 Photo by George Kelly |
The Hard Knock
Life BY H.V. CLAYTOR JR. 243-2122 EXT. 344 |
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LaNossi Fashions 5429 NE 30th Ave., 335-1439 Tuesdays-Saturdays 11 am-6 pm "To live is to suffer/To survive, well, that's to find meaning in the suffering." --rapper DMX, from "Slippin'" Today's twentysome-year-olds are often portrayed by their elders as a group of slackers more likely to destroy than build. On Northeast 30th Avenue, right off Killingsworth Street, stands what appears to be a nondescript establishment called LaNossi Fashions that flips the middle finger to the stereotype. Jerry Manns, the always stylish 28-year-old owner of LaNossi, transformed the narrow, once-dilapidated space himself, creating a sparse NYC-style boutique for the clothes he designs. The interior of the store is simple but comfortable, reflecting Manns' eye as a designer and his resources as a struggling start-up business owner. Subtle lighting tones down the stark white walls, hip-hop and R&B gently pump through the speakers, and Manns' baby picture rests on the coffee table, inviting customers to enter, feel at home and spend some loot. The precise placement of every object in the store is interrupted by a glaring unpainted splotch above the front window. Manns keeps small things around to symbolize aspects of his life, and this unpainted spot is no exception. The dumpling-shaped brother bounces over to the window. He rubs the spot on the wall softly, pride shining in his eyes. "It shows me where I started when I first got here," he says. "This is where I come from, where it's rough. When I leave every day, I look at the spot." The blemish represents a turbulent life most folks only experience through the distorted images of TV shows like The PJs. The hell-on-earth environment of major urban housing projects is now behind him, but Manns hasn't forgotten the experiences of a place where survival of the fittest is in full effect. To prevent the state from snatching newborn Jerry Manns from his 13-year-old mother, his grandmother moved the family from Indianapolis to the projects of Chicago. Though Manns jokes about the hundred ways to prepare potatoes, it's clear that life back then wasn't too pretty. "Mom didn't have no education," he recalls. "We grew up on food stamps, but we was happy. She made the best for us six kids, and I respect her to the fullest for what she did to keep her family together." Manns spent eight years in the projects. In 1978 his stepfather moved the family to Portland, where the grass was greener. The scenery was a change for the better, but not so for Manns' home life. His stepfather indulged in criminal activity and brought his frustration home, physically abusing Mann's mother and forcing the family to live, off and on, in shelters. They moved again in 1982, this time to California. Tired of the continued madness going on at home, Manns ran away a couple of years later, at the age of 14. He discovered quickly, as most teens do, that living on the streets ain't no joke. He slept on a bench at Dickie's Playground in Fresno for a week before he was turned on to the street game by older headz. They taught him the means to keep food in his belly and clothes on his back. "Kids turn to the streets because of the shit that goes on in their house," Manns says. Today he's honest about his past with the young people who hang out at LaNossi, hoping his story will help them realize their own goals. Manns returned to Portland in 1987 with street wisdom rarely seen in the Rose City. "I peeped the skills from California and worked 'em like the internet in Portland," he says, comparing his underground network to the World Wide Web. As students at Cleveland High School, Manns and his friends were holding major benjamins in their pockets and had fly girls on their arms. A classmate from Cleveland claims that Manns even had young women ironing his clothes before school every morning. Coming from the projects and then the streets, Manns knew what it was to be judged harshly on appearances, so he took painstaking interest in his clothes. He discovered a natural talent for designing when he started doodling patterns in his spare time. Though he has no formal training in fashion design, Manns has an eye for line and color. "It's a natural gift from God," he says. Manns' first design venture was Boys Makin' Fashion International, which he formed with Jeremy Mitchell, DeShawn Pennington and Ray Roberts in 1988. Using the late '80s hip-hop trend of airbrushing designs on overalls, sweatshirts and T-shirts, the four hooked up custom patterns for friends looking to be different from everyone else. After graduating in 1989, Manns searched for his niche, working odd jobs, promoting parties and continuing the trades he learned on the street. The itch to design stayed with him, though, and was somewhat relieved when he assisted Ramone Blackburn with designs for Blackburn's Marquis Ramone fashion line. In 1995, Manns split to do his own thing and LaNossi, which stands for "I Shall Serve on Achievement and Leadership" (spelled backwards) was born. His pieces' success around the neighborhood allowed him to open his own store in 1997. For a brother so concerned with clothing, it's strange that Manns started out with a line of backpacks and luggage. "I've never known a Negro to design luggage, so I started somewhere different," Manns jokes. Sweatshirts, T-shirts and men's briefs bearing the LaNossi logo came along soon after. One would expect the clothes to be steeped in hip-hop culture since the music is on constant rotation in the store and snapshots of Busta Rhymes, Method Man, the RZA and Lord Jamar grace the back office. But the design concept for LaNossi stems from all aspects of Manns' life. "I put the whole mix in, from 1970 to 1999," he says. "I go from how my grandmother had me dress to the way I dress myself now." The result is a line of classics, currently including long-sleeved T-shirts, polo shirts, duffel bags, denim shorts and tiny backpacks. The stylish and heavy LaNossi varsity jackets, one of the more popular items, aren't hanging in the store, but they're available to order, complete with personalized embroidery. Don't be surprised, however, if the racks are empty. The demand is there, but the money needed to supply comes along slowly; Manns has stacks of designs waiting to be manufactured but no means to create them. Like many brothers, he has faced being turned down for bank loans. He is currently searching for business partners. "I need an extra boost, and that's financial capital," Manns admits. "I need the right people behind me. Some bills are paid, some bills ain't. If I had the money to pay for them, I would." What money cannot buy is the impact Manns has on the youth of the Northeast Portland community. Young adults are constantly coming in and out of LaNossi, looking for advice or just stopping by to say what's up. Manns understands all too well how the lack of healthy communication between the old and young leaves adolescents feeling alienated. "We're not asking our youth the questions they need to be asked," Manns says bluntly. "'Are you having sex? Are you smoking weed? Are you sucking dick?' We need to seriously talk to our youth." Right now, Jerry Manns is in need of a mentor to perform the same duties
for him that he provides for the kids. The hard knocks he felt coming
up show in his unrefined speech and rock-hard exterior, a turn-off for
those unfamiliar with ghetto living. But underneath Manns' surface roughness
is a good-natured man in search of the correct path to success, both
in business and in life. "As long as my heart is pumpin'," he states
with utmost seriousness, "I'm not quitting LaNossi."
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