Remembering Stanley Flowers

In our sport of purebred dogs, there are agents. There are handlers. There are true professionals. And then there are icons. Stanley Flowers was in the latter category.

The measure of a truly iconic handler in this sport is the esteem with which he (or she) is held by his (or her) peers. For the 50-plus years that I have been showing dogs, the comment I have heard most about Stan Flowers is "He has the best hands in the business." He was a natural. He subscribed to the "less is more" philosophy of showing dogs, and he had the rare ability to disappear and let the dog be the star of the show. He could take any green dog of any breed and within minutes have the dog showing better than it ever had, and in a way that was 100 percent true to the standard for its breed. 

Stan Flowers grew up in Kankakee Illinois, and he never lost his Midwestern roots and values. As a teenager he began tagging along to shows helping out a local lady who bred Boxers, and through her, he met Larry and Alice Downey, a meeting that would change his life.

Larry was one of the most successful handlers of his time, in an era and a region that included the likes of Dick Cooper, George Ward, Jack Funk, Denny Kodner, Doug McClain, Charlie Prager, Rena Martin, Virginia Hardin and so many more. It wasn't long before Stan became Larry's number-one assistant. Larry and Alice were born teachers, and the lessons learned at their kennel and on the road gave the dog world some of the most talented and dedicated dog people, such as Clay Coady, Brian and Cindy Meyer, and others. But the first one was Stanley Flowers. 

Though Larry's teaching was invaluable, it was clear from the beginning that Stans' talent was innate. It was an inspiration to watch him work his magic. 

I'm not sure exactly when he went out on his own, but I went to work for Stan in 1970. He was already admired and successful, and it was an opportunity of a lifetime. He was living briefly in Georgia at the time, and he and Mike Leathers (Billings) traveled together. I was young and eager to learn, and I could not have asked for a better pair to learn from. Mike was organized, prompt, impeccable and a great businesswoman. Stanley was none of those things, but he WAS smart, dedicated, charming and spectacularly talented. He wasn't a teacher in the Larry Downey mentorship sense of the word, nor did he spend a lot of time training his charges in between shows, but that was because he didn't need to. His hands did all the communicating. It was something to watch, and I tried to absorb it all. We spent the weekdays making sure the dogs were well conditioned, cared for properly, and kept engaged and positive. The dogs always came first. But practice? That wasn't necessary for Stan. 

Though he took his work seriously, we had SO much fun back in those days. Stanley's sense of humor was unparalleled, and his pranks were legendary. All the circuits we attended were like family affairs. When the work was done, it was time to socialize. It was long before clusters, and we had to pack up and travel to a different location every single day.

One of the show sites on the old Florida circuit was the historic Colonnades Hotel in Palm Beach Shores. All over the hotel grounds there were ducks. They were ubiquitous, and all the vans and motor homes (nowhere near as many as there are now) were parked together in the back parking lot. The handlers stayed in the hotel while most of the assistants stayed in the rigs.

One evening after the dogs were put to bed, and Stan had probably enjoyed a couple of martinis (very dry Beefeater martini on the rocks with a twist) at dinner, he showed up at the rig to double-check on things. He spotted a big old duck waddling around the parking lot. He also noticed that Jack Funks' green pickup camper had its vent windows open. With a twinkle in his eye, he said to me, "Watch this," and he scooped up the duck and squeezed it into the camper through the vent, and there it spent the night.

I don't think I need to tell you what chaos greeted Jack in the morning, and I doubt all those Sporting dogs in his truck got much sleep that night. It didn't take Jack long to figure out who the perpetrator of the crime was, and when he confronted Stan, the biggest thing he wanted to know was how he got that duck into his locked truck.

Stan replied, "Ever heard of pressed duck?"

By the way, the duck survived that adventure unscathed. 

Another time Stan had this big older Boxer on the Deep South circuit. The dog only needed a point or two to finish but he wasn't having much success. There is no doubt that in his prime this dog deserved to finish, but by then he was, shall we say, a bit over the hill. We were getting down to the end of the circuit and Stanley REALLY wanted to finish the dog for this nice older couple who owned him. I got the dog ready, and Stan took him from me and told me to follow him to the Boxer ring.

Judging that day was Forest Hall, a great dog man and a famous all-rounder, but Forest could sometimes be, to put it diplomatically, a little grumpy. There were only one or two Open dogs. Stan entered the ring and stacked his dog. As Forest approached, Stan raised the dogs' head as he sometimes did to show off a good front, and the judge leaned over, squinted, and started laughing uproariously.

Turns out, Stan had found one of those "Hello, My Name Is ..."  labels and stuck it right under the dogs' chin. It read: "Hello, Forest. My Name Is Butch and I only need one point"! Needless to say, Butch finished that day and went home to retire on the couch with his very grateful owners. 

I couldn't have been happier that after his tumultuous middle age, Stanley was so fortunate to find his true soulmate in Jane, and the two of them built a business and a life that gave them so much pleasure and success. I didn't see too much of Stanley and Jane after they moved to Minnesota, and I moved back East to where I grew up and still had family. It was always a delight to see them, and I know that Stan was proud of what I had accomplished. 

In his later years he lamented the direction the sport was taking. I think that's why he never wanted to judge. It's too bad. I think he would have been great at that, too. I hope that some of these stories (there are so many) explain what he was missing in today’s dog-show scene.

I only wish that every aspiring young handler had the privilege of apprenticing under such a kind, benevolent, hilarious and generous master of his craft. I will forever be grateful that I had the great fortune to learn from this man at a time when the sport was truly a family, when we spent our off hours socializing and sharing our lives, and when we all cared for and respected each other in spite of the serious competition, and even the occasional dispute. There was a camaraderie that is rarely seen today. 

There are only a few of that breed of handler left. We should treasure these icons and listen and learn from them before it is too late. 

I will miss Stanley, and I will never forget those many lessons learned from one of the best handlers I have ever seen. I will hold him, and Jane, in my heart. Our world is diminished without them.