Harry’s Occult Shop is several blocks from the novelty shops and neon signs that one typically associates with South Street and its facade has none of the draw of its neighbors to the east. Though the mural wall on the left side of the building is awe-inspiring — juxtaposing wild graffiti with angels and stained glass windows over shadowy, insect-like demons — the front entrance is entirely drab, resembling a pawnshop rather than a vendor of mystic wares. In fact, we nearly passed right by, failing to notice the hanging marquee that might be almost as ancient as the shop itself, which opened in 1917. The founder, pharmacist Harry Seligman, was badgered by clients for magical blends of herbs and oils and found the occult to be a fruitful enterprise after some research.
On an early Saturday afternoon, the shop was so crowded that one could barely examine the contents held by the wooden cabinets that line the store. A line, almost reaching to the door, of large, middle-aged women seeking herbal remedies for their problems entirely obscured both sight and movement. It’s pretty clear who the shop’s target demographic is — judging by the labels of various prepared oils on display — and it’s not the average Penn student. Harry’s offers solutions for a variety of urban problems, including “Keep Your Man Oil,” “Hold a Job Oil,” and a full set of supplies of a “Court Case Ritual.” The frustratingly long queue, however, was composed of desperate folks seeking specially formulated antidotes, blended by one of the appropriately unconventional staff members.
Behind the counter, employees mix custom combinations of such vitals as Master of the Woods herbs, jinx-removing powder and raven’s blood. It was indeed baffling that with at least six personnel on duty, only one customer at a time could receive assistance. While I waited, we tried to investigate the tchotchkes kept behind glass. A floor case in the entryway houses a selection of stones and minerals, including some ruby quartz that claims to “bring out the inner bear.” The shop carries all of the usual supplies associated with witchcraft, like colored candles and bound sage sticks, yet the mantle is covered with Jesus figurines, opposite cases of small golden Buddhas and replicas of Egyptian relics. Not merely catering to a Pagan community, Harry’s invites those of all religious affiliations to seek the aid of natural nostrums.
What was most disappointing, however, was the store’s serious lack of books. The collection was limited to a tiny corner, occupied by a family awaiting a psychic reading. The shop has several clairvoyant employees, who provide services such as palm and tarot reading, but has no volumes of spells for personal perusal, like the beautiful antiquated books offered by other such stores. It seems that the staff of Harry’s Occult prefers to give instructions, included in the price tag of all the “necessary” ingredients, shouted over the loud music, which fluctuated from black metal to 70s disco.
If you’re in need of some Green Hotchee Potchee (displayed without explanation; an internet search only yielded results for a Japanese pop band) to cure what ails you, head on down to Harry’s. For the rest of us, for whom the shop offers all of the nonsense but none of the curiosities of occult shops, the hassle of transferring to the Broad Street line is hardly worth the trouble.
Harry’s Occult Shop
1238 South St. (215) 735–8262
Category: Occult supplies Price Range: $$ – $$$ Bottom Line: Hoodoo for the easily hoodwinked
