camped it up. I even had shoes made and covered in the ticking. I guaranteed that it would shrink and that you couldn’t wash it and at $9 a yard, we sold all of it! Carol and I became good friends. Her first big purchase was a mink jacket, and I bought my first car, a 1959 Buick convertible, with red leather. It was plastic, but I called it leather. Who has influenced you design-wise? I don’t think I’ve ever thought about the names of the designers. I look at fashion magazines. I’ve always felt that ready-to-wear came out ahead of home furnishings. If they did green in 1960, then home furnishings did it in 1962. It was more the fashion industry that influenced me. And it still happens to me. Take the new cheetah print. We did it in black, blue and green. Black and white, beige and white. But I first saw it in Vogue, a beige cheetah coat. So I did blue and green cheetah. But it was a challenge. How could I do something new and get it developed? This is 100% solution-dyed acrylics. You also have to do beige and neutrals because they always sell the best. I think Richard Frinier for Brown Jordan is one of the finest designers in the industry. And Patti [Frye] is the most talented textile designer for casual furniture. That line [Lane Venture] always looks good. She’s just got that touch. What is your biggest claim to fame? Dupoine for Glen Raven. That’s their biggest pattern. Almost every company uses that in some form. Also, casual furnishings people had never railroaded fabric, and I explained it to them. I said, ‘You’ll save yardage and you’ll get much more cuttage and use.’ The home furnishings industry knew about it, but not the casual fabrics. [With railroaded fabric, the pattern runs perpendicular to the bolt, turned 90 degrees and spanning from one end of the roll to the other. This allows the fabric to be cut at any width without the need for seams, lending it a clean look.] Back when I was doing bedding, I decorated the bed with three pillow shams and three decorator pillows, and I started a trend. It changed the whole business. But I never thought about starting a trend. When you come up with something, you don’t realize it could turn into something dramatic. Anyone who doesn’t like all those pillows on the bed, they can blame me! Tell us about your time with Glen Raven. When I joined Glen Raven in the late ’80s, they were only doing stripes and solids, and I said I wanted to do jacquard. They said, ‘No one will buy that; it’s too expensive.’ So I put together a collection with Mark Grigalunis, then vice president of Sunbury. We did a whole jacquard program, and
we took it to Larry Kravet, and Larry gave me an order. So I called up Glen Raven and I said, ‘I have an order, but I don’t know what to do with it because I’m not an order-taker.’ They said, ‘Well, how much is it?’ And I said, ‘$526,000.’ It was the first order for jacquard. At my retirement party at Glen Raven in 2000, Mr. Gant [former CEO Allen Gant Jr.] said I changed the whole concept of Sunbrella; I helped take it from 10% to 90% of Glen Raven’s total volume. I’ve always talked too much, so when it came time for my retirement speech, I said I’d let someone else do the talking for me. Then I pointed toward the back of the room, signaling them to press play, and Frank Sinatra’s ‘I Did It My Way’ came on. Everything was a challenge. I don’t think anybody saw the way my mind was working. I was a bit flighty—just to be truthful. They were never sure of what I would say or do. What’s your design philosophy? I look at things and ask how it’s useful and is it workable. Does it work with a coordinated room? Most designers of fabric, they just know fabric. I’ve never thought about it like that. I look at something and I think, ‘Is it useful?’ Every time I make a mistake, I’m too wound up in the fabric. Someone once told me I’m a great salesman, and I said, ‘No, I’m a designer.’ There’s a difference between me and a salesman. A good salesman can sell anything. I couldn’t do that. I can only sell something I’m a part of, that I’ve created. I can sell things that I’m emotionally or physically connected with because it’s a part of me. What would you like to do next? When you’re 87, and you’ve been basically every place in the world, when you get up in the morning, you think, ‘Well, I’m still here.’ My closest friend, Matthew Sergio, died about a month ago [August 14, 2017]. He and I went to Parsons together at age 19, about 65 years ago. I was the Southern boy, and he was a Yankee from New York . . . I’m still part of the family . . . [He becomes quiet and reflective.] One doesn’t always get to choose in life. Matthew died; he was six months younger than me. He always said, “It doesn’t matter how old I get, you’ll always be older than me.” . . . As for me, I can still do a new company, Mfano. I can still look at it, feel it, and make it work, until I kick the bucket. At this point, two hours into the interview, Trull rares back and looks at me as if he’s just seeing me for the first time. “I like you!” he exclaims, as if he’s surprising even himself. “We should hang out some time.” Anytime, Randy. It would be my pleasure. □
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