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America's new poor

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America's new poor

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AMERICA'S NEW POOR

by

Chris L. Jenkins

__________________________________________________________________

A Thesis Presented to the
FACULTY OF THE USC GRADUATE SCHOOL
UNIVERSITY OF SOUTHERN CALIFORNIA
In Partial Fulfillment of the
Requirements for the Degree
MASTER OF ARTS
(SPECIALIZED JOURNALISM)

August 2010

Copyright 2010 Chris L. Jenkins
ii
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
The Author would like to acknowledge the sincere and thoughtful responses
of James and Kathy Mathews.
iii
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Acknowledgements ii
Abstract iv
Chapter I: The Office Chair 1
Chapter I Endnotes 4
Chapter II: The Fall 5
Chapter III: Looking Up 10
Chapter IV: A New America 11
Chapter IV Endnotes 14
Chapter V: The Long Road 15
Chapter V Endnotes 21
Chapter VI: "I'm Tired…" 22
Chapter VII: Hard Nights 24
Chapter VIII: A Change is Gonna Come 29
Bibliography 32
iv
ABSTRACT
The worst of The Great Recession of 2008 may finally be over, but it has left
vast human and economic devastation in its wake: Seven million more people are
unemployed than three years ago. The country has seen a sharp increase in
homelessness. And much like the Great Depression, when millions of previously
working people came to rely on a new social safety net for their sustenance, a
swelling group of formerly middle-class Americans is seeking government aid for
the first time. Many economists are calling this group of Americans "The New Poor"
and wonder how they will recover as unemployment continues to hover around 10
percent. This story profiles a Covina couple who are going through such a transition:
James and Kathy Matthews and their two children were once a middle class family
living in Murrieta- but now are on the state's welfare to work program. James is
frustrated with his circumstances and wants to move back to the middle fast; Kathy,
more resigned about their position on the bottom, struggles too, but seeks patience. A
human face behind the aftermath of the country's worst downturn since The Great
Depression.
1
CHAPTER I
THE OFFICE CHAIR
A man sits with his wife and two children in a cramped cubicle at a Los
Angeles County welfare office. He has not had a good morning. The air is stuffy and
he twists in a chair that seems like it's two sizes too small for him. The caseworker
asking him questions is pleasant enough, but her baby face betrays the fact that she's
only few years out of college. Even so, she stands between whether James Matthews,
36, can provide for his family or not. She pops her gum and has a hard time typing
because her nails are long and curved and dotted with fake rhinestones.
i

"Did you guys bring your electric and gas bills?" asks the caseworker, Gloria
Alvarado. She's been with CalWORKS, the state's welfare to work agency for just
six months, but already she has a short wall of case files and papers piled up on
either side of her desk. This makes the little cubicle, pressed into the back of the 2nd
floor office, seem even more cramped. "I need to see the expenses."
ii

James just stares back at her until she realizes the papers are to the right of
her keyboard. He has his own stack of forms in front of him, stained with coffee: he's
trying to prove he's eligible for another year of government aid. And if he completes
the forms, what does he get? Another round of food stamps, a monthly allowance,
government health care and a binder's worth of rules and regulations. He hunches
forward in the flimsy plastic armchair, looking over the papers. How much was his
family's gross income in 2009, the government wants to know. Well that's easy, he
2
thinks. Zero. How much in savings? The same: Zero. It wasn't much better in 2008
either, and he marks that down too.
He glances to the right and sees Kathy, his wife of almost six years. She's
filling out a separate set of papers while bouncing their son on her left knee and
balancing their daughter on her right. Her hair is up in a splayed ponytail barely held
together by a cloth tie. She rubs her eyes every few minutes. She takes a few sips of
the morning's second cup of coffee, but her eyes are still heavy and swollen. Her
doctor told her she needs more sleep.
James leans back in the chair, knocking his head against the wall behind him.
How did they get here? How did this ex-Marine, a mortgage lender in Orange
County just two and a half years ago when it looked like Southern California's days
of promise had returned, get on this side of the desk? Why is he the one asking for
permission the one with questions and not answers?
The Great Recession may be over, but like millions of Americans, Kathy and
James Matthews have barely started on the long road back. Caught in the downturn's
gale, they lost their jobs and suffered a sharp drop in earnings. They used up their
savings, could no longer pay their rent and are on the government dole for the first
time in their lives. Like many Americans at this unique moment in the country's
history, they are hard working, penny wise and industrious. They are aware of their
mistakes, but they are also haunted by a pair of questions, that volley back and forth
in their minds when they are shopping for food or looking for jobs, whether they are
3
taking their children to the park or cooking a family meal: "How did we get here?"
and "Will we truly recover?"

4

CHAPTER I ENDNOTES
i
As observed by reporter. All scenes in following document are primary
observations by the author

ii
As recorded by reporter. All quotations, unless otherwise noted, were taken directly
by author.

5
CHAPTER II
THE FALL
Nearly eight years ago, it seemed like James had all the solutions. Back then,
in search of more opportunity, James saw that he could be more than just a cell
phone sales man. He was making about $65,000 a year, but the real money was in
selling the homes and subdivisions that were filling up the remaining open land south
of Los Angeles. So, he took up a friend on an offer to help those looking for the
American dream. He offered mortgages and helped lend money.
By 2006 he was making $105,000. Before long, he was the man at the fancy
restaurants with the thick roll of bills, the man he had always wanted to be, buying a
Mercedes for himself, a minivan for Kathy. He took his entire family, including his
two older children from his first marriage, Austin and Sierra, to Lego Town. He
started saving money to put his kids in private school, always a dream of his. Kathy,
who he wanted to stay home from work, took Jordan, their younger son, to Disney
Land nearly every week. He took his family out to eat and told them to order
whatever they wanted. That's what he was about: Moving up.
Then the bottom fell out. Over the course of a year, James became one of the
tens of thousands of realtors, mortgage lenders, manufacturing workers, financial
services agents, teachers and lawyers in California who were casualties of what so
many have called the Great Recession. When he lost his job, he had savings, but he
also had the expenses of a life that was no longer his: a pair of car notes. The $2,500
monthly rent for their three bed-room two story home in Murrieta. Credit card bills
6
that often totaled what he paid in monthly rent. And to add to the list: Kathy was
pregnant with their second child and the doctors wanted her off her feet because of a
history of high-risk pregnancies.
The tumble continued for seven months. By February of 2009, they had
moved to a one-bed room home in the back of Kathy's parents' property, new baby in
their arms with mountains of belongings. Then a final indignity: on February 3,
2009, James went by himself to a CalWORKS office in Covina, took a number and
stood in line. He was number 113.
Now, he's in front of Alvarado, watching her supervise his life. And it's times
like this, sitting filling out forms, feeling as if the world is closing in on him, that he
wonders: how long this is going to last? The pundits on television, the morning
newspapers, the economists interviewed on the radio all say recovery is on the way.
You can forgive James for not believing them.
"Seems like you're doing really well in your classes this semester, James,"
Alvarado says, not looking up from her computer. She's typing in his schedule for
the upcoming school term: Accounting, Business and a required English composition
class. When James and Kathy first enrolled in CalWORKS, they were presented a
choice: working towards finding low wage jobs or going to school full time and
working or volunteering part time. It's part of the new requirements for being on
welfare. They both decided school would improve their long-term chances of rising
out of their economic hole. So they come to Alvarado once every few couple of
7
months: she signs off on their requests for classes, their volunteer schedule and
checks their grades.
"When you're my age, you better get A's in college," James replies, tapping
his foot vigorously, like he's trying to keep tune to some sped up soundtrack in his
head. He laughs out loud. James gives this robust laugh often, even when he talks
about misfortune. He's short stocky and a little round and when he wears his
oversized black leather jacket he can resemble a cannonball when he walks.
"And the job? How's that going?" Alvarado asks, still tapping of the keys of
keyboard with her neon nails.
"Yeah, I'm doing 15 hours a week, helping a guy out do tax returns, you
know, during the tax season." James is done filling out the forms now. "We'll see
how it goes. I'm gonna try and do the majority of the hours on the weekends-
Saturdays if I can."
Alvarado pushes back from the computer and faces the family for the first
time in a few minutes. Her brow is wrinkled. James stares back at her. "Are you
going to be able to carry that? You're already taking"-she looks back at the computer
screen-"16 credit hours."
For most of the 30-minute interview James has been cooperative. Now his
face is flushed and he doesn't laugh this time. "I need work. I have to make
money," he says.
"But 16 credit hours?" Alvarado seems worried. "And Kathy you're taking…"
"Fourteen," Kathy says.
8
"I'm not sure what choice we have," James says looking at his watch. He has
class in 13 minutes. After that it's a full morning of lectures then off to this job. It's
10:17 and he's already he's tired thinking about what's ahead for another long day.
He takes a deep a deep breath. "I have to fulfill these work requirements. I've read
those requirements you gave us. I think between me and Kathy we have to be at 30
hours."
Alvarado is quiet. "Ok, well if there's anyone who can do it…" her voice
trails off as she turns back around.
The interview is over. James and Kathy are good for another year on the
government welfare program: $480.00 a month in cash assistance, $290 a month in
Food Stamps, health care for the entire family, and another series of monthly
meetings with Alvarado. The family picks up its belongings and starts to push their
way out of the cubicle. Kathy and James look at each other as they move from
earshot of Alvarado, who is finishing up their paperwork.
"James, how are were going to do this?" Kathy asks, holding Jordan with one
arm and cradling Kirsten in the other. For most of the interview she had been quiet,
letting James answer most of Alvarado's questions. "We barely got any sleep last
night and you're taking more credits. She's right...it's too much."
"I can't see how we can do anything differently," James says quickly, folding
the school registration papers into his school bag. "If we can just keep going, we can
get on and get off and get on with our lives."
9
Kathy stands in silence for a moment than begins walking. She has 20
minutes before her class starts.
"I just want to know how long this pace is going to last," Kathy said after a
long silence. "We can't go on like this forever."

10
CHAPTER III
LOOKING UP
How are we going to do this? How long is this going to last? James has been
wondering the same thing for months. He yearns for the answers. This much he
knows: He wants his family prosperous again. Moving again. He wants his life back.
But how does he do this when there are so few jobs to be had and so many debts to
be paid? When he's still on the government dole? Both he and Kathy often compare
themselves to mountain climbers, who, once at the top of Mount Everest, have
tumbled down and are now at the base again. Every day, they often say, they're
looking back up at the top and wonder if they'll ever reach the peak again.
"Can't even see the top," Kathy says.

11
CHAPTER IV
A NEW AMERICA
Every economic downturn pushes people like James and Kathy Matthews out
of the middle class and into poverty. It is an article of faith of the American
economy that busts will be followed by booms, and there will be a human toll: The
Great Depression followed the excesses of the roaring 20s; the 1960s boom years
bled into the recession and years of inflation the 1970s; 1990s downturn came on the
heels of the go-go 1980s. But there is another part of the cycle that has also
generally been a predictable one: Many who fell will not only claw their way from
poverty, but succeed. Sometimes it takes months, sometimes years. But everything
we believe about the history of vicissitudes of the American economic system is that
there will be some kind of recovery after the bust.
But what happens if this conventional wisdom is upended? That, instead of
eventual recovery, it's stagnation for millions of newly poor Americans?
Some economists argue are there is a burgeoning class of Americans that has
fallen into poverty and won't be able to repeat the success of past generations who
have prospered after poverty; that many will remain impoverished for a long time,
unable to make the difficult journey back to the middle class.
"We haven't seen anything like this before: a really deep recession combined
with a really extended period, maybe as much as eight years, all told, of highly
elevated unemployment," said Heidi Shierholz, a senior policy analyst with the
12
Economic Policy Institute in Washington. "We're about to see a big national
experiment on stress."
i

Indeed, a December 2009 report the Economic Cycle Research Institute, a
research firm in New York, found that the recoveries after recessions have taken
longer after each of the last 2 downturns. For instance, during the 1950s, '60s and
'70s, the number of private-sector jobs increased about 3.5 percent a year. But during
expansions in the 1980s and '90s, jobs grew just 2.4 percent annually. And during the
last decade, job growth fell to about 1 percent annually.
ii

In addition, during recessions before 1990, it took an average of 21 months
for the economy to regain the jobs shed during a downturn, according to an analysis
of Labor Department data by the National Employment Law Project and EPI. But
after the recessions in 1990 and in 2001, 31 and 46 months passed before
employment returned to its previous peaks.
iii
Shierholz said that is partly because
companies were able to increase profits by becoming more efficient instead of hiring
new workers.
"Essentially what happened is that robust job growth became weaker after
each recession," said Maurice Ansellem, a policy analyst for National Employment
Law Project. "There is no indication that this trajectory is going to change.''
Understood another way, the numbers suggest a long slog. Take California,
once a jobs making machine. The state added more than 268,000 jobs in 2005,
according to the California Budget Project. But even at this incredible rate of growth
it would take more than three years for the state to regain the 952,800 jobs it lost in
13
the past two years- and that doesn't include the 700,000 people who entered the
potential work force since the onset of the recession. As the report says: "This
means that more Californians are looking for jobs today than at the beginning of the
downturn and that for the employment rate to fully rebound to it's pre-recession
levels, the state needs to add potentially hundreds of thousands more jobs in addition
to the 952,800 it lost in recent years."
iv

14

CHAPTER IV ENDNOTES
i
Peck, Don, "How a New Jobless Era Will Transform America". The Atlantic
Magazine, March, 2010.

ii
Achuthan, Lakshman, "Is An Employment Recovery At Hand?" Economic Cycle
Research Institute, New York, December 24, 2009.

iii
Allegretto, Sylvia and Andrew Stettner, "The Severe Crisis of Job Loss and the
Accompanying Surge in Long Term Unemployment," New York, May 6, 2009.

iv
Anderson, Alissa, "In the Midst of the Great Recession," California Budget
Project, Sacramento, September 2009.
15
CHAPTER V
THE LONG ROAD
Covina, California. Population 47,000. Twenty-five miles due east of
downtown Los Angeles situated in the San Gabriel Valley. Nearly 100 years ago, a
popular newspaper comic strip named Harold Teen was set here. Its main character
was the quintessential California boy: a sandy haired, all-around wholesome boy,
with a crush on the daughter of his next-door neighbor. Back then it seemed like the
right place to set a pop culture narrative about a young teen coming of age in the
early 20h century: An all-American city, Covina seemed to typify the expanding
California dream as it grew steadily and became the world's third largest producer of
oranges. Those were the days when people came from the Midwest to the old
railroad town looking to hitch their hopes for a better life on sunshine and limitless
land. Like many little cities that dot the Southern California landscape, Covina was
an El Dorado of sorts, built on upwardly mobile dreams: in 1910 there were less than
2,500 people in the city, but by mid century, Covina had become a bustling bedroom
community of nearly 40,000, with one-story ramblers and bungalows replacing the
vast orange groves that had characterized the land for decades.
i

Half a century later, Covina represents the opposite trajectory for James and
Kathy. Its old downtown sags under the weight of the recession and the impact of a
decade of flight to suburbs to the east and North. Despite still boasting the orange as
its official symbol, Covina has come upon hard times: several store fronts on the
main drag, Center Street, sit vacant; three of the neat one story bungalows on the
16
edge of town that characterize the remarkable World War II expansion have been
raided by the local police for harboring methamphetamine labs over the past 18
months. Instead of the upward movement that the city represented for so many that
moved there for decades, it has become the opposite for James and Kathy.
The family knew about the city's declining fortunes and that it as a step down
when they moved there in the fall of 2008 to live in a cramped one-bedroom duplex
owned by Kathy's parents. But they had no choice: The in-laws charge them $550 a
month in rent, about a third of what they paid in Murrieta. The little two-story house
sits in the back of a half-acre property that Kathy's father, Jim, bought in 1954. It's
cramped but the rent is below market rate and they can save on babysitting because
Nanna, Kathy's mother, loves to have her grandchildren around. The detritus of
the middle-class days is somehow squeezed into their current home, making it hard
to move about sometimes: James, Kathy, Jordan and Kirsten all live in the single
upstairs bedroom- it's so cramped, Jordan has to climb onto their bed just to reach the
top bunk. There are bags of clothes, books, toys, and shoes in every corner. The 5-
year old sleeps on the top of the bunk bed, Kirsten on the bottom. When James two
other children from a previous marriage, Austin, 13, and Sierra, 12, visit from
Vista, they curl up on the sofa in the living room which also is filled with the
previous life's furnishings: the wood desk is centered between the TV, couch, dining
room table and love seat.
17
"It's like the past haunts us," James says. "We have all this stuff. All of it.
From a previous life. We earned it. It's our stuff. But it's not out life anymore. It's
like it's from a different set of people. An entirely different family."
But there are a pair of orange trees behind an avocado tree that shade the
back house: the one perk of moving from their big house in Murrieta, James said
one day, is that they don't have to buy orange juice any more because they can now
squeeze their own. James sometimes pokes fun at his family's fortune: "We traded in
2,000 square feet for free orange juice," he says after pouring himself a glass and
holding up his mug. "Cheers."
He laughs now, but James admits that adjusting this new life- especially as a
father, provider, and husband -- has been one of his toughest challenges. The most
difficult times are often when he's by himself, on his way to the bus stop or studying
quietly at the library and his mind wanders.
"I loved moving up, there's no doubt about it," he says on a February
morning. He was standing on a street corner, a cold breeze forcing him to flip his
collar up as he waited for the #5 bus to Mount San Antonio Community College,
where he had a history class in an hour. It was windy and the weatherman on the
television had talked of rain. James looked out over the city's downtown: two stores
had recently closed and he watched a man in a gray suit and trench coat sweep the
sidewalk in front of a sign that said "FOR RENT" in the window. It was 9am and he
was on his third cup of coffee.
18
When James talks about the days when he was riding high and making
deals, he doesn't focus on the actual stuff- even though he's the one who bought most
of it. No, now he thinks about what the stuff represented. He believed a solid middle
class foundation gave the family the chance to dream: he had always wanted to have
all four of his children in the same house. Or at least have Austin and Sierra stay at
his home in Murrieta every weekend.
"I always had a plan, you know, always had something that I was trying to
work towards as a father," he says as the #5 bus rolled to a stop and opened its doors
in front of a group of waiting passengers. Back in 2006, his plan was to scale back,
pay off some debt and get custody of his older kids in four years. They've lived with
his ex-wife, Beth since the two got a divorce in 2004. His dream had always been to
send Austin and Sierra to private schools and they'd have the things he never had-
summer camp, music lessons, family vacations. Yes, there were cars and there was a
gardener he could pay twice a month to clip the hedges and mow the yard. He used
to do it himself but figured, why not hire someone?
"Now I don't even have any hedges," James says. "I always wanted a nice
car, but part of me wanted a nice car because I wanted to prove to myself that I had
worked hard and recreated myself to deserve that nice car I was no longer just this
guy from Oklahoma. I was someone who was providing for his family and providing
for them well."
When asked about the fall, about how he sees it now, James says with a touch
of pride that didn't go down with out a fight. When it was obvious the good work as
19
a lender wasn't coming back in early 2008, he went to a Wendy's, ready to flip
burgers. The manager said James was over qualified, afraid he would take off as
soon as he got another job. James answered another job notice for a company that
made truck caps. Nothing. Then another listing for a place that that produces tops for
aerosol cans. Nothing.
"I've always been able to find work," he says. He flits back through his
memory: at 14 he was helping a mechanic repair vintage engines; at 17 he was
delivering pizzas; at 26 after the Marine Corps he worked two jobs- an office
manager by day, a Rite Aide part time store manager at night. Then as a sales man.
"When I couldn't, [find a job] I knew we may be in trouble."
James boards the bus and sits next to a middle-aged man wearing a green
windbreaker on that says "MOUNT SAN ANTONIO COMMUNITY COLLEGE"
on the breast pocket. They immediately recognize each. The man works in the career
services department at the school.
The two share pleasantries and then the man leans forward and talks to James
quietly.
"You should come in. We might have something for you to apply for in the
summer time," the man said. He declined to give his name. "It's working at the
school- perhaps some building and maintenance jobs. I know a few people who are
retiring. We'll need more help."
20
James paused. Then: "Anything," he said. "My wife will kill me because she
wants me to take more classes and work less, but I'll do anything. That's great,
thanks. Really great."
The men sit in silence the rest of the trip.
"This is the biggest problem I have," James would say later, after he and the
man had gone their separate ways. Referring to the associate's degree he's currently
studying for, he added: "Trying to be patient. I came into this welfare thing thinking
I'd love to get my degree and improve my chances, but if I can get a good basic job,
I'll quit school. Plus I'll be able to get off of welfare too."

21

CHAPTER V ENDNOTES
i
Pitt, Leonard, and Dale Pitt. Los Angeles A to Z : An Encyclopedia of the City and
County. Berkeley, Calif, University of California Press, 1997.
22
CHAPTER VI
"I'M TIRED…"
Kathy was not happy about James's morning conversation on the bus with the
man from the community college.
"James, we both agreed that we were going to wait this out," she says. "That
we were going to get our degrees and that's what we both decided." The Matthews
house was quiet that evening: The children were at Jim and Nanna's house, and
James and Kathy were in the small living room doing their homework. They had
planned to eat dinner at about 6:30, but it was already 7:15 and neither of them had
made a move to the kitchen. James had to prepare a presentation for his public
speaking class and Kathy was working on her Intro to Childhood Education class.
She's hoping to be a teachers' assistant by the end of the year.
"You're right, I did, but this is getting us no where, hon, nowhere." James
said. His voice was higher pitched than normal, but he wasn't shouting. He bounced
his leg up and down. "We're barely making it above water and all we're doing is
sitting and taking classes that might help us or might not. I've done this before
without school and I can do it again. I mean look at this-" he held up his workbook-
"How's this going to get us to put more food on the table?"
Kathy looked back down at her workbook. "We have what we need, James,"
she said. "I don't like being on food stamps or what ever any more than you do. But
we have what we need."
23
James went back to typing on the computer, as if he wasn't going to respond.
Then: "Have you seen our bills lately Kathy? I can't even send money to Austin and
Sierra. I can't even pay things that have been coming in for months."
James pulls out a collections notice for a storage facility the family had put in
some of the belongings in while they were trying to preserve their life as a middle-
class couple. They owed just short of $750.00. "I'm tired of looking at these and not
being able to do anything about them."
Kathy looked up: "We had an agreement that we were going to wait this out.
No job being a janitor is going to help you in the long run. This is how we got into
this mess in the first place."
She got up and went into the kitchen.
James sighed. Later he would admit that his wife was right. But at the
moment he was adamant about getting a job, any job that could help him move on.
He looked up at the computer and pushed back from the desk. He went over to pick
up Jordan and Kirsten from the big house up front.

24
CHAPTER VII
HARD NIGHTS
"'Toy Story?' " asks Kirsten, the 2-year-old, climbing into James's lap. It's the
following Monday night after James and Kathy's argument over the janitor's job.
James has just finished a day of classes and work. Ordinarily, he loves to dote on his
children. But tonight: "I don't want to watch the 'Toy Story' right now," he says,
rubbing his eyes. He pours some juice into her bottle and hands it to her. "Tastes
good," he says.
It's at the end of days like these- morning classes, afternoon and evening
hours working at the tax preparer's office, nights in front of the computer reading for
the next days assignment- that seems like they are a version of the day before, the
soundtrack a mix of sighs and yawns, directives from the boss, directives from the
teachers, that seem part of an endless cycle. But where is all leading? That's when he
looks for an escape.
At the kitchen table, he opens a newspaper.
"Sell ads for Google -- 115 bucks to register, earn $250 to $500 a day," he
says, reading aloud. A company needs "employees to assemble products at home,
$500 weekly, no experience necessary."
Another advertisement is looking for people to "earn $2,600 a week working
from home, selling medical equipment."
"Yeah right," James mutters. He folds the paper and tosses it across the table.
Back to the books. He peels open a text on public speaking.
25
Kathy calls in from the kitchen. "James, are you finished with your
homework? I need you to help me fix the washer. I'm trying not to have to call
Frankie." Franklin Henry is the maintenance man that James is convinced
overcharged them the last time for fixing the dishwasher.
Five-year old Jordan, already in his pajamas, emerges from the upstairs
where he had spent the evening in a world of his own devising. "Hey monkey,"
James calls. "Whatcha doin'?"
James and Kathy are worried about this coming school year because he'll be
going to the local pubic elementary school, not the private Christian school they had
planned for when he was born. And there aren't a lot of neighborhood kids near their
home in Covina- it's a marked change from the bustling neighborhood in Murrieta
where Ivy Street teemed with young couples with children born between 2004 and
2006. The parents used to take group trips to Disney World: but Kathy went so
regularly on her own she swears Mickey knew exactly when she and her little boy
were coming. To rectify the boy's loneliness, James has thought about salting some
money away to get him into a local tee-ball league this spring. The student loan
check might help with that.
But Jordan is a talkative 5-year-old; he plays on the backyard gym James was
able to salvage from their old house as if it's his own private little world. Jordan is
observant: he remembers a visitor's name after only one meeting with him and is
excited when the visitor returns for follow up visits. He's bright and talkative.
26
That doesn't stop James from worrying about him. The expectations he had
for his son aren't being fulfilled.
"He needs other children his age to play with," James said one day when he's
over visiting with Kathy's parents. "And I wish he didn't have to go to that public
school."
The Covina elementary and high schools have become rougher around the
edges. The old Covina High of the Harold Teen comic strip has made way to a new
Americana: A couple of students spotted a gang initiation at the middle school last
year; all the parents talk about how they see graffiti now on the walk route to the
school. Jordan is a long way from middle school but his parents' worry.
"James, we have time," Kathy had said looking at her husband with a worried
glance. "Who knows? In a few years we may be able to move to West Covina." The
schools there reportedly are better, even though Covina's sister city to the west is
bigger and the schools have more kids.
Whether it was that evening or this night, James gets a weary look when he
thinks about the options- or what could have been. Kathy walks back into the
kitchen, looking in the refrigerator to figure out dinner.
"Have you bought his school clothes yet?" James asks Kathy with a mixture
of annoyance and worry. Students in public school in Covina are required to wear
uniforms. The two have been at odds all night- first arguing about what how any
hours they would have to work this week together to fulfill their CalWORKS
requirements then sniping over the garbage that was starting to smell.
27
"James what do you want me to do? We don't have any money yet. When we
get our Pell Grant money I'll get the uniforms. I've got plenty of time anyway."
James is uncharacteristically silent. He seems to know it was a question from
nowhere. He wasn't even really thinking all that much about Jordan when he asked
the question, he recalls- his focus had turned to his son, Austin, with his C's and D's
in 7th grade and that his daughter Sierra is on medication for what the doctor says is
bi-polar disease. For an 11 year old, he thinks? What will Austin do when he goes to
high school? And Sierra, with her constantly frazzled long hair and adventurous
spirit- what can he do for her? If he had the money both the kids would be with him.
He likes the idea of taking classes and getting his degree, bettering himself. But still
there's the nagging: Shouldn't I be doing more? That's why he reaches for the
newspaper looking for jobs every now and again. It drives Kathy nuts.
His wife breaks him out of the silence.
"Did you eat all the potato chips?" Kathy asks.
"What do you think I was eating last night?" he answers.
She glances at Kirsten, who is on the floor, gaping at the TV.
"She's kind of stuffy," she says, turning to grab a tissue to wipe her daughter's
nose. Kathy hasn't even begun her homework for the night.
"Why's that you think?"
"I'm not sure."
"Huh?"
"I don't know."
28
James stifles a guffaw, knowing his wife hates it when he acts silly when
she's trying to make a serious point. "Huh?"
She rolls her eyes. "Jesus you know I hate that."
For dinner, they decide to eat breakfast -- waffles and turkey bacon, which is
what James had scheduled for this night when he mapped out a week's worth of
meals to save money. The menu in scribbled in crayon and hangs on the refrigerator.
Another night was corn beef and harsh and soup. Yet another was Chicken Helper
and spaghetti. Thursday February 15 was marked: "Leftovers."

29
CHAPTER VIII
A CHANGE IS GONNA COME
It's Kathy's time for herself now, on her way to do the weekly shopping at
Fresh and Easy in Pomona. She enjoys time alone even when she's doing a chore.
She bites into a sweet plum before she hops into the minivan. "Mmmmm" The inside
of the car is stained with coffee splotches and littered with crumbs. Who has time to
clean?
She looks happy, even after musing about a phone conversation she had that
morning with their father, who is always offering bits of advice about how to get up
and out of the life on welfare. "He's not so ashamed of the fact that he has a daughter
and grandchildren on CalWORKS," she says. "He just wants the house back so he
can rent it out for more rent. Everybody's struggling."
More than James, Kathy embraces some of the change that has occurred. For
as much as she loved the life they had, she knew it was not leading to long- term
happiness. But one way she knows life will change for her is that she's going to have
to go back to work. She's ambivalent about this. She hasn't worked since she and
James got married: working as a clerk at the Hallmark store was getting her nowhere
and she and James wanted her to be home with the kids. It was the one part of life
she liked the way it was.
None of this has escaped Kathy's gaze. She knows not working for years was
a privilege, but it's still hard to imagine that she'll have to find a job again. "I'm torn
30
as I guess a lot of women are," she said. "I guess I want to know how this might
impact my children." She sighs.
Kathy grew up in Covina, in the big house that is on the front of the property
where she and her brood live now. She can't help but see the irony. She's living
behind where she was before. But to her, slipping back doesn't mean the same thing
to James. She knew the house in Murrieta was like a fairy tale- she ever envisioned
herself in that kind of house anyway.
"Four bedrooms, two-and-a-half baths, a family room, a living room, a sun
room, what I would call a sewing room, a kitchen, a dining room and a wraparound
porch. That's what drew me to it, the wraparound," she says.
She grabs a cart and lays out her shopping list: it's meticulously color-coded.
She wanders around the first floor of the Pomona supermarket. She checks the food
stamp balance for the month on her phone.
But there's still a nagging, as in: this isn't the way it's supposed to be. She's
ashamed that she and James barely have any money. She didn't grow up this way.
Her father was a career man at Kodak down the road. When Jim and Nana- that's
what she calls her parents to this day- took her in from the abusive father she was
living with they seemed to be a promise of a permanent upwardly mobile life. She
loved the orange trees in the back yard next to the avocado tree when she first moved
in. IT was like paradise, she remembers.
When she's asked about the time she met James- she was working at
Hallmark Cards making $11 an hour- she gets quiet. "It was like being swept out of a
31
nowhere life," she says. It was his idea to have her stay home. No one had ever said
they would do that for her. and there was something enchanting about it : husband
went to work, made enough to support a good life. Wife stayed home and raised the
children, not because she was forced to, but because she wanted to. Mother and
Father went on trips and would send their children to private school. Now?
Impossible Later? Kathy's doubtful.
"It was kinda like a dream if you think about it," she says.
She pauses and looks up, searching for words, a habit that James sometimes
kids her about. It looks as if she's looking up at a mountain that she's about to climb.
"Part of me kind of me likes the humble life…we spent too much money, we
were caught in material things she says. I'd be good with just if I made $50,000 and
James made $70,000, we could probably do it in three or four years."
Her voice trails off. "Someday."
But in the meantime she rolls the shopping cart down the aisle, searching for
a bargain.
32
BIBLIOGRAPHY
Achuthan, Lakshman, "Is An Employment Recovery At Hand?" Economic Cycle
Research Institute, New York, December 24, 2009.

Allegretto, Sylvia and Andrew Stettner, "The Severe Crisis of Job Loss and the
Accompanying Surge in Long Term Unemployment," National Employment
Law Project, New York, May 6, 2009.

Anderson, Alissa, "In the Midst of the Great Recession," California Budget Project,
Sacramento, September 2009.

Peck, Don, "How a New Jobless Era Will Transform America". The Atlantic
Magazine, March, 2010.

Pitt, Leonard, and Dale Pitt. Los Angeles A to Z : An Encyclopedia of the City and
County. Berkeley, Calif, University of California Press, 1997.

Abstract (if available)

Abstract The worst of The Great Recession of 2008 may finally be over, but it has left vast human and economic devastation in its wake: Seven million more people are unemployed than three years ago. The country has seen a sharp increase in homelessness. And much like the Great Depression, when millions of previously working people came to rely on a new social safety net for their sustenance, a swelling group of formerly middle-class Americans is seeking government aid for the first time. Many economists are calling this group of Americans "The New Poor" and wonder how they will recover as unemployment continues to hover around 10 percent. This story profiles a Covina couple who are going through such a transition: James and Kathy Matthews and their two children were once a middle class family living in Murrieta- but now are on the state's welfare to work program. James is frustrated with his circumstances and wants to move back to the middle fast

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Asset Metadata

Creator Jenkins, Christopher L. (author)

Core Title America's new poor

Contributor Electronically uploaded by the author (provenance)

School Annenberg School for Communication

Degree Master of Arts

Degree Program Journalism (Print Journalism)

Publication Date 07/07/2012

Defense Date 05/15/2010

Publisher University of Southern California (original), University of Southern California. Libraries (digital)

Tag Covina,OAI-PMH Harvest

Place Name California (states), Covina (city or populated place)

Language English

Advisor Tolan, Sandy (committee chair), Saito, Leland T. (committee member), Suro, Roberto (committee member)

Creator Email chrislanierjenkins@gmail.com,chrisljenkins@gmail.com

Permanent Link (DOI) https://doi.org/10.25549/usctheses-m3179

Unique identifier UC1280133

Identifier etd-Jenkins-3769 (filename),usctheses-m40 (legacy collection record id),usctheses-c127-364361 (legacy record id),usctheses-m3179 (legacy record id)

Legacy Identifier etd-Jenkins-3769.pdf

Dmrecord 364361

Document Type Thesis

Rights Jenkins, Christopher L.

Type texts

Source University of Southern California (contributing entity), University of Southern California Dissertations and Theses (collection)

Repository Name Libraries, University of Southern California

Repository Location Los Angeles, California

Repository Email cisadmin@lib.usc.edu