Harry Bernbaum, co-founder of High Sierra outdoor gear company, dies at 97

Thanks to a classic Humphrey Bogart gangster movie, the company Harry Bernbaum co-founded has a ring to it.

When “High Sierra” came on TV, his daughter-in-law, Ann, realized the film title communicated the adventurous appeal of the backpacks and duffels manufactured by Mr. Bernbaum and his son, her husband, Hank.

“That’s the name of the company!” she said.

The Bernbaums trademarked the brand name around 1979. High Sierra thrived by making affordable, stylish, sturdy backpacks and luggage and gear for camping and hiking.

In 2012, Samsonite bought the Bernbaums’ company for $111 million.

Mr. Bernbaum, 97, died Jan. 28 at Sarasota Memorial Hospital in Florida.

He grew up in the Austin neighborhood, a child of devout Jews who emigrated from a region overridden by armies and history. At times, their birthplace was claimed by Prussia, Poland, Germany and Lithuania. When he was 17, his father died. Mr. Bernbaum then put himself through the University of Chicago.

Though his brother, Maurice, went to Harvard, Mr. Bernbaum said the University of Chicago was “the only place to learn how to think,” said his son, Hank.

“Morrie” Bernbaum didn’t do too badly. He went on to be U.S. ambassador to Ecuador and Venezuela in the Eisenhower and Kennedy administrations. According to his 2008 obituary in the Washington Post, “He played a key role in averting a war between Venezuela and neighboring Guyana.”

After serving in the Army Air Forces in World War II, Harry Bernbaum began buying surplus from military bases. His first big score came when he bought canvas that he later sold to Ohio’s Willys-Overland company, maker of the Jeep. Because of wartime rationing, canvas supplies were short, but Willys-Overland needed the material to craft ragtops for a military vehicle that was to become a civilian favorite. Though he didn’t have a car or a license, Mr. Bernbaum borrowed a vehicle from a relative and hastily learned to drive to get to Ohio and close the sale.

Soon, he was purchasing mess kits, pup tents and Air Force bomber jackets and selling them to military surplus shops and sporting goods stores. Around 1955, a visitor to his Roosevelt Road office showed him a sample item for sale.

“A little Hasidic Jew came in with a canteen,” said Harriet, his wife of 65 years. Mr. Bernbaum ordered crates of the aluminum canteens, replicas of a U.S. military design. They sold out.

When the man died, Mr. Bernbaum didn’t know where to get more. But “Osaka” was stenciled on the crates. It was just a guess, but he wrote a letter to “Osaka Aluminum, Osaka, Japan.”

“Miraculously, months later, he received a letter inviting him to Japan” to negotiate a deal, his son said.

Japan was not yet a manufacturing titan of quality goods. At that time, “Made in Japan” meant obsolescence wasn’t just planned — it was pretty much guaranteed, thanks to defects.

But Mr. Bernbaum sensed possibilities. He and his wife boarded a plane to Japan, then a circuitous post-war journey. “We went from Chicago Midway, to Los Angeles, to Honolulu, to Wake Island, and finally, into Tokyo,” Harriet Bernbaum said. “The flight in the air took 34.5 hours.”

It was 1956, and American women were rare in Tokyo. “They would stroke my hair,” his wife said. “They would touch my coat. The women were still wearing the kimono, and the men were wearing kimonos and geta,” wooden platform flip-flops.

Mr. Bernbaum began importing Japanese fishing reels and baseball gloves. He negotiated prices and made sure shipping containers were full to keep cargo costs down. An artist, decorator and sculptor, Harriet Bernbaum drew the illustrations for what would become the company catalog, assembled on their dining room table.

Soon, “He was getting tennis rackets out of Pakistan, badminton sets out of Hong Kong,“ his son said.

“All my friends, when I grew up, they were wearing Wilson or Rawlings baseball gloves, and I had a Japanese glove that nobody could pronounce,” he said.

In the 1970s, Mr. Bernbaum invited his son to be his partner in a new company, which evolved into High Sierra. His son, who had studied design at IIT, developed prototypes and reached out to a Korean manufacturer to start production of tents, backpacks and luggage.

After U.S.-China relations thawed during the Nixon administration, Harry and Hank Bernbaum wrote to Chinese officials in Washington. They received permission in 1980 to visit China, where they found a plant to manufacture High Sierra bags.

A 1980s fashion fad helped establish High Sierra. Preppies snatched up the company’s canvas bags with leather trim.

Mr. Bernbaum mentored workers who went on to found businesses of their own, like Don Godshaw, president of Elk Grove-based Travelon, a maker of travel accessories.

“There were a great number of people, without Harry, who would still be working for someone else,” Godshaw said. “He had a great work ethic and an amazing level of integrity.”

He was a demanding boss, Godshaw said, but “around 5 o’clock, he would say ‘It’s time to have some Scotch. We’ve worked really hard today.’ ’’

Mr. Bernbaum loved tennis, classical music and dancing. He met his wife on a blind date at Chicago’s Congress Hotel, where they won a rumba contest. “He had fantastic rhythm,” she said.

By their second date, she realized he was the man she wanted to marry. He was still playing the field, but “I knew I wanted him and I was going to go get him,” she said. At first, he took her out on Fridays. But, “I knew I had an ‘in’ when I got the Saturday night date at the Pump Room.”

As a new college graduate, he worked briefly as a tour manager for Vladimir Horowitz. The great concert pianist “always needed a caretaker, to make reservations, to adjust his stool, to perfume his handkerchief,” Harriet Bernbaum said.

The couple’s daughter, opera singer Keren-Or Bernbaum, was once praised for her “warm, rich tone” in the New York Times. In 1999, she suffered a catastrophic asthma attack that left her oxygen-deprived, brain-damaged and unable to breathe on her own. Rather than keep her on life support, her parents made the wrenching decision to let her go.

To honor her, the Bernbaums sponsored concerts and donated a Boaz sculpture to the Ravinia Festival.

Mr. Bernbaum also is survived by four grandchildren. Services have been held.

A compassionate nurse helped ease his final days. When he saw Harriet Bernbaum leaning into her husband’s bed, “He said, ‘Wouldn’t you like to be behind the bars?’ And I said, ‘I’d love to.’ For three nights, he tucked me in with Harry, the night nurse, this wonderful man,” she said. “He practically did lift me in, took my shoes off, and I was there till the morning.”