Illustration of Lulu Hurst from her autobiography demonstrating one of her feats of strength.
Born in 1869 in rural Polk County, Lulu Hurst seemed an ordinary girl until the night of September 18, 1883, when a “quick, muffled, popping noise” originated from beneath her pillow and spread throughout the room. The sound returned the following night, when a force pulled her hair. Then the bed and tables would tap the floor when she laid on hands, and “the power” was found to answer questions-one rap for yes, two for no. Clothing, utensils, and other objects flew throughout the house, and items were teleported between drawers and cabinets.
Somehow Lulu learned that she could hold a billiard cue and throw any man around who held the opposite end. No group of people could move a chair when she had hold of it, and she would cause umbrellas to fly apart. After the curious started flocking to their home for demonstrations, Lulu’s parents engaged a manager and future husband, Paul M. Atkinson. Lulu soon became a stage performer.
Four months after her mysterious powers were revealed, Lulu was performing in Atlanta as “The Electric Girl.” Up to 500 pounds of men would occupy a chair and Lulu would raise them off the floor. Groups of strong men would grab a cue, only to be thrown around the stage and sometimes off it altogether. No umbrella was safe from her touch.
After the Atlanta Constitution’s famous editor Henry Grady fell under Lulu’s spell, the paper closely followed her blossoming career. Grady was convinced Lulu’s “power” was supernatural, but the family insisted it was electrical and mechanical. Larry Gantt, an Athens editor, participated with other men in an umbrella trick. “So taking out a life insurance policy,” he recorded, “and lining our raiment with volumes of congressional literature, we marched on the stage with the desperation of a martyr to science.” He felt as if he was “trying to hold down a flash of lightning.” Lulu also dispatched “Captain Bradeen, the Jumbo of Athens,” who weighed in at 300 pounds.
Lulu toured Georgia, often opening before the faculty of universities and medical schools, dazzling professors and generating ever larger headlines. After wowing a medical college in Charleston, South Carolina, the local newspaper reported, “There wasn’t a man in this distinguished and learned array who could explain the mysterious phenomenon.”
In Washington, D.C., she “danced half a dozen leading congressmen and correspondents all over the room.” At his invitation, Lulu performed at Alexander Graham Bells’ house and later at the Voltar Laboratory. America’s most noted scientists were awed, reduced to speculating not if trickery was involved, but on how she performed her seemingly magical acts,. They were astounded by the fact that Lulu’s feats elicited no sign of exertion from her, while a participant “was blowing like a porpoise.” Officials at the Treasury were concerned that Lulu would somehow steal the gold during a tour.
Lulu continued north and rocked New York City for two weeks of sold-out shows. One witness was ten-year old Winston Churchill. At a ladies only show women met the same fate as male challengers, and at another performance 100 members of the New York Athletic Club were “tossed…about like so many jackstraws” by the calm young girl. Enjoying her celebrity and wealth, Lulu purchased $2,000 worth of dresses in the Big Apple.
Lulu toured Massachusetts, Rhode Island, Connecticut, New Jersey, California (where newspapers coined two new words, “Hurstamania” and “Lulucondriac”), Nebraska, Idaho, Montana, Wyoming, Colorado, Kansas, Missouri, Texas, Illinois, Wisconsin, Ohio, Indiana, and Louisiana. At home in Atlanta a deranged woman stood to shout, “Glory to God! Glory to God! Woman rules the world! Oh, God bless Lulu Hurst, for she has set woman free!” As she charged the stage the testimony continued, “Glory to God! The Great Jehovah! I’ll go to Lulu Hurst! I’ll come to you, Lulu! I’ll go to Lulu Hurst! God bless you, Lulu! God bless you!”
After two additional shows in Tennessee, Lulu stunned the world by announcing her retirement after only two years of fame, stating she did not want “to be looked upon as some abnormal quasi-supernatural sort of a being.” She attended Shorter College in Rome for a while, then married her manager Paul Atkinson on February 8, 1887. Some pitied Paul, “preparing resolutions of condolence to the happy groom; and insurance companies have issued circulars making policies forfeitable when death comes from electric causes. Alas, poor Paul!”
Ten years later Lulu published her autobiography, Lulu Hurst, the title containing forty-six additional descriptive words. She claimed the earliest incidents at home were pranks, and her stage act was not electric, magnetic, psychic, nor spiritualist, but a manipulation of natural laws.
Lulu had earned up to $100,000 during her short career. She and Paul bought a house at 433 South Main Street in Madison, where they were pillars of the community and lived quietly, though some rumors did arise that she could still perform extraordinary feats of strength. One story had Lulu pulling a stalled train along the tracks. Paul died in 1931; Lulu in 1950, aged eighty-one. They are buried in Madison’s city cemetery.
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