Claudine O’Toole – Brave Victim of Life’s Arrows Passes OnInside MagicMagic News Updated Daily for the Professional Magician

Brave Little Claudine: Will Lance Be Her Magic Man?

As much as we would hope to stop or at least slow time, we are constantly reminded our hope is in vain. Time will not slow for any of us. We shuffle on this mortal coil for just a very brief interval and when we leave, we hope to leave something more meaningful than the carbon from whence we were built up.

With this inadequate analogy in mind, we recall with fondness the life and love of Claudine O'Toole. Claudine left us last night for a better place and she will be sorely missed. She moved to Las Vegas, Nevada.

Claudine was a long-time supporter of magic as an art-form and often claimed "God gave me so many rich husbands so I could give their money to the starving artist." Claudine was three times widowed before meeting her latest late husband.

Always coy about her true age — she claimed vanity and lying were her only two short-comings — Claudine told folks only that she came to the United States after World War II to attend college at the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor.

She learned English and stenography with the hope of becoming a court reporter. The University of Michigan did not offer a major in Court Reporting and so she was forced to study at the University during the day and studied court reporting in the evening.

As a result of the dual academic track, Claudine graduated simultaneously with a Ph.D. in Classic Literature and a Certificate of Completion for the 12 week Court Reporter course.

She loved magic since she had been a little girl — so well-before the extensive operations paid for by her second husband — and relished its rich history. In fact, even as a little girl, at the age of 23, she worked as a dancer and assistant for a nationally-known magic performer.

Obviously, those familiar with the tragic circumstances of her first husband's passing realize why we will not disclose his name or give any support for the incorrect and ugly rumors that plagued their marriage.

Robert Frost once observed, "A man's choice of friends tells others more about him than his friends can tell to him." Claudine's first husband is credited with launching her solo magical career and for that she has always been thankful.

Claudine said at the dedication of the University of Michigan's School of Court Reporting, "It is for occasions like this that my late husband always wanted me to be well-endowed. I feel the same way for my school. I want it to feel my endowment as if it was its own."

Magic historians have noted the irony of Claudine's first professional appearance following her first-husband's passing and the closing of his considerable estate. Some of our more immature brethren may have even made sport of her choice of opening act.

Brave Little Claudine: Will Lance Be Her Magic Man?

As a result of the dual academic track, Claudine graduated simultaneously with a Ph.D. in Classic Literature and a Certificate of Completion for the 12 week Court Reporter course.

We never found it the least bit ironic or funny Claudine's new act featured a 25 minute version of the Miser's Dream where large silver dollars are seemingly plucked from every conceivable orifices of the audience volunteer. Her first husband's death was not caused — despite the rumors — by improperly loaded coins. He had performed the Swim Suit Miser's Dream for years without incident and was expert in the loading and unloading of the coins.

As for the opening act, Claudine had long had an affinity for miniature ponies — long before her first husband's unfortunate passing.

She commented later it was an unfortunate coincidence to have the pony act on stage that night but not intentional. "First of all, they weren't the same ponies. Obviously, those ponies were destroyed either in the gas explosion itself or by the veterinarians after the flames (from her husband's body) were extinguished."

In retrospect, it does not matter why Claudine's solo career ended after just one week. Some have suggested — in keeping with the rumor-mill — it was because her performance was embarrassing. Max Maven, Lance Burton, and even Guy Tussle were unanimous in giving her high marks for both originality and presentation.

Upon her return to Michigan from Las Vegas, Claudine took up the practice of court reporting "for fun." Her first husband's careful financial planning and the spectacular manner of his death, combined to leave her financially well-off once insurance proceeds and estate distributions were made.

She worked in the Wayne County Court in Detroit for six months before her dream of being a full-time court reporter was once again interrupted by Cupid's determined aim.

Despite her detractors' savage attacks, there is no truth to the rumor she was "gold-digging" at the time she met her second husband. Even Claudine would not dispute that she could tell from the way the murder trial was preceding that her future husband would likely be convicted of mysterious disappearance of his wife. But was the fact that she knew enough about criminal procedure a reason to believe she intentionally fell in-love with the young-at-heart industrialist?

They were married shortly after his conviction on all counts in the first trial. Their love withstood the stress and strain that any trip up and down the appellate ladder can throw at a couple.

When the charges were thrown out after his third trial, Claudine wept in joy as she threw her arms around her newly-freed man. Unfortunately, his years in prison had robbed him of the nutrients doctors now believe are essential to healthy bones and teeth. His insistence that she augment and work-out constantly to present "a pretty image" for his mind's eye during the long prison nights, gave her fantastic strength.

Her well-toned body and his frail spine came together as they did — the first time the married couple had been permitted to embrace since their vows were exchanged. Court observers say he had a smile on his otherwise limp visage as he crumbled silently to the hardwood floor.

Another man was gone from her life and yet she still had her ambition, dreams, dancing and magic skills, court reporting ability, and two freshly-probated estates upon which she could fall back.

Claudine gave another very large endowment to the University of Michigan to fortify their drooping Court Reporter Studies Program.

She told the assembled faculty and students, "My second husband believed growing old was no reason to be droopy or infirm. This school is like a part of me and like all parts of me, it too should benefit from my late husband's desire to renew, improve, and tone."

She also donated the substantial collection of costumes she had purchased for her visits to her husband's prisons. The University of Michigan's Theater Program benefited greatly from the hundreds of size one and three costumes and uniforms used only once — and even then only to be viewed through thick, smeared bullet-proof glass.

Claudine met her third husband while vacationing in Indiana. She had always desired to travel the Midwest to see the historic monuments important to Court Reporting. She visited the Trans-a-Tron factory in Gurnee, Illinois; the old Bell-Howell facilities in Oak Park, Illinois and Jackson, Michigan. She took in the Court Reporter Hall of Fame in Lawton, Michigan and then began to move south.

Claudine's friends and family all insisted she give up hitch-hiking. It was a past-time of a simpler, more innocent era she seemed hesitant to release. She enjoyed being picked up by drivers on the side-roads of America. Obviously she had enough money to fly in a private jet or even rent a rail road train, but as she noted in her biography:

"there is an exhilaration getting into the cab of a semi-tractor trailer or a family station wagon you don't find in the 'safer' modes of travel.

All the drivers know is that I am a single, blonde woman standing by the side of the road with my thumb pointed out.

Often, I don't even know who is in the truck or car that stops. Sometimes it’s a whole family and sometimes just a lonely man or woman looking for someone to talk to during the long drive ahead."

The tradition of giving away a garter to those who were kind enough to pick up Claudine left many drivers of commercial and personal vehicles with a souvenir of sentimental and historic value. We recently checked EBay to find a collector had three for sale — each with a bid over $200.00.

She used to joke that one garter was red for "red blooded Americans," the other was "blue for those red blooded Americans with a blue-streak" and the last was "black in memory of those who had gone beyond."

It was with her third husband that Claudine found true happiness. No stranger to scandal, Claudine allowed the outrageous slings and arrows of public opinion their best shot but felt no sting. Her wedding was one of the most beautiful experiences of her life, she wrote. "My good fortune in finding a young man who shared my passions and able to get his rich parents' permission to marry before completing college was never lost on me."

Claudine and Richard were married in 1999, two days before the end of the Millennium. (There were those who debated whether the turn of the century actually happened at the end of 1999 or 2000 — Claudine didn't care).

Although Ritchie was the son of the wealthy Ann Arbor O'Tooles, he never rested on his laurels or trust fund. He made a fortune helping to program computer systems in anticipation of the Y2K disaster.

Ritchie’s first love was Claudine but running a close second was magic. They jetted to Las Vegas or Los Angeles almost weekly to see magic shows and to participate in magic conventions. They became good friends with the elite of our Art.

Their age difference did not seem to matter to them. In fact, Claudine often noted if Ritchie had been older, he would never have been in her Junior Magician Club and they would not have met.

Claudine and Ritchie performed on cruise lines around the world and within a few years, Ritchie O'Toole was one of the most popular acts aboard the prestigious Seaborne Cruise Lines. Their act belied their considerable combined wealth.

While they could have afforded the finest props and full-scale illusions, Ritchie and Claudine won their fame with a manipulation act featuring billiard balls, cards, cigarettes, and silks. It was a beautiful routine and they made very few changes to it over the five-and-a-half-years they performed before Ritchie’s untimely death.

Lance Burton wrote in a memorial card to Claudine, "Your act, like your life together, was true magic."

In keeping with the theme of "true magic," Ritchie’s disappearance from a private yacht while en route from Nice to Monaco was never explained. The Captain's inquest found the witness statements to be consistent.

Ritchie completed setting up for the second show of the evening and took Claudine for a short "smoke break" on the ship's bow. He was able to light Claudine's cigarette (they used different cigarettes in their act — easier to light but "lousy flavor," the inquest found) but when it came to lighting his, the matches were either wet or too damp to ignite.

Ritchie excused himself and ventured back towards the main ballroom entrance. He told Claudine he was going to get a fresh box of matches and asked if she wanted a drink. She offered to go with him but he insisted she stay to "enjoy the wonderful night air."

While Claudine waited, she was joined at the ship's rail by the yacht's owner, Sir Francis "Frenchie" Williamson. Sir Frenchie had been a long time admirer of Claudine (and presumably of her act with her husband – although this is not clear from the official record). He made small talk with Claudine and offered to have her husband "killed or shoved overboard" so they could marry.

Claudine laughed, Sir Frenchie laughed, there was a splash from the back of the yacht but no one went to investigate.

Conspiracy theorists suggest Sir Frenchie was not simply making small talk but was actually giving some sort of hint as to his intentions at the moment. They have even gone so far as to suggest Sir Frenchie had one of his men push or throw the young magician overboard.

Under the International Rules of Sea, a ship's captain has the responsibility for conducting a "full and conclusive investigation of any death or serious injury aboard his craft whilst the craft is in International Waters." There are only two exceptions to this long-established rule: 1) if the captain is suspected as the perpetrator of the act giving rise to the death or injury; or 2) if the captain is the one killed by the suspect act.

Captain Henrik Ibsen was in command of the yacht at the time Ritchie went missing and conducted an inquiry and then inquest immediately. After hearing from all of the witnesses — including seven crew-members who described the sound of the splash from the back of the boat variously as "Derr Punnkk!" "Kerr Plunng!" "Plissshhhh, Plunk!" "Helllpppp! Ker Plunk!" and "Hey, What are you doing? Thonk Sooozee Thunk Splash!" and "Blllllltttttttttt Splash!" — and examining the physical evidence — including a cryptic note written in very broken-English purporting to be from Ritchie saying he wanted to "taking myself from picture so Lovely Claudine can finally be hapie with Sir Francis "Frenchie" Williamson IV" — he closed the inquiry and inquest with a finding of "No Explainable Cause."

Ritchie O'Toole's family has continued to fund the lawyers and investigations we have now unfortunately come to associate with any accidental death. It is understandable that his parents would some how cling to the misguided hope of proving his death was not a suicide or even accidental but deliberate.

Once the high-paid spin machine got a hold of the O'Toole's bank account and irrational paranoia, the headlines were filled with the half-cocked machinations of these media mercenaries declaring Captain Ibsen's inquest "biased and a sham."

Some in the yellow press have pointed to the sizeable settlement between Sir Frenchie and the O'Toole estate as evidence this fourth generation nobleman was complicit in the unfortunate boy's demise.

Sir Frenchie prefers to not discuss the settlement and his new wife, the lovely and buoyant Claudine follows his wishes. Some have argued that the settlement itself is a sham because Claudine was actually the sole beneficiary of the Ritchie O'Toole estate and so monies paid to the estate were passed immediately to her and thus back to Sir Frenchie through her new position as Lady Claudine.

These paranoid conspiracy theories would likely continue regardless of the good faith shown by the Royal couple.

But now Lady Claudine takes on a new chapter in her artificially enhanced life. When asked by Sir Frenchie what she desired for a wedding gift, she asked for only one thing. Sir Frenchie delivered on his promise to her to get front row tickets at the Lance Burton Theater to see her "new favorite young magician" perform.

Sir Frenchie purchased two tickets for this Friday's show and the couple was set to leave for Las Vegas last night.

Sir Frenchie often joked that he thought "Lady Claudine has something for young magicians in tuxedoes who perform manipulation acts." He found her "school girl crush" on the magician "cute." He was apparently not bothered by Lady Claudine's renaming of the family's UK estate from Burmashire to Lance Villa or her nearly obsessive collection of all information about the Las Vegas headliner.

It is tragic, then, that once again Lady Claudine will travel life's highway alone. We were greeted this morning with the unfortunate news Sir Frenchie had fallen ill last evening and passed away while on the way to a London Hospital.

The initial reports indicated Sir Frenchie had succumbed to a poison found in the Blow Fish. Experts in Sushi surmised his meal was improperly prepared and the poison vein of the fish was "nicked or otherwise compromised."

Sir Frenchie was a strong man in spite of his physically undemanding occupation of drinking and dining. He apparently began to recover from the fish toxin at about 10:00 pm last night (5:00 pm in Mystic Hollow, Michigan) and doctors hoped for a complete recovery.

We were all surprised to hear he had taken a turn for the worse after this positive step. Unbeknownst to the treating physician, Sir Frenchie suffered from a peanut allergy and so their use of the traditional Japanese cure of a houtai pi-natsubata- ("peanut butter bandage" or "peanut butter dressing") actually induced shock. Lady Claudine insists she told the physicians of her beloved's allergy but she indicated she will likely not sue for malpractice.

Sir Frenchie's strength was again witnessed in his brave rally from near-death to consciousness and muscle control sufficient to talk, gesture, and even "run out of the manor house like a crazed man."

It was for his safety that the sharpshooters fired the tranquilizer bullets at the nearly naked, bloated patient. The doctors at London Receiving Hospital note he would have likely survived if only one of the sharpshooter's shots found its target in his lower back.

The same doctors do not begrudge the overly-cautious use of seven such sharpshooters firing simultaneously at the nobleman's rear-end. Statistically, it was unlikely that all of the seven Royal Sharpshooter's bullets would hit the wildly gyrating billionaire.

Regardless, the physicians have now publicly stated the tranquilizer dosage question was rendered moot by the tragic fall from the MedFlite helicopter as it sped towards the London hospital. The lawyers may ultimately determine it was "negligent" or "careless" to put a bloated, nearly crazed but now mostly-tranquilized on a stretcher without restraints or to have the stretcher beside an open door.

The resolution of those issues, though, does not bring back Lady Claudine's lover and life-mate or keep her from again becoming a widow. Her description of how her husband rolled right off the stretcher, through the open door and into the rear blades of the jet helicopter is heart wrenching.

I was adjusting his blanket because I was afraid with those tranquilizer darts still in him, the blanket would irritate the wounds. As I lifted poor Frenchie-Poo, he rolled out of my arms and became clogged in the open doorway. I cursed myself for having opened the cargo door earlier in the flight but realized I had done it for the right reason – I was afraid he was getting too hot in all of the bandages and blankets.

She described what happened next. Who can read this without feeling her frustration and loss?

His head and shoulder were jammed against one side of the door's opening and his legs — still in make-shift casts — were wedged against the other side. I tried to reach over the stretcher to pull him back but my arms weren't long enough.

That was when I decided to try to give him something to hold on to or to pull himself in with. I extended my leg immodestly towards him and urged him to grab a hold of my ankle. He seemed to not be able to see clearly because of the drugs, bandages and high winds. In my effort to show him my leg, I must have accidentally kicked him in the head several times with my spiked heels.

I know to people on the ground or in the pilot's area it must have looked like I was trying to kick him out of the helicopter.

It's so sad.

Call us psychic (and we knew you would) but we hope Lady Claudine's trip to Las Vegas will allow her to put the events of last night / this morning out of her troubled mind. We even hope she finally gets to meet her new hero (and possible husband-to-be??) Lance Burton.

After all she has been through, Lady Claudine deserves to finally find happiness.