Value Village: A Conclave of Cheap Costs and Culture

Nuzzled amidst the colorful racks of secondhand clothing, UW-Milwaukee student and avid thrift store shopper Maria Kuck riffles through her finds. Wearing a “Rosie the Riveter” headscarf and bubblegum pink horn-rimmed glasses, she leafs through her cart, proudly pulling out a pair of high-waisted, acid wash blue jeans, a flannel shirt, a chunky red sweater complete with an embroidered horse stitched to the chest, and a small wooden keepsake box which she cites as “absolutely adorable.”

“I’ve been going here since my freshman year at UWM; back then, it was such a big deal to pass Kilbourn Park. Now I go here at least once or twice a month,” says Kuck, who revels in digging through the seemingly endless piles of vintage loot.

Value Village Thrift Store, located at 324 W North Ave, is a treasure trove. Walking in, you’re hit with the overwhelming smell of must and laundry detergent. After twisting through the ever-broken metal turnstile, customers grab their carts and proceed to their respective aisles: Men’s, women’s, children’s, purses, shoes, books, toys, or the endless aisles of housewares. Standing in her usual position near the gumball and toy machines, a stern looking female security guard watches over the store with a peeled eye.

Value Village has become magnet for bargain shoppers, bringing people of all neighborhoods together. Contrary to Milwaukee’s segregated reputation, Eastside residents like Kuck are interspersed with Shorewood, South Milwaukee, and “inner-city” community members.

Value Village is located in Milwaukee’s Harambee neighborhood. Originally settled by German immigrants in the 1800’s, the African-American community grew up over the years and reached its height by the 1970’s. Harambee was particularly attractive to working class families because of its modest and tidy single-family homes and its proximity to downtown. Recently Harambee has become a model for urban renewal as residents and community leaders work together to reduce the area’s crime rate, develop state of the art housing, and bring social services and educational programs to the neighborhood. A flourishing art community, spurred by Harambee’s Riverwest neighbors, has become a vital movement in the area.

“I really like doing this job ‘cause the people here are pretty nice,” she laughs, tightening her black baseball cap emblazoned with “security.”

“Usually it is much busier on half-price day, but today it has been pretty slow.”

In late October, the store is decked out in its best Halloween decorations; a thick collection of faux spider webs hang from the cash register stations while a few black tarantulas hang higgledy-piggledy from the ceiling tiles. The men’s clothing section, much smaller than the women’s, is crowded with an assortment of people; a trio of bearded twenty-something’s chortle loudly as they search for their Halloween costumes, an older African-American man, dressed smartly in his grey fedora, skims through the large array of business suits in the very back of the racks. There is even one man poring over a pair of dirty grey sneakers.

Back in the women’s section – boasting a much larger and more diverse collection of clothing — the lady shoppers roll their carts dutifully, making sure not to overlook one piece of used clothing. The dress racks are stocked with everything from slinky black skirts to long, plaid prairie dresses. The sweaters are arranged by color creating a long rainbow of discolored wool. Scores of middle-aged women pillage the scores of purple sweaters, one eyeing up a particularly lumpy lavender piece. The pajama and underwear aisles are left deserted while at least half a dozen ladies scavenge over the jackets and coats, each looking to snag a deal.

“I’ve been shopping here for years and I love the bargains,” says Milwaukee resident Gloria Smith. “The only thing that has really changed are the prices,” she chuckles, clutching a pair of pleated charcoal plants.

The jewelry case is located in the front of the store, perpetually smudged with the greasy fingerprints of bargain shoppers. The glass cabinet is chock full of sparkly doodads, as well as those items deemed too valuable to be left on the regular shelves. There are silver-and-gold watches sitting next to massive hoop earrings, porcelain cats and dogs, necklaces with large seashell-like pendants, fashion scarves, radios, and even a few DVDs still packaged in their original plastic. One woman, clad in a comfy grey sweat suit, eyes up a pair of kitten shaped earrings while another giggles over a Tweety Bird watch in her hands.

Some customers meander down to the basement where an overbearing stereo blasts 90’s hip-hop throughout the large dusty space. The area houses an assemblage of furniture, from dilapidated sofas to brand new flat-screen TVs. In the right-hand corner, paintings and picture frames are stacked up against the cement walls; a husband and wife browse through the stacks. The man picks out a dusty painting of a sailboat, only to be quickly shot down by his wife. “Put that back, oh, it’s so ugly,” she barks.

Over towards the stereo are lamps, TVs, computers, and other electronics. There are chairs strewn everywhere, some with legs and some without. Perhaps one of the more interesting areas is the workout equipment section, a graveyard of weight loss dreams. Old thigh-masters sit atop once pristine treadmills. Most of the employees sitting in the basement are laughing loudly near the music, all waiting to deliver a TV or pack a piece of furniture into a customer’s car.

The area surrounding Value Village has seen new developments in the past few months which have caught snags. Construction of the Dollar Tree store to the east of Value Village was recently halted due to a government oversight. Recently however, renovations of the abandoned storefronts adjacent to the thrift store have begun.

“North Avenue has really been built up over the years,” says Value Village store manager Jesse Harris. “I’ve seen places, like Walgreens, which moved to Martin Luther King Drive, come and go… but we are always here.” Harris, a 20 year veteran of the establishment, sees Value Village as a vital part of the Harambee community.

Heavily influenced by the organizational culture of the Civil Rights Movement, the name Harambee comes from the Swahili word for pulling together. And much like the community in which it was built, Value Village has become a meeting place of sorts, a convergence of Milwaukee’s racially, culturally, and socially, diverse populations. Forty years later, the store is a conclave of cheap costs and culture.

“I know it will be here for a while,” says Harris, “but there is always room for improvement.”