It was a hot, quiet July morning in Mount Pleasant. Those planning to go had already headed out to the beach. The sky was indifferent about the possibility of an afternoon thunderstorm. The vacant lots were verdant. The weeds growing up around the "For Sale" signs in front of too many of the houses were overdue for mowing.

On one corner was a yard sale. Furniture, old toys and knick knacks were stacked in the yard. Many were not "outdoor items."

They showed the stains and scars of family life which are unnoticed by those familiar with them through the hurried breakfasts of orange juice and corn flakes which can be interrupted by the arrival of the school bus. In the hot sun of late morning however, the worn edges were apparent.

The flow of customers had slowed to a trickle as the day heated. Bargains had been creamed off. The big pickups loading up furniture for a quick trip to and turnover at the Ladson Flea market had never appeared.

A few years ago many people did a steady business converting the leftovers of East Cooper's prosperous neighborhoods into the treasures of working class North Charleston and Harahan. Dressers were purchased in Mount Pleasant at 7 a.m. for $10 and sold at the flea market that afternoon for $25 to fill working class starter homes. Apparently few people are getting started.

Receipts for the day at the Yard Sale were about $75.

The biggest bargain had been the house itself. It was modest by Mount Pleasant standards and was purchased at a premium several years ago. It had been deeded to its new owner through a "short sale." The proceeds had not been sufficient to pay the mortgage which reflected a value for the property which no longer existed. The bank didn't even bother to reserve the right to collect the deficiency from the old owner. That would merely have meant long, wasteful involvements in bankruptcy court, to no one's profit.

The people holding the yard sale were not lazy or dishonest. They had never been afraid of work. A day had simply arrived when there was none in the construction industry which had always, at some level, provided some work for the willing.

The unemployment insurance benefits didn't approach what work had paid and then they too had been exhausted. Odd jobs didn't close the gap. The empty houses and "For Sale" signs surrounding them indicated it would be a long time before much needed to be constructed.

Ten years ago people running for Mayor and Town Council in Mount Pleasant dismissed the idea that our community needed to plan for jobs by saying we were a "bedroom community." Work didn't belong here. People were standing in line to buy houses.

Last week our largest development was auctioned off by the bankruptcy court. On the hot corner of the yard sale another part of the same transformation was being reduced to dollars and cents, which is how we reckon our failures in America.

We need to make the things we use. We need to build things that last. The hard work of the people who create those things, and who come home sweaty and tired at day's end needs to be respected with decent pay.

Without that pay, nothing is worth much, not the worn dresser or the modest house. If the labor of such lives is not better rewarded than it is now, those of us who are luckier can't count on evading the consequences, even if our taxes get cut some more.

America needs to value productivity over profit. It's the difference between the Ford Thunderbird of 1965 and a hundred shares of stock in AIG.

That difference can be extrapolated from the price on a worn dresser sitting in the July sun.

(William Hamilton (www.wjhamilton.com) is an attorney who lives in I'OnVillage.)