Prince of Produce

Stan Lindnal may not make much profit selling tomatoes and celery, but he’s a king to those looking for fresh food at low prices

Photo by Mary Pitman

In the early morning hours at the Farmers' Market, Stan Lindnal searches through boxes for tomatoes that are just the right color.

By Mary Pitman, Staff Writer

In a world of bigger is better, of supersizes, Wal-Marts and warehouses, Stan Lindnal is one of a dying breed.
He’s an independent grocer. There’s no advertising—only word-of-mouth. There are no employees—only Lindnal and his wife.
Mergers and consolidations are decimating the number of independent grocers. According to the annual survey of the grocery industry conducted by Progressive Grocer magazine, the number of independents dropped from 13,290 in 1990 to 11,005 in 2000.
Stan’s Fresh Produce, however, has a loyal clientele at 5713 Central Ave. in St. Petersburg.

“It’s a popular store,” said customer Bill Clancy. “People tell their friends. In other stores, the fruits and vegetables have been in storage and boxcars. His fruits and vegetables are fresh. It’s informal and the prices are right.”

Dan Anderson, a father of two girls, comes in at least once a week.
“We try to get the kids to eat more fruit and vegetables,” Anderson said. “My grandfather turned me on to Stan. He said he [Stan] had the best tomatoes and he did. And he’s reasonable.”
The prices are one of the things that bring 81-year-old Freddy Quinn out on his Harley.

“It’s the prices and the camaraderie,” said Quinn as he savored a toothpick. He’s in and out in a moment.
Lindnal’s wife of 28 years, Halina said, “My husband sacrifices a lot so he can get good prices.” That sacrifice is reflected in the early start he gets each day.

At 5:30 a.m., the battalion of refrigerated tractor-trailers dwarfs Lindnal’s 1992 red pickup as he makes his way through the bunkers of fruits and vegetables. Portable floodlights illuminate the brilliant colors of fresh produce that blush with predawn dew. At least five times a week, every week for the last 11 years—nearly 3,000 times—he has risen in the dark of night to buy fresh produce for his store. Sometimes he arrives as early as 2 a.m. at the markets off east Hillsboro and 30th in Tampa. If he has a small order, he arrives as late as 5:30 a.m.

“Even if I don’t need much, I still have to go,” he said.
The day begins with the 49-year-old slender man with the graying strawberry-blond hair and moustache walking through the aisles and evaluating who has what. He’s in search of tomatoes.
“I try to find who has the lowest prices,” Lindnal said. “Sometimes a dollar a case makes a difference. Some stop me and try to sell me things I don’t need. I try to be polite.”

Prices vary from one day to another, but Lindnal knows what to expect.
“Sticker shock!” exclaims a nearby man in a Hawaiian shirt, looking at tomatoes.
“With Stan, you have to get everything just right and he wants it loaded quickly and he wants everything cheap,” said Dan Copeland, co-owner with his sister of Copeland’s. He glances back at the vegetables behind him. “When it belongs to me, it looks horrible. But when it belongs to him, it looks good.”
The task of the moment is still tomatoes. Lindnal searches through boxes for tomatoes that are just the right color. Only three cases from one vendor meet the ripeness requirements he’s looking for. He buys four from another, but it costs him more.

From Copeland’s he heads west to the Tampa Wholesale Produce Market.
He starts whittling away at his shopping list at Weyand and Sons.
Lindnal starts with the same amount of money each week. Today, he has to add $27 of his own money.
With daily trips to the market, Lindnal can keep his inventory low, but it’s still an inexact art.
“I can never figure it out,” he said, shaking his head. “Sometimes you wish you bought more of something. Everybody wants it. Sometimes you wish you knew why you bought so much. It stays on the shelf for two or three days, and I end up selling it for half-price. Sometimes it looked so good.”
After loading up on a variety of foods, Lindal is having no luck finding celery. He promised a customer he’d have celery. A few vendors have it, but the prices are too high for him. Thirty stalks for $39 at one place, two dozen for $40 at another. A third is sold-out.
Weyand’s comes through and gives their regular customer two stalks. That’s all he needs.
With a stalk in each hand and a satisfied grin, he proudly places them in the back of the truck. It’s as though he’s found gold.

At 7:10 a.m., he starts the 30-mile trek down Interstate 275 to his store.
Drivers of 18-wheelers throw boxes of fruits and vegetables on mechanized ramps to unload at major retailers throughout the city. Stockers use handtrucks or carts to easily roll the merchandise to its designated spot in the produce section.
In front of Stan’s Fresh Produce, the red pickup with 191,000 miles is slowly unloaded. He carries a case, sometimes two, at a time into his store.
The wooden shelves he made himself are nearly empty after placing the refrigerated leftovers from the previous day on them.
Special orders are taken out of the truck first in case his customer arrives early. There is no particular order as he fills the shelves. Cutting the top of the box open with a large knife makes the items ready for presentation. Special items like the strawberries and raspberries take center stage at the end of the checkout counter.

Customers begin a steady stream as soon as he opens the door.
Lindnal immigrated with his mother to the United States from Poland 32 years ago. Learning Russian was required in the then-communist Poland. It’s come in handy with his international mix of customers. He knows enough Spanish to deal with the Hispanic sellers at the market.
“I know the numbers,” he said with a smile.
While living in New Jersey, his back yard was always “nothing but vegetables.”
“I grew for myself and gave the rest to neighbors,” said Lindnal.
In 1990, he moved to Largo. Owning a produce store seemed to be a good idea.

Photo by Mary Pitman

Once back at the store, Lindnal unloads his bounty a case at a time.

“I grew up on a farm,” said Lindnal. “I saw a lot of roadside stands and thought, ‘Maybe I should try this.’ I thought I knew everything about produce. I found out I know very little.”
He ended up on Central Avenue because “I got a good deal on the building.” In addition to housing his store, it also has three apartments upstairs and is home to Nick’s Family Restaurant.
“I started with just the basics,” he said. “Tomatoes, lettuce, cucumbers, apples and strawberries. I had no refrigerator.”
Today, Stan’s had 72 produce items. That number didn’t include the usual items he carries but was out of—celery, broccoli, green beans, sugar snap peas, pears and the spring mix he carries on the weekend. It did include exotic items like white cherries, white peaches and parsnips.
Americans consumed almost 319 pounds of fresh fruit and vegetables in 1997, an increase of 12.3 percent from a decade earlier, according to a report published in August 2000, by the Economic Research Service of the U.S. Department of Agriculture. Most of the increase was attributed to increased health concerns and the ready availability of fresh-cut, easy-to-prepare produce.

The roadside stands are almost all gone, but Stan’s remains.
“You have to like it. It’s gambling with your money. What you make one day, you can lose the next,” he said.
Still, customer satisfaction is his cornerstone, even if it costs him.
“A customer wanted a half case of red leaf lettuce. I hardly ever sell it, so the rest of it will probably eat up the profit,” he said, shrugging. “I don’t throw too much away, but after two or three days, I practically give it away.”
By noon, about half of the day’s purchases are gone. The shelves begin to look empty again.
“I have people come in and say I didn’t go to the market,” Lindnal lamented. “They say they’ll wait until tomorrow. But I have to sell something today to have money to go to the market tomorrow. As it was today, I used $27 of my own money. I could have bought more cherries and peaches.”
Mrs. Lindnal comes to relieve him every day in the early afternoon and closes the store at 5 p.m. It doesn’t give them much time together.
“Maybe for newlyweds it might be a problem,” a slightly blushing Lindnal said. “But we never argue!”
Lindnal heads for home as his wife meticulously grooms the spring mix.
Tomorrow will be another early day. Tomorrow will be another gamble.

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