The secret North Philadelphia candy store that teaches kids math, respect

There's a house on Cumberland Street in North Philadelphia with a white flag fluttering outside. The flag is not - despite a decadelong siege by weeds and blight, and daily bombardments of refuse - a symbol of surrender. It bears the words will power. It means the Penny Candy Store is open.

The store in question is technically the home of Nandi and Khalid Muhammad. Their living room's been overtaken by a large table heavy with bins of candy and a commercial freezer full of ice cream.

But it's more than a candy store: For many kids in the Hartranft area, it's been a clubhouse, after-school program, summer camp, and school for the last 17 years. Nandi, 63, and Khalid, 72 - who've adorned their cobalt-blue walls with their own pantheon of greats, like the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King Jr., Cecil B. Moore, and Black Panthers leader Reggie Schell - aim to teach the kids about black history and math, about managing finances, and about respect.

Penny Candy Store from Fire Work Media on Vimeo.

"We see our role as their friends," Nandi said. "But also, if we saw they needed to learn how to count, we'd teach them. Kids will pay attention to candy."

Those lessons, and their lasting resonance, are documented in a new work-in-progress by Anula Shetty, 47, and Mike Kuetemeyer, 48, artists-in-residence at the Village of Arts and Humanities, in the same neighborhood, in collaboration with lifelong residents Fred Harris, 24, and Franklin "Q" Tate, 23.

The work, Places of Power, is what Shetty and Kuetemeyer call an immersive documentary. It will be an app with images of the neighborhood embedded with video and text.

"The idea was to document people creating change in the neighborhood and places of power that might not be visible," Shetty said, "and make them visible both to the community and to people outside."

So, she and Kuetemeyer mentored Harris and Tate in videography and editing; in return, the young men provided the filmmakers with insight into the community. They introduced them to subjects who became part of the documentary: a woman who goes by O, who runs a community center, Serenity House, and is pursuing a sustainable "soular" power initiative; and Darlene Pope, a block captain who's obtained money to fix up houses on her block to prevent gentrification.

While filming nearby, Tate and Harris remembered the candy store. "I was like, 'Whoa! When's the last time you been to the Penny Candy Store?' " Tate said. "Eight or nine years, right? When they open?"

They went back, and the Muhammads were still there.

Nandi, who'd worked in food service at the Naval Hospital, and Khalid, a former investigator for lawyers including Cecil B. Moore, took over the store from an older woman, known in the neighborhood as Miss Billie. She could no longer manage it herself, and they saw it as too important to let disappear.

"The children here, there was really very little structure for them. So we said, 'We'll do that,' " Nandi said.

They hung up the flag, and word spread.

But - except for an initial visit from a parent - it's kids only.

"Adults have a tendency to have guns, knives, and drugs in their pocket," Nandi said. "We wanted them to be able to come here and be safe."

Kids could open savings accounts instead of spending a dollar all at once.

But to buy candy, they had to learn a little math.

"If I put five pieces of candy in front of you," she'd ask, "how much change do I give you? Think on it."

Harris said he still values those lessons.

"It was a real big influence on us. They taught us how to count, life lessons, how to tie our shoes. Everything we needed to get ready for the adult world, they taught us," he said.

The couple kept the block clean for years, holding Saturday-morning cleanups to combat the perpetual short-dumping of trash, tires, and even washing machines, and paying kids who helped a $5.50 stipend.

And they began taking photos of each kid who came through. At first, the pictures were tacked up on the walls. When the walls filled up, they made albums. Now, those albums are visual histories of the neighborhood.

Tate and Harris found their own photos in there, and those of cousins and childhood friends.

But, Tate said, "Some people in this book got killed. A lot of them are locked up."

Those who remain don't always remember to come by the Penny Candy Store.

So the artists decided to organize a Penny Candy reunion last Saturday, screening video of the store, and showcasing the photos of the kids who have come through the store over the last two decades.

Reggie on Penny Candy Reunion from Fire Work Media on Vimeo.

It was part celebration, part call to action: Two years ago, the Muhammads got so tired and overwhelmed by cleaning the block, they stopped. Now, sometimes the sidewalks are impassable.

With an assist from the artists, they're planning a cleanup in April. About 30 alumni came to the reunion, and about 10 pledged to come and help pick up.

Virnas Hendricks, 25, was at the reunion, examining the photos from a decade ago and wondering whether he had really ever looked that young. He said he would be at the cleanup.

"They came into the neighborhood and made positive things for our community. Without the Penny Candy Store, I don't think half of us would be here right now," he said. Hendricks works at KFC and still lives in the neighborhood. He's often too busy to get back to the store.

But, he said, "I would take a day off to help them out. They helped us become men."

The reunion brought generations of Penny Candy kids, including current ones.

Carleen Bayne stopped by with her three children, all regulars. "They look at Nandi as a grandmom," she said. (Plus, her daughter Ciani, 9, added, "You could get a whole bunch of candy.")

In May, Shetty and Kuetemeyer hope to share the gospel of candy with the world via the Places of Power app, an exhibit and walking tour.

It's the culmination of their six-month residency through the SPACES program at the Village of Arts and Humanities, where they've been mentoring Harris, a photographer, and Tate, a rapper, and running community workshops on filmmaking using simple tools, like the social-media app Vine. Their hope is that these skills will flourish even after the residency concludes.

Maybe, they'll also leave behind a community of supporters who can help the Penny Candy owners keep up with their block.

As Nandi greeted old friends and new fans at the reunion, wearing a special pink-and-gold T-shirt she'd made for the occasion, all those lessons she had given over the years were finally paying off.

"You try to move forward, but every once in a while you look back," she said. "We're looking back today, and it looks good."

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@samanthamelamed