Angel Investor

A local small business is rescued by an anonymous donor.

by Kirstin Lindermayer

Michael T. Regan TO FIGHT ANOTHER DAY: Jessie Menken inside the store/parenting center that she almost closed.

In the days following the announcement that she was closing her store, Jessie Menken felt like she was sitting shiva. Friends and neighbors stopped by Ali's Wagon, the part parenting center, part children's and home boutique on Fairmount Avenue, to tell her how sorry they were that it wouldn't be around for years to come.

The outpouring of community support made Menken, 32, wonder about her decision. Ultimately, though, she knew closing Ali's, which she owns with her husband, Nat Weston, made sense. Sales had been dipping, and, with a second child due in February, they weren't willing to gamble on a rapidly deteriorating economy.

Then, last week, something crazy happened. A Fairmount resident who had attended a weekly moms' group at the parenting center stepped forward with unsolicited financial support, offering to help keep Ali's open for the indefinite future.

"I felt very strongly about this store and its place in the neighborhood," says the donor, who wishes to remain anonymous. "I have the means to help, and it's as secure an investment as any nowadays, short of hiding [your money] under your mattress."

She has committed to investing in Ali's over the next few years with plans to reassess in one year. She sees the commitment as an investment in a neighborhood she cares about.

Menken hopes to pay back the money, but there's no guarantee.

"That somebody can do this blew my mind," she says. "Somebody did this without being asked. It's amazing."

Menken, who has a master's in social work, and Weston, an environmental sciences professor at Villanova, opened Ali's on what Menken describes as a hunch: Fairmount, they believed, needed a go-to place for new parents. This occurred to Menken in 2006, when her daughter, Lily, was an infant.

"I was meeting informally with friends over at [Mugshots, a coffee shop] ... learning how to nurse in the middle of a coffee store is mortifying," she remembers. "Or the first time Lily pooped and it went up her back, I was in the middle of Mugshots — so embarrassing."

The parenting center was different. It offered classes and workshops on things like childbirth and infant massage, as well as a Friday new moms' drop-in group, where women nurse, swap resources and talk breast pumps and pediatricians (I attended the group a few times).

HALF OFF DEPOT

Why live life at full price?

"Here, everyone pulls out extra clothes. We have a changing table. That was the whole idea. ... When babies cry uncontrollably and they're 3 weeks old, you can't stop them often," she says. "I would see people in [here] their first time out, come wandering up to the counter and say, 'Oh God, my baby's the only one crying.' And I'd be like, 'You know what? Nobody in that room is judging you. Go back."

The Friday group in particular quickly became a popular destination for first-time moms emerging from the lonely haze of late-night feedings and mass sleep deprivation.

For Karen Meidlinger, 36, it provided a new circle of friends.

"It used to be the highlight of my week," she says. "It's pretty lonely being a new mom."

"Motherhood was isolating," says Jennifer Horn, 37. "Friends who are not going through [parenting] aren't as interested."

Menken had hoped the parenting center would be successful, but she never intended for it to be profitable. The programs aren't free, but fees mostly cover instructors' stipends.

"[The parenting center] is what I wanted to do, and it just needed to meet its expenses," says Menken. To that end, she turned the front half of Ali's into a boutique, selling, among other things, Zutano-striped baby leggings and Kobo soy candles. She believed the inventory served a need for last-minute baby shower, wedding and housewarming gifts.

The business got off to a great start. Ali's first holiday season, in 2007, was a huge success, and the store won two Best of Philly awards from Philadelphia magazine, for best new boutique (2007) and best new "mom hang" (2008). Steady growth continued through much of 2008 — until the fall.

Menken knew something was wrong when October revenues dipped below the surprisingly high sales from July. In hindsight, she wonders if the recession was already kicking in over the summer, normally a horrible time for retail.

"People who would have been away renting shore houses for the summer didn't do that," she says. "[They] were pissed off that they were in the city in July, so they came and bought extra candles."

The holiday season, however, is when many small businesses get the push they need for the next year — and for Ali's Wagon, it was disappointing.

Therese Flaherty, director of the Wharton Small Business Development Center, says many small businesses are feeling the recession. "It's astounding how quickly spending is deteriorating," she says, adding that spending for gifts and discretionary items has really declined.

Things in Philly aren't as bad as in many other places, because the economy here is more diversified and hasn't been hit as hard by foreclosures. But small businesses are still vulnerable because they often lack the financial cushion that larger companies have. They're also now having a tough time securing commercial loans, says David Dickson, Philadelphia district director of the Small Business Administration.

For her part, Menken tried to adapt. She considered holding evening programs at the center, but it was difficult with a toddler at home (and she felt raising prices substantially would have defeated the center's purpose). She launched a Web store.

After countless conversations with Weston, Menken decided that keeping Ali's open was a gamble they couldn't afford.

"I think if we were not having a baby ... we probably would have tried six more months," she says. Instead, they decided to close.

Until a week ago, that is.

What's happened at Ali's is rare, says Flaherty. It's by no means a business model. But it speaks to the role the store plays in its community.

"I didn't want to see [Ali's] go down," says the donor. "This economy has just crushed everybody, and I could make a little bit of a difference."

Menken is still letting it all sink in. She realizes just how unusual — and lucky — this is.

"I get to be in retail — but with security? In this economy?" she says. "That's ridiculous!"

(editorial@citypaper.net)

Kirstin Lindermayer is an adjunct instructor of journalism at Temple University.