Marcelo Iriarte has the measured voice, confident stride, even the suit and tie, of a lawyer, but every day he dons the fluorescent yellow garb of a street sweeper._
"I had a double life. I left one world to enter another," explained 41-year-old Iriarte, whose astonishing story bridges the massive gulf between Argentina's urban elite and poor._
"I had to learn another way of speaking, and when to be quiet so as not to offend," the suave law school graduate with a deep tan told AFP._
Iriarte is something of a media sensation in Buenos Aires after his charming story was dug up and splashed about on the front pages of the newspapers and on the television screens._
In a country of immigrants and widespread poverty, the tale of the "street sweeper turned lawyer" has great resonance._
The son of a poor Argentinian family, Iriarte began working on the streets at the age of eight, selling newspapers, sweets, brooms and other knick-knacks on buses._
He recalled bitterly how one day, after failing to sell a single broom on the buses, he decided to go door-to-door to every business on the street. "They bought them out of pity," he said._
Iriarte became a bus driver about 10 years later and it was thanks to that job and a chance encounter that he ended up resuming his studies._
"In that building worked a girl who changed my life," he said, pointing to the ruined factory where Laura, a mystery passenger he regards as his fairy godmother, sprung from. "I never saw her again," he added._
Following Laura's advice, Iriarte re-enrolled back in high school at the age of 35 and swept streets during the day to fund his legal studies._
Rising every day at 4 am to make it to a 7 am class, he wouldn't get home before midnight due to gruelling night courses._
"Mine was an ant's progress and I lost a bunch of things along the way," Iriarte confessed, without elaborating on what he had lost._
As he spoke, a woman selling coffee from a cart yelled out: "Look how good you look! "We are proud of you!"_
Beatriz Rolon, 54, the coffee-seller, offered Iriarte a cup of coffee, as she had when he did his homework seated next to her little cart. "You deserve it after so many sacrifices," she said._
After graduating in December, job offers piled in from a host of law firms, but Iriarte is worried that legal companies may not offer the same long-term security as Cliba, the Buenos Aires cleaning company where he still works._
And anyway, Iriarte explained, material wealth does not interest him, except as a means to improve himself. "Before, I was mute. Studying gives you freedom to think," he said._
Returning to the imposing university from which he graduated several months ago, he sprinted up the stairs and pointed to a wall where he saw his name inscribed for the first time._
"You were in the newspapers, I saw you on TV. You're famous!," exclaimed his bearded, blue-jeaned law professor, Adrian Carta._
"He never needed our help," said his classmate Elizabeth Villanueva, 39. "To the contrary, we needed his."_
Iriarte's boss back at Cliba, Miguel Noell, said he hoped the street sweeper would take advantage of the opportunity to have a legal career._
"All of a sudden a whole new panorama opens up and it is scary. But we don't want to see him over here any more," Noell said.
He can fight for cleaners' rights - minimum wage please.
"I had a double life. I left one world to enter another," explained 41-year-old Iriarte, whose astonishing story bridges the massive gulf between Argentina's urban elite and poor._
"I had to learn another way of speaking, and when to be quiet so as not to offend," the suave law school graduate with a deep tan told AFP._
Iriarte is something of a media sensation in Buenos Aires after his charming story was dug up and splashed about on the front pages of the newspapers and on the television screens._
In a country of immigrants and widespread poverty, the tale of the "street sweeper turned lawyer" has great resonance._
The son of a poor Argentinian family, Iriarte began working on the streets at the age of eight, selling newspapers, sweets, brooms and other knick-knacks on buses._
He recalled bitterly how one day, after failing to sell a single broom on the buses, he decided to go door-to-door to every business on the street. "They bought them out of pity," he said._
Iriarte became a bus driver about 10 years later and it was thanks to that job and a chance encounter that he ended up resuming his studies._
"In that building worked a girl who changed my life," he said, pointing to the ruined factory where Laura, a mystery passenger he regards as his fairy godmother, sprung from. "I never saw her again," he added._
Following Laura's advice, Iriarte re-enrolled back in high school at the age of 35 and swept streets during the day to fund his legal studies._
Rising every day at 4 am to make it to a 7 am class, he wouldn't get home before midnight due to gruelling night courses._
"Mine was an ant's progress and I lost a bunch of things along the way," Iriarte confessed, without elaborating on what he had lost._
As he spoke, a woman selling coffee from a cart yelled out: "Look how good you look! "We are proud of you!"_
Beatriz Rolon, 54, the coffee-seller, offered Iriarte a cup of coffee, as she had when he did his homework seated next to her little cart. "You deserve it after so many sacrifices," she said._
After graduating in December, job offers piled in from a host of law firms, but Iriarte is worried that legal companies may not offer the same long-term security as Cliba, the Buenos Aires cleaning company where he still works._
And anyway, Iriarte explained, material wealth does not interest him, except as a means to improve himself. "Before, I was mute. Studying gives you freedom to think," he said._
Returning to the imposing university from which he graduated several months ago, he sprinted up the stairs and pointed to a wall where he saw his name inscribed for the first time._
"You were in the newspapers, I saw you on TV. You're famous!," exclaimed his bearded, blue-jeaned law professor, Adrian Carta._
"He never needed our help," said his classmate Elizabeth Villanueva, 39. "To the contrary, we needed his."_
Iriarte's boss back at Cliba, Miguel Noell, said he hoped the street sweeper would take advantage of the opportunity to have a legal career._
"All of a sudden a whole new panorama opens up and it is scary. But we don't want to see him over here any more," Noell said.
He can fight for cleaners' rights - minimum wage please.
