Familiar, friendly face lost to city budget cuts

By Dan MacArthur
Fossil Creek Current

Bureaucratic jargon may make it seem less personal, but it can't obscure the fact that there are faces behind the 106 positions eliminated as part of Fort Collins' painful budget-cutting process.

Although most of those positions were vacant, some three dozen people still lost their jobs as a result. While all certainly played their own special part in the organization, perhaps the most visible and widely lamented departure will be that of the woman who was the public face and voice of the city for more than a quarter of a century.

The carpet in the lobby of the city hall was rent by a raw gouge after Virginia Serrano's reception booth was ripped out last month. In contrast to the otherwise all-business building, it was a joyously decorated refuge filled with children's drawings, newspaper clippings, insignias from far-flung police departments, stuffed animals, pin-back buttons and a fleet of die-cast toy cars bestowed on her by neighborhood kids.

The carpet would be readily repaired but it will take much longer for Serrano and her admirers to recover from the bitterness of having her job stripped away so suddenly and without warning.

"I was the last one to know," she said. "Everybody said, 'You're sure to stay here because you know everything.' They said my area is so valuable."

Recalling her 30 years of service to the city, Serrano still refers to her job in the present tense. She thrived on being helpful and spreading happiness to all who crossed her path. She loved being the public's first and lasting impression of the city. She greeted them, directed their phone calls and went well above and beyond the call of duty, providing any information and assistance within her grasp. She even went so far as phoning back surprised callers rather than putting them on hold.

Serrano also assured that a sweet tooth was always satisfied by an ever-present supply of candy on her counter. Even though it sometimes attracted mooching city staff and members of the press, she kept it perpetually filled. "It just made me happy," explained Serrano, a woman of few and direct words.

Although she could have stayed on awhile longer, Serrano instead elected to take early retirement. She could not continue to put on a brave face for those who didn't know her position had been eliminated, nor further endure the condolences of those who did.

"I had so many people who were shocked. Somebody called and said, 'You are the icon for the city.' Me, an icon," the unassuming Serrano recalled, her voice trailing off as she considered such an extravagant statement. It was decisively confirmed, however, by the crowd attending the reception celebrating her premature retirement.

"It was hard. I can't take it. I had to leave early," she continued, reaching for a napkin to dab away spontaneous tears. "I drop by the city and still cry."

Serrano and her husband of 40 years, Roy, live in a semi-rural subdivision off of LaPorte Avenue. A sprite, not-quite 5-feet tall, the 58-year-old Serrano wears rings on every digit. Like her former office in the city hall, she is surrounded in her cozy home by happy things - figurines, family photos, an impressive collection of plush bears and an array of happy-face regalia.

Born and raised in Fort Collins, she could not have expected such abundance as the second youngest in a hard-working family of 15.

Serrano started working for the city in 1974 as a janitor and soon gained experience operating the police department switchboard. She later was recruited to the clerk's office, where her skill at blindly routing calls by memory during a power outage earned her an invitation to staff the information kiosk in the city hall lobby. It was a place she loved and now misses fiercely. Serrano planned to spend her career there in the center of it all where she could be of service while spreading cheer.

Now she's instead slowly sorting through the boxed cornucopia of happy memories and reference materials stored in her den. She'll start looking for another job soon, employing her unique skills when the bitterness abates. But she can't imagine again finding such a satisfying situation offering a friendly face and helping hand to so many.

"I miss not being around," she said quietly.