Shoe-shining trade buff despite DC protests

On a sidewalk across from Washington's main encampment of Occupy DC protesters who are railing against the evils of corporate greed, Peruvian immigrant Gustavo Carpio ekes out a living. Carpio is a shoe-shiner, whose regular clients are the very people the protesters despise the most -- the lawyers and lobbyists of K Street, one of Washington's most influential corridors of power. While he says he appreciates the enthusiasm of the demonstrators, who have been in Washington's McPherson Square since October, Carpio says there is another path to making the system work for the 99 percent. "I grew up in Peru, a world they've never seen. The USA will be always better than Peru," said Carpio. Every morning, the 50-something Carpio sets up his stall underneath a large green parasol, with his back to the dozens of tents dotting the square that is just a few blocks from the White House. "It's growing very fast," Carpio says of his business. In the summer, the long-time US resident can make $150 a day. That number drops to about $100 during the winter months. Carpio says that in just two years, his clientele has doubled. And with 20 years of experience under his belt, Carpio knows how to drum up new business. He has slowly made a name for himself in his chosen profession. "I arrived in the States in 1973. I had to find a way to make a living," said Carpio. After his arrival in the US, Carpio worked all sorts of odd jobs on the West Coast in the 1980s until he sank into a dark spiral and ended up on the streets. "In the 90s, I was homeless. Alcohol and drugs were my priority. I could not afford a home any more. I got it back together in 2000," he said. Carpio learned the shoeshine trade at Washington's Dulles international airport, about 20 years ago. He says the clientele has not changed much. Bruce Neal is a banker who regularly sits in Carpio's chair, raised up on a platform so the shoe-shiner can work his magic at a rate of $7 for a pair of shoes, and $10 for boots. "For a while, a guy was coming to my office. But I'd rather come down here and freeze. Gus is the best," said Neal. The process is something of a ritual: Carpio cleans the leather, removes the leftover polish and applies a moisturizing cream to the shoes before re-polishing them and dyeing the edges of the soles to match. Even though many have looked down on the profession in the past -- which has sometimes been seen as a symbol of the oppression of African-Americans -- Carpio says the situation today is far different. "There are Hispanics, African-Americans, Whites. This starts as a trade and then it's a passion," he said. On a national scale, the profession exists in the shadows. An official at the US Bureau of Labor Statistics said there are no figures on the number of shoe-shiners plying their trade across the country. For Carpio, there is no other job, and no other place to do it, even if the protesters across the road regularly denounce income inequality in the United States. "I don't want to ever go back to Peru. I would feel like a foreigner there. I have lived here for 38 years -- this is my country now," he said, as he packed up his tools of the trade for the night.