MURFREESBORO, N.C. — Snow came early to the cotton and sorghum fields here, sending dozens of cash-strapped families to the food bank on a recent afternoon for frozen chickens, cucumbers and canned green beans.
Quinetta Rascoe was waiting for them.
Wearing a bright pink overcoat, a glittery rainbow scarf and an infectious grin, Rascoe climbed out of a Toyota sedan carrying a stack of Obamacare brochures.
She eyed about 60 cars that were snaking into the parking lot behind Murfreesboro Baptist Church, prompting an unusual traffic jam one block off the town’s dozy Main Street.
- Richard Sherman asks for Tyler Lockett-Mario Kart mashup, the internet answers
- Seahawks trade Kevin Norwood, make other moves to get roster to 75
- The latest on Seahawks safety Kam Chancellor's holdout
- The Californians keep coming, but King County gives back
- 2 people killed in Seattle-area windstorm identified
Most Read Stories
The food truck was late, and white plumes floated up from mufflers as the drivers switched their engines on and off and on again to warm themselves with blasts of heat.
“OK,” Rascoe said, grabbing a pile of freshly printed business cards. “Let’s go talk to people.”
Rascoe is one of thousands of foot soldiers hired nationwide to sign Americans up for coverage under President Obama’s Affordable Care Act.
Her task is made all the more challenging because she works in one of the Republican-led states openly hostile to the act. The GOP-controlled Legislature ordered state health officials not to cooperate with the federal program.
Many of the people in this rural swath of North Carolina — despite being among the neediest potential beneficiaries of Obamacare — remain skeptical and uninformed.
Walking up to the first vehicle, Rascoe smiled, shuffled on the balls of her feet and wiggled her fingers to get the perplexed driver of a dinged blue pickup to roll down the window. She explained she was there to answer questions about the Affordable Care Act.
The man mumbled a greeting, took the flier and quickly rolled up the window.
“Next car!” Rascoe said.
She felt lucky if she could persuade a driver to crack open the car window to take her card and a brochure. Some ignored her; a few listened politely.
“I just smile and give them the information; sometimes a light bulb goes off later and they call,” Rascoe said.
One woman in a Chevy Bronco said she’d heard on the news that the website was down and no one could get enrolled. “Turn off the TV!” Rascoe chided. “Come down, and I’ll help you out.” The woman said she’d think about making an appointment.
Rascoe, 37, works most days in a small office at the Roanoke Chowan Community Health Center in nearby Ahoskie. When a person walks in,
she asks questions to suss out whether the customer qualifies for the health-care exchanges or for other federal programs like Medicare or Medicaid. She also tells the customer about a program at the health clinic that offers discounted rates based on a patient’s income level.
At the moment, Rascoe’s the only person at the clinic who is dedicated full time to signing people up for medical coverage. Local organizations across the state received a total of $7 million in federal grants to train and hire 300 Obamacare counselors.
But beyond a two-day online-training course, a stack of government-issued brochures, business cards and a cellphone provided by the health center, Rascoe is largely on her own to come up with ways to find the uninsured.
It’s a stark difference from other states that are trying to bolster enrollment by launching their own websites and ad campaigns and enlisting state employees to help people find insurance.
Instead, North Carolina rejected $23 million in federal money that could have been used to educate and assist more than a million uninsured in the state. It also turned away $4 billion in federal funds to expand the Medicaid program for the poor.
Lack of awareness and bad press in North Carolina have made Rascoe’s attempts to enroll people more difficult. “I don’t feel that the law was designed for people to go sign up on a whim,” she said. “It takes education.”
During October, the month the health-care exchanges opened, about 1,600 people in North Carolina signed up for coverage — only 12 percent of the number officials expected, according to federal figures.
None of those were Rascoe’s clients. Since then, she has completed the enrollment process with four applicants.
Like millions of other Americans, Rascoe has been hindered by the malfunctioning federal website, which makes it arduous to get information about potential premium subsidies or plan options. Instead, she relies heavily on the toll-free hotline and regular mail.
One of her biggest challenges is simply tracking down potential enrollees. Because the rural, impoverished county doesn’t have a YMCA or a community center where families congregate, she hits churches, colleges and food banks like the one in Murfreesboro.
She persuaded the electric company to include more than 9,000 fliers on Obamacare with December’s electricity bills.
She has given out her number at grocery stores and introduced herself at hair salons. She plans to set up an information table at the Walmart Supercenter in Ahoskie.
Handing out bread and boxes of Cheez-Its at the food bank, Rascoe made eye contact with a lot of the families she had been soliciting in line. “You better come see me,” she said into the window of a car before it drove away.
Half of the families around here earn less than $31,000 a year, making Hertford one of the state’s poorest counties.
The small towns around here were built more than 200 years ago in the boom days of cotton and tobacco and never got much bigger. Even fellow North Carolinians know the area mostly as a web of two-lane highways leading to the beaches of the Outer Banks.
Rascoe, whose brother had Kawasaki syndrome, a rare vascular disorder, saw the expensive medical care strain her family’s finances.
“This is personal for me,” she said.
Several years ago, Rascoe whose grandfather grew up here, finds her roots in the area help her identify with the locals’ concerns.
“They are scared,” she said. She tries to dispel myths about the law: No, the government can’t access your bank account, Rascoe tells people. Yes, it is possible to sign up even though the website is slow. Some are put off by how much personal financial information they need to provide in order to register.
She had three people walk out when the website asked them to confirm details pulled from their credit history, such as a car lease, a previous address or a former employer. The questions pop up to prevent fraud.
“They’ll be back,” Rascoe said. “I don’t rush anybody.”
Other times it’s simply a matter of introducing people to basic technology that most Americans take for granted. After she helped one client set up an email account, the woman immediately dialed a family member to announce: “Grandma’s got an email address!”
Constance Boyce, 63, a hairdresser who makes about $14,000 a year, came into Rascoe’s office on a recent morning to find out whether she qualifies for federal subsidies.
Boyce had canceled her private medical insurance earlier this year when she visited a doctor about a pain in her arm and learned she needed to pay a $10,000 deductible before the plan would cover any costs.
Boyce sat next to Rascoe and watched HealthCare.gov load on the screen. But Boyce couldn’t get past the first step of the website because she forgot the password for her email, which she needed to set up and verify a new account.
Rascoe then dialed the federal hotline and handed Boyce the receiver. During the call, Boyce looked to Rascoe to explain some of the jargon used to describe insurance policies, like “copay” and “deductible.” The pair set up Boyce’s insurance account over the phone, but she’ll have to wait for the government to send her plan options in the mail.
Nevertheless, Boyce was confident she’d qualify for a subsidy. She left satisfied.
“I’m quite elated,” she said.
And Rascoe earned the kind of endorsement that can go a long way in Hertford. Back at Boyce’s salon in the nearby town of Winton, a stack of Rascoe’s business cards won a coveted spot on the counter, next to those for Boyce’s favorite mechanic.