Three years ago, at the age of 24, Berrios was living in North Philadelphia, working in the mailroom of a Center City law firm for $10 an hour, and looking at precisely no prospects for advancement. In this last respect, he was not unlike a lot of other young men in his neighborhood.

One banal day, while reading a newspaper in the law firm's lunchroom, Berrios spotted an ad for a job-training program called Careers in Trucking (CIT), run by the North Philly social-service behemoth Congreso. Berrios' father had driven a tractor-trailer, and the younger man had long wanted to get a commercial driver's license, but hadn't been able to afford either the time off from work or the necessary training. With Congreso paying for the latter, he could finally afford the investment. He signed up, then called Congreso every two days about the status of his application. Two weeks later, he was invited in for interviews and testing, and before long, he was training for his license and interviewing for jobs.

Today, Berrios earns about $45,000 a year (plus substantial benefits) as a driver for FedEx Freight. His quality of life has improved markedly, and he's planning on moving his wife and four sons out to the suburbs.

DRIVEN TO SUCCEED: Owen Sandy used to work for a collection agency where people he'd train would leapfrog him for promotions. Now a trucker, he's happy to be his "own supervisor." Photo By: Michael T. Regan

Social-service programs that aim to stimulate social mobility are often viewed skeptically, and rightly so; poverty is a complicated problem that has outlived many innovative solutions. CIT's approach is simple: identify an accessible labor market, and try to usher underemployed people into it. For the participants, it works wonders. And yet CIT's funding expired at the end of June, and hasn't been renewed. It's a perfect case study of how social programming cuts manifest themselves in the trenches of Philadelphia social work.

There aren't enough truckers in the United States. In February, the New York Times reported that the nation is about 20,000 truck drivers short of where it needs to be, and the problem is getting worse. White males, the demographic that has historically populated the profession, are increasingly finding jobs in industries such as construction, which pay better and don't require long hours or nights on the road.

But the middle-class man's cast-off is the lower-class man's upgrade. Seeing an opportunity, the National Council of La Raza in 2003 asked its affiliate organizations to help Latinos penetrate the transportation market. At Congreso, this job fell to Kimberly Cromer, an energetic woman who runs the organization's employment services division. Congreso connected with All-State Career, a truck-driver training agency near Philadelphia International Airport, to train its students, and several "employer partners" that would recruit out of the program (FedEx Freight is among them). It also secured funding from the Philadelphia Workforce Development Corporation, a nonprofit that distributes federal and state dollars to local employment initiatives.

The program launched in January 2004, but the success rate for the first class was only "50-50," Cromer recalls. A few of the students dropped "off the face of the earth" after the program. This was a problem because it costs about $5,000 to put each student through. So Cromer made some adjustments: She began warning applicants, extensively, about the difficulties of the trucking lifestyle, and instituted an arduous screening process, with assessment tests, interviews and strict paperwork deadlines. These hurdles whittled a group of 110 applicants for the second class down to 12. All of them completed the training and went into trucking.

One of the early participants was Jose Salas, also of North Philadelphia. Salas' is a classic recovery story: no skills, no education, down on his luck for years until he happened upon CIT (he sees the program as the direct intervention of Jesus Christ in his life). Today, he works as a long-haul trucker, making overnight trips for a company called Homeline Industries. He has to load and unload furniture, which is tough on his back, and he doesn't love the time on the road (local driving jobs that have you "home every night" are coveted, but most drivers need to work a year or two before getting such a gig). On the flip side, Salas makes good money, and has been able to buy a house in a better neighborhood.

Indeed, while CIT graduates acknowledge that trucking can be stressful, they generally agree that it's better than what they knew before.Owen Sandy, a West Indian man who graduated in March, used to work for a collection agency. He recalls training new workers who would quickly get promoted above him because of their degrees, and bosses who gave him a hard time. On the road, he says, "I'm my own supervisor. The only time my supervisors get in touch with me is if I'm running late."The cabin of his tractor-trailer features a heated cot, a television, a PlayStation and an expensive stereo system.It is pimp-my-ride-esque.

In March of this year, Telemundo produced a feature about a CIT graduate; the next day, the ground floor of the Congreso building at American Street and Lehigh Avenue was packed with aspiring truckers.

"People are applying without drivers' licenses," Cromer says."People are calling from Florida, saying, 'I'll move.'"

She has a waiting list of several hundred names, a placement rate near 85 percent and employer partners who say they'd be happy to employ at least some CIT grads.

"We have constantly battled with a shortage of drivers," says Lisa Bogle of FedEx Freight. "There are plenty of openings."

But CIT's main funder, the PWDC, relies heavily on federal workforce grants, which have been cut back considerably (this past June, it laid off 55 of its own workers), and will only have about a third of its previous training budget — or about a million dollars less than last year. CIT previously received about $300,000 for about 50 training slots.

The cuts are part of a general crackdown on workforce development. Many welfare-to-work programs are facing tougher standards and reduced funding, because of federal displeasure with the speed at which people move off the dole. The majority of CIT participants do not come off the welfare rolls, but the program is being affected all the same. There are surely excesses in the social service sector, but this would seem to be proof that cuts are not executed in a manner that effectively targets the fat.

CIT's funding is currently frozen because PWDC is deciding where its money would best be spent. The funder hasn't made any decisions yet, and vice president Dee Kaplan has nice things to say about Congreso's program. But PWDC has several health care and technological programs it considers successful as well. And Kaplan is very open about the fact that not every program will be funded at its previous level.

If CIT does get its public funding cut — a decision which should be made fairly soon — it might think to look to its employer partners for funding. After all, they benefit from it, and currently spend a good deal of money on recruiting drivers.

Asked about this possibility, Bogle says FedEx Freight would be happy to lobby for the program through its government affairs division, but adds, "I can't speak to monetary contributions."

So Kimberly Cromer sits in her office with her waiting list.Some of the men who've applied call every two days, like David Berrios did, thinking that their persistence will reflect well on them. But for the time being their efforts are in vain.

Not every good act is rewarded.

(doron@citypaper.net)