“Reprinted from October-November 1989
It all started on an early Saturday morning about 5:15, in the filthy streets of East Los Angeles. There I stood with about 25 other men, at the intersection of Atlantic and Beverly boulevards. Some of us were old, some young. All were different, but with one purpose in mind.
A pickup truck driven by a man in his late 40’s slowly approached the intersection. We all went over, calling, “Señor, ¿qué necesita? ¿Qué le gustaría que hagamos para usted?” (Sir, what do you need? What would you like to have done today).
He introduced himself as Roberto, and that was all he ever told us. He was careful in examining the workers for the most part. He looked us over from head to toe, examining us like a doctor. Roberto took a good look around and made up his mind. He selected two guys and me.
We hopped in the truck and Roberto drove us to his home in West Covina. As a 17-year-old, I did not have a particular reason for working with the day laborers, except I had always wanted to find out what these laborers go through in order to put food on the table.
One of my workmates, Miguel, was a talkative, strong man from Veracruz, wearing a pair of old worn-out 501 jeans and a red T-shirt. The other, Juan, was real quiet.
I was just going to ask Roberto how much he was going to pay us when Miguel told me to stop. He began to scream at me and said, “Are you crazy, stupid? Do you want to get fired? You never ask how much they are going to pay you. They are the ones with the money, not us.”
I was impressed by the looks of Roberto’s home. I was sure that this house was worth half a million dollars. As soon as we arrived Roberto pointed to an area that needed to be leveled and covered by cement. He also wanted a brick gazebo built.
I began my work day by digging a hole about 4 feet deep and carting more than 20 wheelbarrows of dirt to a certain place. And boy did I have it easy! While I was shoveling dirt, Miguel and Juan carried about 1,000 pounds of cement, mortar and bricks up to the house, which was at the end of a long, steep hill. Juan and Miguel joined me at the pit and we began to mix the materials together. We filled the 4-foot hole with three feet of cement and I designed the brick in a unique, artistic fashion.
Roberto saw that we were finished and he was anxious to see that one of his projects had been completed. He immediately dug deep into his pocket and brought out a level. He leaned into the deep pit and saw that the little bubble was in the middle, indicating that the pit was level and it had been built properly. He never praised us. All he did was point us to where the gazebo was to be built. We laid the foundation for the gazebo.
Then we decided to call it a day and washed off with a nearby water hose. Roberto called me and said, “Come here.” I approached and he handed me $60. I thought, “Boy, $60. Maybe this guy isn’t that bad after all.”
Roberto then told me to split the $60 with Miguel and Juan. I stared at Roberto and turned away.
I handed Miguel and Juan their money, and we walked down the long winding staircase just as the sun was setting to the west.
Our day had begun at 5:15 a.m. It was now 7 p.m. and we were stuck in West Covina. But Miguel and Juan didn’t complain about the $20 I gave them. They just accepted it. We finally found our buses, and everyone went their own ways. I had worked for nearly 13 hours in the smoldering sun. I had $20 in my pocket. I used three of those $20 to get back home.”