Last October, with the kids grown, their house paid off and a few bucks in the bank, Kathy and Herb Myers set in motion the economic plan that would propel them to retirement.
They bought a modest ranch home on a cul-de-sac in southeast Aurora and took on another mortgage — albeit a small one — largely because the convenient workshop just off the den dovetailed with 56-year-old Herb’s passion: the woodworking that would launch his second career.
He quit his auto-repair job and sank some retirement money into a small business crafting wooden cremation urns. Kathy, also 56, had already finished classes to earn certification as a nursing assistant.
Finding a job to cover the mortgage seemed only a matter of time.
She never counted on an employment drought that would drag on for two years and counting. Kathy estimates she’s filled out about 400 applications that have yielded two interviews and no work, only a lingering fear that her age scares away potential employers.
As the effects of recession linger along the Front Range, the ranks of the jobless have added another layer: the long-term unemployed.
The number of Coloradans collecting regular or extended employment benefits doubled between January 2009 and January 2010 to 148,101, according to the Colorado Department of Labor and Employment. The number has stayed close to that through March.
But since January 2009, the number getting extended benefits beyond the regular 26 weeks more than tripled to 72,131 in March, according to the department.
Over the past year and a half, Congress has extended unemployment benefits three times, allowing the jobless to collect for up to 86 weeks.
But it’s not just about the money.
The Myerses don’t live on the brink of economic desperation, but Kathy’s difficulty finding work has drastically changed not just their financial outlook but the can-do attitude she once brought to the workplace.
“The worst part,” said Herb, who went back to his auto-repair job, “is seeing the change in her. She always had the attitude that there was nothing she couldn’t do. But I think being out of work has killed her self-esteem.”
“I clean the house and do laundry, but I don’t make a difference to anybody anymore, outside of Herb,” Kathy said. “You lose faith in yourself. Society loses faith in you, and you start to believe it. That’s an ugly thing.”
It’s not pretty in “the 1-3,” the Myerses’ 80013 ZIP code that’s second-hardest-hit along the Front Range for unemployment claims. The situation doesn’t look much better in 80229 to the north, a swath of Thornton and unincorporated Adams County that ranks third.
Both have about 1,000 workers who have accessed extended benefits.
But even those areas can’t match the economic futility that plagues a patch of southwest Denver covering neighborhoods as diverse as Harvey Park on the south to Westwood, Barnum West and Valverde moving north. The enclave — 80219 — includes more than 2,200 people subsisting on unemployment.
About half have tapped into extended benefits, reflecting the Front Range trend and putting a statistical measure to the chronic joblessness that besets a Colorado economy straining for a glimpse of recovery.
The three areas feature different landscapes and demographics, yet common threads run through the tales of unemployment. Whether it’s a recent misfortune or a long-term grind, a slide to the economic brink or a setback on the road to retirement, the experience often goes beyond economics to touch relationships, permeate neighborhoods and, on occasion, bring out the best in people.
Last year, Rita and Michael Pugh brought home enough income to consider themselves firmly entrenched in the middle class, living with their youngest son, 13-year-old Jonathan, in a nice condo with tennis courts and a pool.
Two lost jobs and one foreclosure later, they were on the verge of living out of their car. Rita opened the refrigerator one day and found only a half-gallon of milk, some ketchup, mustard and butter and then did something she’d never done before.
She visited a food bank.
“It hurts to see yourself at that level because we’ve never been there before,” said Pugh, whose family of four now shares a tiny apartment off Federal Boulevard. “I looked at my husband and said, ‘How can people live like this?’ “
Sudden poverty came as a shock to Rita, who has a degree in criminal justice and had worked since high school. Extended family did what it could to help, but they had economic issues too.
Finally, the Pughs found housing assistance and landed in a cramped, two-bedroom flat. They get by on Michael’s unemployment benefits and the paycheck of their 21-year-old son, Brad, whose 35 hours a week at a sandwich shop make him the only employed adult in the household.
Traditional roles have been turned upside down and caused familial friction since Brad moved back in with his parents and younger brother.
“It’s hard sometimes,” says Brad, who works the night shift. “Everybody’s stressing about work.”
Not far from their apartment, Spanish-language pop music filled the spacious dining area of Quijote’s Terrace, where a man entered the restaurant looking for Gabriel Godoy — and part-time work as a cook.
Godoy opened the place with his brother just a year ago in a building on Morrison Road that had been vacant for more than a decade. He sees applicants stream in daily. But this time, as luck would have it, the owner needed help to expand Quijote’s hours and catch the late-night crowd.
“What surprises me,” Godoy said of the applicants, “is that they tell me they worked at the same restaurant eight, 10, 15 years and just got laid off. It makes me worry. Even the big chains are letting people go.”
Locals refer to the “invisible homeless,” people who’ve lost homes and moved in with relatives, even in relatively well-off Harvey Park. They note untold numbers of undocumented immigrants — workers who fly under the state’s statistical radar.
Some say the official unemployment numbers only begin to tell the story.
“It’s worse than that,” said Jan Marie Belle, executive director of the SouthWest Improvement Council, a nonprofit that serves the area. “To some extent, unemployment benefits are masking the problem.”
One recent Friday morning, needy folks arrived in waves at SWIC’s offices to receive bags of groceries ranging from frozen meals to fresh produce. An assembly line rapidly filled requests with the help of volunteers, including mechanical engineer Tim Lawry, 24, single and out of work six months.
Unemployment benefits have enabled him to take a selective approach to finding a job, instead of jumping at the first, low-paying option that comes along.
“I’m not going to starve,” said Lawry — but he has trimmed his personal budget after burning through savings and selling off some possessions, including the metalworking tools that fueled his hobby.
He cut back on cigarettes because he’d rather eat than smoke. Eating out means a $3 burrito, half of which he saves for the next day’s lunch.
He kept his gym membership, figuring a workout gets him out of the house and fends off depression. He also invited his older brother, who expects to start a job soon, to live with him and share expenses — a typical arrangement on his block.
“That’s how people are coping,” Lawry said. “They take in relatives or roommates.”
Marjorie Cottey and her common- law husband, Steve Ward, stopped by to pick up some food and described a much more dire financial situation after being out of work for more than a year.
“Put it this way: Our rent is $2,000 in the hole,” said Cottey, noting that an understanding landlord has helped them keep a roof over their heads. “It’s not like we’re not looking for work. We just can’t find it.”
An electrician’s apprentice, Cottey said even day-labor pickings have been slim. The day before, she cleaned someone’s van for $20 — gas money for her own vehicle.
Ward, who worked construction before being injured in a 2007 accident, has seen his unemployment benefits expire and finds work only sporadically in a machine shop.
“Every once in a while, we get so beat down we fight about it — but we still stick together,” said Cottey, breaking into a playful grin. “I figure if it ever gets really bad, I can always kill him and eat him.”
The last time the state was hit this hard by unemployment was in the 1980s with the real estate, oil and gas, and savings and loan collapses, said Gary Horvath, managing director for the research division at the Leeds School of Business at the University of Colorado at Boulder.
Back then, the downturn was centered in Colorado, and people left the state to find work.
“With the current recession, there has been no place to hide,” Horvath said.
Overall state figures released last week show Colorado’s unemployment rate of 8 percent in April rose one-tenth of a percent over March, a rise attributed to some workers who’d quit looking for employment now getting back into job-hunting mode.
Unemployment benefits tread a thin line between helping people keep homes and feed families while not discouraging them from seeking new jobs, said Alexandra Hall, chief economist for the state Department of Labor and Employment.
In theory, the use of extended unemployment benefits should help Coloradans avoid foreclosures and bankruptcies. An analysis by The Denver Post shows foreclosures are down in the majority of the metro-area ZIP codes from a year ago.
The exception: Aurora.
Six of the nine Aurora ZIP codes saw a rise in foreclosures — including 80013. These suburban streets wind like spaghetti strands through the commercial grid of South Chambers Road on the west to E-470 on the east, and stretch from roughly East Jewell Avenue on the north to East Quincy Avenue on the south.
Horvath said construction and retail are major employers for Aurora residents, and neither has recovered.
Roy Collier felt that pinch.
The 54-year-old installer of fire sprinklers saw his job disappear more than a year ago, after new construction ground to a halt. He struggled by on unemployment benefits but finally declared bankruptcy.
Collier exhausted his savings, took cash advances on his credit card and even paid a service to renegotiate his mortgage — all in a failed attempt to keep his home, which is now in foreclosure.
After more than 15 years in Aurora, he’s moved to Norwood, on the Western Slope, where he’ll share a place with his son and daughter-in-law and hope to find work.
“You got to keep your head up and a smile on your face,” Collier said. “I’ve seen bad times before. But I haven’t seen it this bad.”
In the midst of 80013, Phil Chipouras offers a timely ministry at All Saints Lutheran Church — and he’s not even the pastor.
A retired career consultant, Chipouras has watched his church’s congregation recede with the economy, as if too embarrassed to show up carrying the stigma of joblessness. The prayer list at Sunday services traditionally includes those who are sick or serving in the military. More and more, it seeks divine intervention for the unemployed.
Chipouras has stepped into that scary void.
“Teaching them skills — that’s easy,” he said. “I spend a lot of the time getting them to believe in themselves and be motivated.”
He conducts breakfast meetings with job seekers. He puts notices in the church bulletin. He stands up during announcements at services, describes an individual’s work skills — no names — and solicits job leads. In June, he plans to start a job-support group for Lutheran churches in the area.
Chipouras, who donates his services, understands the dynamic that threatens to pull folks under — job loss, he notes, mirrors the grieving process. But he’s also upbeat about prospects for those who persevere and approach the job hunt in an organized, energetic way.
“The jobs are there,” Chipouras said. “It’s just a matter of being proactive in identifying companies that make sense to you, instead of reacting to what the market is telling you.”
In the northern suburbs, 80229 covers a virtual zoning grab bag: Newer residential developments meld with long-established trailer parks, meandering streets of brick bungalows, light industrial expanses and even lingering agricultural tracts.
Commercial districts cling to the main thoroughfares as the area dips south from East 104th Avenue. It hugs Interstate 25 on the west and stretches east to Riverdale Road while funneling toward the intersection of I-25 and Interstate 76, carving out a suburban working-class enclave that claims a fair chunk of Thornton and part of unincorporated Adams County.
Like the other ZIP codes hardest hit by the economy, its nearly 2,000 unemployment claims include half on extended benefits — evidence of the recession’s cruel staying power that comes as no revelation to Lilly Queen.
She and her husband, Steve, bought a diner on Washington Street back in December 2008 and have survived bleak times, when the only financially viable option was to open the doors seven days a week.
The difficulty establishing a clientele reflects the troubled climate outside her doors: Lilly has a pile of job applications that grows by three or four each day, though she has had no turnover — zero — since opening the doors of Mama’s Place.
“I’ve seen a lot of forlorn looks,” she said of the job-seekers who pass through the door. “I wish we could help, but at this point I can’t. I’d like to help everybody.”
She already hired a cook who was sleeping behind a Dumpster and even took him into her home as a boarder. The Queens put on a Thanksgiving dinner and clothes drive, then did another charitable turn with a Christmas meal when Steve dressed as Santa and gave toys to the kids.
Wandering over from the cash register, Steve produced an inch-thick stack of tickets. These are the meals he’s allowed cash-strapped customers to “charge” so far in May.
“You know what happens to these,” he said with a chuckle.
Just across Washington Street, on the western edge of a shopping center, the Adams County Workforce and Business Center attracts a steady stream of out-of-work adults seeking job resources, including computers with Internet access.
It’s been almost two years since John Ramirez worked as a truck driver delivering ice to area stores. Even without family of his own to support, he’s had to bank on unemployment — and, at 41, move back into his parents’ home.
He wanders into the Workforce Center two or three times each week. “But I don’t know why I bother going in,” he said. “I’ll probably see the same jobs I saw there the other day.”
Even if he lands an interview, he’s already encountered an employment conundrum born of his absence from the workforce.
“They’re looking at this gap I have on my resume,” he said, “and the more it increases, the harder it gets to get a job. They all ask me: What happened?
“I don’t know what to do anymore.”
Nancy Karnes shares his frustration.
She worked in graphic design and marketing for a commercial real estate firm until she got laid off in 2006. Since then, she has burned through unemployment benefits, held a couple of short-term jobs and wound up volunteering so she could fill the hours she wasn’t job hunting.
Her employment search has become largely an online exercise — she owns five library cards so she can find convenient free Internet access and customizes her resume to focus on the requirements of each potential job.
Anything within 20 miles of her ZIP code, she pursues. Most employers discourage follow-up: Don’t call us, we’ll call you.
“It’s truly a full-time job,” she said. “You send it in, you hope to hear. Problem is, I’ve had very few interviews. It’s hard to keep your spirits up.”
Home life changed under the stress. She held off on getting a physical — for three years — before scraping together the co-pay and going in this year. During the winter, she turned back the heat when her husband left for work in the morning. For gifts, she knitted afghans.
Work friends have fallen away. Her world has shrunk.
“For me, job hunting is a very lonely thing,” Karnes said, noting that fellow searchers at the Workforce Center rarely meet her gaze. “Quite frankly, there’s still some shame, even with everybody who’s out there looking.
“In some sense, the unemployed live in a parallel universe. We’re walking around with people who are working, but it’s a different existence, a different orbit.”
Kevin Simpson: 303-954-1739 or ksimpson@denverpost.com
Coping with extended unemployment
Long-term unemployment can trigger issues that extend well beyond financial difficulties. Dr. Cheryl Chessick, director of Women’s Studies and Treatment at the University of Colorado Depression Center, offers some suggestions:
Keep some structure.
“Set a calendar. Have a morning and nighttime routine that’s yours, a process that is yours to control, as many feel they have so little control of many things in their life at this point.”
Don’t blame yourself.
“I hear a lot of self-blame. That’s pretty eroding to one’s self-esteem. . . . Try to focus on how to be one’s best coach and continue to encourage one’s process forward in a nonjudgmental manner.”
If relatives have moved back in, re-examine family roles.
“If you haven’t lived together for a long time, it’s easy to get back into old roles, which may or may not have worked. Think of it like running a business — you’ve got to figure out who does best at what, and how to bring out the best in everybody.”
Stay connected.
“Whether in book clubs, through church or in other activities, people gain perspective from larger groups that can help with problem-solving. Any way to stay connected with things you used to do, or come up with something new to be involved with, is a way not to be isolated.”
This article has been corrected in this online archive. Originally, due to a reporter’s error, Kathy Myers was listed as a nurse practitioner. She is a certified nursing assistant.
