Earthquake: The Long Road Back : FEMA Inspector Knows How It Feels on Other Side : Recovery: After Hurricane Andrew devastated his Key Biscayne condominium, Andres Villalon decided he should help others.

Andres Villalon knows what it’s like to lose nearly everything precious to him.

The first time it happened was in 1960, when he fled Castro’s Cuba with only $10 and a pregnant wife. The second time he lost everything, he says, was when his wife divorced him. But after Hurricane Andrew devastated his Key Biscayne condominium in Florida, he decided he should help others learn what he had learned through distressing experiences--how to overcome personal catastrophe.

So he became an inspector for the Federal Emergency Management Agency.

Armed with a quirky sense of humor that comes from dealing with life’s--and nature’s--setbacks, Villalon is part of an unusual corps of 800 inspectors taking damage reports from victims of the Northridge earthquake.

“I feel like I have done a good job if I can get my applicant to smile,” said the 56-year-old Villalon, who wears an “I Survived Hurricane Andrew” T-shirt as he surveys damaged buildings. “You have to bring a little levity in. You cannot be all business.”

“You have to be pretty strange to be an inspector,” added inspector Don Walters of Missouri, Villalon’s roommate at a Panorama City apartment. “We had one inspector who has a dog and two mountain lions that he took with him everywhere in Missouri.”

This combination of eccentricity and patience seems to be a job qualification for a FEMA inspector. Eighteen-hour work days, irate and dishonest aid applicants, and being away from family for months at a time are all part of the job.

And unlike last year’s Midwest floods and Hurricane Andrew, which Villalon and Walters both worked, the Northridge earthquake has created a unique on-the-job stress for inspectors. This is the first time many have had to actually share the terror that disaster victims felt--in the form of aftershocks.

“In a hurricane, you just huddle in the bathtub and, whoosh, the house flies away above you, and maybe you get a little wet,” said Villalon, a general contractor who works for FEMA on request during major disasters. “Here, it’s shaky-quaky all the time.”

Not that he has much time to worry about aftershocks. For Villalon, the day begins at 5 a.m.

A quick check of his portable computer in his apartment, which resembles an FBI manhunt operation with maps and cellular phones, gives him the address of his next destination. So far, he has visited about 125 residences in Sylmar, San Fernando, Woodland Hills and Mission Hills since leaving Miami a day after the Jan. 17 quake.

One afternoon last week his destination was Woodland Hills, where he met a pensive, 82-year-old Edythe Yakerson and her husband, Abe, in their third-story apartment. Storage boxes and paper plates immediately indicated that the renters--who relied on Social Security--suffered losses in the temblor.

“We’re not asking for much,” Edythe told Villalon as he recorded damage to the television, bookcase, dishware and other items. “We just want to get a few things replaced. We don’t have any money for new stuff and can’t afford a loan.”

“I am from Miami. I went through the hurricane,” Villalon told her. The hurricane left $45,000 in damage. “So I know what you are going through.”

The Yakersons nodded sympathetically and seemed to relax as Villalon went on. “This is my brief explanation,” he said. “FEMA and the Small Business Administration work together. In fact, they’re cousins. And they have the same uncle--Uncle Sam. If you qualify for a loan, SBA can give you a loan. If you don’t, FEMA will give you money if you qualify.”

The Yakersons seemed content with this explanation--and the 10-day waiting period for an answer--but Villalon said some applicants are less forgiving. And the belligerent ones, he said, are usually the dishonest ones.

One sign of a dishonest applicant is failure to produce a utility bill, he said. Another sign is demanding to know the amount of their award (which FEMA inspectors have no control over). During the Hurricane Andrew relief effort, one suspicious applicant generated an angry mob when Villalon questioned his aid application, forcing Villalon to flag down a passing patrol car for help.

In Sylmar, Villalon said a man threatened to sic his dog on him during an inspection.

“This is typical of a guy committing fraud,” Villalon said. “They think they can scare you into giving them benefits.”

Not surprisingly, experience has prompted Villalon to program 911 into the direct dial of his cellular phone. The phone--provided by the government--also allows applicants to reach him anytime, speeding up the appointment process.

Unfortunately, this means there are fewer times to relax. Even dinner breaks are no escape.

At a steakhouse in North Hills, Villalon and Walters found themselves answering questions between hastily downed cups of coffee from a waitress whose mobile home was destroyed. An anxious couple at a nearby table glared at the men, easily identified by their FEMA hats and jackets.

“I want to know why you haven’t been to my house yet,” the blond woman shouted across the room.

Villalon simply asked what area she lived in, told her someone would be out there soon, and turned his cap around, hiding the letters FEMA .

Despite such ungrateful demands as living out of a suitcase in a motel room or rented apartment, and isolation from his second wife and two grown sons, Villalon said there is no other place he would rather spend the next several months.

“The first disaster is excitement, it’s a challenge,” Villalon said. “After the second disaster, I started thinking--it’s not excitement. What the hell’s exciting about being 3,000 miles away from my wife?

“Well, I started thinking. I like this. I don’t do it for the money. If I’m able to lift somebody out of their misery, I feel good.”

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