A Phoenix in Dallas

Just when he should have been able to sit back and listen to the jingling cash registers, Stanley Marcus, president of Dallas' famed Neiman-Marcus, last week paced a smoke-blackened, rubble-filled office. In his hand he carried a walkie-talkie to keep in touch with work crews cleaning up the results of a $10 million fire that swept the seven-story department store just five days before Christmas. Marcus, who manned the fire lines with firemen while his wife served them coffee, promised "to come out of these ashes like a phoenix." Fully insured against both fire damage and loss of business during rebuilding, he optimistically set Jan. 11 as a reopening date and predicted that-despite the fire-Neiman's 1964 net profits would rise to a record $1,200,000.

Fireside Chat. The fire started near the second-floor escalator around 3 a.m. on the Saturday that Marcus had expected to be "the biggest day of the Christmas shopping season," roared up the stairwell to gut the fourth and fifth floors. In some sections of the store untouched by flames, plastic hangers melted in the intense heat, dropping expensive clothing into dirty, swirling water. More than 150 firemen fought for five hours to control the fire, the costliest in Dallas history.

Almost immediately, Marcus had to face the considerable problems of rehabilitating a big store after disaster, one of which is the avoidance of what he calls "invisible damage": the possibility that customers will change their habits if their relationship with the store is broken off too long. To speed reopening and keep Neiman-Marcus customers from changing, he roused a Dallas contractor out of bed for a fireside chat, hired a New York interior decorator before the last fire truck had departed.

Later that same day, the store bought spot radio announcements advising customers that its suburban store and Fort Worth and Houston branches were open, and that phoned-in gift orders would be filled and wrapped in the usual distinctive N.M. manner. Sunday newspaper advertisements assured Texans that "Neiman-Marcus is ready to serve you tomorrow."

Decapitated Goddess. Such extravagant Neiman-Marcus items as a $150,000 necklace and a Doughty & Boehm quail-shaped teapot worth $50,000 escaped the fire undamaged, but about two-thirds of the store's $12 million stock of merchandise was either destroyed or made unsalable by N.M. standards. A $10,000 wooden figurine of Kuan Yin, a Chinese goddess of mercy, was decapitated and a $35,000 sable coat so saturated with smoke that Marcus deemed it uncleanable. "It would be like trying to take the smoke smell out of smoked herring," he said. Much of the less-damaged merchandise will be sold to other retailers, who last week deluged Neiman-Marcus with offers. Marcus, who sniffs at the idea of a Neiman-Marcus fire sale, hopes only that his damaged goods are finally sold "a long distance from Dallas."

An institution like Neiman-Marcus cannot suffer a major fire without national-and even international-repercussions. Good Customer Lyndon Johnson, who is buying Lady Bird's inaugural gown at N.-M., called President Marcus to express his regrets, as did David Rockefeller. Saks Fifth Avenue, Harrods of London and the Galeries Lafayette in Paris all offered to send aid, including specialty merchandise and the services of their buyers. Across the U.S., wags began sending their friends notes and telegrams that read: "A gift in your name has been burned at Neiman-Marcus."

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