For 17 years, José Cruz of Wheaton, Maryland, had worked as a cook at the Mayflower Hotel. The job offered a good salary and benefits — until the pandemic upended the travel industry. He got laid off, and within weeks his savings were gone.

“I went to every food bank in Montgomery county,” he says, “and sometimes to Prince George’s country to get food for my family. It broke my heart.”

He visited a Rockville food pantry last spring called So What Else? and while picking up his box of groceries, he noticed it was run mainly by volunteers. He offered to help, and he’s been busy this past year volunteering at the pantry and picking up donated food for distribution. Now it’s his full-time job.

Most of his days start on the road, with a trip to downtown Baltimore.

There’s a warehouse run by 4MyCity, which collects and distributes thousands of pounds of rescued food every day.

Food insecurity in the DC region jumped by more than 50% during the pandemic, according to the Capital Area Food Bank. As the pandemic and restrictions ease, things are improving. Recent data from the Census Bureau indicates the percentage of Americans struggling with hunger is now at its lowest level since the pandemic began. Still, many in our area, especially the undocumented, are struggling to put food on the table.

That’s why Cruz is so dedicated to this work. On any given day he might drive to Delaware or Virginia, even as far as New Jersey for pickups. “We run like crazy getting some food for the community. We feel bad when they come and they go with empty hands.”

There are two pallets waiting for him when he arrives at the Baltimore warehouse, stacked with loaves of sliced bread, 50-gallon containers of milk, and produce rejected from distributors as ‘unsalable’ because of small imperfections.

As he packs up the truck, he tucks a few extra loaves of bread into the nooks between boxes. He knows what an extra loaf could mean to the last person in line that day.

Many of the pantry clients are recent immigrants from Central America like he was a few decades ago. Cruz arrived in Annapolis, Maryland in 1985, fleeing a civil war in El Salvador. His first job was washing dishes for a dollar an hour at a Chinese restaurant. Even a job like that, he says, would be hard to find right now.

When he began volunteering at the food pantry, Cruz knew there were thousands of local native Spanish speakers who might not know about the resources, but who desperately needed them. So he began posting short videos each day on Facebook Live. He would explain what was in stock, and warmly invite people to head over to the “Changaro de Cruz” — Mister Cruz’s Market. “The people love that name,” he says with a smile. “Sometimes people want to take a picture with me. I say, what are you doing? I’m no superstar!’”

Pulling into the parking lot of So What Else? Cruz greets the crowd, already lined up for today’s distribution. “I’m here, I’m here!” he announces as he parks, then asks volunteers for help unloading.

Most of the clients today are women, many pushing strollers, or keeping young children entertained while they wait. Everyone watches the boxes go from the truck directly onto the tables for the giveaway. Grisella Jarden, of Aspen Hill, Maryland calls Cruz over. She hands him a container of fresh Salvadoran cheese. He opens the box up immediately and puts a piece in his mouth. “Delicioso!” he says with his mouth full, giving his official chef’s approval. Jarden made the cheese herself from milk she picked up here yesterday.

The organization So What Else estimates this location distributes to more than 400 people each day.

As the pantry opens for the day, Cruz gets ready to post a video showing what’s available. But he can’t get the Facebook app open without new text messages popping up.

His phone dings once, then again. “All day my phone (does) that,” he says. “Last night I received a phone call at 3 a.m. It was a man who wanted to know if we’re going to give away diapers today.” Calls like that are not unusual, he says. “It’s every single day.” He gets at least 25 new friend requests a day and gives his number out to anyone who asks for it. “The people need me,” Cruz says with a sigh. “They really need me.”

This story originally appeared on WAMU.