DEMO
LICIOUS
MIRACLE IN A BOTTLE
An Historical Interlude
by Pinky Tourette
Recently here at Thee Tourettes World Headquarters, located inside my drafty flat overlooking the ever-fragrant 495 approach to the Lincoln Tunnel, we’ve been absolutely inundated with fan requests in the form of a nice letter from Ms. Iris Minge of Lake Coppasquat, New Jersey, asking for more of our colorful stories about the history of the band.
First of all, I, Pinky Tourette, want to personally thank you, Iris, for your generous gift of a box of homemade muffins, or possibly softballs. I will be more than happy to reveal further details about the girls’ storied existence: my discovery of their latent talents, how I groomed them for musical success and stardom, my hard work and determination that drove their skyrocket to the top of the charts, and even some of my astonishing behind-the-scenes secrets that will make you gasp in wonderment and expel involuntary flatulence.
Some other time. We’ll get to that. Today I want to regale you with some prehistory. Return with me now to those thrilling days of yesteryear, those lawless, anarchic, hardscrabble days when vast stretches of the frontier were barely settled and the country was still regularly adding states to its portfolio. I’m about to share with you an incident that happened in Midwest corn country, in a place that would many years later come to be known as Eerie, Indiana but at that time wouldn’t even have merited a dot on a map, if indeed you could even find a map of the former Indian territory.
I know what you’re thinking: WTF? Just settle back and stick with me for this; it’s pertinent to the history of your favorite band.
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Back in those dusty days, medicine shows prowled the open spaces, bringing a few brief moments of much-needed respite to settlers starved for entertainment. Few shows made it as far north as sparsely populated Indiana, especially as late in the season as October, so as you can imagine the residents of the makeshift community of Eerie-to-be were thrilled when this particular show set up shop in a barren field perhaps half a mile from the rickety cluster of buildings that served as town center.
Medicine shows were the internet of their day, bringing all manner of thrills and spectacle to the populace. They varied in content, many featuring Wild West themes given over to fancy shooting exhibitions and supposed Indian novelties. Others were more cosmopolitan, offering everything from acrobats to ventriloquists to trained dogs to vocal groups. Each of them provided multiple acts of entertainment for free, interspersed with wildly hyperbolic sales pitches extolling the countless benefits of the main attraction, some must-have, cure-all ointment or liniment or patent medicine, typically patterned after the renowned healing oil originally brought to the states by Chinese railroad workers and derived from water snakes – hence the term “snake oil.”
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The featured attraction at this specific traveling show was a bottled tonic known as “Professor Tourette’s Bimini Miracle Elixir,” guaranteed to cure pimples, impetigo, cancer, rheumatism, hair loss, broken bones, warts, and “female complaints,” among other things. While many oils and libations of the day contained a heavy percentage of alcohol mixed with sundry items such as cocaine, morphine, and opium (and not a trace of snake), the Miracle Elixir was said to contain among its ingredients actual Bimini water direct from the legendary Fountain of Youth.
Professor Tourette, speaking from a makeshift stage on the back of his horse-drawn wagon, illuminated by lanterns mounted on poles to either side, introduced himself as an adventurer and explorer who had located the lost fountain of the Maya while traveling the world collecting the curiosities he now shared with the good citizens of our young country. A man of average height and build with a pleasant, friendly face and a disposition to match, the Professor was a deft showman, forging an instant bond with the audience as he dispensed humorous anecdotes and tales from his travels and displayed his collected tricks and treats, including a sword-swallowing performance learned in England, fire eating from Asia, and a primitive version of the “East Indian Rope Trick,” with the rope rising at his command like a cobra from a woven basket while Ophelia played perhaps the first harmonium in the Americas.
Ah yes, Ophelia. A lithe and exotic beauty of undefinable origin who served as his assistant and companion, she never once allowed a smile to crease her regal face, even as her fingers glided across the harmonium – an early pump organ imported at great expense from France, according to the Professor, and mounted atop the wagon – while she serenaded the crowd with mysterious songs in some distant, alien language.
And the audience lapped it up, at each and every performance, enthusiastically applauding the sultry beauty, laughing uproariously at the Professor’s engaging spiel, gasping in delight at his performances and exhibitions, and, most important of all, thirsting for a taste of the Miracle Elixir.
Still, in most every town and outpost could be found one or two locals with a chip on their shoulder, and more often than not a touch too much liquor in their bellies. At this stop, it was an unpleasant and unpopular layabout named Tetch. At just a shade under seven feet tall, he took full advantage of his size to intimidate his neighbors at every opportunity. Standing in the midst of the crowd at Professor Tourette’s exhibition, he began to heckle almost the moment the show began, tossing out snide drunken comments about the performance and spewing such lewdness at Ophelia that men in the audience covered their ladies’ delicate ears.
Professor Tourette, being a consummate professional, first ignored the outbursts, then made light of them, then directly engaged the lanky hayseed, lacing into him with barbed insults that brought such laughter to his audience that tears rolled down many a cheek. Tetch volleyed back with feeble responses, at first cocky and confident, then gradually surly and furious as it dawned on him that the tables had turned and he had unwittingly become the object of his neighbor’s laughter and scorn. After one particularly stinging riposte from the Professor, Tetch let loose a blast of profanity and stalked off into the darkness – to the great relief of all those present.
The Miracle Elixir sold especially well that night, and everyone went home happy and contented. The show folded up, the Professor and Ophelia stowed everything back in place inside the wagon, and the night grew silent but for the sound of the breeze rustling the cornstalks.
And the staggering footsteps of a drunken, vindictive knave with blood aboil.
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Legend has it that Professor Tourette was bound with his own magic Indian rope and beheaded with his sword, which must have been quite an arduous and brutal proposition given that the weapon’s edges were dull as a cooked egg. As to Ophelia, it’s best left unsaid what vile things happened to her that night before she was cast unconscious into the dirt beside the wagon.
No authorities were called to investigate, if indeed there were any authorities to call in that remote region. Nobody would have bothered anyway to shed a tear or lift a finger over whatever happened to itinerant performers, even popular ones like Professor Tourette. Instead, like many a cruel post-midnight incident in early America, it simply faded unnoticed into history.
Ophelia looked especially bewitching that night, her face highlighted in rouge and powder; her eyes, lips, and cheekbones accentuated in lampblack tincture as she played a selection of unfamiliar yet deeply alluring tunes, each one drifting seamlessly into the next. The crowd that gathered, nearly identical to the prior night’s, applauded in devout admiration as she finished and stood to apologize for the Professor’s absence. Unfortunately he was indisposed this evening, she told them, eliciting a snort from the rear of the audience. All heads turned to see Tetch standing there with a smirk on his face and alcohol on his breath.
Tetch quieted down at the reproachful look from the crowd, but his silence didn’t last. Soon he was once again spouting derisive comments at the stage as Ophelia proceeded to perform a rudimentary juggling act. Ignoring his invective, she finished her performance to somewhat muted applause, then announced to the assemblage that she needed a volunteer for the next act, and pointed directly at Tetch. As he blinked and his mouth drooped open in surprise, Ophelia shrugged and noted that the tall boy must be afraid, asking for any other volunteers. Whereupon Tetch shoved aside those in front of him and stalked to the front.
The next act, it turned out, was an exhibition of the mesmeric sciences. Ophelia instructed Tetch to stare directly into her dark, steely eyes as she spoke to him softly and lullingly in an unfamiliar dialect. He snapped a few wicked comments at first, then gradually fell silent. Within a few moments he was under.
For the next hour Ophelia had him barking like a dog, squawking and strutting like a chicken, bawling like a lost child, imitating a precocious little girl, and other stunts that had the audience collapsing in hysterics. The applause that rang through the fields that night was loud enough to chase away all birds and creatures within a several mile radius.
When finally the exhibition drew to a close and Ophelia awakened Tetch from his trance, he glanced at his neighbors hooting and hollering, and his face drained of color. For Ophelia had directed him to not only remember every embarrassing act and gesture from his unseemly performance, but to feel a burning shame to his very bones. All his cocky strength and brashness evaporated as he surveyed the faces in the crowd, laughing so hard they could barely breathe. And off he stumbled into the dark fields, never to be seen again, fleeing in such haste that he didn’t even stop at home to gather up his belongings. End of story.
Well, except that Ophelia was spotted in subsequent seasons purveying her beguiling charms as the medicine show continued its trek across the country, bouncing like an echo from town to settlement to railroad encampment, with Professor Tourette once again sharing his thrilling tales of world travel, delighting crowds with humorous stories, and peddling his wondrous Miracle Elixir.
Not the same Professor Tourette, of course. Although he looked nearly identical according to those who crossed his path both before and after the events in Eerie-to-be, with the same pleasant, friendly face and a disposition to match, the Professor from later years wore at all times a high collar, buttoned up tightly, with his head tilted just the slightest bit awkwardly to one side.
And he stood just a shade under seven feet tall.
