DEL.ICIO.USAmerican Dream deferred for some Atlantans
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Here’s Walle Waters, the erstwhile embodiment of the American Dream.
Steelworker’s son. Military man. College grad. Salesman extraordinaire.
JOEY IVANSCO / jivansco@ajc.com
Debra Waters packs up items in the garage in anticipation of selling her house and moving to Florida where her husband, Walle, is working. He was unsuccessful in his two-year search for work in Atlanta.
RICH ADDICKS / raddicks@ajc.com
Walle and Debra Waters thought it would be easy for Walle to find work when they moved to Atlanta. But he sent out 1,000 résumés and got four interviews. None panned out.
ABOUT THE SERIES:
It's the American Dream, and it's over for legions of metro Atlantans.
They worked hard. Played by the rules. And expected, like generations before, to reap the benefits of jobs well done.But the Depression-like economy douses many dreams.
Over the next year, The Atlanta Journal-Constitution will chronicle the lives of a half-dozen victims of the economic morass. Some will founder or fail; others will persevere, even thrive. All will strive to recapture their dreams, a quintessentially American experience.
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Husband to Debra. Faithful to Jesus. A suburban Everyman.
And victim of an economy that’s obliterating jobs, shredding the middle class and making a mockery of the work-hard, play-straight dictum that promised a comfortable retirement for a job well done.
Walle — rhymes with golly — lost his white-collar, frozen-food sales job in Michigan two years ago. No matter, he thought: Debra, a manager with a major Japanese company, had just been promoted. Next stop: Atlanta — the business capital of the New South.
Walle was certain he’d land another regional sales job. Debra’s salary would cover the mortgage on a five-bedroom dream house near Peachtree City.
Nearly two years later, Walle found a job. In Florida. At half his previous salary.
Debra remains in Atlanta. Until, at least, her job ends this summer.
“We used to be in the upper middle class. Now we’ll be in the lower middle class,” said Walle, 58. “Yogi Berra said it best: ‘The future isn’t what it used to be.’ The whole system is going the wrong way.”
This recession is unlike any other of recent vintage. Before, maybe thousands of factory jobs disappeared or the housing market tanked or banks went belly up. This time, seemingly no industry, or category of worker, is immune. Suffering has been democratized and fear is universal. And it’s only going to get worse.
Everybody knows a Walle. He’s the guy at Starbucks on a Tuesday morning with a laptop and time to kill. Or maybe he’s the older fellow behind the Publix deli counter who never gets your order wrong. Or the parishioner at church you don’t make eye contact with.
In February the unemployment rate for adults age 55 and older was 5.6 percent, the highest since April 1983. Roughly 1.6 million people in that age bracket were jobless, nearly double the number in November 2007.
In the past, laid-off older workers might simply retire with adequate pensions, investments and Social Security. But with retirement accounts disappearing, the Dow flitting around 8000 and houses losing value like punctured balloons, retirement isn’t an option for people like the Waterses.
Walle, with a crescent of gray hair under a bald dome, faces an additional burden. Employers are wary of hiring him, fearing he’s either too old, too expensive or too close to retirement. Debra suggested Walle dye his hair. Angry, he refused.
“Even if people my age find a job, it will be for lower pay,” Walle said. “There’s no way I’ll make up for the financial hit of the last two years. It’s like everything I’ve worked for is down the drain.”
If not for a sister in Florida, who works for the same company, Walle’s job-search futility would’ve risen as his self-esteem plummeted. Debra said the need for Walle to rejoin the workaday world outweighs the loneliness of separation.
The economy sunders families. Three years ago, 3.6 million married Americans (not including separated couples) lived apart from their spouses, according to the U.S. Census Bureau, a number experts say is rising rapidly.
“We don’t have the word divorce in our vocabulary,” Debra said. “We just know we’ll get to the other side and get there together.”
‘This guy’s a master’
Walle’s father, a soldier, met his mother, a Ukrainian, in Munich in the late 1940s. Walle and a sister were raised in East Chicago, Ind.
Nearly four years in the Air Force handling police dogs was followed by a degree from Indiana State University. Walle was soon pitching Planters peanuts and Fleischmann’s margarine across the Midwest.
On a business trip to Louisville, a colleague told Walle about a pretty secretary. A blind date at the Indianapolis 500 time trials ensued. Walle and Debra married in 1987, a second marriage for both.
A good job for Debra with Panasonic Automotive took the Waterses to Detroit. An airport was all Walle needed. The lure of the road, the pizazz of the convention, the art of the deal — that was Walle’s milieu.
He’d entice buyers to his trade show booth with a deck of cards or shoeshine girls. At Christmas, buyers would get whiskey, their secretaries chocolate. Walle rarely forgot the birthday of a client or his wife.
“He’s got an encyclopedia in his head of where the food industry has gone over the years,” said friend and unemployed salesman Greg Pontillo. “This guy’s a master. You can’t touch him.”
A corporate merger killed Walle’s job in 2007. Debra’s move to Atlanta, though, offered “an opportunity to try something brand new,” Walle said.
“I knew it wouldn’t be overnight, but I didn’t think it’d take that long to find a job,” he added. “But then the economy rolled into a bad way.”
Walle embraced the job search with characteristic brio.
He and Greg would crisscross Atlanta each week to job networking workshops run by churches in Duluth, Kennesaw, Peachtree City and Roswell.
Hours were spent online applying for jobs. Walle sent out 1,000 résumés; he got four interviews. None panned out.
“It’s such a mental, physical and monetary drain,” he said. “The bills don’t know you don’t have a job; they just keep coming.”
Walle sold cars for a south Atlanta dealership but quit after a month because of few sales. He sought part-time work at Kroger and Publix for $9-$10 an hour. He applied to teach in Coweta County schools. Nothing.
Stop signs at open doors
Last summer, after a year of futility and emotional strain, Walle took a break.
He sought solace and a sense of achievement from his church, Heritage Christian in Fayetteville. He volunteered for the car-care ministry. He helped organize an AIDS awareness campaign for Africa. He built homes in Reynosa, Mexico.
Refreshed, Walle rejoined the search in September. A month later, his retina separated. He couldn’t read for six weeks or drive for 12. Greg ferried him to the job networks.
“It was like every door that opened had a stop sign behind it. There was always something holding me back,” Walle said. “But I believed in Jesus. That got me through.”
Debra, meanwhile, had her own problems. Her mother died in August and, about the time Walle’s eye gave out, Panasonic announced it was consolidating her division. If she wanted a job, she’d have to return to Michigan. Walle wasn’t going.
“I know now how it feels when you have total responsibility for everything,” Debra said. “But then, what if I lose my job? You start working through, ‘OK, how bad can it get? Do we have to work at McDonald’s? Get rid of our cars? Live on a bus line?’ Silly things like that.”
In December, Debra had 20 percent of her colon removed. Walle felt helpless. He had to do something, even if it meant leaving Debra, at least temporarily. In late January, Walle loaded up the Oldsmobile with 166,000 miles on it and headed to Florida. He leases apartments to retirees and lives with his sister. He hasn’t seen Debra in eight weeks.
Their house is on the market, but prospects are few. If Debra returns to Michigan, her company will buy the house. But she’ll follow her husband to Florida once — if — the house sells.
Debra will get a decent severance package. She and Walle are banking on deflated 401(k)s for their golden years.
She may try real estate in Florida. Or open a restaurant.
Walle says he’ll work another decade. Real estate, though, isn’t the safest bet. Another whirl on the job-search merry-go-round is possible.
“Most people just want to find a job, work, save money and be happy,” Walle said. “But you find out, eventually, that you’re not really in control of anything. I could wake up Monday morning, go to the office and have a pink slip waiting for me. What are you going to do?”
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