Sky’s the Limit for Old Air Jordans and Other Kitsch : Fads: A Fresno firm caters to customers in Japan and Europe, where memorabilia is all the rage.

FRESNO —  Got an old outer space toy set tucked away in a closet? Any go-go boots lying around? How about a pair of those sneakers popular during the 1970s running craze?

Those items could mean big money, especially to James Riley. He pays hundreds of dollars--sometimes thousands--for anything uniquely American, no matter how old or gaudy.

Riley resells his stock to Japanese and European buyers, who in turn sell the merchandise to foreign teen-agers hungry to emulate their American counterparts.

He runs his business, American Blues Trading, out of a huge warehouse in Fresno, although much of his time is spent scouring the West Coast for the latest overseas fad.

“I’m in the thrift stores, and I’m in the yard sales, and I’m here and there, everywhere,” said Riley, 28.

“If I can’t find a pair of jeans one day,” he added, “maybe there’s a piece of art out there I’ll be able to recognize.”

Much of Riley’s business is devoted to buying and reselling used Levi’s.

But because the used jeans industry has become saturated in the last few years, he has had to expand to other products.

His inventory is a potpourri of Americana spanning the 20th Century from the earliest Levi’s to a pair of 1984 first-year Air Jordan tennis shoes worth up to $1,000 in Japan.

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Among Riley’s other products include vintage Coca-Cola bottle machines, toy robots, motor scooters, Barbie dolls, World War II leather bomber jackets, cowboy boots, even tacky bowling and Hawaiian shirts.

Riley said his business has flourished in the last few years as other countries adopt increasingly liberalized attitudes toward dress.

“When you walk down the streets of Tokyo, you’re just amazed at what they’re wearing,” Riley said.

“You see a group of kids and you think you just walked into the ‘50s era. You walk down the street a little further and some kids look like they’re in the ‘60s and ‘70s.”

The Levi’s are stockpiled in his 24,000-square foot warehouse until they are sold abroad.

Riley pays up to $14 each for used jeans, which can sell for as much as $40 a pair in Japan.

Five workers separate the jeans by color, size and style.

Before the jeans are washed, a seamstress patches any crotch holes, leaving any knee tears because they are considered fashionable.

But unlike the music industry, which has fought against the practice of selling used compact discs, a Levi Strauss & Co. spokeswoman said her company encourages recycling jeans.

“Once we sell a pair of jeans, it’s out of our hands,” Dori Wofford said. “We consider it a huge compliment, which speaks of the quality and durability of our product.

“We think the used denim industry is an impetus for people to clean out their closets and buy up new jeans.”

In the rest of Riley’s warehouse is an enormous pile of thousands of used shoes and endless bundles and racks of clothes, a diverse collection including knit snow caps, letterman’s jackets and wool Canadian sweaters.

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Riley sells some of the lower-grade clothes to brokers in Third World countries in Central and South America.

As the industry for used Americana has grown, so has Riley’s business.

He started American Blues Trading six years ago with $500, and the company now grosses more than $100,000 a year.

“I think on a world basis, we want to be like the Japanese when it comes to technology, and they want our culture,” Riley said. “Nobody in this world is happy. Everybody wants to be something they’re not.”

He first opened his business in 1989, selling used jeans to trendy clothing shops on Melrose Avenue in Los Angeles.

It wasn’t long before Riley and other sellers found a market for used clothes in Japan.

The move from jeans to other products makes Riley’s job harder. One of last year’s fads was the grunge look, which meant buying up hordes of used flannel shirts, baggy pants and beanie caps.

This year, he speculates that the ‘60s will see a revival abroad: go-go boots, fake leopard-skin jackets and miniskirts.

“Basically, people like me operate scared,” Riley said.

“I want to get as much of this stuff as I can before everybody else does. Pretty soon, all of it is going to be gone.”