Ozier Muhammad/The New York Times
Reina Vega and Victoriano de la Cruz worked in the cellar of a home in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn.
The day after the storm, Manuel Sinchi, like some other New Yorkers, gathered a few friends, hopped on his bicycle and headed down to badly stricken Coney Island to volunteer his services.
The next day, however, he started offering his services at his usual rate of $15 an hour.
A day laborer for whom making a living in recent years has meant often pointless idling on street corners for increasingly hard-to-get construction work, Mr. Sinchi said that owners of houses ravaged by Hurricane Sandy were now searching him out seven days a week. In the first weeks after the storm, he performed work that required muscle and a strong back, hauling waterlogged sofas and broken refrigerators out of flooded basements, stripping mold-infested walls and sweeping away mounds of sand from front yards. But, as homeowners turned to rebuilding, he has performed more skilled jobs, installing new wallboard, wood floors and bathroom tiles.
There has been so much demand that he was able to buy his two sons in Ecuador a computer, bicycles and new shoes.
“While we have lots of sorrow for those who lost everything, at the same time Sandy has done us a favor by creating jobs that were not there,” Mr. Sinchi said, speaking in Spanish.
His tale of finding fortune along the streets of ruined homes and upended lives is similar to those of hundreds of day laborers in New York City and its coastal suburbs. For a population accustomed to scraping by, Hurricane Sandy has been a boon, conjuring up demolition and construction work that has been mostly absent since the housing market’s collapse and providing a spike in remittances to families in Mexico, Central America and South America.
These mostly Hispanic workers, some of whom are in the country illegally, have suddenly become a ubiquitous and indispensable presence in seaside communities in New York and New Jersey, where residents who might once have spurned hiring them are racing to make their homes livable again as soon as possible. Despite the influx of volunteers — sometimes regarded as competitors by the day laborers — there is so much demand for their services that even women who have typically made a living as domestics are gathering on street corners and in front of hardware stores to help with the grueling work.
“Day laborers are like first responders to this crisis,” said Ligia M. Guallpa, director of the Workers Justice Project, which operates a shack alongside a shopping plaza in Bensonhurst, Brooklyn, where day laborers gather and contractors and homeowners come to hire them. Before the storm, fewer than 15 workers a week were sent out on jobs. Now that number has grown to 45.
In the first week after the storm hit, homeowners were desperate for help getting their lives back to something approaching normal. Some day laborers like Carmelo Hernandez, 46, a Mexican immigrant and tile installer, even bought headlamps so they could work at night, so great was the demand.
More recently, some workers said that jobs had slowed as cleaning up shifted to rebuilding, which had prompted homeowners to turn to licensed professionals for skilled tasks like plumbing, carpentry and electrical work. But other laborers said they expected the volume of work to pick up when homeowners received money from their insurance companies or from the Federal Emergency Management Agency.
Standing on a corner of 69th Street in Woodside, Queens, dozens of men waited in the early morning cold for contractors’ trucks to pass by. Each time a car stopped, the men would sprint to the window. After a brief negotiation — $15 an hour was the going rate, though some agreed to work for less — a few would climb inside and speed off.
One of them, Pedro Cabrera, 28, who is from Mexico, had worked 10 straight days in the Rockaways. Even though one homeowner vanished without paying him, he had made enough to buy new gloves to work in the wet and freezing buildings. Some owners told him to take anything he found, since it was all headed for the trash anyway — even a ring that he was able to pawn for $200 at a jewelry store. Still, it was painful, he said, being watched by a family whose hard-earned belongings he was throwing into the garbage.
