Mr. James Wilson of Secret Forts, one of my earliest supporters and the deepest fount of inspiration, was kind enough to ask me to contribute again to his round up of great stuff for fall: The Fall Three. I feel so lucky to have been included in the group.

Thanks to James, and thanks to Nathan Michael for the photo, Ken Hunemeder of Goose Island for the beer photo.

Also, a note for James’ many devotees: he moved! He now resides, quite comfortably at  – www.secretforts.com. Update your feeds, links, and readers.

When I think about Al Capone, I imagine he looked after all these backroom hideouts, secret underground passageways, and speakeasies beneath every street in Chicago.

The Altmans are the Al Capones of men’s footwear. Under their postage-stamp-sized shoe store in Chicago’s Loop, for the last 30 years, in something like 20 rooms, they have amassed over 20,000 pairs of deadstock, vintage shoes.

I first learned of this crazy place from Jessica Herman, after Dana Altman wrote to clue her into this incredible find, and immediately, my mind raced like it did the day Joe Gannon and I took a wrong turn and ended up in the attic of Nashville Sporting Goods.

Electric Blue Lizard from my favorite cowboy boot maker, Tony Lama.

“My sister invited me to have lunch down here,” Dana told Jess and me when we visited a few weeks ago. “And I was like, ‘What is all this?’”

Quoddy Moccasins, Made in Lewiston, Maine, USA.

With selections from All Plaidout favorites like Alden and Quoddy, and hundreds, possibly thousands of other brands, there’s something for everyone, man or woman. Though the shoes were made for men, there are a considerable number of really great-looking shoes in smaller sizes (Ladies, who among you doesn’t want a pair of vintage Aldens?).

Dorado by Converse

The rooms are organized by a series of numbers, written on the wall next to each door. The numbers all have meaning for which the Altman sisters’ father wrote a legend. Next to one number, for example, he scrawled the letters “H/S” for “handsewns.”

Racquet Oxford from Sperry Top-Sider, Made in Naugatuck, Connecticut, USA

Each room has rows of metal shelves, stacked floor to ceiling with musty, dusty, old boxes, the glue and cardboard separating, and in many cases the glue and insole separating. That isn’t to say there aren’t absolutely pristine finds. I was able to find a pair of Clark’s Desert Boots, in sand suede, in my size. I was told they are from the seventies, before Clark’s moved production from England to Ireland (and eventually to Vietnam and all parts of the globe) I could have walked up the stairs and out the door with those puppies on my feet, if only I could have justified their $200 price tag. The Altmans know what they have, and they’re asking top dollar for it.

Jimmy Connors by Converse. Note the glue.

They began by selling several pair on eBay, allowing friends to come to the store (Dana mentioned something of a Japanese buyer), but knowing the shoe store’s extremely unique story makes for a great shopping experience and finding they were unable to fetch realistic amounts for these rare birds, they closed shop on eBay. They have begun to invite any and all comers to experience shopping in Chicago’s underground. Dana’s referring to the vault as “Altman’s Legacy.”

These tasseled Weejuns from G.H. Bass were my favorite find in the vault. It’s only too bad they were sold to an eBay customer, and they were not my size.

It’s my hope you’re all able to experience this once-in-a-lifetime shopping experience.

For more on the vault, read the piece in Time Out Chicago.
For more photos of my visit, see Flickr.

Altman’s Shoes
120 W Monroe St
Chicago, Illinois
(312) 332-0667

Recently, I contributed more than my five cents to Barneys New York’s The Window. It’s part of a series they’re calling Personalities.

In the same week, Chicago’s outpost of Refinery29 listed me among the city’s “cutest bloggers.”

Thank you to Emily, Jessica, Jessica, Kim, and Shani. It truly made my day to be featured on your sites.

You park your car on High Street in Columbus, Ohio’s Short North neighborhood. You’re so excited, you forget to pay the meter. You walk around a shady corner where a red sign reads “HOMAGE.” You walk into the little shop to the sounds of The Brothers Johnson’s “Get the Funk Out Ma Face.” You smell the wood of old backboards that have been repurposed as a checkout counter.

You look to your right. There is a life-sized cardboard cut-out of Larry Bird hanging out by an old Coke machine. You think to yourself, “Oh man, this is so great! ‘The Hick from French Lick’!” You look to your left, there is a working scoreboard and canvas bins filled with colorful sports-themed t-shirts and Starting Lineup figurines. You are immediately transported back to Nipher Middle School. Your friend Bryn is lacing his Nike Air Flights. Just after one last pump on his Reeboks, Danjo is schooling a kid named Duck on his latest version of Tim Hardaway’s killer crossover dribble. There’s a red-headed kid named Robbie who is wearing Etonic sport goggles. And Nick is sporting some tube socks so long David Robinson would be impressed.

My purchases while visiting Homage Clothing in Columbus, Ohio

Then, out of the corner of your eye, you spot a t-shirt, and suddenly you’re seven years old. Your dad puts you to bed in one of his a threadbare oversized University of Kansas T-shirts. He gives you a Coors Light kiss on your forehead. You roll over, a stuffed Jayhawk permanently under your arm. Dad leaves. You hear him descend the stairs. You rush to the floor. You lay awake all night with your head pinned to the berber carpet, soaking up the sounds through the second storey’s floorboards, as the laughs grow louder, the “Oh, no!” the “Oh… YES!” You hear your mom, a Mizzou grad, yell a sacrilegious, “C’mon, K-U!” And finally, everyone shouts, “DANNY!” Shortly thereafter, your dad runs to the staircase, “Max! Benny! Come downstairs! KU just won the National Championship!” Your heart soars. You think, “it doesn’t get better than this.”

Snoopy, Lifelong Buckeye Fan

The late, great Dennis Wilson

As a Midwestern kid whose dad would drive him around with the top down listening to Beach Boys tapes all summer, I totally identify with the desire to Surf Ohio. I still jump on my kickboard at the pool.

This cardigan was made exclusively for Homage by someone in Columbus, Ohio.

That’s what this store does well. This little shop on a side street off the High Street on Columbus’ Short North drums up so many warm recollections of a childhood spent obsessing about sports, it’s a veritable factory of memories. Every time I wear my Surf Ohio or my Danny & The Miracles T-shirt, I spend the whole day thinking about my old favorite T-shirts, hoping Ryan will find one and make a reissue. His shirts fast became my favorite t-shirts, and so too will they be your favorites in no time. Pay homage to your childhood heroes today.

Special thanks to Ryan Vesler and all the wonderful people behind Homage. Thank you for jogging my memory.

For more from my visit to Homage in Columbus, Ohio, see Flickr.

“You bought the polka dot tie at Dose!” The MidWasteLand’s Monica Dimperio exclaimed while we waited for some Joe at Caffe Streets.

“Yes! Oh my God. What a memory!”

“You gonna be there this Sunday?”

“Of course.”

How could I miss it? I live for these experiences. For the two years I lived in Brooklyn, I became a fixture at the Brooklyn Flea, which took place at the end of my block. Whiling away my weekends by grilling vendors about their wares, turning their passions into my own,  I managed to fall in with this talented community of people in a way that held some deeper meaning to me than any old trip to the local flea market.

Floyd from Artpentry

Then, I heard about this thing starting in my new hometown of Chicago called Dose Market. I was instantly flung back to my Flea days. I tingled all over with the anticipation that I would make this market, this Dose, my market, as I’d done before in Brooklyn.

Housed in the River East Arts Center, Dose Market is a once monthly bazaar showcasing a collection of the city’s finest offerings in food, furniture, and… fineries.  The curators, or Dosettes, as they refer to themselves, are Haute Closet’s April Francis, Tasting Table Chicago’s Editor Heather Sperling, DailyCandy Chicago’s Editor Emily Fiffer, and Time Out Chicago’s Associate Shopping & Style Editor Jessica Herman.

Jared Van Camp of Old Town Social assists a customer with his selection of charcuterie.

At the first installment, I found myself drawn to the charcuterie offered by Old Town Social’s Jared Van Camp. I bought the fennel sausage for Monday evening’s picnic at Downtown Sound in Millennium Park, but finished the link before I made it home.

I kept pushing people over to try the thick, decadent, and extremely tart, XO 18-year-old vinegar from Blis. I may or may not have measured a few necks — including owner Sarah Blessing’s — at Apartment Number 9′s custom shirting booth offered in conjunction with Hamilton Shirts. And I learned a bit about the neckwear offered by Chris Berre and Michael Palmer of Artfully Disheveled.

This coming Sunday, July 10th, is the second installment of Dose, or as I have been referring to it, Dose: Dos.

I’m most looking forward to trying one of the champagne cocktails The Aviary’s Grant Achatz created especially for Dose. I’m also excited to see what is new this week, in particular, fresh and proper neckwear from Fresh & Proper and the incredibly handsome metalwork of Gillion Carrara.

If it’s anything like the first installment, you can be guaranteed I’ll have set up camp for the entire day. Come say “hi.” I’m the man in plaid.

I’ll see you there!

Dose Market
at the River East Arts Center
435 East Illinois Street
Chicago, IL
60611

All photos c/o Nathan Michael.

My friend Charley Marcuse of Charley’s Mustard informed me recently that the flagship store for J.L. Powell in Three Oaks, Michigan, has closed. It saddened me, to say the very least, to learn that this place had to go. It was a favorite stop-over on my travels between Detroit and Chicago.

Set in the town’s old train depot, it was the perfect location in too small a town to display the company’s wares.

I first learned of J.L. Powell on my trip to the Quoddy Moccasin factory in Lewiston, Maine. Kevin Shorey was listing some of the shops that carried Quoddy, and JLP was among them. When I told Julie Fernstrom of Brimfield in Chicago that I was going to be driving up the Lake Michigan shoreline, she suggested I stop by. While there, I had the opportunity to meet Josh Powell. I’ve never met a cooler guy. A former trader, he and his wife moved to be closer to the lake, and decided to set up shop. With the help of his professional photographer father, he started photographing himself on his many, manly adventures.

He could not have been nicer, more inviting. He was even kind enough to show me designs for new products, which he hoped would make the cut for the fall line.

When asked, he compared J.L. Powell to J. Peterman, calling it a “younger, possibly hipper” version of the venerated catalog company. I suppose it shouldn’t have surprised me when Charley told me the shop had closed. While it was a great flagship, a terrific place to show off the wares, when it’s set in a town with a population just shy of 2,000 people, as that old real estate adage explains, unfortunately, it comes down to location, location, location.

For more photos of my visit to their shop, may it rest in peace, visit Flickr.

I’m not sure he would appreciate me saying so, but that was my initial impression of Kenny Fabrikant owner of Hanover, New Hampshire’s Rosey Jekes.

Mr. Fabrikant talks with author Lisa Rogak, one time Hanover resident and longtime friend of the store.

As I’ve made my way around the country, sharing stories with many of my heroes in this business, when I mention Rosey Jekes, I get one of two responses:

“Rosie Cheeks?”

or

“Kenny!”

The latter understand all-too-well what I have come to learn in the year since I first heard of this mythical place, this Rosey Jekes, and of the mythical retail rock star who runs the joint. Six feet two, long white hair, Caribbean blue eyes, permanently tanned and always flashing a whitewashed rail of teeth, with a Bronx accent that has been cooled by the mountains of New Hampshire, Mr. Fabricant is exciting.

“Do you like it without the ‘O’?” Kenny asked. “It fell off a few years ago, and I never replaced it.”

I first learned of Rosey Jekes when Emil Corsillo of The Hill-Side asked, “Dude, do you know the store Rosey Jekes? I guess it’s like a sandwich shop with men’s clothing? It’s on Dartmouth’s campus.”

I sent a text to my friend who went to Dartmouth.

She wrote back, “The panini place? Their clothes were all really expensive… and really beautiful.”

I started my day in the cafe.

And then, in January at The Ace Hotel, I met Kenny Fabrikant.

And man, life was suddenly better. He lit up the room. I’ve heard people described as “so chill.” Kenny is sub-zero. He floats through the day like an ice cube melting on a slab of concrete. Slick, unfazed.

Kenny’s belt buckle. “Turtle shell,” he said. “Some of the turquoise has fallen out.” He bought it in the desert. It’s the belt he wears every day.

“Those were vintage in the ’60s.”

“I patched my jeans like that, because I had to. That was the only fabric I could find.”

In the sixties, Kenny wore patched jeans. Today, 501s, a chambray shirt from Engineered Garments, and a pair of New Balance 993s. It’s his uniform.

I’ve always admired men who can captivate with their storytelling. Kenny can yarn on better than anyone I’ve ever seen. He’s the kind of guy I’d like to have give me a wake-up call every morning. “Hey Max, man. Wake up, man.”

I ran into him last week in New York. “Hey, Max, man, how are you?” He said with a glint in his eye. “Are you good, man? You look good…. Feel good?”

The man smiles, and he’s Burt Lancaster. Charming as hell, yet I know he could kick my ass in one swift motion. He’s a force. I watched him work a room of young buyers, fielding their questions like the White House Press Secretary. Everyone’s eyes were ablaze. The man’s a walking sound bite. It’s as though he knows the answer before you ask the questions.

Many of the store’s fixtures come from an old jewelry store.

“I’m a philosophical haberdasher.”

The first chance I could, while on vacation in Boston, I made the short drive to Hanover. After a quick breakfast at his basement cafe, I spent six hours picking Kenny’s brain, watching and learning as he worked the store, taking each customer in, asking about their families, listening to their stories about their garden or their grandkids like they were his own.

“Fashion is not a priority in New Hampshire.”

Kenny walked me through the store, pointing to items he purchased at market for specific customers. “We try to tailor our clothing to the people who shop our store.”

Kenny built the one-time grange building to be an experience. The wrought iron staircase came from an all-girls school in Indiana, the second floor storefront, with its handsome tempered stained glass, has a story all it’s own.

“Yeah, that was sitting on Main Street in Jeannie’s hometown. I went in, asked the guy how much he wanted for it, ripped it out of the wall and rebuilt his storefront right then and there.” People in these small towns don’t know what kind of gold they’re sititng on.

A corner of Kenny’s office is devoted to Ja.

The Fabrikants have built a beautiful beach-side residence in Anguilla, which Kenny uses as his escape. From his many stories of the Caribbean, I gleaned it’s become a second home. He makes it a point to visit at least twice a year. Kenny was kind enough to give me a CD with the latest offerings from Bankie Banx, the Bob Dylan of Anguilla and a close personal friend of the Fabrikants.

“I’m not a 2:30 in the morning [kind of guy]. I’m a 5:30 in the morning when the sun’s coming up [kind of guy], you know what I mean, man?” Taking pause, he looks out the window. “I like my mornings.”

Kenny’s story is an elaborate one. In the midst of finishing a masters in English Lit, he was on the fast track in the garment industry in New York City, developing a product called “Simple Systems,” which he describes as a pre-cursor to Garanimals, the interchangeable, color-coded clothing matching system for children. He gave up to move to New Hampshire, raise two his two boys, and start a store with his wife, Jeannine.

“JeKes. Jeannie and Kenny, and we were young and our cheeks were rosie”: his origin story for the name.

Rosey Jekes was the first place in North America to carry Nigel Cabourn.

This limited edition down parka from Nigel Cabourn’s first collection is simply ridiculous. Done up in the colors of Sir Edmund Hillary’s first ascent of Everest, using period-specific materials like Ventile, and made entirely in England, it was hard for me to put it down. According to Kenny, it is still for sale. In fact, he has several pieces from that first collection which are still for sale.

The sandalwood toggles had my jaw on the floor.

Rosey Jekes has since become the place to pick up classic pieces to complete any wardrobe. Stocking brands like C.P. Company, Engineered Garments, Gitman Vintage, Nigel Cabourn, and Stone Island, alongside select vintage pieces from his personal collection, Kenny’s been able to hit across a wide spectrum of price points, while still offering a unique assortment of the hearty goods one might have found in a New England general store a century ago.

While living in New York, Kenny designed this leather jacket. “There was this guy down in the West Village who made leather jackets. I sat down with him, drew up this thing, these pockets, and about a week later, I had this jacket. It was $60.” Kenny’s now selling it for much more than that. “You’ll never be able to afford it. This thing is priceless.” If someone were smart, they’d hire Kenny to come and beef up their leather jackets. He showed me some of his other designs. “Classics with a twist?” I asked. “Yeah, man. You know, it’s the stuff you know you’ve seen before, but you can’t find it anywhere.” This man talks like I think.

“Back when it was still an outfitter,” Kenny audaciously informed me.

His philosophy for leaving New York plays into his philosophy for a life well-spent. “You need your own planet. It could be a small as Anguilla, as small as Rosey Jekes. It doesn’t need a lot of miles.”

From the looks of things, Kenny’s taken good care of his planet. Before we parted, Kenny left me with this gem: “Max, it’s like I tell my boys, ‘There are three things in life that are important: be kind, be kind, be kind.”

I’m so thankful to have been provided the opportunity to visit his store, to spend a day with Mr. Kenny Fabrikant. Sometimes, when it’s all I can do to get out of bed at six in the morning, to trudge out the door, another day on the clock, I think of Kenny and how he gets up every morning and makes it happen for himself, and I can hear him, Mr. Kenny Fabrikant, The Cool Ruler, softly goading me, “Hey Max, man. Wake up, man.” And life is suddenly better.

The man whom Philadelphia Magazine called, in the same breath, a Legend and a Mad Man, had some very inspired things to say.
“The new luxury is knowing where the stuff comes from and knowing that the person who made it got paid,” Grasse says. “That is the new luxury. Not the fancy packaging, or the glam, but the ethics of it, the sustainability and goodness of it.”

In addition to the fantastic profile in Philadelphia Magazine, Mr. Grasse was recently interviewed by Printeresting’s Jason Urban, where his opinions were more transparent.

“AITA is a reaction against the Walmartization of the world. Cheap shit from China is killing us. This is why we make soap, preserves, and small batch organically certified liquor… There is an art to living. If you live in a McMansion and spend your days at a strip mall buying cheap shit from China, dude, you have lost your fucking aura.”

In November, I had the opportunity to visit the store with Joe Gannon, and while we just missed an in-store performance by one of my favorite bands, White Denim, we were there in time for a tasting of Grasse’s most recent project, Root Liquer, a delicious organic, root-beer-flavored liquer made by a California distillery exclusively for AITA. There was even some artwork on display from Billykirk’s Kirk Bray. The store is very well laid out, and it showcases a well-thought-out curation of products, many of which are of their own creation.

If you haven’t yet, read the two profiles of Mr. Grasse. They explain his brilliance better than I ever could. For more of his worthwhile insight, follow Mr. Grasse on Twitter, @StevenGrasse.

For more Art in the Age, see their channel on YouTube.