Mr. Stanley

My profession for some years was as a representive for an American upper end clothing manufacturer, traveling and directing sales in the field nationally to one account, Neiman Marcus. The retired "President Emeritus" of Neiman Marcus and also the son of the founder of this American retail empire, Mr. Stanley Marcus joined our manufacturing company as a consultant. It was my distinct pleasure to spend time with this gentleman on a number of occasions. It was my perception that he was a uniquely keen observer of the human condition, a man who thought concisely and precisely, and an icon in his industry. Here are a couple of my stories about this wonderful fellow.

Stanley Marcus was an invited writer of editorials to the Dallas Morning News. Once he told me that he had over 1200 email responses to one of his controversial editorials on the subject of drug users, and whether it would wise to convict only the pushers and hospitalize and treat the users as victims. He said that he answered every single email. “How in the world did you do that?” I asked. He answered, “I simply sent out a blanket email in response and told them all, 'Thank you. You may be right.”

Stanley Marcus leased an office in a high rise building near downtown when he was at ninety years of age. He set the lease for ten years. The first time I visited his office I waited on a couch that faced the wall of the hallway leading to his office. There was a work of art facing out toward the couch that immediately was identifiable from that distance as the image of his face. This was not oil but instead appeared to be an unusual medium. I thought perhaps it was like those toys we once played with, where one could push up a hand from below a frame, and spikes would rise above the frame to create the shape of whatever was pushing from below. This art could also be described like protruding nails, with some white flat heads and others black, arranged in such a manner as to image his skin, his beard, his receding scalp, the outline of his head. When the receptionist said that Mr. Stanley would see me now, and I rose and neared the door, the image disappeared into separate white spots against the black with the image now gone. When I arrived at the turn into the hallway and could examine the work closely I could see that it was framed dominos.