Alejandra Luna sits attentively in the cramped bus, the sun spilling through the windshield as she goes over her worksheet again and again. She reads the sentences aloud, slowly and deliberately, her voice a mere whisper beneath the hum of the bus’s heater.
She hits a snag.
“Sound it out, `he-r, he-r,'” Sister Marybeth McDermott tells her. “We have to work on those Rs. It’s one of the hardest sounds.”
Luna, 25, tries again.
“Her,” she says plainly, then smiles.
Another small step toward assimilation in increasingly diverse DuPage County, where almost half of the population growth in the 1990s is estimated to have come from minorities. This includes a surging Hispanic community that has forced some area leaders to increase their outreach efforts–and change longstanding beliefs about the county.
“People just keep coming. They knock on the door,” said McDermott, who helps run the eight-year-old School on Wheels program, a converted bookmobile that crisscrosses DuPage County, as well as parts of Cook County, teaching English during roadside stops in places like Addison, Westmont and Villa Park.
McDermott estimated that 98 percent of her students are Hispanic. And demand is growing.
“We could handle more,” she said, taking a break between students in the gray-and-pink bus, parked on a side street a few blocks from Addison City Hall. “We need more teachers.”
According to population estimates by the U.S. Census Bureau, the number of Hispanic residents living in the county increased by 58.3 percent between April 1990 and July 1999, a growth rate more than four times the county’s overall growth rate and six times the rate of non-Hispanic whites.
An estimated 54,706 Hispanics lived in the county in July 1999, about 6 percent of the overall population.
Their influence is increasing, and their impact has been felt.
The availability of jobs in the county is given as one reason for the growing Hispanic population, community leaders say.
Some moved to the county directly from Mexico or other Latin American countries, others came from established Hispanic communities in Chicago or Southwestern states.
Some simply moved across the Kane County border from nearby Aurora, which has had a stable Hispanic population for decades.
Drawn by industrial jobs and a strong network of families within the Mexican-American community, Aurora houses a blend of newly arrived immigrants and second- and third-generation Hispanics.
According to census estimates, almost one-fifth of Kane County’s population in 1999 was Hispanic, but some say the number is much higher.
“I would say that is undercounted,” said Gonzalo Arroyo, director of Family Focus in Aurora, an organization that provides after-school programs for Hispanic students.
Arroyo believes the number of Hispanics in Aurora is at least 10 percent higher than government studies show.
The first round of hard-count census figures is due this spring. However, many Hispanics fail to respond due to fears of government engendered in other countries.
Others live in the area illegally and fear deportation, Arroyo said.
Even so, he said, the impact of immigration is becoming obvious.
Established Hispanic families are opening businesses, and the growing population is gaining political clout. In 1997, Arroyo was elected the first Hispanic member of the Aurora East Unit School District 131 school board. His term has since expired.
Just how well western suburbs have responded to the growing Hispanic population is a matter of debate.
While community leaders say they are boosting their efforts to court and serve a more diverse population, others say the area has been slow to react and, at times, callous.
Luis Pelayo, who moved to DuPage County 20 years ago, gives the county poor grades in his report card of acceptance.
For years, Pelayo ran a grassroots organization called the Hispanic Council out of Bensenville. He recently moved the office to Chicago, complaining he got little support in the county and could make a bigger impact in the city.
Because many of the newest arrivals into the area are recent immigrants, Pelayo said they often are relegated to low-paying jobs. They live clustered in apartment complexes–small Latino communities that grow by word of mouth.
Often, he says, these communities receive little support from suburban government.
“[Government officials] have not adjusted to the change in population well. I think the perception that [the county] is an all-white county still prevails,” Pelayo said. “People in DuPage are out of touch with changing face of America.”
Others disagree, saying they may have been surprised by the growing diversity of the county but have embraced it.
“It’s kind of one of those things that happens almost by osmosis,” said Jack Tenison, deputy county administrator. “All of the sudden, you realize you have to do something in this area.”
His department is considering reformatting kiosks around the county so information about services is written in English and Spanish.
The county has hired Spanish-speaking employees for social-service agencies and translators for courtrooms.
The county also coordinates with social-service agencies and other groups to hire Hispanics for after-school programs. Plus, some cities and villages in the area have recruited Spanish-speaking officers.
The School on Wheels program, established in 1993, began, in part, because the Sisters of St. Joseph of La Grange realized there was a growing need for English-language tutors but that many newly arriving Hispanics were too shy to come forward for help.
McDermott started by going door-to-door in heavily Hispanic areas, asking residents if they wanted to learn English.
Now, the bus is full at every stop, with students like Alejandra Luna learning their pronouns and prepositions, their verbs and vernacular. Three years ago, Luna moved to Itasca from Leon, Mexico, about 100 miles east of Guadalajara. She left behind a hometown that offered few jobs.
She works at Portillo’s restaurant in Addison and attends the School on Wheels every Wednesday when it pulls up to the curb on Charles Lane, around the block from the restaurant.
She has taken English lessons for two years now, in part because her doctor does not speak Spanish, in part because she finds it difficult to shop when she can’t understand the cashier.
“It’s very important for me,” Luna said in perfect English.
When her son was born in December, she named him Kevin. She chose an English name instead of a Spanish one because she likes the way it sounds.
When she is finished with her lesson, Luna takes a book home to practice, and 34-year-old Maria Chaves sits down.
Chaves moved to America 11 years ago but still struggles with the language.
She attends the School on Wheels every Wednesday because she knows learning English is the key to higher-paying jobs.
“I don’t understand the managers,” she said of her job at a nearby hospital and her inability to receive a promotion.
“I tell them, `Give me the opportunity.'”
McDermott promises to make a call to Chaves’ employer to ensure she is being treated fairly–her years of practice making her a virtual pro.
Other church-based organizations are just now beginning to provide services.
Rev. John Fornelli of the Evangelical Free Church of Naperville said he began noticing more Hispanic residents about four years ago and quickly learned that a community was forming within his city that lacked basic services.
Many had no church to attend, had difficulty finding grocery stores that sold Latinoproducts and had children who were struggling in school.
In October, the church began a tutoring service for Hispanic children.
He’s hoping it will spread.
“We saw the need,” he said. “A lot of these kids, we’re hoping to connect them with other kids, too, from the church to help them assimilate into the culture and feel welcome.”
He is not looking for new members, Fornelli said: He wants to help his new neighbors establish a church and, with the help of the city, a community center.
“I’m in the process right now of talking with two other Naperville churches about this that are very interested in coming together and trying to do something,” he said.
The signs, Fornelli said, are clear. His community is changing.
“I think it’s going to get bigger and bigger,” he said.
