Stan Bromley: Prime Time DC PR

Did Stan Bromley’s reputation precede him? Well, sort of. Employees of The Four Seasons Hotel, Washington, DC,  had an inkling of what to expect, stemming from reports (in and out of the media) of how he comported himself while v.p.-ing and managing The Clift Hotel (also Four Seasons), San Francisco. It was a comporting, as anyone close to Bromley will tell you, unlike anything preached or practiced at Cornell or at the hotel school, Lausanne, France, which is where, you should know, Bromley learned quelque chose about running un hôtel grand.

Suffice to say that Bromley, in addition to knowing exactly how to run a luxury hotel (you run it the way you run any hotel—world class or underclass: you treat your employees like human beings and the guests like royalty), has a sense of humor, a feature as tough to find in the Land of Hoteliers (especially in that subterranea known as Washington, D.C.) as it is to unearth truffles in Newark.

Talk to any employee at the Four Seasons in D.C. and you learn quickly, even though apprehension loomed before he set foot in the place last summer, that there loomed, too, a promise that, from suitcases crammed full of treasures, Bromley would unpack jewels of management technique that not only would profit each and every one of them, but would stir things up in a city with a reputation for preening and pretense.





Before proceeding further, we should note here what is common knowledge for many of the poor souls trapped in an environment that feeds on flash and sham: that environment, they’ll tell you, is fertilized (no better word) by politicians, diplomats, lobbyists, and their retinues utterly consumed by illusion and detachment from reality; and cheer-led by a media always looking for ways to horn in on their shenanigans.

That being the case—and few there are who would dispute any of this—hoteliers in D.C. are, by and large, an uptight bunch sporting white gloves over the fingers of their minds, loath to remove them for fear what might be revealed to guests and colleagues is a personality bespeaking principle and integrity.

Enter Bromley who, in less time than it takes to say “anal retentive,” has endeared himself to the media, occupying gossipy spaces in the pages of The Washingtonian, a monthly city magazine, and The Washington Post.

Don’t get me wrong: it is not that Bromley has set Washington on its ear with his exploits (that would take a far more alarming event—say, mud wrestling in the Rose Garden between Raisa Gorbachev and Nancy Reagan), it’s just that the media has discovered in him a refreshing presence long absent from the city’s hotel scene.

Bromley’s most recent PR gambit was brilliant. It took place recently when First Lady Barbara Bush lunched at the hotel’s Aux Beaux Champs restaurant. Rather than fawn over her as every other hotelier is wont to do, Bromley instead—recalling the attention the press paid to Mrs. Bush’s faux pearl necklace—purchased at a nearby store a tiny strand of faux pearls for First Pooch, Millie. He had it gift-wrapped, then placed in the Bush limo with a note of thanks and explanation.

Did the press notice?

Aside from a recounting in the gossip column of The Post of what may have taken place at the First Lady’s lunch, there was this observation : “Known as a hustling hotelier with a sense of humor at a hotel that takes itself too seriously, Bromley decided he didn’t want to bother the First Lady with the usual obsequious fussing she has to endure.”

I couldn’t have said it better myself.

Afterthoughts: Why There is More than One Essay About Bromley


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