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A Tip of the Hat to Leon L. and the Folks at Orvis

December 15, 2009 - States with large populations, say California or New York, produce world-famous names galore, but Maine's 1.3 million inhabitants mean a much smaller gene pool for generating prominent politicians, writers, artists, actors, sports figures, businesses and so forth.

So, when this small state produces heroes like a George Mitchell, Stephen King, Andrew Wyeth, Patrick Dempsey and Joan Samuelson, we embrace them with gusto because they have made it on a world stage.

Like the names above, this state's own L.L. Bean has risen to global prominence, filling me with pride. It's as Maine as lobsters and pointed firs.

Not to belabor this point about L.L. Bean, but I have traveled across this continent, Europe, Mexico, Central American, Caribbean and beyond, and in these excursions, folks might ask where I live. If they have heard of Maine, it's often because of this Freeport icon.

Extremely successful people or companies attract critics, and a common condemnation of L.L. Bean kills me. It really does, and the criticism often begins with an image of the store's good old days before Leon L. Bean passed away in February 1967.

Older folks reminisce about the mid-1960s and earlier when a visit to the Bean flagship store required a climb up creaky stairs from the Main Street entrance to reach the squeaky second-floor where merchandise displays dressed up the ancient building. Leon L. Bean himself made sure the salesrooms contained fishing gear, camping, hunting clothing, casual clothing, cooking utensils, dishes, blankets and so forth – all the heart desires for the outdoors life.

These recollections often include a thought. Customers claim that today, this store puts less emphasis on pure blood sports, ignoring a salient point. In 2009, the hunting-and-fishing departments measure larger than the entire salesroom did in the 1960s and into the 1970s. Now L.L. Bean even sells firearms – not so in the first 70 years of its existence.

In the late 1980s or early 1990s, Carl Lewis, who worked in a managerial position there, made a huge impression on me when he outlined one of the company's major sales appeals. One afternoon, Lewis spotted me wandering down an aisle toward the fishing department and introduced himself before giving a short monologue that quickly arrived at the punch line.

"We not only sell fly rods and reels," he said, "we sell a way of life."

With a flourishing wave of his hand toward me, he said that I offered a perfect example. That day, I was wearing jeans, shirt, socks, boots, down vest and Moose River hat, all with L.L. Bean labels. A No. 10, 13-pound, cast-iron Dutch oven with a recessed cover dangled from my hand, a wedding gift for a friend who would truly appreciate it.

My iron Dutch oven like the one in my hand has cooked such delights as Texas chili, coq au vin, braised beef, coquilles St. Jacques Mornay, lamb stew, venison stew, biscuits and healthy fried potatoes (one tablespoon of virgin olive oil for every four diced raw potatoes, a recipe that sticks when cooked in a space-age utensil). My oven has also done yeoman's service over a campfire, cooking bread, pastries and braised meat. My friend would use this gift for similar recipes.

Lewis had it right for sure. Folks can buy beds, dining chairs, table, dishes and cups from the Bean store. On and on it goes with only our imaginations setting the limit to this way-of-life theme.

The Orvis Company in Vermont offers the same sales appeal. These folks sell fly-fishing gear and a way of life, too, and I suspect Orvis and Bean arrived at this formula through trial and error when they noticed folks like me, walking into the store while wearing their clothing from head to toe and buying stuff for hunting, fishing, cooking, sleeping and the rest.

Orvis clothes appeal to me, too, stuff like fishing shirts, Irish work hats, Harris Tweed sports coats, blazers, casual and dress vests with lapels, dishes, glasses and cups.

My closets contain fly rods, reels and lines from myriad companies, certainly over a dozen brands. For the past 12 years, I have also taught fly casting on Saturdays, sometimes for five months in a row, giving me an opportunity to try every fancy and no-name brand going – stuff from Sage to Thomas & Thomas to St. Croix to Winston to Redington to Fenwick to all the rest. Orvis and Bean equipment impresses me as much as any of them.

Yes, for sure, these companies sell sporting equipment and a way of life that has spread across the globe. Mainers and New Englanders have a right to feel proud.

KEN ALLEN, Portland Press Herald, December 10, 2009


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