Curtis Hartman

Family Business

 

The hourly workers in Oklahoma were pleased with Chuck's changes, especially since the new production-scheduling system was designed to avoid the problem of dry periods, which resulted in layoffs. They knew they could trust him, anyway. Not long before, some of the women had suggested they might all work a little better if they got some exercise, and Chuck had agreed. The aerobic dance-class program he implemented proved immediately popular: Today, nearly two-thirds of the factory's workers take part in the classes, five nights a week, at Komar's expense. To Chuck, the program was like the hot drinks back in '32. The employees deserved it.

Today, when Herman Komar watches the family business, he likes what he sees very much indeed. The traditions -- and the profits -- are not only being maintained, they are growing. David, Chuck and Charlie have all found niches for themselves, just as Herman and his brothers did. And there is still the same family closeness: Charlie has his brother-in-law, Jay Harris, working as a salesman in the New York showroom, and his sister, Leah Harris, designing the catalog. Charlie is more aggressive than Herman would have been, and he is certainly more energetic. But Herman remembers being full of beans himself when he took over, and eager to make the business grow.

Finance was the last area Herman let go. Last year, Charlie wanted to start making acquisitions, and targeted Berwick Knitwear Inc., a Pennsylvania sweater manufacturer in the $10-million-to-$15-million range. Herman thought Komar should just stick to lingerie companies.

"There's a limiting factor with that," Charlie argued. "How big is the lingerie market ever going to be?"

So Herman gave him his head. And Berwick Knitwear, purchased last April, is just a start. By the time he turns 50, Charlie hopes to turn Komar into a $500-million diversified conglomerate. Herman can barely imagine it.

"The Komar Group," Charlie plans to call it Wouldn't that be something for him to pass on to his children?

By the end of the day, Herman is tired. He rests his bulky frame in Charlie's modest office, the smallest in the executive suite, listening and nodding, occasionally offering an anecdote from his 50 years at the helm.

This afternoon, Charlie is patiently outlining what he has planned for the $9 million in the company's profit-sharing fund. A broker's proposal came today, Charlie explains, a new investment opportunity, so he rechecked Komar's options. He talked with his cousin, Sanford Moore, whose legal and accounting firms counsel Komar. He talked with the broker. "And I essentially decided that what we were already doing was best," Charlie says, tearing the broker's return envelope in half and throwing it in the trash.

His father nods. That seems fine. Then he rises ponderously from the chair, smooths the wrinkles from his rumpled suit, and glances down at the wastebasket. "That's a 20 cent stamp you've got there," he points out.

Discussion closed.

Back in his own office, Herman sits out the rest of the afternoon in solitude. Old habits die hard: He still gets to the office early and stays late, but there is less and less for him to do. In the old days he could have talked with Harold, but Harold is on a fitness kick, hiking up to the Metropolitan Museum of Art this afternoon. He could always go to Florida, but he already spends half of the year there. He is still called chief executive officer, and is listened to with respect, but the responsibilities are no longer his. Just as he planned. "It was darn tough to give it up. But I decided to step out when Charlie came in. I thought he was a brilliant boy. I knew he had a lot of determination, so I decided that I was going to let him do it.

"I always felt the children deserved the opportunity I had. My dad could have closed the business up, a lot of people did. But we never thought of it. And I'll tell you this: Any one of the kids is a damn sight better than I ever was.

"I remember I turned over one account to Charlie, and the buyer didn't want to work with him. She said, 'I only work with the boss,' because she had always worked with me. I said, 'You're looking at some- one in his seventies, you've got to start using your head. You're going to be here longer than I am.'

"It turned out that inside of two and a half months the buyer didn't want to work with me. She didn't want to work with the old people, she wanted to work with the young generation. And that's what we've got."

No one tells the stories about the younger generation with more satisfaction than Herman Komar. Just before his father died, Herman got a letter from him. Remember your responsibilities, his father wrote. To your brothers To your employees To your family. Much had been given him, but much would lie expected. That was years ago, when Herman was not much older than Charlie is today. But today, after a lifetime with the family's business on his shoulders, Herman can finally rest. The promises he made to his father will be kept by his son, and, pray God, by his son's sons.

"I hope I'm going to be with the company until the 100th anniversary, but I doubt that I will," he says. "But I know this. The company will be here."

Such a blesssng. It makes the old man smile.

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