How Old Jerseys Got Hot

By Sean Gregory/Philadelphia

Just four months earlier, he had been hustling from one Philadelphia hair salon to the next, selling pound cake to women while they were being coiffed. Now Reuben Harley was reclining on a black leather couch in the midtown Manhattan recording studio of hip-hop mogul Sean (P. Diddy) Combs. The unlikely pair chatted about business, music and, most importantly, jerseys--the classic models that sports legends like Julius Erving, Nolan Ryan and Jackie Robinson used to wear.

Harley, then 27, was the new marketing director for Mitchell & Ness Nostalgia Co., which lovingly sewed and sold authentic replicas of old sports jerseys known as throwbacks. When Combs was shown some samples, he wanted to buy them. He also warmed to Harley, telling him "You remind me of Biggie," a.k.a. rap-music star Christopher Wallace, a Combs friend who was gunned down in 1997. Harley and his employer were instantly anointed.

Since that meeting 16 months ago, century-old Mitchell & Ness (M&N), originally a maker of golf and tennis equipment for the Philadelphia elite, has transformed itself into the nation's hottest marketer of clothing for urban black teens--and their eager imitators among suburban kids and dads of all races. Flip on MTV, Black Entertainment Television or an ESPN postgame press conference, and you're bound to see rapper Nelly in a bright orange Spirits of St. Louis jersey (the basketball team folded in 1976) or Tampa Bay Buccaneers football star Warren Sapp in a Kelly green, early 1980s Philadelphia Eagles getup. (Sapp wore a series of M&N throwbacks--which retail for $250 to $470--throughout Super Bowl week.) Lebron James, the nation's top high school basketball player, got suspended in late January for accepting two throwbacks as gifts. Boosted by such celebrity consumers, sales for family-owned M&N have jumped from $2.8 million in 2000 to $25 million last year, amid an otherwise dismal market for apparel. And the knits keep coming: sales so far in 2003 are running twice as high as they were during the same period last year.

What's the big attraction? "The materials, the colors are just a little different, a little special," says rapper Fabolous, whose album Street Dreams debuted at No. 3 in March and includes a track, Throwback, dedicated to M&N. Fabolous adds, "If I wear a Dr. J jersey at a show in Philly or a Jerry West joint in L.A., I know the crowd will go crazy."

M&N's success has inspired big players like Nike and Reebok--and smaller wholesalers like G-III, based in New York City, and Majestic, of Bangor, Pa.--to produce their own throwbacks. Pro-sports leagues now regularly outfit teams in retro gear during games just for kicks. Moreover, M&N joins the ranks of firms--from Louis Roederer champagne (maker of Cristal) to Timberland boots--that have flourished once an urban, largely African-American audience embraced them. But more than any of these crossover brands, M&N has triumphed because of a single unlikely hero. "I consider it a miracle that Reuben fell into my lap. He deserves all the credit," says company owner Peter Capolino, 58, a pale, bespectacled Barry Manilow fan who now chums around with Jay-Z, Shaquille O'Neal and Bone Thugs-N-Harmony.

Harley grew up in West Philadelphia, where he managed to avoid the drugs and desperation that plagued his neighborhood. He graduated from high school but couldn't afford college, so he took a series of odd jobs, such as busing tables and selling Italian ices at the playgrounds. He enjoyed cooking, so he started a catering business. Harley would wake up at 3 a.m. to prepare lasagna, chicken and desserts in his grandmother's kitchen. Then, at lunchtime, he would head out to beauty salons and other local spots to sell meals and slices of cake.

Harley saved his profits to buy classic jerseys from M&N's sole retail store downtown. (The company still has only one store, a popular destination for NBA stars when their teams are playing in Philly. Most of M&N's business involves wholesaling jerseys to 220 retailers around the country.) Back in West Philly, everyone would ask Harley where he got his Hank Aaron jersey, but Harley would not tell. "I loved them so much, I just wanted them as my own," he says. "But just seeing a cat's reaction, I knew this could really catch on."

He went to Capolino and offered to help him sell 1950s baseball jerseys--long collector's items for middle-aged sports nuts--to inner-city youths. Harley proposed to first target those who could most afford M&N's finely stitched replicas--pro athletes and rappers. He started, as he puts it, "crashing parties" at New York City and Philadelphia nightclubs. Once he had P. Diddy and Fabolous on board, Harley persuaded Capolino to fly him around the country to network with other music and sports stars at awards shows, All-Star games and other big events like the Super Bowl.

M&N suddenly had a face: a charming, energetic, unassuming African American whom the stars could trust and in whom they could confide. One recent afternoon, Indiana Pacers All-Star forward Jermaine O'Neal--who owns 150 throwback jerseys and says acquiring the hottest model is a "competitive sport" among teammates--huddled with Harley in front of the M&N store and pondered not just his wardrobe but his future. He discussed the possibility of playing next year in sunny Miami or with close friend Tracy McGrady in Orlando. "Reuben's just a cool guy, and he delivers what you need on time," says rap star Eve, who wore an oversize Michael Jordan Chicago Bulls jersey as a dress during All-Star weekend.

Capolino says Harley introduced three valuable principles to his business. First, you don't have to give away your product to promote it. If even celebrities have to pay, the jerseys have more allure. Second, forget about fall and spring collections. Stagger new releases to keep customers wanting the hottest new model. Finally, know your colors. M&N quadrupled production of popular shades like powder blue (Lance Alworth, San Diego Chargers, 1963; Bob McAdoo, Buffalo Braves, 1975) and lime green (Pete Maravich, Atlanta Hawks, 1972).

Despite his newfound stardom, courtesy of a spot in a popular rap video and a weekly gig on a Philadelphia sports talk-radio program, success hasn't swelled Harley's head. After watching a recent Sixers game from his second-row seat, Harley left the arena and pulled away in his company car, a $50,000 Cadillac Escalade. But he stopped when he recognized a policeman who once worked in West Philly. "Hey, you got a slice of cake for me?" the cop asked. "Just remember those old days." Harley laughed. How could he forget? These days the old days are his business.