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Mario Huerta, who teaches English at the Center for Communicative Development in Koreatown, has been working for half pay. He's feeling the financial strain, he said, but "I'm willing to give up a check to keep this school open." (Mark Boster / Los Angeles Times / November 3, 2009) |
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None of them know sign language.
But the value of a Koreatown rehabilitation center for the deaf came through loud and clear to the three short-term "temps" when they were sent there by their agency to do clerical office work. Now they are fighting to save the center.
Those enrolled in daily classes at the Center for Communicative Development have spent their lives in silent illiteracy and isolation. Most are from countries that do not provide a formal education to those who cannot hear -- and who have never spoken.
The center was created nearly 45 years ago by Virginia McKinney, whose life was turned upside down when she suddenly lost her hearing from an allergic reaction to a flu vaccine. Now 84, she still directs the nonprofit school.
A "case service" contract with the state's Department of Rehabilitation normally provides about half of the center's approximately $550,000 yearly budget. Grants and donations have made up the rest.
Donations have dried up in the recession, however. And the state's financial crisis has hammered the Wilshire Boulevard school as Sacramento officials delayed payments to vendors, including McKinney.
Salaries for the center's four instructors and two aides who teach American Sign Language and literacy skills and for other employees were cut in half. In late summer, several staff members quit.
That's when temporary workers Margie Rosales, Juan Alvarado, Mildred Guerra and Leslie Pogue were sent to fill in.
At first it seemed like it might be another brief tour of duty in one more faceless, anonymous office for the temps. For a time, they were the ones who felt isolated.
They couldn't communicate with the center's students. Initially, they struggled to make themselves understood by the hearing-impaired members of the teaching staff who rely on lip reading. And then there was the boss.
McKinney is something of a legend in deaf rehabilitation circles. Still crusty and hard-charging, she has been slowed by recent strokes that have compounded a decades-long struggle with a neuromuscular disorder, myasthenia gravis.
"She's old and she's a little hard to work for," Rosales said. "You have to be patient. You find she is really nice. You see that what she is doing for people is brilliant."
And that's why three of the temps were still on the job this week, working without pay, after their agency canceled its contract with the center because of the financial crunch.
"We can't turn our back on these students," said Alvarado, who acknowledged that the job "started out just as another assignment for me. I'd never been around the disabled."
Guerra said their temporary agency had extended the center's credit well beyond what is normal before pulling out. McKinney was two months behind on her payments to the agency, she said.
"What we're doing goes against our temp company's rules. It could jeopardize our jobs," said Guerra, who asked that the agency not be named. "We're still here."
The three say Pogue, who lives in the Antelope Valley, had to quit this week because of the cost of gasoline for her commute.
Students and instructors are relieved that the temporary workers -- who handle the center's bookkeeping and other administrative chores -- are hanging in there.
English teacher Mario Huerta said his last full check, for August, arrived in September. Since then, he's received half his usual salary.
"It's a struggle financially," Huerta said, using sign language translated by colleague Bob Hiltermann. "But I'm willing to give up a check to keep this school open."
But the value of a Koreatown rehabilitation center for the deaf came through loud and clear to the three short-term "temps" when they were sent there by their agency to do clerical office work. Now they are fighting to save the center.
Those enrolled in daily classes at the Center for Communicative Development have spent their lives in silent illiteracy and isolation. Most are from countries that do not provide a formal education to those who cannot hear -- and who have never spoken.
The center was created nearly 45 years ago by Virginia McKinney, whose life was turned upside down when she suddenly lost her hearing from an allergic reaction to a flu vaccine. Now 84, she still directs the nonprofit school.
A "case service" contract with the state's Department of Rehabilitation normally provides about half of the center's approximately $550,000 yearly budget. Grants and donations have made up the rest.
Donations have dried up in the recession, however. And the state's financial crisis has hammered the Wilshire Boulevard school as Sacramento officials delayed payments to vendors, including McKinney.
Salaries for the center's four instructors and two aides who teach American Sign Language and literacy skills and for other employees were cut in half. In late summer, several staff members quit.
That's when temporary workers Margie Rosales, Juan Alvarado, Mildred Guerra and Leslie Pogue were sent to fill in.
At first it seemed like it might be another brief tour of duty in one more faceless, anonymous office for the temps. For a time, they were the ones who felt isolated.
They couldn't communicate with the center's students. Initially, they struggled to make themselves understood by the hearing-impaired members of the teaching staff who rely on lip reading. And then there was the boss.
McKinney is something of a legend in deaf rehabilitation circles. Still crusty and hard-charging, she has been slowed by recent strokes that have compounded a decades-long struggle with a neuromuscular disorder, myasthenia gravis.
"She's old and she's a little hard to work for," Rosales said. "You have to be patient. You find she is really nice. You see that what she is doing for people is brilliant."
And that's why three of the temps were still on the job this week, working without pay, after their agency canceled its contract with the center because of the financial crunch.
"We can't turn our back on these students," said Alvarado, who acknowledged that the job "started out just as another assignment for me. I'd never been around the disabled."
Guerra said their temporary agency had extended the center's credit well beyond what is normal before pulling out. McKinney was two months behind on her payments to the agency, she said.
"What we're doing goes against our temp company's rules. It could jeopardize our jobs," said Guerra, who asked that the agency not be named. "We're still here."
The three say Pogue, who lives in the Antelope Valley, had to quit this week because of the cost of gasoline for her commute.
Students and instructors are relieved that the temporary workers -- who handle the center's bookkeeping and other administrative chores -- are hanging in there.
English teacher Mario Huerta said his last full check, for August, arrived in September. Since then, he's received half his usual salary.
"It's a struggle financially," Huerta said, using sign language translated by colleague Bob Hiltermann. "But I'm willing to give up a check to keep this school open."
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