A Christmas more about survival than celebration

By Mike Trask (contact)

Wednesday, Dec. 26, 2007 | 6:45 a.m.

"Mama" takes shelter in her homemade stagecoach, a 4-foot-tall heap of plywood atop solid wheels and completed with a rear windshield that she rescued from the trash bin at the body shop across the street.

Her doors have tinted windows. The entire contraption is coated in stickers reminding passers-by on Las Vegas Boulevard North to repent and remember that "Jesus is the reason for the season."

Mama, a 65-year-old homeless grandmother, has the holiday spirit, as much as it can be had in a parking lot in one of the worst neighborhoods in Southern Nevada.

Even on Christmas, which is no big deal to Mama and her brethren at the tip of the Boulevard North, long known as the meth-addled cousin to the real Las Vegas Boulevard. That's the one with the multibillion-dollar casino projects and the tourists gambling more on a single blackjack hand than a lot of these people will see all year.

Any holiday here is just another bad day in a bad neighborhood. The lip-splitting wind still tears across the desert before slapping the folks in old North Las Vegas on the cheek. Mama is bundled up pretty good though, a shawl over a jacket, with a thick hat and then a blanket on top of all that.

The stagecoach protects her from the wind, but she has to venture outside to work, even on Jesus' birthday.

Still she prays and preaches; God protects from evil and cold and jerks who try to deface her stagecoach. And it's a good thing that God's looking out for Mama, because nobody else seems to care.

Mama earns her parking spot at the Broadacres Open Air Swap Meet out near Pecos Road, just adjacent to the second McDonald's in a two-mile stretch. She's cut a deal with the owners of the swap meet that she can leave her stagecoach in the parking lot in exchange for picking up all the trash that blows up against the chain-link fence surrounding the marketplace, a collection of cheap crafts, used hubcaps and fried food.

This is an area the city has big plans to revitalize with a $165 million City Hall project and other new construction. Someday soon, the City Hall elite promise, there are going to be some nice retail stores.

There already is a Kmart. And there's a taste of the high-end stuff by way of a Bulova watch billboard in front of the Oasis Trailer Park.

But 29 hard-luck guys plus Mama get the gift of work at the swap meet, meaning they will be able to afford something to eat. Usually, the meet runs Friday to Sunday. But because of the holiday season, it was open Monday for Christmas Eve. That meant the people who usually got $25 to clean up on Mondays were working on Tuesday, Christmas.

At 7 a.m, the wannabe workers gather around the gates. Usually only 25 get work for the next four hours. This week Marie, the women who picks the workers, takes an extra four, because she is in a giving mood.

Maybe her boss will be mad, but she doesn't have the heart to turn away so many people on Christmas. And if he is mad about the extra $100, then he can take it out of her paycheck.

Ogundele Bassett, 62, is one of those guys. "It's Christmas and I'm picking up garbage," he said, summing up the situation.

Then he sang along with the radio: Christmas carols.

Bassett is not homeless, but he's not going to be having lobster and escargot for dinner or buying one of those fancy watches. His $25 will help him get through the next week, until his disability check comes at the beginning of the month.

Brandon Alexander, a 24-year-old security guard, is also spending his day at the closed swap meet, smoking Marlboros and making sure no bad guys raid the closed stands. The despair around him doesn't depress him, he said. But, yeah, when you think about it, it's pretty sad.

And it gets even sadder when they turn away some of the people who wanted to work.

"That sucks," Alexander said, pulling on a pair of gloves. "Especially on Christmas."

He doesn't care that he's working. He is getting off at 3 p.m. to have dinner with some neighbors. His family is back in Michigan and he plans to give them a call.

But for now he is making sure things don't get rowdy when the cash is distributed. Then as soon as the fried chicken place across the street opens he'll get some lunch. And he'll watch the people.

"It makes you think about staying on the right track," Alexander said. "And there is a lot that can get you off track up here."

He knows Mama, although not her name. And because she is just a vessel serving God, she's not saying. Alexander helps her pull the stagecoach sometimes and she prays for him. He tries to keep an eye on her. He would bring her lunch. But Mama does not take handouts.

In fact, Mama tried to give him $10 for Christmas.