The Legacy of Leon Leonwood

In 1911, Leon Leonwood Bean sent a one-page circular advertising his new rubber hunting shoe to every person with a Maine hunting licence. He developed the boot, at least according to legend, because he was tired of coming back from hunting trips with aching, wrinkled feet.

In 1981, as in every one of the past few years, the women's squash team from Phillips Exeter Academy heads north for a match with Bowdoin. The trips takes the team past Freeport, Me., home of the store that grew from Mr. Bean's first advertisement. And as the bus rumbles out of Exeter, the coach reminds the young ladies that they will be stopping at the Bean emporium. Much cheering. At least an hour is reserved for the stop; "people come away with huge packages," a former racquetwoman recalls. It is widely rumored that no member of the Exeter squash team holds a valid Maine hunting license and that at most only one or two a year have suffered from wet feet.

Leon Leonwood, always well-protected from the elements in his Bean gear, ran the operation himself until he died at the age of 94, in 1967. "He was strictly a 19th-century character," Bean public affairs director Kilt Andrews insists. But the stout-hearted State of Mainer, who hailed from the Bethel area, possessed at least a little savvy when it came to business. His chamois shirts, his touring canoes and campstoves, and most of all his Maine hunting boots supported a $4.75-million mini-empire when he expired.

It was, of course, a family business; when L. L. died, he left the operation to his son Carl. There was just one problem. As Andrews explains, "You can imagine that if L. L. was 94 his son was no spring chicken. Sure enough, Carl dropped off eight months later." So now what? ITT steps in and purchases the whole shebang? Of course not--this is a family business.

Next in line was a grandson, Leon Gorman, and his constitution has proved hardier than poor Carl's. In fact, the Gorman years have seen the L. L. Bean operation grow into a giant business, with nearly $120 million in net sales expected this year. To begin with, there was motivation. "When Leon took over, it was sink or swim. Old L. L. had always said, 'I'm getting three square meals a day from this and I don't need a fourth.' And at 94, you can bet to hell L. L. wasn't humping it too hard," Andrews says.

Leon's vision was of a broader market for the Bean line: His grandfather focused almost totally on hunting, fishing and camping; Leon added a fourth category--attending social functions. L. L. had advertised in Field & Stream; his grandson began buying space in the New Yorker, Smithsonian, and a host of other publications. Gun-toting hunters had beat a path to L. L.'s door in his lifetime; they have been joined in years since by racquet-toting preppies.

"Basically, we stay in the same place; we stick to basic, practical footwear and apparel," Andrews insists. "All that happens is people get interested from time to time." The Bean family remembers 1976 as an embarrassing year; that's when it won a Coty award from the fashion industry. And then, "in 1979, the beginning of 1980, this preppy thing began to happen...It's just one of those things. For a little while, people come in and touch where we are. We stay in the same place."

Another executive insists that Bean's is "not on the leading edge of fashion--we're not even near it. Sometimes these trends come in and we just get caught." But one gets the feeling that the folks at Bean's aren't too upset; the spurt in sales has allowed them to build an enormous warehouse complex, where 80 per cent of their business is transacted. The main Freeport store--open 24 hours a day, 365 days a year--accounts for the other fifth. "If L. L. could see all this, he'd probably have a warm smile on his face," Andrews admits.

Route 115 approaches Freeport from the northwest, meandering through a series of small towns. It's dark at 1 a.m., and every dip sends car and driver down into the fog. But in the long, open stretches before Yarmouth, the moon is out, and clouds skid across its face. It's a good Maine road--frost heaves, of course--and it could be almost any place in the Pine Tree State. It could run just out of sight of the ocean up past Damariscotta and Pemaquid. It could run through potato country in Arostook. It could be bordered by blueberry stands, like the roads near Bar Harbor. Pretend there are some mountains, and it could be near Rangeley and the lakes area, or even in the shadow of mighty Katahdin.

Days and years spent in places like those inspired the Bean line, or at least most of it. The parentage still shows--in the lobby of the store, a chalkboard announces upcoming special events. They include "Canoe Films Night," a talk on the woman's ascent of Annapurna, and a slide-illustrated lecture on the "Joy of Fly Fishing."

But upstairs, at 2 a.m., there don't seem to be many fishermen or climbers--two women argue about sizes of Bean's Oxford Cloth Shirtdresses, Bean's Jean Skirts and Bean's Kettle Cloth Skirts. They settle on one and head for the footwear department, stopping in front of a display of the Maine hunting shoe, L. L.'s first inspiration. "They're so cute," one of the women says. "And besides, I need something to go shopping in."