Ed Bachrach November 23, 2020
A giant has passed.
Our beloved Stan Tuggle entered heaven this week.
Over the years he worked with hundreds and each of them have scores of Stan stories. When he retired from Bachrach, we had a farewell dinner. Many a story were told that night and a very grainy video of that event is posted on-line.
https://vimeo.com/381221283/baed011ece?utm_source=email&utm_medium=vimeo-cliptranscode-201504&utm_campaign=28749
Username: [email protected]
Password: Beethoven#5th
At this final farewell, I’d like to share a handful of stories that many might not have ever heard.
Stan told me that he was not born in a hospital but in a house his folks rented where the Decatur Racquet Club now stands. He went far in life from those humble beginnings. What an American life.
One of my first memories of him was that Saturday in 1956, when our babysitter was murdered by her estranged husband at our home. The call went to the store where Stan and the folks were working. He was the first one on the scene arriving in his Nash Rambler about the same time as the police. He immediately ran into the house to make sure my sisters and I were ok.
A couple of years later I attended my first wedding when he and Kay were wed. At the time I thought that all women were sweet and beautiful. Looking back from the other end of my life I am in awe of his choice of such a wonderful woman and supportive partner.
One day in my first year working in sales at the downtown store I was strolling the main floor with my hands in my pockets. Seeing this Stan came up behind me. He didn’t whisper in my ear or call me aside to correct me. He kicked me in the ass – literally – followed by the admonishment that “We don’t put our hands in our pockets. Find something to do.” I didn’t like it but learned in that instant how to comport myself in public. I didn’t complain to dad; he would have agreed with the end, if not the means.
Soothe the irritated and irritate the soothed, was one of Stan’s axioms.
In those days Stan was like a father figure to me. When I turned 20, I left the business for seven years to pursue my own accomplishment. When I came back, I was more of an equal with Stan and we were then more like brothers.
We worked together day and night. On trips to the market we bunked together, worked all day, and dined each night. We disagreed about specific business decisions and argued freely. We could do so because deep down we had infinite mutual trust and respect.
In the years after Stan retired, we encountered a series of difficult business troubles. In the midst of all this one of my reports said “You know the problem we have is that no one argues any more, not like you did with Stan.”
My father, Henry, has said many times that Stan was the most remarkable human he had ever worked with. Compulsively honest. Harder working than anyone. Curious and a sponge for learning. Funny. Empathetic. Energetic. Selfless. Charming. Focused on achievement and results. Loyal. A friend to anyone and everyone. And courageous. It would be hard to find a virtue of Stan’s that dad hadn’t covered and that I hadn’t seen.
The other night my girlfriend asked me what was the essence of what made Stan so great. I told her that he always knew the right thing to do, in the right way, and at the right time.
He knew when to speak and when to listen.
When to learn and when to teach.
When to push and when to pull.
When to act and when not to.
In the spring of 1976 our company was not doing too well. We were about to open our twelfth store and were overextended financially and operationally. We were in debt and profits were miniscule. Dad later told me he was considering selling the business. He would have received very little. Stan was the executive vice-president of the company and our controller was Dwayne Fleener. I had been gone for seven years and was working as a CPA in Denver.
On March 1 Dwayne to
