Walk a mile in these shoes

This morning, I took a pair of leather dress shoes with a torn insole to my neighborhood shoe repair shop. My town is strangely lucky to have four shoe repair shops in spite of the fact that within the past fifteen years, these shops have declined in number from 60,000 to a paltry 7,000 nationwide.

Perhaps this comes as no surprise. Somewhere around 75% of today's shoes are made of molded rubber, plastics and other synthetics which are not easily repairable. Along with disposable flip-flops, a lot of shoes simply end up in landfill. 

One Seattle shoemaker commented that young people today don't even realize that shoes can sometimes be repaired. Disposable living is all they've ever known.

George, the owner of Park Street Shoe Repair, is 83. He started learning the shoe repair trade when he was ten years old under the tutelage of his father, an Italian immigrant. He took over the shop in 1966 and has run it over the last 48 years. 

At the time that he opened the business, George's father bought these sewing machines second-hand. They're over 100 years old today, and still working well. 

George keeps a bin of matches near the sewing machine (pictured above: lower right) in order to seal the ends of the nylon thread he uses. This prevents the thread from fraying.  

Although some of the machinery in the shop looks like it belongs in a museum, George uses everything, including this row of finishers for sanding and buffing soles:

He uses a potent-smelling glue to adhere inserts and soles: 

He then uses the shoe press to hold the two parts together while the glue dries:

 

He stays busy, working three days a week. When I asked who will take over the business when he stops working, he says no one. "A few people have asked but I discourage them," he told me. "There's no future in it."

I recalled the lamp repair shop a few blocks away that recently closed when the owner retired. George nodded. "He'd fix a lamp for you for $10...now, you have to go buy another one." 

More landfill. Less know-how.

When I asked George if he was thinking of retiring anytime soon, he laughed. "What the hell am I going to do at home?" He explained that his wife passed away twelve years ago, and that he keeps the shop open for his mental health.  Sure enough, when I arrived, George was accompanied by five other guys (three of whom left by the time I took this photo):

 
As we sat outside on the bench talking, I counted at least six people who honked and waved from their cars and trucks. George is somewhat of a legend in these parts. He's affectionately known as the "Mayor of Park Street". He joked that he starts work when the sun peers over the roof and hits the edge of the sidewalk. (That would be around noon.)

The planet is not the only casualty of our disposable way of living. 

We're also losing touch with a communal way of being that offers a sense of purpose as we age.

This is echoed elsewhere, including by this Seattle shoemaker:

"Much more than shoes, what makes men and women feel like a million is the ability to use their talents to make a living that’s personally uplifting and that contributes to the community." 

For our community's sake, I'm glad George keeps his shop open.  He's good for the sole, and soul.