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AL FLOSSO by Ben Robinson originally published in The Illusionist, Vol. 4, No.4. reprinted by permission |
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To Al Flosso -- who knows
that this whole world is one big circus side show. Harry Houdini The little man looked over his prop satchel. Plenty of hat tears. Check. Just the right number of silver coins for his Miser's Dream. Old reliable; it made him famous. The production clocks were where they always were. The egg bag was neatly folded ready to amaze people in the master's hands. The rising cards stayed put until their aerial ballet. He fooled other magicians with this wonder. That made him happy. Though it didn't matter what he did; it was how he did it. He was an entertainer supreme. He looked around. It was noon. He had an hour before he left on a day of shows that would be remembered by thousands in hundreds of re-tellings of this remarkable man's day. But it was all just another day at the office for this remarkable man born Albert Levinson in Manhattan, October 10, 1895 (his mother's maiden name was Flosterstein, and the neighborhood kids called him "Floss"). The future famous "Coney Island Fakir" was about to set out for a day of 8 shows in 8 different places in New York City. What a day it would be! It wasn't the money; it was the work that propelled this one man circus. At one show he'd entertain the elite of the theatre world with Bert Kalmar at the piano; at another he's swap gossip on a break with Jimmy Durante and Irving Berlin. At a Lambs Club dinner he'd rub elbows effortlessly with the moguls of the movie business like Adolph Zukor and Jesse Lasky. During a Rockefeller lawn party he'd make the children giggle uncontrollably with his plucking silver coins from their ears, eyes, mouth and little tummies. "Stand up straight, my boy! " he'd bellow with the finest of showmanly whimsy. Al cut his teeth as a showman during the heyday of the sideshow world where 12 shows a day was more the rule than the exception. What days they were in 1915! With Lionel the Lionface Boy, Madame Zenta the Mental Marvel, Albert Alberta the Hermaphrodite (half man, half woman), Sealo the Seal Boy (who had fish fin hands and shave himself in his act) and the remarkable Pip and Flip the Pinheads he'd pack them in. Moving swiftly through his 8 to 10 minute slot Al bamboozled and befuddled with street wise elegance. The pitchmen hawked "slum." These were tricks and trinkets that seldom made it past the first performance. The giant sold a ring he wore, 5 sizes larger than a normal person's. The crowd rushed for these marvelous pieces of memorabilia. The "shill" did his job and all the acts enjoyed the "tip." One shill who was particularly suited for this kind of work later went on to world fame. His name was Buddy Abbott, later one-half the team of Abbott and Costello. Al's love of magic began when his family moved to Williamsburg, Brooklyn, circa 1901. Later, when Al and his parents moved to Manhattan, they lived near the yet-to-be famous Marx Bros. in Yorkville. On the Lower East Side in Manhattan via the Educational Alliance (still existing in the same location), he saw Mark Twain lecture. One evening at the Educational Alliance there was an act titled "Straight and Crooked Magic" starring Harry and Pete Bouton (later Blackstone). Al was enthralled, and this led to a Wehman Bros. publication about Herrmann the Great. An advertisement in the back of the book led him to the famous Martinka shop. Early on he met Frank Ducrot, who ran a little magic shop on Hallsey Street in Brooklyn. (Ducrot introduced young Al to Pop Krieger, and to the great Malini. Pop Krieger knew the Marx Bros. grandfather, the German magician and strongman, Laff Schoenberg. Al was trained by the old school of magicians.) As a boy he traversed the Brooklyn Bridge many times to seek wonders at Martinka's Magic Emporium on Sixth Avenue in the Chelsea section of Manhattan. His first trick was a bust: the egg that was supposed to adhere to his 7-year-old nose, defying gravity, more often ended up on the sidewalk. Undaunted, he indulged his new found passion into a lifelong interest, profession and hobby. Al's career as a magician probably inspired almost as many magicians as Houdini. (The list is endless, but, Ricky Jay, David Copperfield and Jeff Sheridan all took early cues from the remarkable Al Flosso, when they all had different last names.) He got along with everyone and the world was his bouncy stage. Who was this Puckish savant? He stood less than 5' 5" and had a nose that was memorable. His glasses focused his sparkling eyes, and his build indicated a healthy, full appetite. He ate whatever he wanted, whenever he wanted. Once a smoker, he listened to his good friend Dr. Henry C. Falk and flushed his cigars the day he learned of their consequences in the late 40's. He never touched a cigarette or cigar again, though he didn't mind if others did.
"What Houdini said about him was really true. He was a man of the theatre; never missed a Broadway show; loved to go out to the movies with a big bag of popcorn." Even on his 80th birthday, Al was a spry 7-year-old trying out the newest tricks. He swapped stories and made others howl with his candor. He was a real man's man and he'd fight for you if he believed in you. Al helped many performers along the way, some who went on to great fame, like Jackie Gleason. During Gleason's salad days Al staked the comedian at the famous Billy Rose Diamond Horseshoe Cabaret (on 47th St. off Broadway). Years later Gleason repaid the favor many times over with generosity becoming of Gleason's kingly stature. But it was never about money between friends. Al was a man who knew what it took to become a star; he sensed this in young performers, and the kind ones never forgot. People who worked with Al never forgot him. His friend Ed Sullivan made sure Al was the first magician he ever booked on his Toast of the Town TV show, preceding Al's many appearances on Sullivan's famous variety show. One day after Al had bought the Martinka shop from Frank Ducrot (in 1939), Harold Lloyd and Orson Welles rang him up. They needed a sub trunk to do at a The Players club. Al provided a Jack Gwynne original design and the two stars came over and lugged the trunk up and down the stairs themselves. Al always appreciated real troupers. Often actors became famous because they know the ratio between perspiration and inspiration. Al loved grifters, carneys, sideshow folk and magicians. He thought Cardini was a genius; he considered Servais LeRoy the best all around magician he'd ever seen (he could do the smallest wonder, or the most elaborate illusion show). Al could watch the prestidigitation of Frakson and Fowler "The King of Watches" many times and never got tired. With the famous mind reader, Dunninger, he'd blow people's minds even though backstage the two occasionally behaved like the Sunshine Boys. John Scarne was a frequent visitor and the two would burn the midnight oil swapping the newest moves and ideas. But it was with Dai Vernon with whom Al had one of the longest relationships. Vernon came from Canada to New York around the turn of the century and by 1915 was cutting silhouettes in Luna Park where Al was doing a 10 in 1 show. With Vernon, Al would ponder the ins and outs of magicians' psychology into the wee hours. Vernon considered Al the best card forcing magician he had ever seen. Al was an unstoppable turbine of fun and everyone loved to hang out with Al; and he loved to hang out! During the 60's, as man landed on the moon, he marveled at the wonder of TV and got kicks from the counterculture kids. He was not a religious man, but he held certain firm values. When he went on the road with The World of Mirth Show he had to take his son out of school. Still learning his ABC's, young Jackie would be tutored by his father to read in a most creative way. Al taught Jackie to read and spell by teaching him what was written on the billboards of middle America. Al knew an education was important and that though the life of the itinerant performer seemed like a lot of fun to a kid, basics were not to be missed. Some basics became habit, like clean socks every morning. Once on a trip to Saratoga, New York, at the US Grant Hotel, Al spied his mentor, the legendary Max Malini, washing his socks in the bathroom sink at 6am. Malini also used Bay Rum on his face after shaving. Al practiced both up to the day he left the Earth. Al knew a good thing when he saw it.
Sometimes he'd just close the door and noodle around with the rarities left over from previous owners like Carter the Great, the Martinkas, Frank Ducrot or Houdini. Al always found something to do whether it was prepare a special effect for Johnny Carson or call up his friends Dr. Robert Albo, Tad Ware and Jay Marshall and discuss some rare piece of magic apparatus he'd just acquired. He mixed with all kinds. It wasn't just magicians who frequented his company. His son Jack remembers "He liked colorful characters. You might think a guy was half nuts, but my father always enjoyed the eccentrics. He felt right at home with the off beat like Guy Jarrett." Al was a rebel of the most romantic order. He was as straight ahead a friend, father and mentor as one could find. He'd back anybody if they had the will to give their dream their best shot. He was an optimist. He rarely got depressed or really surely. He lived in a world of his own charming creation. His sense of humor grounded his being. He was able to cut a deal with a wink and make sure all parties felt fulfilled. Children never spent more than they could afford in his shop and he always made sure they had enough money to get back home. Shortly before his last show on that fateful day of 8 performances, Al looked at his watch, he only had 20 minutes to get to the last date at the Hotel Astor. As the busiest club date magician in New York City (if not the country) he wasn't worried. He had enough time to reset his props and replace those he had discarded. He rushed into the hotel and the elevator man directed him to the back stage ballroom entrance. The band leader asked about his introduction and the mighty Coney Island Fakir took the stage to huge applause. The coins multiplied. The laughs were thunderous, the clocks rang and the cards rose. The next day the agent who booked the date called. "Where were you last night? You disappointed everyone!" Al shot back "Whadya mean, disappointed? I was a hit. They screamed!" The agent let him know he was supposed to perform for a group of jewelers; Al had entertained a group of insurance men in a different ballroom. Perhaps the greatest wonder of this magical little man was that he was human after all.
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