n increasing numbers, Hispanic immigrants are putting down roots in the Roanoke Valley. They're pouring concrete, opening hair salons and filling classrooms. Some employers, meanwhile, are attributing their success to this new labor pool. In this occasional series, The Roanoke Times explores the local impact of the national debate about immigration.
During a busy Friday night dinner waiter Jesus Malaga serves an armload of food to their Anglo customers. Malaga came to America four years ago from Mexico and, like many Mexican immigrants in Roanoke, first landed a job at El Rodeo.
Nothing to lose
Photo gallery
Leonardo observes as Hispanic parents and children celebrate a baptism in Roanoke. ''It’s hard,'' he says of being around families since he has been away from his own for more than four years.At the DMV, the same clerk from the morning looks at Leonardo’s receipts from the courthouse and checks his driving records on a computer.
Will it show that he paid his tickets? He’s not sure, not after his string of bad luck. The week began badly when the man Leonardo paid $650 for license plates showed up at his apartment Sunday with only $80 — and no plates.
He said it couldn’t be done, then left.
Next, Leonardo visited a woman, another immigrant who came to Roanoke from Houston. She said she got it all — the driver’s license, the car insurance and a city sticker — from a guy named Miguel who lives in Rocky Mount. She called Miguel and he said he could help Leonardo for $500.
Not again, Leonardo thought. That’s when he seriously began considering what seemed like a risky trip to the DMV.
What did he have to lose? He needed to work. Still, when he first arrived in Roanoke it took him a year and a half to feel comfortable enough to shop at Wal-Mart.
The clerk looks at Leonardo and says his driving records check out.
All paid. No holds.
All that’s left is to pay a reinstatement fee of $85 to restore Leonardo’s driving privileges and about $60 for a pair of license plates.
Leonardo pulls out his white envelope and takes out eight $20 bills.
The clerk disappears and comes back with a pair of license plates.
Leonardo’s journey for the plates is almost over. He is leaving the DMV and looks at the vanity plates on the wall. Maybe, next time.
A few hours later, Leonardo is in his apartment’s parking lot with a screwdriver.
He has license plates but still, no driver’s license. Maybe, next time, he thinks. If the laws change.
He screws in the plates between plastic covers and stands back, admiring them.
The license plates will expire in 2008.
He hopes to be home by then.
Recent comments
Share your thoughtsRead all comments