It’s a long, narrow store, set up galley style with metal racks and shelves spanning both lengths of the space. Each horizontal surface is layered with a myriad of film, papers, batteries, darkroom equipment, and every other accessory or technical gadget a professional photographer or ardent hobbyist could conceive of needing. One side of the store is more self-serve, allowing the customer to sort through the overflowing supplies and materials. The opposite side has a counter that separates the customers from the more expensive products — cameras –– new or vintage and various lenses — with staff navigating the space behind the counter responding to customers. There’s just enough room in the centre aisle space for two customers to browse in between, preferably going in the opposite direction. All this to say, it’s tight quarters in a busy space.
I’m in the Central Camera Company photographic emporium, Chicago’s oldest camera store, in business since 1899. Hoping to learn more about Karl’s cyclone camera, I emailed the store outlining Karl’s story. Then a few days later, I followed up with a phone call before arriving in Chicago asking to speak with Don Flesch, the store’s third-generation owner.
Don seemed interested in Karl’s story but told me that the camera store was destroyed by fire on May 30th, 2020. First, looters stole around 90% of all the major equipment, camera lenses and flashes, new and used and then started a fire in the basement. But Don said to me what he had said since the day the 121-year-old business was destroyed: “It’s done – it’s over, there’s nothing I can do. We’re gonna go forward, we’re gonna rebuild and that’s what we’re doing.”
I had come to what is now a familiar juncture in my journey following Karl, when suddenly on my path, there’s a proverbial rabbit hole, an opportunity for an unexpected adventure or encounter. This time, Karl brought me to Don Flesch.
A week after the blaze and destruction, Don set up the store outside on the sidewalk, and then the Central Camera Co. temporarily moved into the neighbouring property. In my earlier phone conversation with Don, I asked if I could meet with him in person to learn about his family and the history of photography in Chicago when the business started. I arrived about 10:00 AM on a Saturday and the store was packed with customers.
About three-quarters of the way into the store, there was a table spanning most of the store’s width with just enough room to squeeze by to get to the back of the store. There were two occupied chairs at the table, both facing the front of the store. One seat was occupied by whom I guessed was Don, chatting enthusiastically to a woman while with equal rigour, eating a breakfast sandwich.
It was a slow path to get to the table. I counted about five staff amidst the customers, trying to run interception to help a customer before making their way to Don. As I got closer to the table, one of the store associates asked if they could help me, “No thanks, I’m here to chat with Don.” Don acknowledged my presence upon hearing his name, but he was busy with the woman in the chair. She looked like a journalist. I realized that I had grossly underestimated the character of this man and the story of his business, so of course journalists would be lined up to speak with him.
Then another person approaches the table:
Don: “How can I help you, young lady?”
Lady: “I’m looking for a lens cover for a Canon Rebel, 18-55mm lens”,
Don: “Charlie, can you help this lady out? She needs a 55mm lens cover.”
Don: “Did you get a chocolate?” and he picks out a York Peppermint patty from a full jar and passes her one.
I hover near the table in an attempt to hear what the ‘interview’ is about and overhear the words “aperture” and “ISO,” then realizing the woman was a customer seeking advice on purchasing a new camera. Don makes eye contact with me, “You need to have chocolate!” “Did you get a pin?” as he signals for me to help myself to a Central Camera pin from a basket. He asks me what I need and that he’ll direct someone to help me. I’m looking to speak with you, I say. “Okay, after I’m finished.”
I feel like my place in this queue to speak with Don is now secured, but at the same time, I appreciate that he’s a busy man with a business to rebuild, and any time I may have in his direct company will be limited. While I wait, I adjust my expectations and wander around the store, back down the length to the front and back again on the other side. There are beautiful photographs hung above the shelves. I take my time to admire each print while also casting an eye to Don, keenly waiting for that second chair to vacate in the hope that the other staff will continue to run interference to allow me to get there next.
Finally, I could see the conversation wrapping up and no sooner did the customer get out of the chair next to Don, I shimmied in.
I shared that we had chatted earlier. My story, following Karl’s journey, he nods, remembering the background. I realize I’m talking fast, a sense of urgency, feeling my allotment of time to speak with Don has started ticking towards expiration. Yet, Don doesn’t share my sense of urgency, and his response: “I forgot to put my pin on this morning,” he says and starts by putting the little green pin on his shirt.
Then there is a staff member who needs an invoice approved:
Don: “I don’t need to see that yet. It’s just an estimate. Wait till the transaction”.
Then, a Customer approaches the table and tells Don that he’s looking to sell his camera.
Don: “Charlie - can you help this man?” Then to the Customer: “Go to the man with the hair. I’m the one without the hair.”
He turns back to me, “I’m like a quarterback - just moving things around,” his eyes twinkle and my frenetic energy dissipates.
I bring the conversation back to Karl, here in 1899, getting his first camera, one of the first handheld cameras and ask if Don could tell me about his Grandfather who started the store back in 1899. I get out my notepad and pen, and he tells me about “Grampy.”
Grampy, Albert Flesch was born in Hungary in 1878. The eldest son of Jewish parents, he was to be sent to war, as was customary at the time, at the age of 13. His parents, wanting to keep him alive, decide to send him to America. He spends three months walking to Venice, Italy, keeping a diary of his travels to get there. Then upon arrival in Venice takes a boat to Ellis Island, New York. His parents directed him upon arriving in NYC to get on the train to Chicago. In his diary, he writes about buying a new winter coat, visiting relatives on the day of his departure, and arriving in Chicago, where he went to live with an uncle.
Albert starts working at Siegall Cooper, a prominent Chicago department store and works in the camera department. He likes the camera business and seeing its potential he acquires two business partners, a salesperson for Vitrola’s — the original record players — and an optometrist, and together they open Central Camera in 1899. The store moved from its first location to the historic Palmer House Hotel in 1907, and then in 1929, Grampy hired 100 people who carried the contents of the store by hand down the street to its permanent location in the “loop” on South Wabash Avenue. The store offered commercial developing and print processing as early as 1900 and then introduced a mail-order catalogue.
Albert had two sons, Don’s father, Harold, and Stanley. The two sons worked in the store as kids, and when Grampy died in 1933 at the age of 56 from a heart attack, Harold and Stanley took over. The Flesch brothers expanded the business into new areas, including Albert Specialty Co., a manufacturing business that made tripods and other equipment.
Then, in 1943, Harold had his first child, and Don’s older sister Karen was born; then in March 1948, Ronald was born; and 12 minutes later, Don arrived. It is a Jewish custom to pass down the patriarchal name to the second generation - Grampy, who was “Albert” is Don’s first name, he was born Albert Donald, but they called him Don and his twin brother, Ronnie. Don started working in the store in the 1950s, and when he lost his father in 1983, he took over as the owner.
All this time, Don continues to triage between customers and staff members while I absorb every word and story of his family. I ask if Grampy, his Father, or his Uncle were photographers. He said there were family photographs but no actual record that there was interest in photography. The passion was related to the business of photography. As for Don, he keeps a point-and-shoot around his neck, and when I inquired what he likes to take photos of, he told me: “anything of interest, sometimes just my foot, it’s neat to see where it’s landed on the ground!”.
When Don received the call for the alarm that the store was on fire on May 30th he rushed to the store and tried to save anything remaining. He managed to get a few of the books with customers’ and suppliers’ names, and saved the 1st camera sold by Grampy. Shortly thereafter the donations started. Central Camera and by extension the Flesch family was an institution in the community. A “go-fund-me” site was setup and individuals and companies started to donate money and also photography equipment to help the business recover.
Don suggested we take a look at the storeroom to see those donations along with anything that was salvaged and cleaned from the fire, and the new supplies. We meander through the shelving units and Don pulls out a Kodak camera, like that first one Grampy sold, and shows me how it works.
We leave the storeroom and exit the front of the store to literally go next door to the original store. It takes time to get through the store, the “quarterback” is passing out peppermint patties to all his customers. Don asks if they have a pin yet, if not they need a pin too. He hands me a bottle of hand sanitizer: “here take this, keep it in your bag.”
Don never wavered on his plans to rebuild — construction is well underway. We walk into what will be the newly constructed original Central Camera store, which he expects to open in about 3 months. It’s obvious he’s proud of the new store, it’s a testament to his perseverance, the Flesch tenacity and savvy business acumen passed down from his father and grandfather.
As we return to where we started in the temporary story, I know our time together is coming to an end. I’ve taken up about 2 hours of Don’s time, sitting with him in the middle of the store, appreciating that I was totally in the way, but never being made to feel hurried along. I thank Don for his time and request a photo of us together. When we exchange contact information, he says to me “I feel like I’ve made a new friend” and pushes another two York Peppermint Patties into my hand.
You most certainly did Don.