Manhattan Magical Dynasty Vanishes By Ben Robinson Q: Tell me Mr. Flosso ­ are magicians more intelligent than average people? A: Oh yes. A good magician ­ like a good comedian ­ is a very intelligent person. You have to understand human psychology, the whole human situation ­ or you couldn't do it. A good magician is a good actor. You have to believe it to do it. You got that? --From the last TV interview at Flosso's Magic Shop, March 2000

The story of the New York Krieger-Flosso magical dynasty has taken its last curtain call.

The players are all now in that great after hour's delicatessen on Upper Broad-way, if you know what I mean. "Catch wise kid," the great Al Flosso, the famous Coney Island fakir, bellows to his only child Jackie as he arrives at the great red and white-checkered table cloth, "the fun is about to begin."

And while the dynasty of entertainers supreme enjoy their potato pancakes and kvell and kvetch regarding "Sawbuck Jimmy" or "Three Finger Brown" ­ the story that unfolds is an archetypal history of New York. Our story begins with the newest arrival, the third and last member of a magical father and son act that covered the pavement from its 19th century cobblestone beginnings to its 21st century terrorist rubble. On September 26, 2003, at St. Vincent's hospital in lower Manhattan, Jackie Flosso, born Jack Levinson, died of heart complications brought on by diabetes. Born to carney royalty, his father was no stranger to ten shows daily at Luna Park, and his mother Lillian, was the mystical mind reader "Madame Xena." Lillian's father was the famous Louis "Pop" Krieger noted cup and ball worker, entertainer of the wealthy and contemporary of the great Malini. He also did a sensational Punch and Judy act. Lionel the Lion-faced Boy preceded Jojo the Dog-faced Boy, though both would cuddle baby Jackie as an infant along with another sideshow veteran named Erik Weiz who had long ago dropped his Hungarian birth name and achieved folkloric status as HOUDINI. The end of Harry and Bessie Houdini's performing career would be somewhat of an overture to Jackie's upbringing, as the great magician would make his final escape a mere ten months later on Halloween, 1926.

The Great Malini 1873-1942

Laff Schoenberg, below his grandson, Harpo Marx

Jackie's dad owned the Martinka Magical Supply House started in the 1870's by Francis and Antonio Martinka from Essen Germany. The Martinka's came from Germany and so did Al's father in law "Pop" Krieger, and another older émigré who settled nearby in Yorkville with his daughter and her five sons. His name was Laff Schoenberg and he was a strongman and magician in a covered wagon show that played spas in Germany. His wife Fannie played the harp after the magician performed so the patrons could dance. Laff Schoenberg lived, legend has it, to the age of 101 and fathered eleven children, two of whom went on to become successful in show business. His daughter Minnie became a legendary stage mother, and her brother Al changed the family name to Shean and became one half of the vaudeville team "Gallagher and Shean." The most notable factor of Schoenberg's life was that his grandsons grew up to be known as The Marx Brothers. Pop Krieger had entertained European royalty and the fashionable 400 in New York. Krieger's son in law, Albert Levinson, became known as Al Flosso, his mother's maiden name being Flosterstein, and his childhood playmates referred to him as "Floss." Al adopted his father-in-law's tricks and gags which included the production of a long line of baby laundry from a patron's pocket, amidst many other astounding feats. Little Jackie grew up in this kaleidoscopic fun house of German émigrés who successfully entered show business in New York City between 1873 and the dawn of the twentieth century. The Museum of the City of New York displays a fascinating fact to visitors. On an entry way interactive display a question is posed: How many people live on Manhattan island? Answer: from 1900 to 2000 the population of Manhattan island has steadily stayed at a robust, but unexpected, one million.

The point is that the seekers of fortune in the new land welcomed by Lady Liberty via Ellis Island came for one thing: opportunity. And, these one million opportunity seekers (from all over the world) on the former Nieu Amsterdam were well-schooled to be entertained by the "tummelors" or street entertainers, the whose craft dated back before Christ. Many of them were mountebanks, rogues, gypsies, and some tread the waters of slightly dishonest means: pocket picking, games of chance that could not be won, or the enterprising five-year-old who sold more papers because he was a good hoofer. Such was the milieu into which Jackie Flosso was born. He grew up learning to read his ABC's by reading the billboards of America as his dad traveled to circus dates with the Sells Floto circus. He heard all the stories backstage, and was surrounded by laughter and genuine innovation. It was irresistible, glorious, intoxicating ­ he would join the tummelor tradition. And join he did ­ with a passion. As a teenager in the late 1930's he already made pocket money writing gags for Jerry Lester. Later he worked for a young comic just entering nightclubs and later, a new medium called television, his name was Ernie Kovacs. Jackie befriended all of his father's cronies from Orson Welles (a very accomplished magician in his own right), to Irving Berlin. Jackie Gleason was staked to many a meal because Al Flosso believed in his great talent. Gleason repaid the favor for the rest of his life in kingly fashion.

Hollywood moguls and Broadway producers Adolph Zukor, Jesse Lasky and Charles Dillingham all came to dinner and loved Lillian's goulash and potato soup. Al always made sure to introduce little Jackie, and they all laughed like hell at his antics and cleverness, all night long.

In 1939 Al purchased the famous Martinka store from Frank Ducrot (originally named T. Francis Fritz) who had bought it from Professor Otto Hornmann (another contemporary of the old world) who had bought it from Houdini who had purchased it from Carter the Great, who, at one time kept a lion on the premises! A lot of sawdust had been walked over by the time a forty-four year-old Flosso and his thirteen year-old son walked in the place on lower Sixth Avenue and slightly renamed it, "The Flosso-Hornmann Magic Company."

In 1945, Jackie, now nineteen, left to support American soldiers in Europe and the Far East in a series of USO shows. As his grandfather and his father before him, he baffled, bedazzled and made everyone laugh. A pack of Camel Cigarettes appeared and disappeared much to the GI's delight. Later, his act billed as "Mr. Billionaire" wowed them with money growing from his fingertips, coming out of the air and vanishing in a small safe. Reviews were abundant and he was sure to preserve his legacy ­ but in later years, as proprietor of the famous store, he kept mum about his previous incarnation as a soldier-sorcerer.

As a first-rate magician he knew the value of secrecy and when it was time to be "on." More importantly ­ one of the secrets of his greatness ­ was the ability to become invisible. From the raucous raconteur to the quiet observer, Jackie Flosso shared the penetrating silence of Buster Keaton and Harpo Marx ­ friends and patrons of the little shop of wonders at one time or another. Silence was the secret of his great timing. He knew when it was time to be "on" and never abused the privilege.

One day Al took Jackie to the famous Herbert Brooks costume company in Queens. Something special was needed for one of Jackie's shows ­ this would be about 1952. As the elevator opened on the industrial floor, Jackie and Al made their way to the front office where they were expected. Another client, beautifully attired in a three-piece English woolen suit, sported a cane, and doffed a homburg, escorted a knockout of a young lady.

Al said surreptitiously out the side of his mouth, "Oh boy, this is gonna be good." Before Al could extend the greeting, the well-dressed gentleman surprisingly spun on heel with balletic grace and offered the glad hand, "Why Al! I was hoping we wouldn't leave before you came. Please meet Claire Bloom. She stars in my new picture."

Salutations were exchanged. Names were not. Jackie's curiosity was peaked. He approached the gentleman when the moment seemed propitious and offered politely, "Tell me, what do you do?"

"Oh, I used to play tramp." Jackie had been talking to Charlie Chaplin.

In the 1960's when Jim Morrison defied network censors and sang, "Come on baby light my fire" Al and Jackie were in the Ed Sullivan Theater (at the time called Studio 50). The famous MCA agent Mark Leddy asked his old client Al what he thought of the new rock 'n roll. Al replied, "Modern show business. It's great." Jackie beamed. It was all exciting and no one got hurt.

And so it was that Jackie Flosso grew with the utmost respect and understanding of the world his father, mother, and grandfather lived. The real pros, the great ones never forgot their humble, even poverty-stricken beginnings.

Jackie would philosophically say in later years, "Growing up in a hard world taught my dad that nobody was all bad." When a friend of Jackie's was devastated over a broken engagement, he barked his counsel to his grieving pal, "Now you're a man! Life's kicked you in the balls and you have gotten up off the canvas. Welcome to the club."

Another time this wizened New Yorker ­ often called the "real Mayor" ­ counseled a friend on where he should live. Moving from Astoria Queens to the shadow of the mighty Riverhouse on East 52nd Street seemed beyond the pocketbook of the friend. "Do you think I can do it? Should I? I don't know if I can afford it." Jackie pondered a moment, waited for each person's breath to be in sync and then let it rip with comedic intensity, "Schmuck! It's right across the street from Billy's. Sinatra eats there. Take it!"

Jackie Flosso was a man's man, a great entertainer of children, and the doyen of legitimate deception known and loved by: Danny Kaye, Harold Lloyd, Society band leader Richard Himber, composer of the greatest played single of all time "Tea For Two" Irving Caeser, Johnny Carson, Dick Cavett, Woody Allen, Mel Brooks and the sons and daughters of notables such as Harper Simon, Paul's son.

Jackie Flosso was not only the third and last in a true dynasty of magicians who trod the boards of Manhattan stages for over one hundred years, he was a kind man, a truthful man, a guy that would defend you to the death if you were on the inside, or as he sometimes said, "one of the boys."

On a retreat in Long Island playing gin rummy with Norman Mailer's crowd until the wee hours Jackie relished his time "in the country." But he was at heart a New Yorker through and through often quoting George M. Cohan's famous line, "Whenever you're out of New York, you're camping out."

He liked to keep everyone on their toes with the unexpected ­ and this was one of his great gifts to the world. One never knew what would happen in the Krieger-Flosso universe, and they liked it that way. It was therefore only appropriate that Al should purchase the most famous magic store in America to have a permanent stage in the heart of Herald Square. Up a flight of rickety stairs, and later an elevator ride to the sixth floor closer to the Empire State building, wonders persisted from 1939 to 2000. Pop Krieger, Al Flosso and his son Jackie Flosso kept the audiences of "club date" New York in stitches with warmth and humility for over 100 years. This family stood for an art form that has traveled from the wandering nomadic shaman of the pre BC Gangetic plains to the heights of cosmopolitan Manhattan. Whether it was a pebble disappearing at the beach in a wet, closed fist, or a hand crocheted ball disappearing beneath a sterling silver tumbler at the home of John D. Rockefeller, the magician's art, as practiced by this wonderful family has literally entertained millions. This is truly magic. Whenever everyone was losing his or her head, Jackie remained calm.

Jackie Flosso enteraining at the famous Martinka store, early 90's.

When a pal was in need; Jackie was there. When something was needed right away, Jackie lost patience with those that only talked big. Jackie was a doer, a seer, a provocateur of the ridiculous among the humdrum. He was a streetwise pundit clothed in clown gags, persistent truthfulness, always avoiding avarice and the brassiness of second-rate ego so common to show business.

At his memorial on Amsterdam Avenue several days after his spirit left, many of his friends came to hear the eulogy; many never having met one another before. Stories were exchanged, and a funny thing happened. It seemed that we all knew Jackie and loved him dearly, but it also became apparent that we all knew a different chapter of his life. It was as if there was a different Jackie Flosso for each person. Then everyone realized the family tradition at work ­ he had saved his best feat for last.

We shall never see his kind again.