No longer gagged, disgraced city treasurer Corey Kemp speaks his mind. Well, part of it.

Corey Kemp seemed tired. So did his lawyer, Will Spade. It'd been a week and a day since a jury found Kemp guilty of 27 pay-to-play charges that could land him behind bars for the next seven years. Freedom could disappear as soon as July 18, should a federal judge decide to hold him pending the outcome of the former city treasurer's appeals. Despite the uncertainty, here they stood, on the 1800 block of N. Taylor St., where Kemp grew up. It was almost time for another batch of questions from members of a media that his well wishers claim unfairly skewered him for months.

A couple minutes ago, the Action News van left; David Henry had done his talking, the semi-dreadlocked cameraman had gotten enough borderline-staged shots of Kemp meeting and greeting relatives and passersby. A couple days earlier, someone from the Inquirer had cruised the same block with a man who, when powerbroker attorney Ron White died, became the epicenter of the City Hall corruption trial.

When City Paper took its turn chatting Kemp up Monday afternoon, it felt hotter than the seventy-some degrees called for on television. Sporting a court-worthy suit, Kemp sat on a stoop, rested his hands on his knees and mentioned the ground rules. Can't talk about the case, he said, since there are still some legal avenues to pursue. Does he feel like a scapegoat? "I can't answer that question." Did race have anything to do with getting charged with crimes commonly considered the backbone of Philadelphia politics? "I can't answer that either." OK, what do you think about Mayor Street? A laugh, stock response and, "you should ask him what he thinks about me." A heartier laugh.

At the courthouse on verdict day, Kemp smiled silently and walked away from the cameras. Today, Kemp makes it clear that he wants to tell the whole story; he just has to wait for the right time. For now, he can address questions that could put a human face to the voice on the surveillance tapes.

"I don't feel Philadelphia, or the world, knows who the real Corey Kemp is as a person I'm a humble guy, a caring guy, a family guy. I'm a community person and an optimistic person," he says.

He talks about being a high-school hoopster who averaged a city-high 26.8 points a game his senior year at Engineering, a man who exercised his passion for numbers by going to the supermarket with his aunt and tabulating the final bill before they got to the register, and a treasurer who "brought $48 million into Philadelphia" and relished the opportunity to work "with some of Wall Street's best."

Mere feet from an empty drug baggie on the sidewalk, Kemp mentions how he wishes his tenure in public service hadn't ended so abruptly. He says he hates "not being able to be an asset to Philadelphia" but hopes to be just that someday. "I'm not the first person this has happened to, and I won't be the last," he says. "Some people have gone away, come back and done some great things. That's what I want to do."

Take North Taylor Street, for example, where he'll have a block party in early July. "Obviously, you can see some NTI [Neighborhood Transformation Initiative] money could help this block," says the man who once held the city's purse strings. "This is the kind of block that it was designed for. This neighborhood could use the help."

As Kemp sees it, his biggest weakness is "the fact that I always think that I can get things done." Then he summoned Kenny Rogers in quoting the refrain of "The Gambler." He says he wished he'd mastered the know-when-to-walk-away lessons.

"I continue to laugh and joke," admits Kemp, who's currently working as a caterer and living on the outskirts of Reading with his family. "Some people may not think this is funny, but [laughter] is the only way I can get through this day in and day out."

Throughout the trial, Kemp's defense team said the gifts he'd received in perceived exchange for City Hall's favor had no bearing on actions that he took as treasurer. Kemp says that, if he could turn back the hands of time, "I would seek and find what the limitations are of what you can take and what can't you take."

Like those tickets for the Super Bowl he went to even though he had been at the Vet, a guest of Wachovia Bank, to see the Eagles lose a heartwrenching NFC Championship Game? While fans cursed their championship-less fate, White called Kemp, an avid Birds' fan, to say he already had the tickets, so why not just go anyway? "I didn't even stick around to see the halftime show," he says of his trip to the biggest football game of all. "Going to that game was not worth what happened, to be put in this position."

For his part, Spade considers the verdict outrageous. He has key dates for filing appeals already logged in his day planner. Offering a glimpse into what could happen, Spade says the case was "drastically" affected by the controversial, mid-deliberations removal of juror Margaret W. Szewczyk.

"She either wanted to acquit [Kemp] based on a good-faith defense or at the very least considered it," Spade said during a previous interview. The good-faith defense means Kemp did not accept the gifts with the intention of making decisions favoring the gift givers. "The trial should have ended in a deadlocked jury and a mistrial."

Spade talked about another client who, having committed five thefts and a carjacking, is currently facing just 23 months.

"Corey, who committed, some would call it, a victimless economic crime, is facing north of eight years," he says. "There's something wrong with that."

As far as Spade is concerned, "it is very hard for Corey Kemp to get a jury of his peers," considering they're drawn from not just the city, but several surrounding counties as well. "A young black guy who grew up in a similar situation could see the situation the way [Kemp] could see. I respect the effort that they made. It is not their fault that they're not a jury of Corey's peers."

Now, Kemp's in a wait-and-see mode; waiting for his chance to appeal to see whether he'll be leaving his family, friends, church and support network for the forseeable future. Seemingly drained from all the talking, and the lengthy trial, he still has some passion for life.

"I'm sorry this all happened," he says. "I'm sorry to put my friends and family through this. I can't change the fact that I was convicted, even if I don't like it, and don't agree with it. If that's my reality, I have to face it. I'm not looking forward to going to prison but I have to stay positive for my kids. I'll be prepared mentally for whatever happens next."