Bryan Welker sat down with engineer, Olympian, and inventor Leathem Smith Stearn to trace the arc of a life defined by precision, curiosity, and the relentless pursuit of better design—across ships, sport, and one of the most iconic fashion inventions of the last century.
By The Good Business Journal Editorial Team
True engineering genius is the pursuit of solving complex problems using the simplest possible mechanism and an attention to detail that demands the closest possible proximity to perfection. That is something Leathem Smith Stearn. Born in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, in 1948, he grew up in a world of rivets, hulls, and blueprints. His father, one of the country’s foremost naval architects, taught him the gospel of precision: “Whatever you do, do it right—better than it’s ever been done before.”
That mantra carried him across disciplines and decades—from walking shipyards as a boy, to representing the United States as a sailor in the 1972 Munich Olympics, to inventing one of the most ubiquitous fashion accessories in modern history: the scrunchie. His story is one of engineering meeting intuition, of sport meeting design, and of a restless mind that never stopped building.
GBJ: Where were you born, and what kind of childhood did you have?
I was born in Sturgeon Bay, Wisconsin, in 1948. I’d say it was a pretty ideal small-town Midwestern childhood with two great parents and three good siblings. Even though we lived in a small town. It was an industrial, productive place. My father was one of the top ship designers in the country and an inventor, and my mother, besides raising four kids, was one of the top Republican women in the country.
GBJ: Tell me about your mother’s role in politics.
Her strong interest started when her father ran for U.S. Senate against Joe McCarthy in the 1940s. She was sixteen, writing his speeches. Over time she became deeply involved in Republican politics — attending national conventions, well connected in the state, respected nationally. I remember her getting calls from Mel Laird, the Secretary of Defense, and even President Nixon. She was bright, astute, and dynamic.
GBJ: And your father—he was a naval architect?
Yes. He was recruited out of New York by my grandfather to be his chief naval architect. They collaborated early on and came up with patents for self-unloading container ships, sand dredges, and other big innovations in the marine industry.
After my grandfather passed, my father set up his own firm and became one of the top ship designers in the country. He also invented the marine travel lift—a staple in boatyards around the world. He was a perfectionist, a man of few words and a lot of integrity. One of his lessons to me was: “I don’t care what you do, but whatever you do, do it right.” By his standard, that meant better than it had ever been done before.
GBJ: What was it like growing up in that environment?
I grew up walking through his design offices and the shipyards, seeing ships being designed and built. It was a great education. I started working there when I was about twelve, doing form calculations on 800-foot ships. Throughout high school, that was my summer job.
GBJ: What were your high school years like?
I was probably a B-plus student—distracted, I’d say. I kept my grades up mostly to keep my father off my back. My real focus was outside the classroom, where sports and competition took most of my time.
GBJ: And which sports were you interested in?
Yes, I was very active—sailboat racing, ski racing, baseball. I’d say I was a decent student, but I was more focused on competition. I went to the University of Vermont on a ski scholarship, studying mechanical engineering.
I raced at a high level—NCAA, hopeful for World Cup events. When I was nineteen, I tried to make both the U.S. Ski Team and the U.S. Sailing Team the same year. I missed both by a few spots. I realized I might be overextended so I transferred to the University of Michigan to study aeronautical engineering and naval architecture, which helped a lot with my sailing.
GBJ: How did engineering help with your sailing career?
Sailing depends on aerodynamics, hydrodynamics, and structure—the same principles that drive aircraft design. Having that background gave me an edge in understanding performance. That led to my early patents.
GBJ: What was your first patent?
Around age twenty, I patented the roller-furling jib, which became a staple in sailing. We built it and brought it to market in 1970. Later, I developed a double-groove headstay system that revolutionized racing—made it easier to change jibs efficiently. That became standard worldwide. I started my own company, Stearn Sailing Systems, in 1973. We expanded into hydraulics, masts, and rigging systems.
I also developed the first centralized hydraulic systems for controlling things like backstays, boom vangs, and mast jacks—initially manual, later automated—and that technology became the industry standard for handling high-load adjustments. Our masts were innovative too: D-shaped sections, triple and quadruple spreaders, and we were among the first to move into carbon for offshore racing boats.
By that point, we handled everything from the chainplates up, less the sails. At our peak, we had roughly 70 percent of the top racing boats in the world using our systems, with factories in four countries and a licensed facility in Durban, South Africa. We were a small company in a niche field, but we dominated it.
GBJ: And you made the Olympic team in 1972. What was that experience like?
It was a dream come true. No one from where I grew up had ever done that. We raced in Kiel, Germany, as part of the Munich Olympics. My parents came to watch.
GBJ: Where did you place?
We finished around eighth overall. It wasn’t the result I wanted—I was disappointed, honestly. There were about forty competitors from as many countries, and my teammate and I were among the youngest serious contenders.
We had trained for heavy winds, but Kiel turned out light and fluky, which didn’t play to our strengths. We were even disqualified once for being called over the line—a call we didn’t think was right. We had an outside shot at a medal, but luck wasn’t on our side. Still, representing my country and having my parents there made it an unforgettable experience.
GBJ: The result wasn’t what you wanted but qualifying to represent your country is still an amazing feat.
It was incredibly tough. At the time there were close to 10,000 Flying Dutchman sailors in the U.S., and only one team qualified every four years. We had to fight like hell to get there. The competition just to make the team was almost as fierce as the Olympics themselves.
GBJ: After the Olympics, you got involved in America’s Cup campaigns?
Yes. Lowell North, the founder of North Sails, was a mentor of mine. He and I sailed together and won several championships. He asked me to help him with the 1977 America’s Cup, but I couldn’t take time off from my business.
Later, I was selected to skipper Courageous for the 1986 Cup Challenge in Perth. Walter Cronkite introduced me at the boat launch on national TV. It was a big moment for my family. My father had just been diagnosed with cancer, but he didn’t tell us until after. When he passed away, I resigned as skipper and went home to take over his company. That was the end of my competitive sailing career.
GBJ: You ended up running your father’s company for a while?
Yes, I took over R.A. Stearn Naval Architects. I was the most qualified among my siblings, but I never intended to take it on that way. My father always encouraged me to do my own thing. I ran it for about a year and a half, then sold it to another firm to ensure continuity for his team. It was a bittersweet transition.
GBJ: How did you go from ship design to hair accessories?
Yeah, that’s quite a leap. I moved to New York in my mid-30s, figuring out my next chapter. One night at a party, I struck up a conversation with someone who was frustrated about a hair accessory design she was working on.
The discussion sparked an idea about how to approach it differently and that was the seed of what would later become the scrunchie. I designed, patented and launched it about six months later in 1987. It took off. To this day, the scrunchie still holds roughly 60 percent of the U.S. hair accessory market.
GBJ: That’s incredible. How did that feel?
Honestly, it wasn’t about the money. It was about solving a problem. I saw a need and created something that worked better. The reward for me has always been seeing people benefit from something I made. Whether it’s a ship design, a sailing product, or a hair tie—it’s about function and simplicity. Simplicity is the essence of success; complexity is the enemy of success.
GBJ: You’ve had success in so many fields—sailing, fashion, tech, real estate. What ties it all together?
Curiosity and design. I like finding problems that need better solutions. In the late ’80s and early ’90s, I got into internet ventures—one became Artnet.com. Later, I worked on fractional yacht ownership, basically timeshares for yachts.
It was ready to go, but 2008 hit, so we shelved it. I’ve also designed and built several houses—one sold for $100 million, the highest residential sale in Colorado at the time. But again, it’s not about the number. It’s about creating something well thought out and functional.
GBJ: What’s your philosophy on entrepreneurship?
I have two definitions of an entrepreneur. One—an entrepreneur is someone who’s basically unemployable, so they create their own gig. Two—an entrepreneur has to have unbelievable conviction. It’s a high-wire act with no safety net.
You’ve got to have focus, detail, luck, and the ability to recover. It’s like sports—unforgiving, competitive, and exacting. You have to know yourself. And you can’t do it alone—you need a team where every part works, or it falls apart.
GBJ: If you could go back and tell your younger self one thing, what would it be?
Buy Google stock!
GBJ: Your not the first person to say that!
Personally, I wish I’d had a family earlier. Professionally, I’ve been lucky. I’ve had failures, sure, but those became foundations for later success. You can’t plan it all out. You just keep your eyes open, see opportunities, and have the conviction to go for them. If you get it right, it works out.
From the shipyards of Sturgeon Bay to the Olympic waters of Kiel and the fashion shelves of the world, Leathem Smith Stearn’s life is proof that creativity doesn’t belong to one field. It’s a mindset—part discipline, part curiosity, part willingness to try. His father’s advice still echoes through everything he’s built: do it right, better than it’s ever been done before.
