Carin Dillingham handed over her watch to the pawnbrokers at Society Hill Loan as if she were giving up one of her bones.
The 30-year-old bookkeeper stood pregnant, broke and sad under rows of pawned guitars hanging like curing hams from the ceiling of the ragged South Street shop. She got a $20 loan for her $200 Bulova, a gift from the Harley-Davidson Co., where she used to work.
"It feels so weird," said Dillingham, accompanied by her fiance, Pat Lapetina, 35, an unemployed ironworker doing painting jobs on the side. The couple recently moved to South Philadelphia from Florida to build a life.
"I worked hard for this watch. I'm middle-class, not poor. I can't believe I have to do this to buy gas."
Federal Reserve Chairman Ben S. Bernanke won't call what we're living through a recession. But at Society Hill and other such shops - where they measure economic misery in increasing volumes of pawned bling - they'll tell you that hard times are hard times, whatever label the eggheads affix.
"People are cleaning out their houses of gold, silver, whatever, to get money just to fill their cars with gas," said Nat Leonard, 51, whose grandfather opened Society Hill in 1929. "People are pawning out like crazy."
Business is up maybe 20 percent over last year.
"With this economy, we're not done yet with bad times," Leonard continued. "Not even close."
Things are so awful, he said, he's getting loads of first-time customers.
"I've got business owners coming in to pawn things just to make their payrolls," Leonard said, incredulous. "I've never seen that before."
In this economy, people aren't buying as much jewelry as usual, so retail jewelers on and around South Street have to pawn inventory to pay their workers. "One jeweler owes me $150,000," Leonard said, showing off the pawned collateral in a backroom safe.
Deep in the dark depository, dozens of plastic bags hold a pirate's booty of rings, master-of-the-universe Rolexes, diamonds, and back-of-the-closet Krugerrands. Bunched and intertwined, the pieces collectively look like junk.
.. snip ..
The 30-year-old bookkeeper stood pregnant, broke and sad under rows of pawned guitars hanging like curing hams from the ceiling of the ragged South Street shop. She got a $20 loan for her $200 Bulova, a gift from the Harley-Davidson Co., where she used to work.
"It feels so weird," said Dillingham, accompanied by her fiance, Pat Lapetina, 35, an unemployed ironworker doing painting jobs on the side. The couple recently moved to South Philadelphia from Florida to build a life.
"I worked hard for this watch. I'm middle-class, not poor. I can't believe I have to do this to buy gas."
Federal Reserve Chairman Ben S. Bernanke won't call what we're living through a recession. But at Society Hill and other such shops - where they measure economic misery in increasing volumes of pawned bling - they'll tell you that hard times are hard times, whatever label the eggheads affix.
"People are cleaning out their houses of gold, silver, whatever, to get money just to fill their cars with gas," said Nat Leonard, 51, whose grandfather opened Society Hill in 1929. "People are pawning out like crazy."
Business is up maybe 20 percent over last year.
"With this economy, we're not done yet with bad times," Leonard continued. "Not even close."
Things are so awful, he said, he's getting loads of first-time customers.
"I've got business owners coming in to pawn things just to make their payrolls," Leonard said, incredulous. "I've never seen that before."
In this economy, people aren't buying as much jewelry as usual, so retail jewelers on and around South Street have to pawn inventory to pay their workers. "One jeweler owes me $150,000," Leonard said, showing off the pawned collateral in a backroom safe.
Deep in the dark depository, dozens of plastic bags hold a pirate's booty of rings, master-of-the-universe Rolexes, diamonds, and back-of-the-closet Krugerrands. Bunched and intertwined, the pieces collectively look like junk.
.. snip ..
