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The Corner

January 29, 2006

This time of year the sun seems to rise directly over Horse Block Road. And this time of year, Andres Perez rises before the sun.

At 5:27 a.m. on a fall Monday, he was the first of more than 100 Mexican day laborers who walked and bicycled to the 7-Eleven at the corner of Horse Block and North Ocean Avenue in search of work.

"The first here is not always the first to find a job," said Perez, a slight man with a soft face and long eyelashes. "But the earlier you come, the better your chances are."

This corner -- and four other spots in the Farmingville area that, at times, attract an additional 100 workers each -- is where it all starts as a tense, and sometimes humorous display of personalities and human barter. For many of those seeking work and those doing the hiring, the corner is an illegal marketplace.

"Al lado, muchachos," "To the side, boys," insists Jesus Gonzalez, a security guard with the company Arrow Security, which was hired by the 7-Eleven's operators to keep the men -- and the contractors and everyday citizens who hire them -- out of the busy parking lot and on patches of landscaping beside the store.

Gonzalez, 44, stands closer to five feet than six, including the crown of his cattleman's hat. But even John Wayne would have a hard time regulating a place where anyone, including the many contractors who live in the area, can buy a danish, a coffee and cheap labor at one stop.

"They came to make a living," he says of the workers. He recalls a recent incident where a woman who wasn't from the area responded to a worker's wave by waving back. Returning that gesture signals to the men that a motorist is hiring a worker for the day, and her car was soon swarmed by a tableau of anxious faces peering into her windows.

"She ran into the store crying," Gonzalez says shaking his head. "She thought they were going to rob her."

Gonzalez watches the men get picked up in a variety of ways, about three-quarters of the time a pre-arranged deal with contractors, homeowners, or other people in need of workers. Most of the bosses hired the men previously and instructed them to meet at the corner for another pickup that often turns into a daily routine.

A contractor pulls into the 7-Eleven parking lot and parks his truck. The worker walks to his side and offers a greeting. The two go to the store to pick up a cup of coffee and hop into the truck together like old friends.

Those doing the hiring range from millionaire business owners to residents who need help on a home improvement project.

Those hired are "Chilangos," a sometimes pejorative term for Mexico City natives, who speak Spanish with a distinct singing cadence. Others are from the central state of Hidalgo, where Perez's hometown and many like it are greatly benefiting through Farmingville remittances wired home from small check-cashing offices that now dot the hamlet.

From 7:30 a.m. to 8 a.m. on this day in October, the workers have grown to 500 across the hamlet. By 2:30 p.m., many have found work. On average, the men say they find a job twice or three times a week, though they commonly seek it at the corners six days a week.

"In Los Angeles you are paid 80 dollars for 10 hours of work," said Rofelio Cruz, 38, as his eyes darted around the parking lot looking for familiar faces of contractors and other day workers. "Here, you can earn up to $120 for the same shift, but the trade-off will be a harder life because you are not welcome in this part of the United States."

Many workers say $100 a day is the average pay for day laborers in Farmingville.

This morning, as they often do, Tammy Schmidt, 25, of Rocky Point and Jeanne Costello, 42, of Port Jefferson Station have come to the 7-Eleven to share a cup of coffee and conversation.

"This may sound bad," Schmidt said, sitting on the tailgate of the pickup in which the two arrived. "But what it's like is a flock of seagulls. You know how you throw bread on the ground? That's what it's like when the workers rush the cars."

José Arón, 18, who came to Farmingville six months ago from the Mexico City suburb of Naucalpan, played a game of "Rayveela," or pitching coins, to pass the hurry up and wait with other baby-faced young men.

When asked if his family thought he was too young to be so far from home, he said, "They know I needed to come here to make a living."

A contractor approached and called for able bodies. Arón stopped playing the boy's game and joined men eagerly seeking work.