Altadena Businesses: “Yes, we’re open”
G&S Junk Removal employees trim branches at a wildfire-damaged home in Altadena. Small businesses have struggled post-fires despite clean-up demand. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
This is how small shop owners affected by the fires in Los Angeles survive.
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José Velázquez is 30 years old and has a thick mustache that nearly obscures his grin, a blue baseball cap with the Los Angeles Dodgers logo and his name on a sticker on the chest of his sweater. He walks quickly down the sidewalk in front of the charred remains of his garage, where he has set up tents to hand out donations. Coca-Cola, chocolates, milk, water, and movies on DVD sit stacked on tables. Anyone can grab what they need.
In Altadena, everyone needs help. This eclectic foothill community of about 43,000 tucked near the San Gabriel Mountains is one of the sites destroyed by recent fires in Los Angeles.
José’s operation is a way station of generosity. Small business owners in Altadena toggle between the need for community and the value of applying for federal government loans at 4.6% interest rates. Altadena residents who are immigrants without legal status in the U.S can forget about loan approval — they aren’t eligible. Many fill their days with the clean-up, a gut-wrenching assessment of what’s left to save of their personal dream, their small business.
José opened this impromptu aid center a few days after the fires began on Jan. 7. He posted on Instagram, asking for donations for the victims, and he started receiving so much help he couldn’t distribute it alone. Then, people joined with more supplies, from clothes to toothbrushes.
Estimates of the costs of the Los Angeles fires have ballooned to more than $250 billion, according to AccuWeather, a forecasting service.
José Velázquez, wearing a blue hat, assists a local at the aid center he opened for wildfire victims in Altadena. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
Before the fires, pushed by the mythic Santa Ana winds, José and his wife operated a small business called Exotic Gift Shop. They sold Pokémon cards and collectible toys around the state and at conventions in Las Vegas. “We didn’t have a store. We had a website, and all our merchandise was in the garage,” he explained.
The garage burned down on the night the fire raged, even though José and his neighbors tried to extinguish the flames. All the toys were inside the garage. José estimates he lost $80,000 worth of merchandise.
“We had a lot of collectibles, key chains, and things (charms) that go on Crocs. We sold a lot of those, and we had over 4,000 styles, so a lot of inventory was lost there.”
“Did you have insurance?” I ask.
“No, because I never thought something like that would happen. I said, ‘Nobody is going to steal our stuff, nothing is going to happen,’ and it ended up burning down.”
“How are you paying the bills?”
“People are donating money to us, thank God, but I have to start working soon because we are not making any money right now.”
“You mean reopening the business?”
“Yes, reopening the business.”
“Do you have money to do that?”
“I have like $2,000 right now. But it’s nothing compared to everything I need.”
Volunteers help sort items at the aid center put together by José Velázquez. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
Catalina, the flower vendor
Catalina queues at 7 a.m. to collect water and canned food donations distributed at the nearby Pasadena Community Job Center. She is a short woman with thick arms, pushing an empty cart for the food. She tucks her straight black hair in a bun tied with a green, white and red scrunchie, the colors of the Mexico flag Sadness spreads over her face.
She has made a living selling flowers at a little stand in Altadena for four years. She buys flowers wholesale and arranges them in bouquets. Before the fire, she made about $200 a week, enough to pay the rent. Flowers are now scarce and come at a higher price. When she reopened the stand after a month, she barely sold five bouquets.
“How are you going to survive?” I ask.
“Well, I came here to see the food they can give me. And my children are helping me financially. Yeah, that’s it.”
She is 38 years old and has been in the United States for 20 years. Her three children, ages 20, 18 and 11, are U.S. citizens. She’s tried to regularize her immigration status for four years without success.
‘Well, we have to keep fighting.’
“Have you applied for aid for small businesses?”
“They agreed to talk to us, but they haven’t talked to us yet.”
“How long has it been since you did it?”
“About four or three weeks ago.”
But Catalina doesn’t have immigration status, a necessity for a federal loan. Her surname is being withheld for fear of immigration authorities identifying her. She could apply for aid for people affected by the fires through her U.S. citizen children.
“What do you plan to do if you can’t sell flowers again?”
“Well, we have to keep fighting.”
Gabriel, the SBA spokesman
U.S. Small Business Administration (SBA) loans are only granted to registered companies. “Businesses of any size, whether large, small, church, home-based, all can receive help if they are legally registered, and they must have proof of how they operated and how much income they had or proof of how much money they lost this year compared to the previous year,” explains SBA spokesman Gabriel Perales, whom I interviewed at the aid center opened by the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA) in Altadena.
Gabriel Perales and a colleague at the opening of the FEMA aid center in Altadena. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
SBA offers aid to affected small businesses to cover economic expenses (lack of customers, for example) and physical expenses (replacing machinery or putting up new walls) caused by disasters. They call the funding “aid,” “support,” or “assistance,” but they are loans with 4.6 % interest.
Perales said the loans can be requested for up to $2 million dollars.
“The benefit is that apart from these low interest rates, the first payment does not have to be made until a year after it is approved.”
“Assuming that they have not managed to build up the business enough to pay in that year, what would happen?” I ask him.
“Well, like any other loan, right? When you find yourself in a situation where you cannot meet the debt, I think the most important thing is to contact the SBA. There may be other alternatives. I can’t tell you right now if there are alternatives, but if you see that your business is struggling in a year, something may help you at that time.”
I also asked if there were alternatives for those who thought the interest was too high.
“These loans are part of the federal government, so I think that if someone tries to look for a loan somewhere else, it will be challenging to find a smaller one,” he answers. “There are no alternatives. We are talking about fixed interest rates that the government sets specifically for when natural disasters occur.”
The SBA had received more than 3,600 applications, and approved about 1,400 by the end of January. The total amount of these loans exceeds $414 million.
Jerry, the clean-up boss
Three men in protective hazmat suits cut branches off a tree in the yard of a Pasadena house with a pool. An older woman lives there. Winds broke off a bit of the roof and sent other tree branches flying like leaves. The crew is there to haul off debris.
This job is the first one this week.
“I have four garbage trucks, and of the four trucks, today we have one working, maybe two. And before, we had all four working full-time,” Jerry Gallo, the owner of G&S Junk Removal, explains. He is a Mexican immigrant in his 40s who set up this business six years ago. It grew quickly.
Then, came the fires. Jerry says his losses in January alone were $75,000.
Jerry Gallo, owner of G&S Junk Removal, drives to a clean-up job in Altadena. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
You might think a devastated place like Altadena would be a paradise for a business like G&S Junk Removal. But the opposite is true. Jerry has tried to become a government-authorized contractor to get bigger and more lucrative jobs, but hasn’t been successful.
Suddenly, his cell jangles. A potential client calls with a small job. Jerry accepts. He sends a young driver who arrives at a lonely two-story house on a hill. In the doorway are a few boxes with old magazines, a nearly new desk, and a couple of planks. A damp mattress must be removed. It’s all done within 15 minutes.
The heavier, more profitable work was dwindling for G&S Junk Removal by February. “Maybe I have to sell a truck or try to get rid of the debt on the other truck that I owe by selling it and giving it to the dealer,” Jerry muses. “And maybe out of ten people who work with me, I’ll only have three or four,” Jerry adds. He’s desperately looking for options.
“Maybe I have to get back on the truck like I did before and work with someone, right?”
Why not apply for a loan?
“Because at the end of the day, I will owe that. So, I also have to think about the future, if I can save the business without applying, or maybe apply for something minimal, so that after seven years I won’t be broke, right?”
G&S Junk Removal employees clean up a home damaged by wildfires in Altadena. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
Adolfo, the restaurant owner
In Altadena, among the blocks that remain closed with police tape where reconstruction crews work in burned-out houses, I spot customers entering a restaurant.
“Yes, we are open,” announces a handwritten sign cheerfully.
The place is called Mota’s after the owner. Adolfo Mota, a 56-year-old man with gel in his hair, a goatee and a chef’s uniform, emigrated from Jalisco, Mexico, at age 14. He started as a dishwasher and saved money until he opened Mota’s Mexican Food at age 33. Two restaurants followed, employing 40 people. His restaurants escaped structural damage. But power outages meant losses of $40,000 in rotting food. Adolfo made a claim to his insurance company.
Adolfo Mota, owner of the restaurant “Mota’s Mexican Food” in Altadena. Photo by Jesús Jank Curbelo for palabra
“Well, they want to give me very little compensation, and then they will raise my insurance.”
“How much compensation?”
“About $5,000 for each location.”
Only a quarter of his losses.
“I would have to take out another insurance, but nobody wants to insure you here in Altadena anymore.”
The restaurants were closed for several weeks after the fire. Another $130,000 lost in sales, Adolfo said. During that time, he paid his employees out of his pocket.
Now that they have reopened, sales haven’t picked up.
“Do you think the number of customers will grow again?”
“Eventually, yes, but that will take two or three years.”
“How do you plan to keep up?”
“Working.”
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But customers this day are few. At lunchtime, many reconstruction workers come in. A few hours later, only two women and a child fill one table, munching on savory tacos.
“Will you have to lay off staff?”
“No. I would never do that. We all have to live. How would you feel if you were laid off because sales dropped…?”
“How about an SBA loan?”
“I don’t want to get into another loan, I already have 600 loans,” he says, exaggerating the figure. “I have my mortgage, the one on my house, and everything, but I can’t get another one.”
“How do you plan to get ahead?”
“As I have always gotten ahead: working.”
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Jesús Jank Curbelo is a Cuban-born writer and journalist. He has collaborated with press outlets such as El País, Milenio and the Texas Observer. He has also published a novel, Los Perros. @jankcurbelo
Dianne Solis is a freelance journalist. She has worked as a staff writer for The Dallas Morning News and The Wall Street Journal. Her work has been featured on KERA public radio, the Texas Standard and the Texas Observer. She graduated from Northwestern and California State University, Fresno, and was a Nieman Fellow at Harvard. @disolis