Launching Lauren

Volumes have been written about the Life of Ralph, from his bourgeois Bronx beginnings to his spectacular, Madison Avenue mega-success. Some of these books are actually interesting; and some get the part about my father more or less right, although they always refer to Norman as “a manufacturer,” which is not at all what he was. “Impresario” or “entrepreneur” would have been more accurate, since my old man was no more of a factory guy than was Ralph himself. So you may have read about this rock star of the rag trade, you probably know at least part of the story; born Ralph Lifschutz, or whatever it was, Brooks Brothers salesman, blah, blah, blah. But just in case you don’t remember, here’s the emmis. (That means truth; another example of how talking about the clothing business sounds better when you say things in Yiddish, as in:) Here’s the emmis, Ralph didn’t know bubkes, but he had chutzpah.   

In 1966 Norman was hitting his stride. Orders were coming in like never before; money was everywhere. The influence and renown of Norman Hilton Clothes had reached almost mythic proportions. It was the “in” thing, sold in every better respected shop in the country. Carrying the line separated one’s shop from the riffraff; the company’s salesmen had to choose which stores were the best store in each city.

It was a logical next step for Norman to add products, to as they say “extend the brand” to capitalize on this bonanza. How better than to produce dress shirts and neckwear under the Norman Hilton label, accompaniments to the suits and sport jackets.

At the time, all over the industry, and especially in the hallowed halls and elevators of the Sperry Rand building at Fifty-second Street and Avenue of the Americas, where the head offices of every major clothing firm were located, people were talking. In the Ground Floor Bar across the street in the CBS building, and wherever retailers, wholesalers, editors and assorted mavens mingled, they were all talking about a young guy who was making outrageous, 5-inch-wide neckties that were selling for twenty dollars, about four times the price of any other tie. The “kid” (he was just over 30) worked for a St. Louis company called Beau Brummell Cravats. His name was Ralph Lauren.

My father always thought big. There was no way, as anyone who knew Norman and Ralph would quickly attest, that talent the likes of Lauren would be content working in the confined environment of the Norman Hilton business, but those kinds of practical considerations never bothered my dad. His closest assistant, Peter Strom, was dispatched to St. Louis to spring Ralph from his contract with Beau Brummell and for a brief period the Norman Hilton dress furnishings line was designed by Ralph Lauren.

My father told me that it was clear in their very first conversation; while Ralph would work to create the Norman Hilton dress shirt and neckwear lines, his true ambition was to make a line that went above and beyond the Norman Hilton style, a complete collection of clothes, from shoes to hats, sportswear to dinner clothing, knitwear to leathers, all of which would have a richly romantic, updated look. He knew from the beginning that it would be called Polo.

It is not even slightly surprising that Norman immediately saw the potential in Ralph’s idea, and not just on account of the young man’s obvious talent. The natural shoulder era had reached its apogee, just as every style trend would. He knew something was going to come and take its place. It was the 60’s, don’t forget. Change was in the air, like Jimi Hendrix, like marijuana smoke.

Norman sold his stock in Winnebago (a prescient move, as it turned out,) to come up with the seed money, $75,000, to capitalize Polo Fashions, Inc., which he and Ralph owned as equal partners. This company sold all of Ralph’s designs of shirts and ties to retailers. And since this is my story and not Ralph’s, I’ll tell you briefly what happened: in a short time Ralph figured out that having Norman for a partner was only half the fun of being on his own. He started a new company known as Polo/Ralph Lauren, which could sell anything other than shirts and ties and would not have to give my father half of the proceeds. A decade later Ralph bought my father’s share of Polo Fashions for three quarters of a million dollars; a reasonable return, although nothing like half of what Polo/Ralph Lauren was worth.

But the money isn’t interesting. What’s interesting is that the endorsement that Norman gave Ralph, the introduction he offered him to the Big Leagues of US retailing, the pedigree that the Norman Hilton reputation for quality imputed to all things Polo, was a cornerstone of Ralph’s initial success. Ralph’s prodigious talent, drive, and vision might never have been given an audience otherwise. These are the conditions of fate; this is how mythology is born. Somehow, in helping to kindle the fire that became the Polo sun, my father was setting fire to his own house. The sales and management talent that he had trained and engendered, in Peter Strom and the rest of the sales team, the romance and allure which Norman had created around his own product line, all of this went to Polo, which sputtered a bit at first and then exploded into star-like success, while the Hilton family enterprise, tethered to manufacturing facilities and outdated structures, sputtered eventually out.

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