Some residents said they had not worked in three months or were working fewer hours now. A frost dramatically reduced crop yields, so there is less to harvest. Park manager Jack Gradias said more and more rent checks were being paid by the local priest.
"When they ask for rent money we pay some of it," said Father Eliseo Lucas Coronel of Our Lady of Guadalupe Church in Mecca, which many Duroville residents attend. "Most of them make less than $15,000 a year. They may ask for $400 and I can give them maybe $250. Then I call the owner and tell them to be patient and not to throw them out. The only thing I ask in return is that they come to church and give thanks to God."
The people are confused and frightened now, he said.
"They come to me and ask me what is going to happen," he said. "And I say, 'Lord, please tell me what to do.' I am praying they will not close it down. It would be a disaster, but I need to plan for what to do if it happens."
Adams is sympathetic to the residents' plight and also hopes the place can be saved. His Catholic upbringing and education have fueled his passion for the project.
"I felt called to come here," he said. "If the Jesuits who taught me knew what I was doing, it would make them happy."
Still, he admits being shocked when he first heard of Duroville.
"We all read 'The Grapes of Wrath' in high school and I was taught that the book led to the end of these kind of labor camps," he said. "So when I read about this place in the Los Angeles Times last March, I said, 'You've got to be kidding, these places still exist 70 years later?' "
Adams thinks he has already eliminated the most pressing dangers. Now, soil samples will be taken. In 2003, a memo from the Environmental Protection Agency said carcinogens, including dioxin, PCBs and asbestos, were present in Duroville.
Before launching his plans, Adams met with tenants, explaining his goals with the aid of a translator. He received applause. But there is some resistance.
A day after signs went up banning street parking -- because it interferes with fire trucks navigating the narrow roads -- cars were still parked there.
"I really want to start the towing today. There are like 20 cars on the street," Adams told the park manager. "Pull up to them and make a lot of noise so they'll get the message."
But the tow truck, a huge vehicle with no windshield, wouldn't start and looked like it never had.
