Twenty-five vendors. Seven hours. One principle Black Wall Street understood a century ago.
Before 1921, Greenwood Avenue in Tulsa, Oklahoma, operated on a simple principle: keep the dollar moving. In that 35-block stretch known as Black Wall Street, money circulated anywhere from 36 to 100 times before it ever left the community. The result was 11,000 residents, 13 churches, two theaters, a hospital, a public library, and two families wealthy enough to own private planes.
Then they burned it down.
A century later, the math has inverted. Black Americans now hold between $1.3 and $1.8 trillion in annual buying power — enough to rank as the 16th largest economy on the planet if counted as its own nation. Yet only 2% of that money recirculates within Black communities. The dollar doesn’t stay. It leaves before the next hand can touch it.
But on November 15th, in a Belleville, New Jersey storefront, 20 entrepreneurs decided to do something about that.
Foxx set the tone.
“I did some time,” he says, not as a confession but as context. “Came home. Went to a store to ask how to get into the clothing business. They told me no.”
No explanation. No resources. Just no.
So he reverse-engineered the industry. Studied tags in stores, emailed manufacturers directly, and built a supply chain one rejection at a time. Now he runs Endless Racks, and four to five times a year—when the timing’s right—he opens his network to emerging leaders ready to build.
“I do this for us,” Foxx says. “Togetherness is more.”
The second installment of Endless Racks Presents: The Pop-Up Shop wasn’t loud. No fights. No drama. Just a room full of people who, by most mainstream metrics, weren’t supposed to be building anything together. Ex-cons. Street vendors. First-generation entrepreneurs still figuring out QuickBooks.
And yet—over seven hours, the dollar did what it used to do in Greenwood: it circulated.
Across the room, Sakia sliced lemons to order at Around the Way Lemonade, laughing with customers who came back for seconds, feeling their “little buzz.” She’d helped her 11-year-old son sell lemonade to fund his comic book art, then realized she could twist the concept for herself. Something clicked.
“How could I put a twist on it and make some money on my own?”
A few tables down, Tasha poured samples of homemade wine and moonshine from her brand, Hoochie Girl Wines. Bougie Blanc. Thick and Juicy Mango. Viva La Viv, named after the uncles and father who taught her the craft.
“My family owned a tavern at 351 West Market Street in Newark,” she said. “That’s where I learned everything.”
The tavern is gone, but Tasha is rebuilding the legacy, bottle by bottle, while teaching her daughters the craft. “This is something that was passed on to me. This is generational wealth.”
Lorenzo came up managing artists like Nessa and Saint, now he’s pushing luxury frames under the Lion Enzo Collection. Apparel, he said, is crowded. But nobody was watching eyewear. So he created his own lane. “Marketing is everything,” he said. “You gotta push it. How they gonna know if you don’t tell them?”
That same push showed up in Jig, a first-time vendor selling his books Love is a Killer and Suffer With Me. No friends in the crowd. No familiar faces. Just strangers picking up his work.
“It’s love, bro,” he said. “All strangers coming back here, they purchasing it. The biggest thing is starting. Once you start, don’t stop.”
And there was A1 of Rich Appitite—a brand born at 14 years old, back when the name was just a dream tossed around with friends at the table. They didn’t have a blueprint. Just hunger. “Rich Appitite is a mindset. A lifestyle.” His message now? “Bring it to life. Push. Don’t give up.”
Vendors swapped manufacturer contacts like recipes. Designers shared sourcing tips. Entrepreneurs broke down pricing strategies. Information that’s usually hidden behind NDAs and gatekeeping flowed freely, passed across tables like plates at a cookout.
Foxx stood in the middle, watching it happen.
“People be scared of that,” he said. “But when you bring people together under the same umbrella, it comes out of you. You don’t want to be the one hoarding at the cookout.”
Everyone was selling, sure. But more than that, they were feeding each other.
“We at the era right now in life where we need to do more to have more,” Foxx said. “There’s no more bullshit out here. What’s wrong with getting a business, putting some small money behind it, and pushing?”
Nothing at all.
They burned down Greenwood because it worked. The blueprint survived. It’s up to us to rebuild and carry on tradition.
March 14th. Part 3. The door is open.
DM @imsoendless on IG for vendor inquiries. Everybody else — just pull up. Free entry.
