Written by Stephen Morris and originally published in The White River Valley Herald https://www.ourherald.com/articles/castings-adventures-flying-high-with-air-don/
Murray Howell, Vermont Castings' president and co-founder, lived off-the-grid in a small cabin on a high hill overlooking Chelsea, Vermont. He was a mountain man, from his unkempt hair and bushy mustache, to his unlaced Sorels. His one indulgence in life was that he was an amateur pilot who lived to fly. Accordingly, the company had its own airplane, a twin-engine Mitsubishi turbo-prop jet. It defied business logic, but could be understood from the motto of co-founder Murray Howell, “Bigger, faster, higher, better.” Murray was going to see how far he could take his cast-iron rocket ship and no one was about to say "no" to the owner of the company.
America, which had been so rudely shocked by the Arab Oil Embargo of 1973, was more responsive when the 2nd Embargo happened in the spring of 1979. Vermont Castings, the sleepy woodstove company located in an abandoned foundry in tiny Randolph, Vermont became a rocket ship— a cast iron rocket ship. For the next few years the challenge was clear, to keep up with burgeoning demand.
Initially, the company sold direct to consumers, which was great for high profit margins and building brand loyalty, but was very limiting in terms of “keeping big machines running fast,” which business people like to do. In order to keep their state-of-the-art foundry and enameling facility running efficiently the company had to reach beyond those consumers willing to purchase a 400 pound woodstove through the mail.
This meant establishing a national network of independent dealers, and this became the job of the customer service guy … otherwise known as “me” … for no other reason than I was willing to take it on. Towards that end I was the one person in the company, other than the two owners, who were authorized to use the company airplane.
The company employed a full-time pilot in the person of Don Larriviere, a soft-spoken, bearded, counter-culture kinda guy who, like Howell, lived off-the-grid in a log cabin and also, like Howell, lived to fly. I became accustomed to the surprised looks on airport employees when the Mitsubishi pulled up to the private jetport and two hippies from the north woods emerged.
What a crazy, upside-down time! While interest rates hovered in the mid-teens and “greenmailing” was the current craze in the financial world, Don Larriviere and I flew around the country in the chariot we deemed “Air Don.”
The acme of the absurdity came in 1983 when the national woodstove convention was held in New Orleans. This represented a great opportunity for me, as the creme de la creme of the nation’s woodstove dealers would be in attendance give me the opportunity to meet and evaluate many of them in the concentrated period of a few days.
Don and I and some key staff flew to New Orleans a couple days in advance of the convention. We would be headquartered at the Hotel Vendome in the French Quarter. Although we flew in a company jet, Vermont Castings was notoriously unpretentious in its travel ethics. Luxury, no; modesty yes. Ostentation, no; simplicity, yes.
The Vendome, now long gone, seemed an appropriate choice for our New Orleans home. It had touches of elegance, but was frayed and shabby, consistent with our self-image.
The function room on the top floor, where we held meetings and hosted a hospitality event, however, was an ornate, palatial space with crystal chandeliers, a plush purple carpet, carved conference table, and even a small dance floor. It looked appropriate for Louis the Fourteenth than Green Mountain hippies. “Duncan and Murray are going to kill me,” I said upon entering. Both were known for their disdain for traditional business indulgences.
Meanwhile, the company jet, Air Don, was enroute to Vermont to pick up Duncan and Murray. Everyone else on the Vermont Castings shared my sense of trepidation, but in the meantime, had to admit that these surroundings, while incongruous with our company image, were pretty damn nice. We dubbed it the Château Vendome.
Duncan, Murray, and entourage flew in on Saturday morning and they came directly to the Superdome convention center. This give me the opportunity to at least prep them for the opulence of Château Vendome. I didn’t want them to make a scene at the evening hospitality event. Murray grunted a blunt acknowledgment, then set out to check out the competition. Duncan, resplendent in blue blazer and straw boater, had abandoned his counter-culture exterior for the day, and looked like he was headed for a garden party.
Murray and Duncan arrived as the event was in set up mode. “Welcome to Château Vendome, I ventured weakly. "This has to be the fanciest venue in New Orleans, said Howell, deadpan.” Then, the pregnant pause …then he boomed “and why the hell not, because we’re the best stove company in the world!” Duncan promptly renamed it the Château Morris.
It was a triumphant event. I seem to remember Duncan going crazy when he found out that platters of oysters and crawfish could be ordered from room service. (When it came to seafood, he could chow down with the best of them.) The proverbial good time was had by all. Events like this end early, giving conventioneers the opportunity to go out for dinner on the town. The Vermont Castings staff, however, just hung out at the Château . The food and wine was incomparable, the tab was on Murray and Duncan, and the service, everyone noticed was beyond impeccable.
The wait staff, all of whom were black, were unusually friendly and attentive, but also quite theatrical. Every table cleared or platter presented was done with a distinctly theatrical flair, a little flourish of song or dance. It was well beyond what any of us bearded rubes from the backwoods of Vermont had experienced, and it made an extraordinary night even more memorable.
As the evening reached its conclusion, I made a point of seeking out the service captain and telling him how impressed we were by the competence of his staff, but also their unflaggingly cheerful presentation. He smiled graciously, thanked me for the compliment and said “I'm glad y'all happy, because y’all Vermont Castings, and we all want to be in the movies!”
That’s how things were for Vermont Castings in 1983. Flying high.
