A Simple Request for Help From a Woman on Drew Street

The mail brings many cries for help, most of them too broad or remote to answer.

There was the man from Soviet Armenia who wanted an American doctor to treat his two daughters for a degenerative--though not clearly specified--ailment. Another time, a man from Burbank was preparing a manuscript on the myth about California falling into the ocean. “Need history on this subject,” he demanded.

Each request, in its way, was unapproachable, like so many others.

Recently, the mail produced a rarity: a plea so modest and precise that it couldn’t be put aside.

It came on two small sheets of lined paper, cut--not ripped--from a spiral binder. The handwriting was formal, strong, easy to read.

“My name is Marina C. Bonilla--68 years old--American Citizen (Nationalization). Working as Building Manager at: 3337 Drew St. 1 (53 units). I looking for help.”

You only needed to know Drew Street by reputation to imagine the woman’s plight. Her neighborhood is a small grid of streets surrounded by the high green wall of Forest Lawn on the north and the back lots of San Fernando Road industries on the south and west.

Along these streets stand gaunt apartment buildings--not especially old, but gaunt by design. In the front yards, groups of idle men drink beer amid the litter of broken glass and automotive parts.

But the woman’s problem was not urban mayhem. “I need a tutor, as soon is possible,” the letter continued. “I came to United States 21 years ago. I never had time for school. I learning English as second Language--only for myself.”

She must have meant by herself. One usually learns a language to talk to someone else, to make one’s way in the world. Still, her last two paragraphs left open the possibility that self-perfection was the only goal.

“Now I read and understand. I know thousands and thousands of words. Also I finished to read the Bible in English Language.

“Now I want write and speak very well. Now when speak usually speak on present time.”

On the telephone, Bonilla was less effective than in print.

It took a visit to learn why she needed to improve her English.

Her building was a barracks-like affair of one-story wings facing a walkway, similar to a bungalow court of the 1920s but in the cracker-box style of the 1950s, with iron grill doors added later. A drab front yard was enlivened by geraniums potted in three truck tires.

Bonilla’s apartment was sparse, with a few house plants, a statue of Jesus, a photo of a smiling teen-ager on the wall and, on a table, a certificate from a university in New York acknowledging her high school equivalency.

A small, blocky woman with black hair teased into a swirl on her forehead, Bonilla sat stiffly to tell her story.

Seeking a better life, she came from El Salvador in 1970, preceded by two of her three children. She settled first in New York, then came West in 1981. Since 1985, she has been manager of the apartment on Drew Street.

“I make cleaning. I rent apartments and collecting rent,” she said. “It’s very hard, but I am happy because I have my own roof. I never ask for government help. Never.”

The men on the street don’t bother her either.

“I have no problem,” she said.

On the face of it, her English didn’t seem to be a problem at all.

She opened her Bible to an inscription in the back.

“November 4, 1990, 9:20 in the morning I finished to read my Bible in English.”

She read a passage from Ecclesiastes. She also produced a warm letter of recommendation from the Beverly Hills property management firm that employs her. It cited her bilingual skill as an asset.

She can even get through to the building’s Korean owner.

“Very intelligent because he understands my broken English,” she said. “Thank you my God, my boss understand.”

So what was her problem? The picture on the wall.

“My sad story is about my grandchildren,” Bonilla said, breaking almost immediately into tears. “She is 16 years old. She is born with Down syndrome. She’s very neat. She dressing very well. She swimming. She is very quiet.”

She is the daughter of Bonilla’s youngest child who came in 1982, hoping to find the best education for the child.

“I need something special for her,” Bonilla said. “The right school for her. I think someday she will be able for herself. But now she need help.”

One school wanted $700 a month to take her.

“I am very sad because I am thinking maybe her own mother dies. I am die.”

The girl is now in a special program at a public school. It’s helping. But Bonilla believes that there is something better, if she can only learn the English skills to find it over the telephone.

A friend told Bonilla that she could take a night class at Irving Junior High School. She would walk the five blocks, but is reluctant to leave her post any more than necessary. If anything happens, she must be there to translate for the plumber or Fire Department or police.

“My real interest is somebody visit my house,” she said.

So that’s it. A drop-in tutor is all she wants. The rest she’ll handle. Now if I can only find her a tutor, her problem will be solved.