Anderson, George | A striking oversized poster advertising "The Living Skeleton"

Anderson, George

The Living Skeleton ... He is Five Feet Eight Inches in Height, and now Weighs Only Sixty-Five Pounds! Manchester, New Hampshire: The Daily Mirror Mammoth, [ca. 1862]

Large broadside poster (1245 x 822 mm). Printed in a profusion of wood and metal types, large woodblock illustration of the gaunt Anderson; not examined out of frame, linen-backed, heavily restored with losses primarily affecting the upper and lower edges, overall wear consistent with a broadside of this size including soiling, and extensive creasing and cracking. Matted, framed, and glazed with Plexiglas. 

A striking poster broadside advertising "the Living Skeleton"

Though he claimed his condition was a medical mystery (even offering a $1000 reward to any physician who could solve the mystery of his condition), remarkably, Anderson ascribed his gaunt physique to having spent too much time in the water as a swimmer. In his biography, which he sold for five cents at his appearances, he admonished the reader: "My appearance should be a terrible warning to all young persons, causing them to avoid excessive bathing, and especially fresh water." Even more remarkably, he wasn't the only nineteenth-century living skeleton act to blame his condition on swimming: he is joined in this company by "The Skeleton Man," Isaac Sprague.

The Living Skeleton seems to have been a particular favorite of Jay's— he spoke of him with great enthusiasm in Mark Singer's New Yorker profile: "I know some people find this strange and weird. Actually, after this life I’ve lived, I have no idea what is strange and weird and what isn’t. I don’t know who else waxes poetic about the virtues of skeleton men, fasting impostors, and cannonball catchers. And, to be honest, I don’t really care. I just think they’re wonderful. I really do." 

REFERENCE:

Exemplars, p. 253; EE, pp. 138–139; Mark Singer, "Secrets of the Magus," The New Yorker, 5 April 1993