventually die of old age at around the 28-day mark, and owners could start fresh with a new Tamagotchi.

4. Tamagotchis were an immediate hit.

The toys were a huge success—4 million units were reportedly sold in Japan during their first four months on shelves. By 1997, Tamagotchis had made their way to the United States. They sold for $17.99, or around $29 in today's dollars. One (adult) reviewer noted that while he was "drawn in by [the Tamagotchi's] cleverness," after several days with the toy, "the thrill faded quickly. I'm betting the Tamagotchi will be the Pet Rock of the 1990s—overwhelmingly popular for a few months, and then abandoned in the fickle rush to some even cuter toy."

The toy was, in fact, overwhelmingly popular: By June 1997, 10 million of the toys had been shipped around the world. And according to a 2017 NME article, a whopping 82 million Tamagotchi had been sold since their release into the market in 1997.

5. Aki Maita and Akihiro Yokoi won an award for inventing the Tamagotchi.

In 1997, the duo won an Ig Nobel Prize in economics, a satiric prize that’s nonetheless presented by Nobel laureates at Harvard, for "diverting millions of person-hours of work into the husbandry of virtual pets" by creating the Tamagotchi.

6. Tamagotchis weren't popular with teachers.

Some who grew up with Tamagotchi remember sneaking the toys into school in their book bags. The toys were eventually banned in some schools because they were too distracting and, in some cases, upsetting for students. In a 1997 Baltimore Sun article titled “The Tamagotchi Generation,” Andrew Ratner wrote that the principal at his son’s elementary school sent out a memo forbidding the toys “because some pupils got so despondent after their Tamagotchis died that they needed consoling, even care from the school nurse.”

7. One pet cemetery served as a burial ground for expired Tamagotchi.

Terry Squires set aside a small portion of his pet cemetery in southern England for dead Tamagotchi. He told CNN in 1998 that he had performed burials for Tamagotchi owners from Germany, Switzerland, France, the United States, and Canada, all of whom ostensibly shipped their dead by postal mail. CNN noted that "After the Tamagotchis are placed in their coffins, they are buried as mourners look on, their final resting places topped with flowers."

8. There were many copycat Tamagotchi.

The success of the Tamagotchi resulted in both spin-offs and copycat toys, leading PC Mag to dub the late ’90s “The Golden Age of Virtual Pets.” There was the Digimon, a Tamagotchi spin-off by Bandai that featured monsters and was marketed to boys. (There were also Tamagotchi video games.) And in 1997, Tiger Electronics launched Giga Pets, which featured real animals (and, later, dinosaurs and fictional pets from TV shows). According to PC Mag, Giga Pets were very popular in the United States but “never held the same mystique as the original Tamagotchi units.” Toymaker Playmates's Nano Pets were also a huge success, though PC Mag noted they were “some of the least satisfying to take care of."

9. Rare Tamagotchis can be worth a lot of money.

According to Business Insider, most vintage Tamagotchis won't fetch big bucks on the secondary market. (On eBay, most are priced at around $50.) The exception are rare editions like “Yasashii Blue” and “Tamagotchi Ocean,” which go for $300 to $450 on eBay. As Complex notes, "There were over 40 versions (lines) of Tamagotchi released, and each line featured a variety of colors and variations ... yours would have to be one of the rarest models to be worth the effort of resale."

10. A new generation of Tamagotchis were released in 2017 for the toy's 20th anniversary.

The 2017 re-release of the Tamagotchi in its packaging.
Bandai came to the aid of nostalgic '90s kids when it re-released a version of the original Tamagotchis for the toy's 20th anniversary.
Chesnot/Getty Images

In November 2017, Bandai released a 20th anniversary Tamagotchi that, according to a press release [PDF], was "a first-of-its-kind-anywhere exact replica of the original Tamagotchi handheld digital pet launched ... in 1996." However, as The Verge reported, the toys weren't an exact replica: "They're about half the size, the LCD display is square rather than rectangle, and those helpful icons on the top and bottom of the screen seem to be gone now." In 2019, new Tamagotchis were released; they were larger than the originals, featured full-color displays, and retailed for $60.

11. The original Tamagotchi’s sound has been immortalized in a virtual museum.

The Museum of Endangered Sounds is a website that seeks to immortalize the digital sounds that become extinct as we hurtle through the evolution of technology. “The crackle of a dial-up modem. The metallic clack of a 3.5-inch floppy slotting into a Macintosh disk drive. The squeal of the newborn Tamagotchi. They are vintage sounds that no oldies station is ever going to touch,” The Washington Post wrote in a 2012 profile of the museum. So, yes, the sound of that little Tamagotchi is forever preserved, should it someday, very sadly, cease to exist completely.