It’s tough to say goodbye to a one of a kind
By Bob Fenske
It was one of those early December days that we Iowans want to hang onto as long as we can.
Sure, there was a nip in the air, but the sun shone brightly as I made my way out to Vern Laures Auto Center to talk to the dealership’s namesake who was celebrating 50 years in the business.
As I walked in, Vern Laures greeted me with a big smile and said, “How you doing, partner?”
I had known Vern for more than four years by then, and I knew I could joke with him. So I did.
“You know, Vern,” I said as serious as I could keep myself, “we’ve known each other for a few years now and you always call me partner, but not once have I gotten a check from the dealership.”
He gave me that smile that was unmistakably Vern Laures’ and laughed.
“You’re the silent partner.”
For years after, whenever I’d run into Vern — be it at the dealership on New Hampton’s north side, Josie’s or a sporting event — he’d flash that smile and say, “How you doing, silent partner?”
It makes me beyond sad that I won’t hear that greeting, our little inside joke, again. Vern Laures passed away last week, and I, like countless other area residents, are still coming to grips with a world that doesn’t include Vernie anymore.
For 40 years, I’ve been working at newspapers so I’ve written my share of workplace anniversary stories, yet with apologies to the others, few, if any, can hold a proverbial candle to that almost perfect early December day more than 10 years ago.
Heck, when I got done interviewing Vern, I remember coming back to the office and answering a question from the Tribune publisher and owner, Dave Stanley, who asked “how it went?”
“Hell Dave, by the time we were halfway through, I wanted to buy a car on the spot.”
Vern Laures, even in retirement, was that good of a salesman. Then again, he was born to do it.
What separates the good from the great in sales, I believe, is that ability to connect, that ability to forge relationships, and although I never bought a car from Vern — I have purchased a few from his sons, Perry and Mitch — from what I hear, he had that gift.
Most New Hamptonites know the story. Vern got his “college education” at Gamble’s and then in 1964 went to work for Bill Huebner at the dealership that was located in the lot that now houses our city’s summer ice cream parlor.
Six years later, Vern bought an ownership stake in the dealership, and in 1976, it moved to its current location on North Linn Avenue. In 1981, after Huebner suffered a fatal heart attack, Vern took over sole ownership, and Vern Laures Auto Center was born.
Back in 2014, I wrote a paragraph that I thought summed up my silent partner the best.
So much has changed in the car industry, but Vern Laures hasn’t. If he had to choose between a car sale and a relationship, there’s little question he’d choose the latter.
Not to be cocky, but I thought that nailed the man.
What made him special was his ability to connect. Lots of folks in sales talk a good game, but no matter where you met up with Vern, he was genuinely interested in you, your kids and your life.
As his obituary in this edition of the Tribune reminds us, it was a longstanding tradition of Vern and his wife, Jean, to head to the local tavern at 5 o’clock to enjoy a cocktail together.
I would call Terri Josephson up at Josie’s to order a pizza, and she’d tell me that my pizza would be done at so-and-so time, but Jean and Vern were there so I’d better come 15 minutes early otherwise my pizza would get cold while we talked.
I loved the stories he told, but I also appreciated that every single time, he’d ask about the boys — both when they were in high school and after they headed off to college.
He was genuinely interested in them and not just how they were doing on the football field or the baseball diamond or in the throwing ring.
When Vern saw that Josh had graduated from St. Ambrose and that Noah had made academic all-Big Ten, he gave me a little good-natured grief at the expense of my athletic ability.
“OK, so maybe they didn’t get their athletic genes from you,” he said more than once, “but they must have gotten their smarts from you, right?”
But to me at least, he seemed just as proud of Josh’s graduation as he was my oldest son’s all-state honors in football and baseball. Ditto for Noah’s academic honor compared to winning a shot put title at the Drake Relays and going on to becoming a Division I athlete.
I loved those 10, 15 minute conversations for another reason, too.
Just watching Vern with Jean was a treat. He and “my Jeanie” had a marriage most of us can only dream of, and my heart aches for her and for the Laures clan.
There was only one Vern Laures, and thank God he touched so many lives, including mine, during his 85 years on this Earth.
Rest in peace, silent partner.
