The Cult of the Cycad
Originally published in
the New York Times magazine
Aug. 28, 2005
What is it about a strange squat plant that gives rise to smugglers and obsessive collectors?
A man who calls himself Marty Sterns is taking care of business in the faux French Provincial dining room of a top-floor suite in the Las Vegas Mirage. Sterns is a small, trim man in his late 40s with a close-cropped graying beard, sandy hair and the quick, carefully controlled moves of a man on the make who doesn’t want to look like one.
“This is everything that came in the March shipment,” he says to the two men sitting at the table. Rolf is a beefy Bob Hoskins look-alike, wearing a plaid, short-sleeved shirt that’s tight against his gut. Jan, jowly, with a receding hairline and reading glasses, has the look of an Omaha insurance salesman circa 1965. Sterns is standing between them, pointing to an itemized list he has placed on the table.
He is taking great pains to detail each shipment. This is what you sent over, he says, pointing to his list, and this is what I sold. He hasn’t moved some goods from the most recent shipment yet, and he apologizes. He looks up from the list, a little nervous, but Van Vuuren assures him it’s alright.
Today Van Vuuren and Bauer expect cash payments from Sterns, maybe $15,000, but they figure Sterns is good for a lot more.