Some people call him “The Dude.”
Others, Frank Gallagher, Ozzy Osborne and Led Zeppelin. But Mike Harlow says he’s just a dude who happens to love corduroy and bell bottoms.
So much so, he opened up shop. After 30 years in construction, seven in the army, a few months crabbing in Alaska and a short spell of bull-riding, Harlow now owns Water St. Vintage & Bohemian in downtown Harrisonburg.
It began two years ago with no business plan, no model. He signed a lease, got the license, then looked around and realized the place was empty.
“How am I gonna fill the store with clothes?” he wondered. The answer? Vintage warehouses, auctions and online shopping.
He drove his pickup to a warehouse in Philadelphia and loaded up.
Today, he sits in a very full store surrounded by movie posters, pins and patches. He collects clothes that remind him of his days in high school, which he claims were “straight out of ‘That ’70s Show.”
Easy ’70s and Motown play on the store speakers. Walls of boots, coats and belts sit perfectly still in their places, organized and clean. But they’re growing stiff.
Customers like McKenzie Allen, a self-proclaimed “retrodisiac,” who used to come all the way from Woodbrige to shop Harlow’s collection because he “has some of the best vintage items” she’s ever seen, are now staying home.
Harlow taps his leather boots on the floor. Waiting.
He’s overcome quite a bit of hardship in his 60 years, more than the average “dude.” Harlow survived seven years of service, brutal ocean winds and even a few particularly angry rodeo bulls.
Post highschool, as the ’70s gave way to the ’80s, he joined the military and was stationed in Ft. Louis Washington, Germany, the DMZ, the Sonai desert and everywhere in between.
He said he saw some camels and some sand. He didn’t want to say what else.
After Harlow hung up his fatigues, he found his next job in an unexpected place — a crabbing boat in the dead of an Alaskan winter. He soon learned that it meant a whole lot of ice and a whole lot of night.
One particularly long one, he said he remembers a call that came on the radio.
The voice on the other side warned that a storm was coming, a big one, with swells of 30 to 60 feet.
Harlow recalled his crew drawing the anchor immediately and racing toward higher ground. They didn’t make it. After hours of trying everything, they were forced to retire to their bunks.
It was 2 a.m. when it hit.
Harlow said he tossed and turned in his sleep, stomach aching from the motion of the storm. He was a newbie, after all, only two months into the job. He tried to sleep, but couldn’t. He got up, unable to stay still, and went to the galley to do his favorite thing — watch a movie.
But he said that when he entered the galley, the smells in the air made his stomach curl. He was so desperate for fresh air that he did the one thing he wasn’t supposed to do.
He went above deck.
The air was better up there, if a little loud, he said, but regardless, it was worth the wet boots. He walked along the stern, breathing deeply, then stopped. He remembers his hands wrapping tightly against the rails.
He looked down into the nothing, the blackness.
He couldn’t even see the ocean. He waited. Held the rails. Went still.
Then, suddenly, the boat dropped down like a roller coaster. There it was — the water, looming over his head. It was 50 feet, the wave.
Now, here it is again. That same pesky wave. It’s found something he loves and threatens to drown it.
This time, Harlow isn’t running from it. He won’t go back inside. He can’t.
This time, the rent needs to be paid, the lights need to be on and his business kept afloat.
He’s staying open — pandemic be damned.
Since the influx of coronavirus cases has spread across the United States, Harlow’s shop has seen only one person a day. It used to see at least 20, usually 40.
His competitor, Heartworn Vintage, located a few streets away in downtown Harrisonburg’s Agora Market, isn’t faring any better. The mother and daughter who own the shop are in the process of moving inventory online, banking on virtual sales to drag them into May.
“Our landlord generously gave us the month of April free of rent, but we don’t know what the next month will look like,” Allie Motyka, co-owner of Heartworn Vintage, said.
She thinks staying open is the best option for now, and hopes she’ll never close for good.
Harlow said he won’t close either, even if no one comes to shop, because he learned a long time ago that “pennies turn into dollars,” and he could really use some of those right now.
He says his business has dropped 95% over the last two months. Not many people are shopping for vintage clothing with nowhere to wear it. Despite it all, Harlow sits at his counter from noon to six, waiting for the beaded curtains on the door to tap together, signaling a customer’s entrance.
But for now, they stay put.