Brandon D. Hart March 24, 1999 Final Revision

My Stereotype

When I was fourteen, I gave little thought to the various ways people earned money to support their families. I believed people worked to earn their livelihood. It came as a surprise to learn there were devious ways of getting money without having to work for it. One method was known as public welfare abuse. After spending many weekends at my grandfather’s ranch, I discovered what welfare was, and how a community could abuse the system. At a young age, I quickly learned to associate the stereotype “white-trash” with a welfare community, which existed in west Fresno.

My older brother and I spent many weekends on my grandfather’s ranch in west Fresno, shooting pellet guns and riding horses. One Saturday morning the three of us were riding along the canal that separated the ranch from the neighbors. We all glanced up when a voice called out, “Hi neighbor, my daughter Suzy’s gonna have a baby.” I’d seen the woman before, she was a neighbor, but I didn’t know her name.

We reined to a halt and my grandfather said, “Suzy, she’s only a child, and not even married.”

“Oh it’s all right, she’s almost fifteen.”

“Have you considered an abortion?”

“I won’t let her have an abortion. I want her to have the baby and I won’t let her get married either. If she’s unmarried, the county will pay for the birthing and send her a welfare 2 Hart/Essay #2 check every month. Heck, I was younger than she was when I got pregnant with Erica, my oldest daughter, and went on welfare. The county has paid for all four of my daughters and five grandchildren.” Then she chuckled. “We’re definitely a welfare family.”

My grandfather asked, “How about your husband?”

“Oh, Fred and I got married after I already had two of the girls. Never did know who the fathers were. At first, Fred was too proud to ask for welfare, but then he learned how easy it was to qualify. All you have to do is tell them you have a back pain, and can’t work. There ain’t no way they can prove you’re lying. He hasn’t done a day’s work for over twelve years, gets a steady check every month, rain or shine. It’s a lot better than doing farm labor.”

As we rode off, I recall seeing my grandfather shake his head in disgust, and telling us,

“Boys, that’s what you call “white-trash.” Public welfare is something I hope you never get involved with.” It was the first time I’d heard my grandfather use the word “white-trash,” and associate it with the neighbors who were on welfare. After that morning, I considered anyone who was on welfare and living on the West Side to be “white-trash.”

In the neighbor’s back yard sat a trailer house. Emma, their unmarried second eldest daughter, her boyfriend, and her two children lived in it. The boyfriend, who was also on welfare, shacked up with her only after the welfare caseworker told Emma she should live with a man in order to present a father-figure to the young children. The boyfriend was a backyard auto mechanic, accepting cash only, thereby not jeopardizing his monthly welfare payments.

Nora, the youngest daughter was only thirteen and well developed for her age. She and her boyfriend, a twenty-six-year-old crusty biker, ran away to Coalinga, where they stayed for two months. She was "dumped off" at her parent’s house, broke, hungry, and pregnant. At once, 3 Hart/Essay #2 her mother made sure she was on welfare. She took up with a worthless youth named Arnold, who was using narcotics, and lived a half mile away. His entire family was also on welfare.

One of Arnold’s first acts was to plant marijuana behind Vida’s house. Each day Nora and Arnold tended their dozen or so plants of illegal weed. Finally they harvested it and dried it in the sun. Then each day they rolled and smoked the grass. It wasn’t long until Arnold graduated to cocaine and needed money to purchase it. So he stole bales of alfalfa right out of the field and sold them to unsuspecting horse owners. Each afternoon, as many as ten or twelve other welfare recipients from the local area came to the back yard and joined in the narcotic sessions. They drank beer and played rock and roll music.

I was amazed how deviant that community was. I recall one day when my grandmother came in from the back porch and told us what Vida tried to get her to do. Vida encouraged my grandmother to sign up for public welfare, but she told Vida, “My husband is drawing a fire department pension from the city, he can’t qualify for welfare.”

“I think you should try anyway,” Vida insisted. “Heck, I tell all my friends, ‘it’s free, so you might as well get your share.”

Vida had experienced poverty for most of her life, along with illicit births, narcotics, theft, and unhappiness. She was discouraged with life after seeing her children and grandchildren drop out of school, smoke marijuana, steal, and become parents of illicit and unwanted babies. At some time in their lives, each of her daughters had prostituted themselves for survival or possibly spending money that the welfare check wouldn’t cover. Vida had little to look forward to, except her meager monthly handouts of public welfare. With this as a lifestyle, it wasn’t long until she decided to take her own life. 4 Hart/Essay #2

My grandfather and I were outside saddling up the horses when we heard the scream; so loud it could be heard a half-mile away. I looked over at my grandfather, and he had a shallow look on his face. He said, “It sounds like someone is getting beaten over there.”

I replied, “Yeah, lets go see.”

“No Brandon, it’s none of our business what goes on over there.”

Then suddenly Nora the youngest daughter came running over to us. “My momma, my momma, she just shot herself, get some help. Hurry! Hurry! Get some help, please!”

So we did, but when the paramedics arrived it was too late. Vida had shot herself in her right temple with a .32 caliber pistol while kneeling at her bedside.

Soon after that incident, my grandfather sold the ranch. I haven’t been back there since, so I don’t know what the family is doing or even if they still live there. However, when I had previously visited the ranch on weekends something different was always happening on the other side of the canal. I witnessed parities that involved drugs, dirty white people who looked as if they hadn’t showered in days. This community was disgusting and taking advantage of the welfare program, when originally it was designed to help less fortunate. I stereotyped that community as, “white-trash.”

Fortunately by the early 1990’s, welfare abuse had become such a burden on the taxpayers, that congress and the president passed legislation limiting the time a recipient could stay on the welfare rolls. Free job training was offered and thousands began working for a living. Although public welfare still exists for the needy, it is hopeful it will no longer be abused as a way of life, the way the “white-trash” community did in west Fresno.