No work in land of plenty

By Timothy Pratt (contact)

Monday, Nov. 20, 2006 | 7:31 a.m.

At 2:30 in the afternoon, Remedios Bernal opens the door of his mobile home with his right hand, rubbing his eyes with his left.

Barefoot, he takes a step or two back and slumps onto the living room couch where he had been napping. His very pregnant wife, Karina, sits across from him in a matching couch, stroking the hair of their 19-month-old-daughter, Naydeline.

The apparent domestic calm belies the crisis this growing family faces.

Bernal had been dozing off after running out of places to look for construction work. He was laid off three weeks ago, an apparent casualty of the valley's 13th consecutive month of declining year-to-year home sales.

"I came here (to the United States) to work, not to rest," he said with a slight smile.

Though analysts have debated the meaning of the home-sales figures for months, little attention has been paid to what it means for workers such as Bernal - many of them Hispanic, mostly Mexican and often in the country illegally - on the industry's lowest rungs. Monica Caruso, spokeswoman for the Southern Nevada Home Builders Association, said thousands of workers may have been laid off in recent months.

State figures do not yet reflect those layoffs because residential and commercial unemployment data are reported only on a quarterly basis. However, unemployment claims in the construction industry were up 32 percent statewide in October compared with last year, rising from 3,119 to 4,128.

Rakesh Kochhar, associate director for research at the Pew Hispanic Center, a nonpartisan research center, said the phenomenon is still "in the initial stages" and difficult to track.

"It's hard to take statistics from the government and know who is undocumented and how they will react or adapt," Kochhar said.

But at Bernal's mobile home, the implications of a flattening housing market are clear.

Going from an average of $400 weekly paychecks to zero has meant more than just cutting back on plantain smoothies for his daughter.

He used to send about $100 every two weeks to his father in Sinaloa, but that stopped about a month ago. His wife's check ups also stopped last month, he said, because they can't pay for the visits. She's due on Dec. 9, but Bernal said he's not sure where the baby will be born - or how he will pay for the delivery.

In the last three weeks, he has visited 10 friends and relatives who have worked in construction and have their own contacts. He has also visited construction sites cold. Nothing came of any of the visits.

Recently, running out of gas money, he borrowed a car with better mileage or doubled up with friends.

The narrow mobile home where he sits has exposed wires, a frayed and stained carpet. In the back, a second bedroom has been filled with two friends "from the same ranch" in Sinaloa who help with the bills. But they also build houses and, with their work weeks getting shorter, they may soon return to Mexico.

Bernal said friends have left their families behind and gone to Phoenix for work. Others interviewed for this story knew people who had done the same.

But Bernal said he couldn't, "with her pregnant and all."

He said his wife had applied to some programs for medical help, but he didn't know whether they were eligible, due to their status as illegal immigrants.

Keith Schwer, director of the Center for Business and Economic Research at UNLV, said that undocumented workers are "not part of the safety net" of social services.

"They're undocumented, but they were doing useful work when we wanted it done, and now they're facing adversity," he said.

Some who have been laid off or had their hours reduced in residential construction are seeking work in commercial construction.

But those who speak little English and don't have contacts in commercial construction or if they are not union members, they may have difficulty making the switch, industry officials said.

Erasmo Badillo, without work after 12 years laying shingles on rooftops across the valley - "Between the floor and the sky, that's where I've been," he says - has been looking to cross over for about a month.

Recently, Badillo not only stopped sending money back to an uncle in Veracruz, Mexico, but started asking him to send some of that money back. He lives with his mother in a three-bedroom apartment and also has begun renting out the third bedroom.

Over at the Carefree Mobile Home park near Nellis Air Force Base on Tuesday afternoon, Bernal's wife was getting ready to meet their 7-year-old son, Cristian, at the school bus stop.

Bernal said his son's education makes him want to stay here, though the lack of work makes him think of home.

His son is bilingual. Bernal himself had to ask his wife how to spell Cristian's name.

As the days go by, the roofer, whose muscular frame filled baggy jeans and a long-sleeve shirt, said he is reaching his wit's end.

"I'm not used to asking for help," he said.