n a midweek morning in mid-August, 18 people wait in line for the 8 a.m. opening of Fort Wayne's unemployment office.
Some are filing first-time claims for weekly unemployment insurance payments. Others are submitting renewal vouchers. Some linger and consult job listings and resume guides. Most get in and out as quickly as possible.
All of them look like they'd rather be just about anywhere else.
And before the office, at 201 E. Rudisill Blvd., closes at 4:30 p.m., there will be dozens more who show up - driven not by desire, but by an economy that has seen thousands of jobs cut in the past year.
Federal and state government officials routinely release unemployment numbers, but those cold statistics don't tell the story of the union pipe fitter who's been laid off three times already this year or of the foundry worker who was fired after he overslept and called in three minutes late or of the 54-year-old accounts payable manager who worries that her age might hurt her job-hunting efforts.
A Journal Gazette reporter spent a day, Tuesday, Aug. 19, in the unemployment office to chronicle the stories behind the faces that make up the statistics about joblessness. A diverse group of people emerged - bound with at least one commonality - they all found themselves without jobs as Labor Day approached - the legal holiday set aside to recognize those who do have jobs.
7:50 a.m.
Eugene Smith has staked out the front of the line that's been asked to wait in the building's lobby.
The 47-year-old telephone and cable repair technician, who last drew unemployment five years ago, wanted to be first in line at the unemployment office "to get a fresh start" on the day.
He repeatedly checks the time displayed on his Verizon Wireless cellphone and climbs the stairs to the second-floor unemployment office when it reads 8 a.m. He steps to the counter and gives his name, Social Security number and the reason he's without a job: lack of work at a telecommunications repair company's Fort Wayne location.
Smith's last day of work was three weeks ago, but this is the first week he's eligible to apply for benefits because he got two weeks' severance pay.
The clerk directs him to a row of computers, where Smith enters his work history. He types in names and addresses of former employers from memory.
"It really isn't difficult. The system tells you what to do," he says, pausing from entering his severance information. "The scary part is you never have to speak to anybody about this. I never got a date of when (payments) will start. That's what I'm going to ask her about."
Smith needs a turn at the customer service counter, so he pulls a numbered slip of paper from the red, teardrop-shaped dispenser and takes a seat on one of the maroon padded chairs arranged in three rows on the clean blue carpeting. It's now 8:20.
The husband and father of two will wait 10 minutes before his number is called, and he learns from a clerk that his benefits begin the following week, after a one-week waiting period.
During that time, he reflects on his daughters: the 10-year-old attends elementary school and the 18-year-old is enrolled at Ohio State University.
Smith looks forward to spending some weekends with his college-age daughter, but he wonders aloud whether he'll be able to find work in Indiana.
He grew up in Fort Wayne - near the corner of Pontiac and Hanna streets - but he spent 22 years in Alaska, where it was easier for him to find work.
"It might be that we end up having to go back there," he says. "Some things that you try to do right don't turn out that way."
Because Smith learned a month before that his employer planned to lay him off, he's been filling out applications - more than 15 the previous week - with a variety of employers in Fort Wayne and Indianapolis.
His wife, Beverly Smith, is a registered nurse at Lutheran Hospital. The couple figures that she can find a position at a hospital in Indianapolis if he lands a job there.
In the meantime, Smith's faith keeps him from feeling discouraged.
"I believe in God. I believe he won't let anything bad happen to good people," Smith says. "And I'm one of those people that when things look really, really bad, something (good) happens."
8:40 a.m.
Five people stand in line. Eight more are entering information on the self-serve computers. Two stand at the first counter. Two more are being served at customer service. And three are sitting in the waiting chairs.
The room is eerily quiet as everyone goes about his or her business.
8:45 a.m.
Wes Haight makes consoles for Ford Tauruses. At least, he used to.
The 25-year-old Berne man has been laid off from an automotive parts maker for one week.
"It's just the automobile industry is a little slow this year," he says.
Haight has filed for unemployment at least five times in the past year, he says. He submits his weekly vouchers over the Internet from home - Berne is about 30 miles southeast of Fort Wayne - after he visits the unemployment office each time he's laid off to reopen a claim.
He's learned to come in the morning because the line is usually longer in the afternoon, he says. At least once he had to wait about 90 minutes just to reach the first counter and get permission to use a computer to enter his personal information.
Haight doesn't want to wait today. He has his sons - 4-year-old Braxton and 2-month-old Jordan - in tow.
Although he has a family to support, the part-time Berne police officer isn't worried about money - yet. His wife, Jamie, works in administration at Caylor-Nickel Clinic. And he expects to be called back to work. It's a job - for now. What he really wants is to get hired full time by Berne or a neighboring police force.
"Factory work really isn't my thing," he admits.
9 a.m.
Two people are in line. Two are at the first counter. Ten are using the computers. Four are waiting in the chairs. And one is standing at the customer service counter. Five minutes later, for a brief time, no one is standing in line or at the first counter.
9:12 a.m.
Meg Duffey, who is waiting to talk to a customer service representative, has been laid off twice in barely more than a year.
The medical insurance claims processor lost her job a week earlier when the Calends Group Inc.'s Fort Wayne office let eight workers go.
"They were very fair about it," she says. "They were just downsizing - business needs."
The Fort Wayne woman and her co-workers were given a month's warning of the impending layoffs. Those who had more than one year with the company got severance pay. Duffey wasn't so lucky.
It was her second pink slip.
"Last summer Aetna let 6,000 people go, and I was one of those - also medical insurance," she says. "It's not a very good job market in the medical field unless you're like a nurse."
Duffey, who had worked at Aetna five years, survived four months of job hunting that time with "a very nice severance package." The first week she was eligible for unemployment benefits, she found the job with Calends Group.
"I look on the Internet quite a bit - Fort Wayne Careers and Monster," she says, citing two job posting Web sites. "If it goes on much longer, I'll get really aggressive, contacting the big medical groups. I have 20 years' experience so, hopefully, somebody will want to talk to me."
What Duffey, 49, wants is a job she can retire from.
"It's hard to really put your feet down solid until you know you're going to be there more than one year," she says. "I thought I'd be with Aetna forever, and that (layoff) was devastating to me. I went into this job more cautiously."
While large medical practices and hospitals still need medical billing personnel, Duffey isn't sure whether the field will remain viable for her.
If nothing else, she says, she could use her computer and customer service skills to broaden her job search.
10 a.m.
Four people stand in line. Two are at the first counter. Eight wait in the chairs. One stands at the customer service counter. Nine work on the computers.
10:05 a.m.
Sarae Brock has been unemployed for about four hours.
The 23-year-old Fort Wayne woman reported to work at 6 a.m. as a heating, ventilating and air conditioning apprentice for an area contractor. A supervisor told her to start digging - a necessary part of installing heating and air conditioning in new homes.
"I got fired because I'm pregnant, because I can't do the work. Evidently, they're allowed to do that," she says.
Brock, whose son will be 5 in September, told her employer about two weeks ago that she's pregnant. She found out about a month after starting work there.
"At that point, they told me when it got to where I couldn't do the work, they would fire me. So it was a waiting game," she says. "The job itself is very physical. I told them I can't dig the slabs, and they said, 'Go home."
She traded her company T-shirt, jeans and work boots for a long beige skirt, a flowered cream-colored blouse and tan platform shoes.
Brock planned for the day she couldn't do the job by putting in job applications at Home Depot, Lowes, Wal-Mart and Target.
"I don't think anybody's looking for full-time (employees) though," she says.
Brock was laid off from an Ohio automotive factory about two years ago and moved to Fort Wayne to find work. She's also had waitressing and clerical jobs. Right now she's looking for "anything that would pay the bills."
Soon, though, she'll have some help with the monthly expenses. Brock is getting married Oct. 16 in Las Vegas.
"We tried real hard to have this baby, so I'm not letting the whole thing discourage me," she says. "It will work out. It always works out. I'm not worried about it. I've been a single mom for almost five years."
Just moments later, though, Brock allows herself to fret about her situation.
"If I don't find a job soon, people are going to figure out I'm pregnant and not hire me," she says. "I wouldn't. I wouldn't hire a pregnant girl."
10:35 a.m.
As a union pipe fitter, Greg Racioppi has seen many jobs end. The previous day was the third time he'd been laid off this year alone.
"The service sector has been hurt real hard because nobody's doing any capital improvements," he says.
But Racioppi hasn't collected unemployment benefits since May 2002. The 32-year-old Fort Wayne man has previously been able to find another job - often by calling his union hall's hotline - before the one-week waiting period expired.
"I could go back to work tomorrow. I could go back next month," he says. "Some years are good and you can stockpile money. And some years it's paycheck to paycheck."
Racioppi exudes rare good humor in the otherwise listless group of applicants. He teases a young boy, saying that if he continues wearing such a heavy set of keys around his neck, he'll be short when he grows up.
Asked about his positive attitude, the pipe fitter says being in the unemployment office beats being in Iraq or having a terminal illness.
Racioppi is the sole breadwinner for his family, which includes his wife, Katie, 11-year-old Nicholas and 4-year-old Brandon. That puts some extra pressure on him to pay for braces and private school tuition.
Last year he had to take a part-time job in a department store's tool department to make ends meet.
"It really helped out because since everything was slow and I got a discount, we used it for clothes and Christmas presents," he says. "Being a single income, I usually can't go more than about a week (without work). And this year hasn't been a good year to save up."
10:55 a.m.
Jacquelyn Scott wouldn't presume to ask Indiana for unemployment benefits.
The 54-year-old Oklahoma woman has lived in Fort Wayne just a couple of weeks and has come to the unemployment office to ask for help finding work. She sits at a computer, entering her employment history.
"It's been awhile since I've had to go through all this," she says.
Scott moved to Fort Wayne because her 17-year-old son spent this summer in the city with his older sister and wanted to stay. The mother wasn't impressed by his school in Tulsa or the direction he was headed, so she agreed to enroll him in a private, residential school - Spring Vale Academy - in Owosso, Mich.
"Now I'm needing employment so I can pay for it. These are the things mothers do," she says. "I went up there yesterday, and it seems like a very nice school. It's Christian-based."
Scott's last job was doing clerical work in an accounting department, which changed corporate names several times - starting with Amoco and ending with IBM Business Consulting Services. She'll look in the same field here.
"I'm needing to find something before the end of the month," she says. "It helps that I can stay with my daughter. She has a real good job."
11:45 a.m.
Eight people are standing in line. Sixteen more are using computers. One is at the first counter. Ten wait in the chairs. Two are at the customer service desk. And two are flipping through binders filled with job listings.
11:16 a.m.
Jim Rice is an employment specialist with Eagle Employment, a division of Park Center Inc., a non-profit organization that has addiction programs, mental health programs and employment services.
He's sitting closely behind one of the 15 clients on his caseload, advising her as she enters her personal and employment information into a computer. All of his clients have been diagnosed with some form of disability.
Although Rice's clients aren't picky about the jobs they get, only three are working now.
"I've been helping people find jobs for six years, and this is the slowest it's been," he says. "There have been some openings, but not much has happened since February."
11:40 a.m.
Fourteen people wait in line. Two are at the first counter. Eight use the computers. Two are at customer service. Nine wait in the chairs. And two are flipping through the job listings binders.
11:45 a.m.
Veronica Adams inspected car parts at Meridian Automotive Systems Inc. in Huntington until the previous week, when the company shifted workers from its Grabill plant and laid off about 75.
The 42-year-old Fort Wayne woman, who had worked there about six months, was employed through a temporary agency. She had previously drawn unemployment benefits for about three months last year, from October to December.
"They're saying that I can't draw any more until Oct. 5. So, right now, I have no income," she says. "I'm renting a house, and I have car and insurance (payments)."
Her brother, who shares the same house, might have to shoulder part of her share, Adams says.
"I don't know what I'm going to do right now," she says, as she leafs through pages listing production, telemarketing and desk clerk openings. "So I'm just trying to find something real quick."
12:30 p.m.
Two people are in line. Two more are at the first counter. Nine work on the computers. Eleven wait in the chairs. One stands at the customer service counter. And one searches through the binders.
Most of them are dressed in neat but casual clothes - something they might wear to the grocery or to a doctor's appointment.
1:05 p.m.
Jacquelyn Scott, the mother who enrolled her son in a private school in Michigan, has been in the office more than two hours.
Now she sits, waiting to talk to a counselor, who will explain the job placement service to her. She thinks the computer-entry process probably went faster for her than others because she brought along a resume that detailed her work history.
2:20 p.m.
Eight stand in line. Two are at the first counter. Five use the computers. Twelve are waiting in the chairs. Two stand at the customer service counter. One looks through the binders. Two stand at the job information center counter.
Number 00 is next up in the customer service ticket machine. The office started the day at number 27.
Nancy Clemmer, the office supervisor, says the day's customer volume is typical.
The wait might be slightly longer because half of the staff is in South Bend for training. But her staff is skimping on the behind-the-scenes work more than on customer service, she says.
"Yesterday, it was very bad," she says. "We had big lines."
That, despite having three employees stationed at the first information windows and four at the customer service counter.
2:40 p.m.
Virgil Towns waits his turn to talk to a customer service representative.
The 33-year-old Fort Wayne man was fired the previous day from a large manufacturer in the region.
"I called in three minutes late," he says. "I only had one vacation day left, so they charged me two days for calling in three minutes late."
Towns, who says his oversleeping was a stupid mistake, changed from second shift - which starts at 2 p.m. - to first shift - which reports at 6 a.m. - about a month earlier.
"I told my wife, I've never been fired from a job. It blew my mind. Getting up at 5 a.m. is hard. I just slept through my alarm. . . . It was my fault," he says. "I've never been unemployed. I'm ex-military, so I've got the drive."
Towns had worked for the manufacturer for about 11Ú2 years.
"I'd rather have stayed there because the money is good, but it's hot and dirty" work, he says. "I look at it like things happen for a reason. It must be my karma to get away from there."
As soon as he lost his job, Towns visited a former employer and asked for work. The move paid off. He'll be manager of a new car detailing shop, which is scheduled to open in November. The father of two is married to Peggy Beth, an English teacher at Wayne High School. He plans to spend the intervening weeks cooking, keeping house and playing with 2-year-old Virgil II and 1-year-old Arial.
Towns found a job at a car wash within one week of moving to Fort Wayne seven years ago following a 41Ú2-year hitch in the U.S. Navy.
"Anybody can do it if they want to," he says. "They just have to have the will."
3:20 p.m.
Four people wait in line. Two are at the first counter. Five are on computers. Five wait in the chairs. One is at the customer service counter. Two look through the jobs binders. And one stands at the job information counter.
Muffled conversations are punctuated by the delighted squeals of an infant in a baby carrier.
3:40 p.m.
Barbara Myers managed accounts payable for Fort Wayne-based Rarick's Easy Pay Rental Purchase until it was bought in late June by Boca Raton, Fla.-based Rent Rite Inc.
Everyone in the corporate office was laid off, she says. Those working in the 17 stores were allowed to re-apply for their positions.
Myers had been at Rarick's for four years and collected four weeks of severance pay. The Ossian woman, who is married with three grown children, has been applying for accounting and administrative assistant positions since she lost her job.
"I even went to Starbucks coffees to apply for a shift supervisor position," she says, laughing. "It's kind of disheartening. My husband says it takes time. But I don't know how much time."
Although she doesn't have a college degree, the 54-year-old feels over-qualified for many of the jobs listed in the classifieds. She's held various positions in accounting and retail.
"That's a plus or a minus, depending on who interviews you - if they are looking for a degree or experience," she says. "And it's the same thing with age. It can be a plus or a minus. The age thing kind of scares me a bit."
Myers, who has shoulder-length gray hair with bangs, has never collected unemployment benefits.
"This is my first time, and it took courage. Everyone said, 'You've worked a long time, and you deserve it,' " she says. "But it still took courage to come in."
4:10 p.m.
Three applicants wait in line. Three work at the computers. One stands at the first counter. Two are at customer service. Two wait in chairs. And one job hunter leafs through the three-ring binders.
4:30 p.m.
The office doors close, bringing an end to the seemingly endless line of unemployed workers for that day.
Despite economists' predictions, the economy didn't rebound by the end of 2002. Even now, it remains sluggish. The preliminary unemployment rate for the Fort Wayne metropolitan area for June, the latest for which statistics are available, was 4.8 percent.
That was slightly lower than the 5 percent registered in May or the 5 percent in June 2002. But the statistic still means that out of a June workforce of 280,910, 13,550 people were unemployed.
It is from those sorts of numbers that dazed faces continue to emerge, forming the lines on days like Aug. 19 at 201 E. Rudisill Blvd.
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