House of Cards: The Faces Behind Foreclosures

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Late last year, Zachery told me, he received an invitation from the company that services his mortgage to apply for a loan modification. He has a 30-year, fixed-rate mortgage at 8.99% interest, at a time when the Federal Reserve is trying to push rates below 5%. But after faxing his paperwork and waiting for several weeks, Zachery received the same invitation again. Evidently his application had been lost. Zachery's documents had vanished in a flood of urgent requests for mortgage relief. So he sent his materials a second time, but instead of an answer from the service company, he received a letter from lawyers for the bank. This, too, is typical, said Wagoner. Modifications and foreclosures often proceed simultaneously along separate bureaucratic paths, so that the bank's customer-service face is encouraging even as the legal arm is threatening.

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In any event, the nub of the message from the lawyers was that Zachery must pay up or get out: "Should you wish to retain the property," the letter declared in boldface type, "demand is hereby made upon you for immediate payment of $188,101.57 plus interest." Zachery immediately called the modification number, only to be told once again that his application was missing. The woman was polite but unyielding as she informed Zachery that his home was scheduled for sale on March 20 on the steps of the Jackson County Courthouse. "And then," he says, "she asked me in a nice voice, 'Is there anything else I can help you with today?'"

Since the accident, Zachery's renovations have stalled. He has fallen behind on the yard work and hasn't gotten around to hanging his father's portrait — a striking shot of a muscular man in dark briefs. Jerome Zachery wrestled professionally in the 1950s before settling into family life. The champ used to tell his sons, "As long as you have a place to keep the dew off your head, you're O.K." Facing foreclosure, Joseph Zachery worries about pride more than shelter, though. He has rented a storage unit so that his belongings will never be dragged to the curb. "If I have to leave," he said, "I want to leave with some dignity."

Hard Work Is Not Enough
A couple of facts stand out when you meet Paula Stevens for the first time. No. 1: she is not afraid of work. She has done everything from catering sandwiches for rock bands to light landscaping for rich old ladies. Her résumé starts at age 9 and runs to 56 without significant interruption. Stevens has stories from inside the health-care industry, the hospitality industry, the computer industry, the casino industry. She knows the day shift, and she knows the night shift. Also, she could make conversation with a statue. That's Fact No. 2.

Her break in life — the twist that put her on the path to a snug house in the suburbs with a vaulted living-room ceiling — was the product of these two qualities, the work ethic and the gift of gab. As a free-spirited young woman, Stevens liked working in hip restaurants and bars where musicians would hang out when their tours passed through Kansas City. Bonnie Raitt, the Doobie Brothers. "Those boys from Lynyrd Skynyrd," as she now calls them, arrived after closing time at a joint where she worked and smashed some things when she refused to serve them — then came back the next day to apologize. Fun times. But life goes on, and the free spirit grew into a divorced mom of two daughters. Stevens decided she should find a job with better hours and benefits. There was just one problem: no college degree. A friend told her about a job processing medical claims. Stevens talked her way into the interview and just kept talking as the boss looked at her quizzically. Suddenly something clicked in his head, and he said, "Aren't you that girl from the deli?" He had met her years earlier, maybe with a sandwich in her hands, and he hadn't forgotten.

It wasn't a Wall Street bonus or a corner office, but Stevens' lucky break gave her enough to raise her kids and put a roof over the head of any friend or relative who happened to hit a rough patch. She left that job after eight years for the Kansas City office of Gateway computers, which was then a booming enterprise with a Midwestern flavor. There, Stevens rose through the ranks from customer service into sales. In her best year, she racked up so much overtime that she outearned her supervisor, grossing some $42,000 — not far from the middle of the pack of U.S. incomes. And if she sometimes spent too freely on clothes and gear for her girls, she was able to balance the books by drawing on her equity in the home she bought in 1995. (Read about the history of the American middle class.)

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