‘Enormous Loss’ for MOVE Fire Victims : Philadelphia Rebuilding but Psychic Scars Remain

Like their neighbors, Kermit and Elizabeth Bostic obediently followed police instructions and left their home on Osage Avenue in West Philadelphia, with the promise that they could return the next day.

Twenty-four hours later, the Bostics stood with others on their block watching their homes burn down. The police, trying to dislodge barricaded members of the radical MOVE group from a house they occupied, had dropped a bomb on it from a helicopter, setting off a fire that engulfed three blocks and left 250 persons homeless.

The memory remains fresh for the Bostics, now temporarily settled with rented furniture in a town house apartment near Philadelphia’s airport.

“When I saw the fires, knowing my house would be engulfed in flames, I felt emptiness,” Bostic said. “Everything would be lost. The emptiness is gone, but the loss of everything you’ve had puts an indelible impression on your mind.”

Bostic, 73, a retired New York City Transit Authority employee, considers his tragedy an accident--”just one of those things that happened.”

His wife differs vehemently. “I got very angry because they dropped the bomb,” she said. “They wouldn’t have done that in a white neighborhood. The firemen just let it burn . . . . I will always be angry. The things we lost will never be replaced . . . . They gave us a TV; I had four TVs. We were not on welfare. I had two fur coats.”

Two months after the huge fire that left 11 persons in the MOVE headquarters dead and gutted 61 houses, few physical signs of the disaster are left. The land has been cleared and plans for new houses approved. A blue-ribbon commission is investigating the incident and the deaths. But, for some of the burned-out residents, deep psychic scars remain.

“Looking at it in psychiatric terms, they have suffered an enormous loss, almost equivalent to the death of a loved one,” said Dr. Alvin F. Poussaint, associate professor of psychiatry at Harvard Medical School, who met with some of the families as a consultant to one of Philadelphia’s mental health centers.

“They lost their property and their personal memorabilia, all those things that give them a sense of self and a sense of identity, all the things they were attached to for so many years.

‘Law and Order People’

” . . . They are law and order people who were burned out by law and order. That produces much of the conflict. Many of them wanted the police to come in and remove those people (the MOVE radicals). The police came in. Many of them are still in a state of shock about why it happened.”

For Elizabeth Bostic, the pain is particularly intense when she returns to her old street. “I’m at a loss when we go over there on the Red Cross bus. I always turn my head away from my space--it’s only a space. I am angry about that bomb.”

Over the years, psychiatrists studying disaster victims have found that clusters of symptoms often follow catastrophes. Victims of severe stress may be disoriented, suffer memory impairment, a disturbance in the perception of events. They may feel vulnerable, out of control. Long after the calamity, they may become depressed, aimless and apathetic.

In some cases, unfocused rage can harm relationships. Sometimes, survivors seek targets for their anger, including even the relief agencies trying to offer aid.

Problems for Children

For children, the problems can be compounded. Youngsters must deal with their own reactions, as well as with the psychic trauma of their parents.

“It’s clear this is really a major disaster, and we can anticipate that over time there will be significant reactions, long-term reactions, to this experience,” said Dr. Herbert Diamond, medical director of the Consortium, a West Philadelphia mental health agency that has been seeing some of the residents who lost their homes.

“It is unique in the sense that even though individuals lost their homes and their histories, the city immediately began to provide support, some money and the plans to rebuild the houses.

“However, we have begun, through larger meetings with the community, to become aware of people who have begun to develop signs of anxiety, insomnia, nightmares, thinking about the disaster--some of the initial signs of the post-traumatic stress syndrome. We have begun to hear from a few parents about their children being fearful of going out on the street.”

Crisis Teams Formed

Immediately after the disaster, Philadelphia moved quickly to deal with its consequences. A crisis center was set up at a recreational building in the neighborhood to provide communication, counseling and basic needs. Crisis management teams with representatives of three city agencies were formed for the residents who lost their homes. The search began for temporary housing. Some families slept in dorms at Temple University and the University of Pennsylvania.

“We wanted to make the effort as humane and simplified as possible,” said Lavon W. Bracy, an official of the city’s Office of Housing, who has dealt with the residents on an everyday basis since May 13, when the disaster occurred. “At first, they were traumatized. People were fearful. They were angry. There was a sense of lostness . . . . Some people came in and said the only thing I have is a wallet and a pocketbook and a change of clothes. Others came in and said we’ll get through this . . . . After the first week, we could see a change in attitude. People were saying this is my life, I have to go on.”

The outpouring of support from charities and sympathetic individuals was--and continues to be--phenomenal. The Red Cross had to call off its clothing drive because so much was donated. Caterers piled tray upon tray of food in the crisis center. A local developer provided town house apartments near the airport at reduced rents, and the city paid for them.

Many Household Supplies

On move-in day, a truck arrived with donated household supplies, blankets, dishes, pots and pans, towels and blankets. A local union of municipal workers gave each household a new 19-inch color television set. The developer had a bottle of champagne waiting in each apartment.

And the response hasn’t stopped. Local restaurants and motels have given the survivors of the MOVE disaster free meals. They have received tickets to concerts, theater, movies and baseball games. On a recent weekend, they traveled en masse to a theme park in Hershey, Pa., for an outing sponsored by the Red Cross.

And, on top of all this, each household received $14,500 in contributions from a group of charities.

Some city officials and psychiatrists are concerned that a backlash to all the generosity may develop.

“The burned-out people have become separated from the community, and they have become special people,” Poussaint said. “There is potential conflict between the people who will return and the rest of the (immediate) community. They will have new homes. I detect some developing jealousies which will further aggravate the situation for them.”

Plans Outlined Quickly

The morning after the fire, officials of the Philadelphia Redevelopment Authority met to consider what could be done to replace the houses that were destroyed. Within 72 hours, prototype plans and specifications were drawn up for bidding by developers. “We did seven months of work in seven weeks,” said Robert G. Hazen, the authority’s executive director.

Plans call for construction of three-bedroom row houses at a total cost of about $5 million--or more than $81,000 a house--to be paid for through city, state, federal and private funds.

For many residents, the attention and the participation in the home designing has been therapeutic. Mayor W. Wilson Goode had expressed hope that the houses could be completed by Christmas, but the design changes make that seem increasingly doubtful.

But, for the residents, the American nightmare has mixed with the American dream. While the attention has helped ease the trauma, psychological difficulties remain.

“People’s personalities have changed. People are on edge,” said Oris Thomas. “A lot of people are starting to realize their homes are gone.” Thomas has been unable to return to his job as an auto detail man waxing and cleaning cars. He said he just couldn’t concentrate.

Residents Praise Goode

As a group, the residents praise Goode, who has visited some of their temporary homes and met with them five or six times.

But undirected anger still seeps through. So does fear that MOVE might return to the rebuilt neighborhood.

“They are kind of people without a country,” said Poussaint, a specialist in grief reactions. “They are very angry, and they don’t know where to direct it. They don’t know who to blame. Some are blaming the mayor, some are blaming the police chief, some are blaming the heavens.”

The other day, the Bostics sat in their temporary living room, discussing their loss.

“I miss my record collection and my slides. We had slides of the Great Wall of China, the pyramids of Egypt, of France, England and Belgium. We had 350 drums of those things. They are gone. So are all the pictures of my two children. These things are irreplaceable. With them went a part of me.”

His wife idly wound up a small toy lamb. It played “Mary Has a Little Lamb” as she spoke.

“I had a black doll my uncle gave me when I was 21. These are the only things we have now,” she said, pointing to the lamb and another stuffed animal. “We had wines from all over the world. We even bought whiskey from China.”

“Your home is what you loved. It (the new house) will be a place to stay. You can’t make it a home,” Bostic said.

“We will make it a home,” his wife said, with determination suddenly in her voice.