Back in the Barrio, One Man Finds a New Bottom Line : GEORGE RAMOS

Louis Barajas has proved author Thomas Wolfe wrong. You can go home again.

The 32-year-old tax and financial consultant was uncomfortable with a secure, well-paying job in Newport Beach that came with a nicely appointed office and a view of the Pacific and the benefits of handling the financial portfolios of some of Orange County’s wealthy and powerful. He wanted to come back to his old neighborhood in East L.A. and help the working-class folks he grew up with.

After long thought and with the blessing of his attorney-wife, he gleefully chucked the corporate job two years ago and set up shop in an office above a Mexican seafood restaurant on Whittier Boulevard. He put up a handwritten sign announcing that he was open for business.

When I caught up with him the other day, he was in a blizzard of income tax paperwork, struggling to make ends meet. He’s averaging between 60 and 80 hours a week, charging much less in most instances than he did in Orange County, and it shows. He hasn’t turned a profit yet.

But he’s never been happier in his life.

“I’m so happy doing what I’m doing,” he says, “I wouldn’t trade this for anything else in the world.”

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When I learned of Barajas’ bold move, I had the same reaction as some of my friends, Chicano professionals who grow up in the barrio and then think of going home.

“It’s a great idea but I’m too afraid to try,” one friend says. “I won’t make enough money to survive.”

Those with growing families dismiss such dreaming easily.

In the end, we concluded that the only real pull for us to go home was a feeling of guilt that we had done well and should be giving something back. We are proud of our achievements but also a little embarrassed that we made it out of the barrio, leaving old friends and familiar ways behind.

So, anxious to make amends, we think of going home. If we can’t, we get involved in community-based groups as a way of giving back.

In Barajas’ case, there was no guilt. There was no fear of being a financial failure back home. There was no need to be in the faster-paced outside world.

“People look at what I did,” he says, “and tell me: ‘What are you doing in East L.A.?’ They say it like a joke but they aren’t really joking. But this is where I am from.”

Since he came home in January, 1992, Barajas, according to many, has been making a difference.

He’s introduced a new way of thinking to the old neighborhood: he talks of mutual funds, of setting aside money for retirement, of making plans for their children to go to college.

“I never heard of mutual funds,” says one Barajas customer in Spanish. “He explained it to me and said many people invest money in such things. Well, I’m now into these funds.”

Barajas, who has a bachelor’s degree in sociology from UCLA and an MBA from the Claremont Graduate School, pores over income tax returns with the idea that the taxpayer, regardless of the annual pay involved, can save around $5,000 a year.

“When I prepare a tax return, I just don’t see a taxpayer as having two or three dependents,” he says. “I see a man with a wife and maybe with two kids. They ought to be saving for those two kids.”

Some of Barajas’ best work, he admits, has nothing to do with money. He refers people who walk in off the street looking for a helping hand with a legal, medical or political problem.

“I may not be able to help them right away,” he says, “but I’ll eventually find someone who can.”

Sometimes he meets resistance. For example, some potential customers won’t come to him for income tax work because he refuses to guarantee refunds in 24 hours as others do in the neighborhood.

“My father asks why I don’t do it, because he thinks it’s a good thing,” Barajas sighs, shaking his head.

He patiently explains that the so-called 24-hour refund really isn’t one. It’s a losing proposition because it’s a loan for the amount of the refund that includes interest and a service charge to process the loan, he says.

He didn’t come back to the barrio to rip it off.

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Like my fearful friends, I’m glad Barajas wasn’t scared off. He’s got the guts to do what some of us dream about but won’t follow through on.

In the two years since he’s been home, his persistence is paying off. He’s talked another Latino from Orange County, certified public accountant Bill Torres, into joining him on Whittier Boulevard. He has garnered the area’s respect and, in the process, new clients, including East L.A. boxer and Olympic gold medalist Oscar De La Hoya.

“The thing is,” Barajas says, “you have to dream. This is my dream and I’m the guy to do it.”