Stanley Russ was friend, encourager

We lost one of the good guys when Stanley Russ died earlier this month.

Whether you knew the former state senator, longtime life-insurance salesman and cattle farmer, he made the world a better place. A lot of wonderful, important people die, and I don’t write about most of them, but Stanley was one of my favorite people in the world.

Every time he saw me or would call me, the first thing he would always say was, ‘How’s my favorite journalist?” I probably wasn’t the only one he said that to, but I have to admit it made me smile. Some former politicians would say it to gain favor, but that was just Stanley’s way. He didn’t want anything in return except to make me feel good.

He called me often to get home addresses for people whom I’d written about so he could send them personal notes.

In fact, he wrote me a few times, too — some typed, some handwritten. I kept the notes — like everyone else. They were just too nice and personal to throw away. I reread one today as I wrote this, and it made me cry. He sent me a handwritten note in March 2015 after I wrote a column about my mother’s birthday. He said it was “a beautiful tribute” to my mother, adding that she sounded like “a wonderful lady.”

I mentioned in the article that she taught special education for 35 years, and Stanley said, “I’m sure she has had an impact and influence on many lives. Please give her my THANKS, and may her tribe increase.” He signed it, ‘Your friend,” Stanley — and he added a P.S. “I’m sure she is proud of you, and so am I!”

He gave me story ideas from time to time, including for a feature I did on Haskell “Hack” Fagan, who was a spry 102 when I interviewed him.

Stanley loved people. If he was having a bad day, you never knew it. He was upbeat and always joking and laughing when you saw him. His jokes were corny and clean. I was in an audience once when he was being roasted, and a couple of jokes were a little off-color, and they made me cringe. They were not Stanley Russ-worthy jokes.

He came to see Plaza Suite, a Conway Community Arts Association play I was in. I played a housewife who was visiting an old boyfriend, and at the end, I lay on a bed, and the old flame started unzipping the back of my dress. I remember Stanley came up to me afterward and said, “I didn’t think you’d do it!” I hated that I disappointed him, even though it was all an act. I told him, “I wouldn’t in real life!”

His standards were high, which is what made him such a good legislator, businessman, husband and father, from all indications. I never heard an unkind word about him, not even a whisper or an off-the-record comment to tarnish his image.

He was a gentleman, and his high school sweetheart, who became his wife, was the epitome of a lady, and I enjoyed talking to her when I would run into her from time to time. They had been married 55 years when she died in 2005.

We parodied Stanley in a murder mystery in 2000 directed by my dear friend Lillian Petrucelli and written by her with a little input from me, my husband and others. We called the character Sen. Manley Cuss, who was played by Vic Quinn, another one of my favorite people in the world and who died too soon in 2014. Vic would say his name as “Maaaaanley Cuss.” He made a lot of corny jokes, too. Stanley got a big kick out of it.

The last time I saw Stanley was in a restaurant that he went to frequently to read the newspaper or meet with people. He told me that I looked like I’d lost weight. A charmer, that man.

I went into that restaurant the other day and asked if they missed Stanley. The young employee looked sad and said, oh, yes, they certainly did, and mentioned how sudden Stanley’s death was. Stanley was diagnosed with leukemia, and he died three weeks later at age 86.

He said “Mr. Stanley” always ordered a decaf cappuccino. Another employee who overheard corrected him: It was a half-caf cappuccino.

In 1997, when I was working for a different newspaper, we surveyed people to rank the Top 10 most influential people in Faulkner County, and

Stanley was voted No. 1. I got the privilege of writing the story about him.

I interviewed him in his insurance office upstairs at the Halter Building in downtown Conway. He had his feet up on the desk during part of the interview, I noted.

He talked about getting into politics at age 44 when he got concerned about “machine politics” in the district. In 1981, he was named one of the 10 Outstanding Legislators in the United States. His resume was big, but not his ego.

The one thing Stanley said he wanted to be remembered for was “that I was effective.”

He will be remembered for that and so much more.

Senior writer Tammy Keith can be reached at (501) 327-0370 or tkeith@arkansasonline.com.

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