Coping With MOVE Tragedy : Philadelphians Search for Answers Amid the Rubble

Bundled against a chilly wind, Jeanne Stanton stared at the burned-out row houses where 11 persons died and 250 others lost their homes and explained why she waited until Saturday to visit Osage Avenue:

“I didn’t want to see what I see now,” she said, a catch in her voice. “I won’t forget this for a long time.”

Stanton lives five blocks from the site of Monday’s deadly confrontation between police and the radical group MOVE, but she is just beginning to come to terms with the tragedy. Visiting the scene is part of that.

It is the same for many others in the Philadelphia area--white suburbanites who drive in, stare and go away, blacks who live nearby and walk through for the first time, hoping for a glimpse of friends who lost their homes.

Some, of course, came to the scene out of curiosity. But most seemed to believe that by actually seeing the street, they could put the tragedy behind them.

Despite the comprehensive television and newspaper coverage of the violent episode, no one is prepared for what confronts them at the site.

Anita Flanegan, a suburban secretary, said: “I knew it was pretty bad, but you don’t realize how bad until you see it.”

Traffic in the area was snarled hopelessly in spots as persons who had worked all week finally got a look at the debris-strewn street, the singed trees and the huge red crane knocking down walls of the brick row houses.

There was more to feel than to see. With the search of the MOVE compound ended, investigators have begun rummaging through remains of adjoining homes, dwellings more ordinary than MOVE’s fortress with its tree-trunk bunkers.

With each day, more walls crumble, and more of the row houses are hauled away. Fewer television crews stake out the area.

Rumor Hot Line

At a nearby neighborhood center, city officials help victims replace lost licenses and Social Security cards and obtain food stamps, welfare and other benefits. There is even a rumor hot line for victims, who hear much misinformation about the help to which they are entitled.

At the center, some who are trying to help the victims resent the continuing visits to the siege area, believing that they exacerbate victims’ trauma.

“It’s like a day at the zoo,” complained Mary Arthur, a volunteer. “I wish they’d stay home.”

Such disharmony is a metaphor for much of the MOVE affair. Even as the city tries to heal itself and return to normal, anger and unanswered questions about officials’ handling of the confrontation plague the efforts.

Scathing Criticism

From the beginning, Mayor W. Wilson Goode and other city officials have suffered scathing criticism in the media for their handling of the confrontation.

For at least a year, residents near the MOVE house had complained that the group’s members were harassing them, brandishing weapons and keeping a filthy house with rats and other animals raising a stench. Goode was moving too slowly against the anti-technology group, residents complained.

On Monday, after a daylong standoff, including a shoot-out that residents many blocks away said was “like Vietnam,” Police Commissioner Gregore J. Sambor decided to use a helicopter to drop a bomb on a heavily fortified bunker atop MOVE’s home.

The firestorm that followed the 5:27 p.m. bombing destroyed 53 homes and severely damaged eight others. Seven adults and four children--all presumed to be MOVE members--were found in the ashes and rubble.

What Was Not Found

However, what was not found in the MOVE compound after a four-day search remains controversial:

No evidence of MOVE’s alleged tunnel network was uncovered. No machine guns were discovered, although two shotguns, a rifle and three pistols were found.

Officials had said that the likely presence of heavy weapons and tunnels had contributed to their decision to bomb.

Six days later, people are still asking:

--Why use a bomb when police believed explosives may have been stockpiled in the house?

--Why did firefighters delay putting out the raging blaze?

--Why did police not try to out-wait MOVE before taking drastic action?

--Did police and MOVE have a shoot-out in an alley behind the burning house? The mayor, who watched the siege on television from City Hall, said no. Sambor, who was at the scene, said yes for several days, then no.

--Will the police confront MOVE members living in two other houses? The homes, with windows boarded like those on Osage Avenue, have been under police surveillance for weeks.

Addressing the Future

Goode, who spent the week unsuccessfully trying to reconcile conflicting answers to such questions, tried Saturday to address the future.

After a closed meeting with homeless residents, he said each family would receive “perhaps a couple of thousand dollars” to “help them deal with” daily living.

Goode and other officials have said the destroyed homes will be replaced by Christmas with dwellings worth $80,000 apiece.

But, for now, the site of the confrontation’s end is memorialized in rubble that, like a shrine, drew droves of visitors Saturday. Some came with cameras; most left with heavy feelings.

“It’s devastating,” said Michael Sturgis, a hotel housekeeper, who watched a little yellow tractor scoop the remains of families’ lives. “I didn’t believe it. I had to see it for myself.”

And, in some cases, the visit results in apprehension and fear.

“It’s a very traumatic experience,” said Stanton, a slender grandmother and homemaker. “I walked down this street last Saturday, and I saw a beautiful street. Now, I see nothing.

“That’s kind of frightening. If that can happen here, it can happen to me.”