Washington Post journalists discover a resilient American spirit thrives despite the recession

Washington Post journalists Theresa Vargas and Michael
Williamson in Colorado.  (All photos by: Dean Rotbart)

No one in the country, not the President, not Congress, not even other veteran journalists know our current recession and the impact it is having on average Americans as well as Theresa Vargas and Michael Williamson.

The two Washington Post journalists set out at the end of May on a reporting and photographic odyssey that has taken them the length and breadth of mainland America.  Along the tens of thousands of miles of interstate highways, Main Streets and dusty back roads, they’ve met those clinging to the bottom rung of the ladder; those whose lives and priorities have been reshaped by this recession; and those who have danced unscathed through these economic shoals.

Most importantly, Vargas and Williamson have rediscovered the resilience and indomitable spirit of Americans – the vast majority of whom still look first and foremost to themselves to cope with life’s hardships and challenge each obstacle with a can-do spirit.

Anyone with a sincere curiosity about the state of the American people as we begin to close out the first decade of the 21st Century should ride along with Vargas and Williamson.

The journalists have made our passage through America possible by documenting their urban and rural journeys meticulously, not only describing what they witnessed through their windshield, camera lens and reporters eyes, but also what they’ve come to see and know of themselves as a result of their assignment.

"Williamson's are the eyes of the duo"

Vargas is the narrator of Half a Tank: Along Recession Road, a summer-long feature that the Washington Post assigned to her and colleague Williamson.  Otherwise tethered to the paper’s Metro desk, Vargas, 31, met her “co-pilot” Williamson, 52, a two-time Pulitzer Prize winning photographer, for the first time when they were tasked with chronicling the impact of the recession on America and Americans.

Williamson’s are the eyes of the duo.  A self-taught photojournalist from the age of 18, he has snapped more than 100,000 frames of faces, places and mood shots on this assignment alone, revealing in images those emotions and insights that words alone cannot adequately convey.  

I caught up with Vargas and Williamson on their second tour through Colorado, sitting down for a long lunch during which the two shared with me highlights of their trip to date as well as the life and journalism lessons they’ve acquired along the way.

The odometer on this rental car reads 25,328 miles.  Over the past two weeks they’ve clocked many of those digits.  This white, four-door sedan is just the latest in a series of vehicles they’ve called home since setting forth from the D.C. suburbs more than ten weeks ago with the charge of finding “images and stories of people whose lives have been altered by a flattened economy.” 

Road Souvenirs: The floormat in the car driven by
Washington Post journalists Vargas and Williamson.

The car’s driver-side floor mat is rich in food crumbs, scattered candies and gravel that pretty succinctly sums up life on the road: long, gritty and very reliant on fast food and snacks.  Williamson drives the entire way, while Vargas consults the on-board GPS navigator and phones ahead to set up interviews, accommodations, and coordination with their editor back in D.C.  

Not once during the entire journey do the two click on the car radio.  There is too much to do, too much to discuss and too much to think about for any such distraction.
 

Monday, June 1, 2009: Paper Cups and Swarovski Crystals

Theresa and Michael have a full tank of gas. It is their first official stop on their journey.  They happen upon Robert Crawley, a panhandler working a Georgetown, Virginia sidewalk. 

“It’s a bad day,” the 67-year-old said.  “People are tight because they scared they won’t have no job.  I used to come out here and get $15 easy.  Now you can sit here all day and not get $25.”

Across the street from where Crawley reveals that he has 97 cents in his paper cup and $2 in his pocket, Theresa and Michael tour the $12,500 a night Royal Suite at the Four Seasons hotel.  The suite has remained steadily booked since it opened in time for the inauguration of President Barak Obama, the general manager tells the journalists.

Walk inside and it’s clear the economy has not chiseled away at some comforts.  Elaborate fixture made of Swarovski crystals hang in several rooms, windows are made of bullet-proof glass and the light switches don’t just turn on and off but are labeled “bright, “entertain, “romantic” and “evening.”  Even the chocolates are beautiful, wrapped in paper displaying art from the hotel’s collection.

Thursday, June 4, 2009:  On the Line In New River Valley

The Volvo plant in New River Valley produces Mack and Volvo trucks.  It had abut 3,200 employees at its peak in 2006.  It now provides jobs to 1,200.

Michael and I walked along the property's 1.6 million square feet–-passing men and women who were welding, assembling and inspecting, all mostly by hand --and we did not find the hopeless, fearful workforce one might expect where jobs are anything but stable.

Instead, people spoke about the new environmental initiatives at the plant – moves that would have been more difficult if production weren't at a lull.

Friday, June 12, 2009: In Union, A Choice Between Baby And Car

At the Farmers’ Day parade in Union, West Virginia.

It’s hard to tell if Union has been slapped more softly by the recession or if its residents are just able to grin and bear it more than elsewhere. Are they injured cowboys downplaying the pain? Or have they benefited from living in the same place their grandfathers did, inheriting not only the house but lessons learned during the Depression?

Tuesday, June 16, 2009:  Laid Off, Maybe, but Still Ready to Rumble

While most of the stories and photos that Vargas and Williamson produce are published exclusively online at www.washingtonpost.com, today the work of the two journalists is showcased on the front page of the newspaper’s print edition.

Vargas’s feature begins with a look at 36-year-old Troy Long, who was let go a year earlier from the Volvo truck plant where the journalists visited last week.  With a 3-year-old son, Long now is working for one-third of his former wage on the line at a fish food factory and spending his weekends in spandex, wrestling under the stage persona, "Sgt. Long".

If most people, spectators and wrestlers alike, were in that school gym last Saturday night despite the economy, Long was there because of it. He is among those victims of the recession who are succeeding mostly because they've changed their definition of success. He remains a long shot to make it in a wrestling world, with its tiny celebrity stratosphere and a wide mat full of wannabes, but he is a satisfied man.

"In reality, the economy tanking really turned my whole life around," Long said. "It got me living my dream full time. It cost me some things, but it's given me more."

While the idea for the Half a Tank project originated with Bonnie Jo Mount, the Post’s photo editor, it is Marc Fisher, recently named Enterprise Editor for both the print and online editions of the paper, who is responsible for the project on a day-to-day basis.  This is the first such major project for Fisher, who previously was a popular columnist for the Post.

Friday, June 19, 2009:  A Country Song from Nashville

Of the hundreds, perhaps even thousands, of folks Vargas and Williamson have spoken with along their recession ride, John El is one character who stands out in both their memories.

Living in a tent city in Nashville, Tenn., the 62-year-old El is a name dropper:  Elvis, Neil Diamond, Cher and others who he claims to have known, even once had some of their home phone numbers.  

Vargas describes El as 5-foot-10 and withered down to 120 pounds.

When I last saw El, he handed me a business card. It was printed on thin computer paper. “First Choice Music,” it said at the top, followed by “John El, President and CEO.”

He also gave me the lyrics to three songs he had written and a letter addressed from Pat Boone Enterprises verifying he’s an “artist and songwriter of sincere interest and earnest quality.” (I considered, but did not confirm its validity, mostly because I didn’t want to know. Does it matter?)

Monday, June 22, 2009: An S.O.S. Along the Road & A Reporter’s New Role

When we met J.D. in the woods in Woodbridge, half naked and suffering from liver failure, he told Michael he didn't mind having his photo taken but had one request: Could he use one for his obit?

Wednesday, July 1, 2009:  The Cards Tell Truths In Tallahassee

Dolly Ephraim is a psychic who ministers to the unemployed and recession weary from her home/business in Tallahassee, Fla.

The world as seen from her dining room is one where a Starbucks across the street opened and closed in less than a year and a half and where the emptying mall nearby causes Ephraim to worry about her own business. The college students who regularly visited or booked her for events are now unable to afford even her discounted prices, she said. She charges most people $20 a reading, but students pay only $10. At those prices, she really can't earn a living, but Ephraim said she keeps her doors open because she has a gift she enjoys sharing – and one that seems more needed nowadays.

"Some people have been shut down so many times, that they give up," she said. "As a psychic, or call it whatever, I’m a spiritualist, I’m a minister. I always tell people, ‘Keep your faith strong because that’s the best thing you can do.’”

Wednesday, July 8, 2009:  Can-Do Spirit in New Orleans

NEW ORLEANS--Down a street of homes with plywood patches, in a bedroom of a house that was once a home, sits Ernest Hammond’s hurricane recovery plan.

Cans. Thousands of them. Soda cans and beer cans. Cans piled on the floor and cans squeezed into large plastic bags. Cans that have been crushed and cans that will soon be.

“I do them like this,” said Hammond, 70. He lined up a few cans on the floor, grabbed a sledgehammer and let it drop, crushing the cans one-by-one until all that remained was a pile of small disks. “That’s all you do. Yes, indeed.”

Friday, July 10, 2009:  Running On Empty In The Big Easy

Vargas’s and Williamson’s series for WashingtonPost.com is titled “Half a Tank.”  But today, as Vargas recounts, their own gas gauge reached empty as they stalled out just after crossing the St. Claude Avenue Bridge.

Momentum propelled us a few feet forward, but then Michael jumped out to push the car toward the left-hand turn lane. I joined him a minute later. We pushed it through a red light, outpacing oncoming traffic and we were struggling down Portland Avenue when four teenagers jumped up from a nearby stoop to help us. Together, we steered the powerless vehicle to a stop in a cut in the middle of the road.

As of August 24th, the two journalists have avoided traffic tickets.

Friday, July 24, 2009:  Breakdown On A Texas Highway

One of the characteristics of writing a web-based series such as Half a Tank is that online readers are free to comment.  And comment they have, by the hundreds, as Vargas and Williamson have rolled down the many highways along their reporting route.

Sometimes, as was the case with this posting, Vargas’s and Williamson’s story subjects themselves post comments in response to the journalists.  

In this instance, the online comments come from Deborah Becker, an Austin nurse.  She and Sean Montgomery were headed home along I-35 near Covington, Texas when their 2006 Forenza broke down.  The couple was hiking along the side of the highway, carrying their belongings, when Vargas and Williamson gave them a lift.  Wrote Becker:

Sean said something in the interview that I wish had appeared in print: We don't see ourselves as recession-proof; we are only recession-resistant. Despite being a nurse, and all the talk of a nursing shortage, I am being sent home early every week so that the hospital can save money. We have family and friends now out on strike, and their strike pay is less than unemployment.

We help support other family members. These other obligations prevent us from buying another car this year. We are not victims; we are volunteers. And we laugh because none of this is the worst that has happened, or could happen, or probably will eventually happen to any of us.

We appreciate Theresa and Michael. They were so funny and kind. They even offered to drive us all the way back to Austin, on their way to San Antonio. Isn't that amazing?

Thursday, July 30, 2009:  Bargain-Hunting Aboard The Foreclosure Express

Vargas and Williamson cross paths in Las Vegas with Barbara and Marshall Zucker, realtors who purchased a 26-passenger bus about a year and a half ago and now use it to give tours to those interested in investing in foreclosed properties.  Barbara Zucker is quoted:

“When it first happened, it was not uncommon to find a home that been destroyed by frustrated homeowners." But now it’s more common to find houses left in beautiful condition by families who just walked away. “It’s almost like everyone has become drones…It’s almost like they’ve gotten to a point of acceptance.”

The Zuckers are just a few of the many on the Post’s recession trail who are adapting and even profiting from the hardships – and opportunities – that abound.

Thursday, August 13, 2009:  In Imperial Valley, Home Alone

The house that Vargas and Williamson spot in The Lucky Ranch subdivision stands out as the sole survivor of an economic maelstrom.  In it reside the Gomez family, a husband, wife and three children.  They moved into the development at the end of 2007, expecting to soon have about 300 other families follow along.

But the Imperial Valley, California subdivision developer filed for bankruptcy and except for a few now-vandalized show homes, the developer never erected so much as a street sign after the Gomezes purchased their house for $220,000.  The home is now worth roughly $130,000, binding the family to a modern ghost town.

On an unfinished street in an unfinished neighborhood lies a family’s unfinished dream.

Monday, August 17, 2009:  A (Borrowed) Room With A View

As the summer and the road trip begin to wind down, Vargas and Williamson arrive in Colorado. The two journalists plan to keep writing and shooting photos until September 15th.  

In Silverthorne, the journalists encounter 36-year-old Anita Prins at the Elks Lodge which is hosting a “Free Community Dinner,” as advertised in the local paper.  Down on her own luck, Prins nonetheless works as a volunteer to help serve other Coloradoans in need.

"I have nothing," [Anita] said. That means no cell phone, no car. The website she created for her business will expire in a few days. She said she has also lost friends who didn’t know how to deal with her or her new circumstances.

"What did you want them to say?" I asked.

“We’re here, I love you, I’m thinking of you,” she said. “People believe they need to fix it and they need to say or do the perfect thing. All a human being needs is a touch or a very simple token of sharing love.”

Instead of asking how the job hunt was going, she said, they could have tried to understand the subtleties of what she was going through – how it feels to go from "being fashionable to now putting on the same clothes everyday," or how it hurts to not only lose one's place as a professional but to not be able to keep even a low-paying job. She had a position as a waitress, but was let go after three weeks without explanation.

“When I was graduating high school, my goal was not to be single and unemployed and homeless at 36,” she said.

Tuesday, August 18, 2009:  Below The Surface in Colorado

Reporting from Paonia, Colorado, Vargas notes that she and Michael have clearly arrived in coal country, “an area of Colorado where the miner sits high on the financial totem pole.”

The workers the journalists meet worry about possible layoffs, but for now they report daily to their underground, dust-covered jobs, as did many of their fathers and even grandfathers.

“They all think we’re some kind of hick coal miners,” said Ken Smith, 49.  “But this is one of the most highly skilled industrial workforces in the nation.”

Seven of Williamson’s masterful photographs run along with Vargas’s narrative.  He chooses to run them in black-and-white, a metaphor perhaps for the sharp contrasts that are part and parcel of these people’s lives: clean and dirty; above ground and below; young and old; secure and insecure.

One photo is a portrait of Billie Ungaro, an 81-year-old coal miner’s daughter whose wrinkled face is as roughcast as the mines of Paonia and nearby Somerset.  Williamson’s facial shot of bearded coal miner Bob Vader, who abandoned his career as a cabinet maker two years ago to take up mining, could well have been ripped from the pages of The Americans, the classic 1958 photographic book by Robert Frank.

Not coincidentally, it was an exhibit of Frank’s photographs that inspired Bonnie Jo Mount, Williamson’s photo editor at The Washington Post, to suggest a photographic journey across America in the first place.  Once the project gained momentum, the Post’s editors decided to send along a reporter to chronicle in words what Williamson was capturing in digital imagery.

Monday, August 24, 2009:  Turning the Tables on Vargas and Williamson

Emil-Lenes Sirloin House wasn’t a planned stop on Theresa Vargas’s and Michael Williamson’s itinerary, but like its Colorado-raised beef, the restaurant on the remote outskirts of Denver International Airport is a slice of Americana.

Off the beaten road – in fact off even all paved roads, Emil-Lenes is a throwback to roadside restaurants from the 1940s and 1950s.  Housed in what looks like an overgrown mobile home with aluminum siding, the lot leading to Emil-Lenes features two vintage covered wagons, a chuck wagon, and a massive silver diner’s bell.  

Today, I turn the tables on Vargas and Williamson, interviewing and photographing them as they regale me with tales from the road.  The idea to meet at Emil-Lenes was mine.

Vargas shows a great deal of deference to Williamson, who after all has been with The Washington Post since 1993 and photographed everyone and everything from Presidents and foreign dignitaries to crack addicts and prostitutes.  His tours of duty have included Rawanda, Nicaragua, El Salvador, war-ravaged Kosovo and the explosive neighborhoods of Gaza.

The two look a lot alike their “mug shots” that the Post has incorporated into the Half a Tank masthead.   Instead of the bold blue fedora that Williamson doffs in his official photo, today he is sporting a gray fedora.  He began wearing hats years back after being treated for skin cancer and now attires himself in a hat even indoors, he explains, “because I have hat hair.”

I think to myself that Williamson’s hat has become his hallmark.

Vargas has a radiant smile and quizzical brown eyes.  She was first attracted to journalism in high school, where she describes herself as an uninspired student who was failing English.  After a journalism teacher, “Mr. Brown,” recognized her potential and encouraged her, she came to view journalism as a realistic career choice.

Vargas came to the Post in 2006 after taking one the last four buyouts being offered by Newsday, the Long Island daily newspaper, where she had reported for four years.  “At that point, they were like, ‘Anybody that can go, please go,’" she recalls.

Their own careers and abilities to cope with economic hardship are never far from their minds, both journalists allow.  Even as they stay in cheap motels (always separate rooms) and scarf down low-cost meals – part of their pledge to reign in expenses – both Vargas and Williamson realize how lucky they are to even have jobs.

“We are very conscious that the recession is affecting us and affecting our industry,” Vargas says, noting that since they’ve set out on their journey more than 100 Post employees have taken buyouts.  “So we go back and there are empty desks.  The place is just not going to look like it was before.”

Both Vargas and Williamson say they’ve been inspired by the ability of so many of those who they’ve met to meet life’s challenges and rediscover and reinvent themselves in the face of hardships.

Vargas plans to marry in January 2010 and says that while she hopes to remain in journalism, “I’m very aware that I may have to reinvent myself” – a process she has witnessed repeatedly on this trip.  “I’m not afraid [of it],” she says.

Williamson, a divorced dad with two pre-teen daughters, says he has never been without a contingency plan since childhood, when he was bounced from foster home to foster home. “I keep all plates spinning on those little sticks,” he says of the alternative job opportunities that periodically present themselves.  His own life experience, he adds, has taught him “to pray for the best and expect [and prepare for] the worst.”

All the other lunch guests at Emil-Lenes have long since departed as Vargas, Williamson and I head to the parking lot for a few parting photos.  

Though I’m not sure either Vargas or Williamson fully realize it, they too are worthy editorial fodder for their own tale of how the recession has altered the lives of everyday Americans.

Both Vargas and Williamson are different people now than they were just a few short weeks ago.  While the personal and professional paths that await them are unknown, there is no doubt in my mind that their reporting journey has given them a fresh and lasting impression of an America where there may only be Half a Tank – but it remains one that is unwaveringly half full.