Learning the New Language of Labor
Spanish Instruction Increasingly Geared to the Workaday World

By Mary Beth Sheridan
Washington Post Staff Writer
Tuesday, August 20, 2002; Page A01

Back when he was a kid in Loudoun County, Robert Scott paid little attention to Spanish class. "How many people you knew even spoke Spanish in the '70s? Nobody," he said. "I thought I'd never use that."

Today, Scott looks out his office window and sees a demographic revolution. Garbage trucks are rumbling into the Fairfax County trash transfer station where he works, as noisy and smelly as ever. But these days, the driver is often Salvadoran, Honduran or Guatemalan. So Scott recently took a new training course: Spanish for garbage workers.

"In our type of business, it's something we're gonna have to learn," said Scott, 43, an assistant superintendent.

As Latino immigration transforms parts of the U.S. labor, religious and political landscape, more Americans are confronted with the nation's second-most-spoken language. In response, a small but growing number of workers are tackling at least "survival Spanish," experts say.

In the Washington area, for example, companies ranging from Clark Construction to Target discount stores are teaching basic Spanish to English-speaking supervisors of immigrant employees. Area governments are sponsoring classes, from Scott's basic instruction to other programs that aim for conversational Spanish.

Nationally, a similar movement appears to be taking place. From 1986 to 1998, enrollment in Spanish classes doubled at community colleges, which often cater to working adults, according to the Modern Language Association. While some students were pursuing a traditional degree, others flocked to a new kind of brief, work-oriented course: construction Spanish, health care Spanish, restaurant Spanish or firefighter Spanish.

"Ten years ago, this trend was urban," said Dave Edwards, executive director of the Joint National Committee for Languages, a Washington-based lobbying group. "Now, you can find it in the hills of North Carolina. It's all over."

The reason for the surge in Spanish lessons is clear. The Latino population grew by about 60 percent in the 1990s, according to the U.S. Census. While one of eight U.S. residents is Latino, in some areas they are more numerous in the work force or client base.

For example, about a third of Catholics in the Washington Archdiocese are of Hispanic descent. "While many are bilingual . . . that's a huge number," spokeswoman Susan Gibbs said. "We have to make sure we can reach out to them and meet their needs." So the seminary now offers aspiring priests Spanish along with spirituality.

The Fairfax County garbage transfer station offers a vivid portrait of how some occupations, especially in low-skill areas, have changed with large-scale immigration. One recent day, Scott and a colleague, David Menefee, stood in the garbage-dumping area, watching the parade of trucks laden with garbage, tree branches from landscaping jobs, and wood slabs hauled by construction firms. Many trucks were driven by Central Americans.

"They're willing to do the work, they don't complain, and it pays pretty well," said Scott, of Dale City, explaining the growing number of Latino drivers.

Scott and Menefee were excited when Fairfax County brought a Spanish tutor to their office last fall. Here, at last, was a way to communicate with the drivers. The solid waste workers acknowledge, however, that the 10-week course hardly made them fluent in Spanish.

"I use it every day. But I use more single words than phrases," said Menefee, 35, an administrative assistant from Bealeton.

Still, he said, even one word can make a huge difference in helping a customer obtain a dumping permit. And the Spanish classes were fun -- a series of epiphanies.

"Basura was a big one. That means trash," Menefee explained. "Trabajar. That means [to] work. We have to ask them what kind of work they do."

Luis Ramirez, a Guatemalan immigrant behind the wheel of a garbage truck, said his conversations with English-speaking co-workers were mainly "Hola, como estás" -- hello, how are you. But he applauded their efforts.

"If they learn a bit, we'll learn [English] too, and we'll communicate more," he said.

Scott and Menefee were among about 450 Fairfax County employees who have undergone Spanish training in recent years through Language Learning Enterprises, a Washington firm. It has also sent teachers to give specialized courses to the county health department, Park Authority, and alcohol and drug treatment facilities, company official Charles Green said.

Other area governments also are offering instruction. Sixty-one employees completed the D.C. government's Spanish course this year, twice as many as last year, said Sharon Gang, a mayoral spokeswoman. Montgomery County started offering its employees conversational Spanish in 2000, when 17 signed up. This year, there were 112.

"As we saw the changing demographics of the county, we said, 'How are we responding to the needs of new residents of the county?' " County Executive Douglas M. Duncan (D) said, referring to the 80 percent jump in the county's Hispanic population in the 1990s.

The county at first hired bilingual Latino liaisons for different departments, he said. Now, "we've gone a step further. We need people who speak more than one language."

The move to expand Spanish instruction is not without controversy. Some people worry about immigrants being coddled by Spanish-speaking workers and not feeling a need to adapt. Others think that the emergence of a second national language is a byproduct of runaway immigration that should be reduced.

"The difficulties created for American employers or government workers is something we should consider when debating what's a desirable level of immigration," said Steve Camarota of the Center for Immigration Studies, a Washington-based think tank.

K.C. McAlpin, executive director of ProEnglish, a national group based in Arlington, said it was good for Americans to learn a second language -- but not for the purpose of helping immigrants.

"The emphasis, as far as government is concerned, should be on teaching English to new immigrants, rather than trying to teach native English speakers to speak Spanish," he said.

Local officials acknowledge that they cannot keep up with the demand for adult English classes -- but say they are trying. Last year, for example, Fairfax County provided such instruction for nearly 7,000 immigrants. Language experts say there are far more immigrants jamming English classes than American-born students picking up Spanish.

Both in the public and private sectors, the new Spanish classes often are a far cry from traditional language study.

Russell Hultgren is a proponent of "occupational Spanish." The instructor at Anne Arundel Community College teaches such mini-courses as Spanish for firefighters, Spanish for dental staff and Spanish for school administrators. He has even taught parents anxious to understand the language that their kids learned from the nanny.

One recent evening, Hultgren looked out at 15 students in shorts and work boots, including one muscular man covered with tattoos. They were beginning one of his most popular offerings -- Spanish for construction sites, a three-night course.

"Probably none of you here is a Spanish scholar in disguise," Hultgren observed. His goal, he explained, wasn't to teach them to conjugate verbs or read Cervantes. Rather, he would drill them on phrases essential in an industry where many laborers are Latino.

"When you go out to the site and say, 'Put on your hard hat,' you need for those people to put on their hard hats," Hultgren said.

One student, David Agee, 54, of Edgewater, a supervisor on building projects in downtown Washington, acknowledged that his only foreign language proficiency was in "redneck English." He wished his workers would learn English. But since many were not doing so, he had concluded that he had to pick up some of their language.

"I'm not saying I like what's happening," Agee said. "But I figure I can't fight it."