Gilbert Fuller, 77, (above and left) reopened his shoeshine service 12 years ago. He started shining shoes at the age of 8. William Croker (far left) gets a shine from Cliff Burrell in his West Philly shop.
- The craft of shoe-shining
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Losing its luster: Philly's remaining shoeshine professionals are finding it a tough go
MEN'S SHOES OF various colors and labels clutter the shelves at Fuller's Shoe Shine in Germantown. Long-gone brands of polish occupy a soiled container alongside the common drugstore variety.
No one is using the old five-seat stand with plush leather seats, oak wood and brass footrests.
Inside, owner Gilbert Fuller, 77, chats with two friends about the good old days. It's a slow day, but that's not rare for Fuller, whose shop has been struggling for years to stay afloat.
In an age when people turn up their noses at the thought of shining shoes, preferring casual clothes and inexpensive footwear, Fuller's and a handful of shoeshine parlors are what remain of a once-bustling industry in Philadelphia.
The Daily News today spotlights three of the surviving parlors, where proud bootblacks use skills that have been passed through generations.
"It's not as busy as when we entered shoeshine," said Fuller. "People aren't getting shoes shined as much as in the '40s, '50s and early '60s. What really hurt the business? Timberlands and sneakers."
"The problem is finding people who are willing to do the work," said John McLoughlin, who volunteers as president of the Shoe Service Institute of America, a shoe-repair-industry group. "There are a lot of jobs in this market.
We're not attracting younger people."
Still, it's a craft that diehards in the business find difficult to leave, despite the industry's steadily fading existence, only compounded by the sluggish economy.
'A luxury kind of thing'
The lofty perch of the stand, the sound of the brush, the intoxicating smell of the polish, the popping of the rag and the glint of a renewed surface amount to a largely forgotten experience in the United States.
But for many, shoe-shining still holds an allure.
"It's a luxury kind of thing. Like getting your nails done," said Jim McFarland, a former SSIA board member.
To some, it's demeaning. Others regard it as sacred tradition.
Still, a professional shoeshine is one of the few pleasures left in Philadelphia that is reasonably priced. The average cost for the service here ranges from $3 to $5, bootblacks say.
Considered a subset of the shoe-care-and-repair industry, shoe-shining services typically are offered in airports, train stations and hotels.
A significant number, however, are freestanding vendors or mom-and-pop stores, said McLoughlin.
They're the select few who still treat a shoeshine formula like a family heirloom, and who spend hours perfecting a shining technique.
That was the reality before buffing machines, "throwaway shoes" and store-bought shoe polish replaced the personal touches of a shoe-shiner.
Despite the bleak forecast of the business, McLoughlin said, those who've remained are hopeful - perhaps imprudently, some say - that it will return to glory.
