Buzz
Osteopathic conferences are rarely known for their thrills, but the gathering of 300 medical professionals in Philadelphia in May 1926 became unforgettable. Dr. Horace Flack, former dean of the Philadelphia School of Osteopathy, stood alongside a guest named Martin Laurello. Standing at 5 feet 5 inches, with neatly combed brown hair and a friendly demeanor, Laurello was about to demonstrate something extraordinary.
Facing away from the audience, Laurello, prompted by Dr. Flack, began to rotate his head. While most people can turn their heads 45 degrees without issue, Laurello continued past 90 degrees, where the chin aligns with the shoulder. To the amazement of the crowd, he kept turning until his face rested above his shoulder blades—a feat typically seen only in animated cartoons.
Dr. Flack noted that such extreme flexibility is usually associated with severe spinal injuries, often fatal. Yet, Laurello displayed no signs of discomfort or harm, leaving the audience in awe of his seemingly impossible ability.
In reality, it was quite the opposite: Performing as 'the Human Owl' or 'The Man With the Revolving Head' was no hardship. For Laurello, it was his main livelihood.
The World of Sideshows
Once a staple of traveling circuses and carnivals, sideshows offered audiences a chance to witness individuals with extraordinary abilities or physical traits. Performers were marketed with sensational names like Dirty Dora ('She eats mud!' boasted one poster); Vicho, the Strongest Man in the Galaxy; Leon Kongee, the Human Pincushion; Johnny Eck, the Half-Boy; and other similarly descriptive acts. Making a living in this way was possible, but it required a willingness to tour extensively and endure the curious stares of the public.
Martin Laurello embraced this lifestyle. Born Martin Emmerling in Bavaria, Germany, in 1885, he began as a balance artist and contortionist, renowned for his ability to twist through ladder rungs. A genealogy researcher, Lost2History, delved into Laurello’s obscure past and discovered that a fall during a performance likely caused an injury, leading to a recovery period where he noticed increased neck flexibility due to bone fractures.
What is certain is that Laurello—who possibly adopted his stage name from his first wife, Laura—dedicated himself to perfecting his act. He spent hours daily practicing head rotations and even used iron and leather straps to enhance his range of motion. Within a year, he could place his chin over his shoulder. By 1906, after two to three more years of rigorous training, he could consistently turn his head between 120 and 180 degrees, using his hands to complete the motion. Though the act caused discomfort and restricted his breathing, it was visually stunning and relatively easy to execute.
(Interestingly, news reports from around 1906 mention an 'H. Costa' in Vienna who could align his face with his spine. He was examined by the German Medical Society of Prague. It remains unclear whether Costa was Laurello or if two individuals with such an unusual ability coexisted in Europe at that time.)
After performing across Germany, Laurello decided to move to the United States, boarding the White Star Liner ship Olympic (sister ship to the Titanic) to New York in 1921. He wasn’t alone on the voyage: 'Three Swiss giants' and a 'Hungarian man weighing 500 pounds' were also passengers.
Sideshows were enjoying a revival, and performers like Laurello, who could (as one newspaper put it) 'face east while their toes pointed west,' were highly sought after. In the U.S., Laurello secured a position with the Ringling Brothers and Barnum and Bailey Circus, touring with them for a year and leaving audiences in awe with his head-turning act. He sometimes mimed smoking a cigarette or drinking a beer, and on one occasion, a $1000 prize was offered to anyone who could replicate his extraordinary skill.
When Laurello caught the attention of the media, the resulting publicity drew large crowds, though the headlines were often harsh. Terms like Circus Freak and Sideshow Freak were frequently used. For instance, the Philadelphia Inquirer described his appearance at the osteopathic convention as 'Circus Freak With Revolving Head Interests State Delegates.'
The insensitive language of the time did not go unnoticed by Laurello or other sideshow performers, who once united to criticize both Ringling Brothers and the media for their dehumanizing labels.
'The group of human curiosities, who had long and seemingly patiently endured the label of ‘freaks,’ gathered in a rebellious mood in their room near the main entrance and drafted a set of resolutions that carried the weight of an ultimatum,' reported The New York Herald in April 1922.
The performers’ statement also pondered, 'We wonder if the public, whose attention we welcome but whose pity we find unbearable, ever considers who the real freaks are from our perspective.'
Neither Ringling nor the press showed much receptiveness, so Laurello and his peers continued to endure the derogatory terms. (They preferred to be called 'strange people.') However, Laurello didn’t remain with Ringling for long. By 1924, he was part of a traveling show managed by T.A. Wolfe. He adopted various stage names, including Bobby, the Boy With the Revolving Head, the Man With the Revolving Head, and the Human Periscope. His act was also preserved in some of the earliest motion pictures.
Master of Entertainment
By the time Laurello arrived in America, he had remarried to Amelia Wittl. When she became pregnant with the first of their two sons, the couple settled in Coney Island, where they would live for the next three decades.
Their marriage faced at least one significant challenge. In 1931, Amelia reported to New York police that Laurello had abandoned her and their two children. She informed authorities he was performing in Baltimore, Maryland. New York police alerted Baltimore officials, noting that Laurello would be easy to identify due to his ability to rotate his head halfway around his body.
As expected, police located Laurello on stage, his unsettling smile directed at the audience as he peered over his shoulder. He was arrested but explained to the judge that it was a misunderstanding, stating he was traveling for work under a new 32-week contract. ('Sideshow Freak With Rotating Neck Arrested' was one tactless headline.) Released on a $500 bond, Laurello and Amelia soon reconciled.
By 1933, Laurello joined a traveling exhibit organized by Robert Ripley of Ripley’s Believe It or Not! fame. Their two sons were reportedly training to mimic their father’s ability, though it’s unclear if they ever performed publicly. (Sadly, their son Albert died while serving in the U.S. Army during World War II.) In 1940, Laurello was featured in Life magazine alongside other 'oddities' from Ripley’s collection. Six years later, he was said to have completed over 200 weeks with the company, occasionally performing with a 'trained cat and dog act.'
Martin and Amelia stayed married until his death, which has been attributed to various years. Amelia believed it was 1958, but Billboard magazine reported he died of a heart attack in February 1954 (though the exact date remains unclear, and some sources suggest 1953). Little is definitively known about his unique physiology. At the osteopathic conference, Dr. Flack noted Laurello could 'displace' the vertebrae in his neck.
Laurello’s personal life also holds mysteries. Census records reviewed by Look2History suggest he may have had six or more children, with four remaining in Germany. Additionally, Amelia claimed in a 1976 interview that she and Martin arrived in the U.S. from Switzerland, not Germany.
Amelia may have sought to downplay their German roots following World War II. Percilla Bejano, a fellow performer, alleged that Laurello was a 'Nazi' who 'disliked the American flag.' However, no other evidence supports this claim, and his son, Albert, served in the war against Axis forces.
Sideshow performances continue today, though without the offensive terminology that Laurello and others campaigned to eliminate. Coney Island still showcases acts like fire-eaters, glass walkers, and sword swallowers. Yet, none can match Martin Laurello’s extraordinary talent of 'facing east while his toes pointed west.'
