Neighbors look out upon Nery Orozco's home in Boxley Hills and see rutted tire tracks on the front lawn.

Across the street, an angry homeowner who doesn't want his name used in this story threatens lawsuits against Orozco and snaps pictures of the eight to 12 cars often crammed in his driveway and parked helter-skelter in his front yard.

In a scene that's becoming increasingly common in Northern Virginia and other regions with booming Hispanic communities, this once-quiet block of Thornrose Road has become a microcosm of the immigration debate.

Neighbors in this North Roanoke County community complain that "the Mexicans" have people coming and going at all hours of the day, play their music too loudly and threaten property values. Some residents have already put their houses up for sale. Others say they will but worry they won't get anywhere near the asking price.

"The Mexicans" in question hail from Guatemala, and some of their children are U.S.-born citizens. They don't understand the big deal about the cars parked in the yard, and the music doesn't sound that loud to them. But they say they want to be good neighbors -- if only the others on the block would speak directly to them.

Last Friday, Thornrose resident Bill Metzler managed to do what several Roanoke County police officers, neighborhood association people and zoning officials could not: He invited Orozco and his family into his home and he told them, face to face and in as calm a manner as he could muster, what exactly they were doing wrong.

"There appears to be some tension in the neighborhood," he said, by way of introduction.

'A right to be upset'

When Metzler retired to Roanoke to take care of his 92-year-old mother last year, he looked for a peaceful place to live: someplace conservative, quiet, middle class. He'd worked in Richmond for most of his career as a human resources manager. The Boxley Hills ranch house, with its attached mother-in-law suite, suited his needs perfectly.

Developed in the early 1960s, Boxley Hills is a secluded, mostly white subdivision with 450 homes and three entrance streets feeding into it from Williamson Road. Like neighborhood association treasurer Tom Runions, many residents are retired and are the original owners of their homes.

"People have a right to be upset," said Runions, who has received many calls about the Orozco property. "The way they live and carry on, it's just not our way of life."

When Orozco bought the house in November for $169,950, everything changed, neighbors said. Visitors drove cars with thumping stereos and left beer bottles and trash in the yard. Suddenly, quiet Boxley Hills didn't feel so safe.

Metzler and his neighbors insist they're not prejudiced. But the cultural gap, they concede, is wide.

"There are people who are upset about the noise and who think they have too many people living in the home," Metzler said. But what disturbs him most is the chewed up yard and the effect that might have on neighboring property values.

According to Roanoke County zoning administrator Bill Richardson, the problem isn't as widespread as it is in more heavily Hispanic areas. A year ago, Manassas approved an anti-crowding ordinance to tighten zoning laws in response to the same bevy of complaints the Thornrose neighbors have made. The anti-crowding ordinance was later repealed when civil rights groups threatened to instigate a federal investigation into discriminatory housing practices.

Richardson says the county zoning code limits single-family properties to "persons related by blood, marriage or adoption" and no more than five unrelated people.

Though he can't comment specifically on the ongoing case, Richardson said, "There's clearly some adaptation that needs to occur both ways."

In the six weeks since Orozco bought the house, Roanoke County police have made several visits at neighbors' requests. Four reports were issued and some informal mediation has occurred, but no police charges were filed, according to Lt. Chuck Mason.

"We've not had an overwhelming number of complaints like this," Mason added. But as the Hispanic population increases, "then I think it's reasonable to expect that we're going to see an increase in complaints," Mason said.

As tensions heightened last week, Metzler debated whether to set up a meeting with the Orozcos. "If I went to live in Russia or Ethiopia and I was reasonably intelligent, within two or three days I would see culturally how the neighborhoods presented themselves and adapt myself accordingly. But they've made no effort."

He hadn't yet spoken directly with the Orozcos, he said, having hoped that county officials would be able to convey the seriousness of the situation to them. Also, he wasn't sure if they spoke English.

"I was just hoping that someone would be able to strike a chord with them and explain to them what the real objections are."

The next day, he added, "I guess it might as well be me."

'Why don't they like us?'

Even though Orozco owns the house, it's occupied by his distant cousin Roger Lopez and his extended family. Members of eight related families live with Lopez: cousins, aunts, uncles, brothers.

In Hispanic culture, the concept of "family" is more broadly defined -- a fact that doesn't make for easy zoning-code enforcement. Three children and 11 adults live in Lopez's Boxley Hills home, which has four bedrooms on the main floor and three in the basement.

On a recent Saturday night, Lopez was sitting in his living room watching a Mexican baseball game on cable TV while three of his cousins made tacos in the kitchen. His children -- ages 5, 7 and 9 -- watched TV in a bedroom.

Lopez, who is currently unemployed but has worked in construction trades, said he chose this house for his children's sake. He wants them to live comfortably.

He moved here in 2003 for work, but he missed his wife and kids, who were still in Guatemala. He lived in Southeast Roanoke with Orozco and other cousins on Jamison Avenue, and back then he drank a lot.

With everyone working different schedules, the weekend began on Tuesday for some. For others, it began on Wednesday or Thursday. Every day of the week was someone's day off.

They started drinking in the afternoon and partied until 2 or 3 a.m.; sometimes, the party lasted until 11 a.m.

Lopez didn't respect the neighborhood "because it was that kind of neighborhood," he said. "No one complained over there or told us to be quiet because they were loud, too."

When his family was reunited in July 2005, Lopez pledged to end his partying ways. He wanted a nicer neighborhood for his children, one with better schools.

The Boxley Hills home was the right size and in the right neighborhood, so he asked Orozco to buy it for him.

Orozco, who lives in Southeast Roanoke and works in a Glasgow carpet factory, had good credit, Lopez explained. He didn't.

The house sold in mid-November.

The partying cousins still come to visit. On Saturday, three of them were in the basement listening to Mexican pop music, playing cards and drinking beer. They wagered dollar bills, fives, tens and twenties, as 13 empty Bud Light cans sat on a shelf and table next to them.

They were having a good time.

Lopez said he doesn't mind his cousins partying as long as they stay in the basement. Sure, sometimes one of his cousins has too much to drink and makes loud noises outside, he said, but it doesn't happen often.

"One day we were testing a car stereo on a Sunday," he said. "So it was loud. One neighbor came out and gave us a mean look."

Because 11 adults live in his house and most of them work in different jobs, they all have their own cars. It didn't occur to him that it would look bad if they parked on the front lawn.

Lopez doesn't speak much English, so it's hard for him to talk to his neighbors. But he likes how they live. This is the first time he's ever lived in a middle-class white neighborhood. He wants to live here for the rest of his life.

"God willing," he said.

When Metzler called Orozco to invite him and the Lopezes over to talk about the tensions, Lopez was initially suspicious. The police had recently been out to investigate a noise complaint, and Lopez had immediately turned the music down.

He was also working on a set of problems that Richardson, the zoning administrator, had asked him to fix. The list included getting a second driveway to deal with the vehicle surplus and removing a kitchen stove from the basement.

"We just want to live peacefully," Lopez said, shaking his head. "I can't understand why it is they don't like us so much."

A measured meeting

In a slow drawl made slower by the fact that Orozco's 12-year-old son had to translate, Metzler began the meeting with the men and their wives by assuring them that neighbors' complaints were not racially motivated.

"Here, everyone takes pride in their neighborhood," Metzler said Friday, as the family sat, arms crossed, on his floral couch and chairs. "Here, 99 percent of the people keep their yards manicured.

"But every time I see how that beautiful lawn has been destroyed by all your cars, it insults me."

He explained that he and his mother wanted to eventually move to Salem, his hometown, but he is reluctant to put his house on the market now. "I think potential buyers would see your lawn across the street and keep on driving past."

Metzler was firm but upbeat. As he sat in a rocking chair wearing deck shoes, slacks and a cardigan, he seemed like a kindly uncle and leaned toward the family, his eyes locked on theirs, when he spoke. "I'm certain all of this will pass, but it would mean a whole lot to the neighbors if you would immediately start to repair the yard where it's damaged so they can see you're making a concerted effort to participate and be part of the neighborhood."

Lopez and Orozco nodded as Orozco's son, Omar -- who'd taken the day off from middle school to translate -- explained what Metzler was saying. Lopez jiggled his leg nervously and stared into Metzler's gas fireplace while Orozco listened carefully, nodding, and then replied to his son.

After a long exchange with his dad, Omar reported the family's response: "We will try our best to fix our mistakes," he said.

"And we apologize if we have insulted you."

In the future, Omar added, "My dad says we'd really appreciate it if you'd tell us when you see problems so we can fix them. We want you to help us to see."

The family left the 40-minute meeting and, in the drizzle, Orozco and Lopez stood in their rutted front lawn and planned where the second driveway should go.

The next day, Lopez went to Lowe's and bought grass seed and a hoe.

"I think when we're done working on fixing our lawn, it's going to look better than our neighbors'," he said.

beth.macy@roanoke.com 981-3435 evelio.contreras@roanoke.com 381-1673