Barbara Ehrenreich’s Nickel and Dimed, adapted as a play by Joan Holden, is in the middle of its run at the Generic Theater. The play is based on the social critic and journalist’s best-selling book about the year and a half she spent working low-wage jobs at the turn of the 21st century. Ehrenreich, a middle-class author, went undercover to attempt stints as a waitress, a hotel cleaner, a maid and a Wal-Mart cashier. Nickel and Dimed has sparked a fair amount of debate about the role of workers in our society. As a play and as a work of nonfiction, it teeters on the edge of the didactic, but manages to avoid that trap thanks to Ehrenreich’s compelling characterizations of the people she encounters.
In the Generic’s version, as the actress playing Barbara tries to keep the orders for her tables straight, images of hourly workers in Hampton Roads, taken by photographer Harry Gerwien, flash across a projector screen behind the stage.
The images, gathered by Port Folio and Gerwien in collaboration with the Generic, attempt to present a broader perspective on Hampton Roads’ working world than do the dire and poignant tales from Nickel and Dimed. Caught in the middle of their work days, the construction workers, grocery store employees, waiters and other workers in the series give a face to one of the central themes of the book and the play: The economy of America rests on its workers.
And as that economy slips, the stories of individuals are often drowned out by the tumult of statistics and political wrangling. Ehrenreich’s solution was to look into the faces of the people she encountered. She found troubles, but she also found grit, generosity, cooperation and hope.
The following stories of three local hourly workers show their generosity and spirit of community. All three give more than just the hours of their time to the places they work and the community in which we live.
Hollywood strides among the booths and plastic-topped tables of his kingdom on Main Street, Norfolk. In his bus pan are plates scattered with crusts of a B.L.T., remnants of pancakes. Hollywood—whose mother named him Marlon Manyweather—started working at D’Egg Diner six years ago as a prep cook-cum-dishwasher. These days he’s more of a jack-of-all-trades meets impresario.
The Louisiana native is a bus boy, greeter, bringer of coffee, occasional dish washer, heavy lifter, organizer of deliveries, and general bringer of sunshine to the people of Norfolk. And he never lets the waitresses pick up the heavy bus pans, which he says get up to 30 or 40 pounds.
"You know, chivalry is not dead," Hollywood says, grinning.
By now, the staff and managers at D’Egg are used to hearing the customers come in with a familiar litany.
"Is Hollywood in?" they ask.
Customers nurse their coffee and chat with Hollywood about football, hockey, movies, their jobs. Hollywood’s a die-hard Cowboys fan, and he likes the Admirals. He’s picked up snatches of different languages from the customers and staff, and practices his Russian greetings.
Owner Phil Decker loves to see the serious businesspeople in suits brighten up when they chat with Hollywood over their coffee. In the six years that Decker has worked with Hollywood, he’s almost never seen him less than exuberant, never seen him complain.
For his part, Hollywood counts it as a success when a regular who used to sit quietly and not speak to anyone becomes someone who talks to everybody. Perhaps it’s his Louisiana upbringing, he says. Last year, the city of Norfolk gave him a hospitality award.
He’s also fast—he races around D’Egg like an enthusiastic pinball.
Hollywood used to work at U-Haul and Golden Griddle. He says that some people are surprised to learn that he once traveled all over the world with the Navy. The Navy is where he met his wife, where he got the name Hollywood and the reason he ended up in Norfolk.
"I used to be like Forrest Gump," Hollywood remembers. "I used to be real, real fast and real, real shy."
One of his commanding officers on the U.S.S. George Washington saw him running around the deck so quickly that he looked like a blue blur rushing back and forth.
"He said, ‘Who’s that guy?’"
And so Manyweather was named Hollywood for all the flashy racing around and for his growing way with people.
"A lot of people won’t believe I’ve been in the military," says Hollywood. "I say, ‘Hey man, I’ve been to France, I’ve been to Turkey, I’ve been to Israel, I’ve been to Saint Thomas and all the American Virgin Islands. I’ve been to the Eiffel Tower."
His favorite place was the island of St. Croix.
After his work day, Hollywood spends most of his time taking care of his family. He lives in Norfolk with his wife and five children, who range in age from 6 to 16.
When he gets off work, he helps the younger boys with their homework and makes sure the older kids do their chores.
"It’s a lot of ‘he said, she said,’ ‘he pinched me,’ ‘get out of my room,’ ‘no, man, that’s mine,’ ‘don’t take my stuff,’" says Hollywood. "It’s a lot of being a referee. It’s pretty cool though. Especially with five—you know when you’ve got five kids, you’re never alone."
Words fail Hollywood when he talks about how important the family of waitresses, cooks and managers at D’Egg is to him. Since the recession began, he’s noticed that business at the restaurant has been affected but is still strong. And his family has been OK.
"Everything went up a little bit," he says, "but usually when you get your income tax, it brings everything back to OK. I would say we don’t really have complaints."
Hollywood doesn’t have complaints at all.
"You got a reason to smile; if you can make somebody else smile, hey, it’s been a good day," he says.
As he sits in a booth at the diner at the end of his shift, Hollywood is cheerful about the pattern of his life.
"You got the family; after that you get ready for the next day."
Bill Peed has been fixing cars since he was 15. Back then, Portsmouth’s I.C. Norcom was a trade school, and Peed got to spend part of his school day working at a Chrysler dealership.
"And I’ve been working with cars ever since, pretty much," he says.
Today, Peed works at McCarty’s Wheel Shop on Broad Street in Portsmouth and lives just a few minutes away. He’s worked there since his daughter was a newborn, and she’s just turned 22. At McCarty’s, Peed does diagnostic work—checking brakes, detecting engine trouble, and fixing running problems. The shop isn’t quiet—the sounds of tools and engines are a constant backdrop. And Peed says that the workers help each other.
"Quite honestly, it’s a hard job," he says, "so there’s a lot of things you can’t do by yourself. You can’t lift everything. So you count on each other."
Two of Peed’s closest co-workers have each worked at the shop for 30 years.
On an evening in February, Peed stands against the outside wall of the shop. It’s 5:30, the sky is still light, and he has just finished his working day. He comes off like a man who thinks before he speaks. McCarty’s is stable, he says. And he likes that his job involves dealing with people—helping people and being honest with them.
The tough economy hasn’t touched him so far.
"I’m not in the financial aspect of the front, and they still want me here, so that’s a blessing. That’s about all I know," Peed says. He chuckles. "And then I just try to do a good job and not give them any reason to get rid of me."
The church that Peed attends is the same one where he was married—Broad Street United Methodist. It’s just a few blocks down from the shop, and he helps out with repairs there when he can.
Peed says that most of his life is filled with family and work. He and his wife and daughter, and sometimes his son-in-law, spend time camping in state parks when they can get away.
His faith, he says, is one of the most important things in his life.
"Jobs go, and family members go, and when you get older, sometimes your faith is all you have for some situations. You have to just come in, do the very best you can, be honest and good to people and try to hold on to what you have. And that’s mostly what Americans are doing right now.
"You decide what you’re gonna work for and then you show up and do it," says Peed. He shrugs. "I’m just a simple person. Like I said, I’ve never really been anywhere fancy, and I was born and raised here in Portsmouth. And I’m still here, and I’ll die here."
When Jamilla Robinson was growing up in upstate New York, she never thought she’d end up a certified nursing assistant. Her mother was a CNA at a nursing home, and when Jamilla would visit her mother’s work, she would wrinkle her nose at the stuffy air.
"I would never do this," she remembers thinking.
But Robinson changed her mind. Today, she is a med tech and a CNA at Beth Sholom Terrace, a senior assisted living center in Virginia Beach.
"You have to be a people person to do this," says Robinson.
Robinson dispenses medicine and assists the elderly residents. She also works extra hours as a companion, sitting patiently with residents who need more care. And though she initially thought she’d only work in nursing for a few years, she’s decided that the health care industry is where she wants to stay.
"I know I could never work at a mall," she muses. "I’m not a salesperson; I couldn’t do that. I’m not a computer person. So I think my field is health care. Anything in health care—is me."
Robinson arrives on the job at 6:30 a.m. She helps the residents dress, gives them their medicine, assists them in the bathroom and talks to them. She paints their nails and plays cards and bingo with them.
The residents like Robinson because—though 31—she’s small and looks young enough to be a granddaughter come to visit. She smiles easily but is earnest about her work. One resident, Helene Eisenberg, a petite woman, is particularly attached to Robinson and saves her cookies and a seat at events.
Robinson thinks the most important thing that she can do for the residents is make sure that they have a good day.
"Like seeing if they struggle with something," she says, "go over there and help them. Making sure that they have on something decent, not just something put together. If it’s one of our lady residents, put some earrings on her, a little necklace, some lipstick."
Ms. Eisenberg misses Robinson on the days when she’s not there, and talks to her when she’s working.
"And she’ll be like, ‘You know I love you so much, cause you do a lot for me,’" says Robinson.
One of the hardest parts of working at the Terrace, says Robinson, is when something happens to one of the residents—when someone passes away or has to move to facilities with a higher level of care.
At home after her shift, Robinson cooks dinner for her son and daughter, who are 14 and 11 respectively. Her son plays basketball at Maury High School, and her daughter, an honor student at Lafayette Wynona, does all the activities that she can fit into her schedule. For Christmas, Robinson’s boyfriend got her a Pomeranian, which keeps her company in the evenings.
Robinson says that since the economy has worsened, she’s certainly been shopping less. But mostly, she says the downturn in the economy has meant that people feel more stuck in their jobs.
"Even if you want to look for a job, no places are hiring. Even if you want to move, if you want to move on, there’s nowhere to move to. What could you do?"
Robinson is studying nights and weekends for her certifications as a dental assistant and as a phlebotomy tech. She plans to stay in the medical profession but says she might want to branch out.
Asked why she has chosen this job, Robinson’s answer is simple. "I care," she says, nodding her head. "I care."
Hourly workers on the job in Norfolk
Photos by Harry Gerwien
The following photos are part of a collaboration between Port Folio Weekly and the Generic Theater. The full series of photos is screened on a projector as a part of the Generic's play Nickel and Dimed.
Harry Gerwien has been a photographer for close to 40 years. In that time he has been published nationally and internationally. He has had assignments that took him to the ends of the earth. Harry has been part of expeditions to both the North and South Poles, and has covered stories in 59 countries. He has photographed presidents of the United States, as well as dignitaries and people from all walks of life.
During a 20-year career in the Navy he was the personal photographer to four Secretaries of the Navy.
He currently works for Military Newspapers of Virginia. Most recently he published Serendipity, a coffee table book that is a chronicle of Harry’s 40 years in photography. To see more of Harry’s photos of workers, check out Nickel and Dimed at the Generic. www.generictheater.org
IN ACTION: (From top)
Rafael Hernandez Torres
Michael Holland
Karl Neuse
Kimberly Austin
Vickie Hobbs
Ockita Dale
In group: Andrea Stowe, Kil Sik Kwon, Sun O. Slusher, Britney Dumas and Ockita Dale
Landon Virata
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