Payouts in Trade Center Cases Bring Hope, Anger

For Michael James, an already melancholy holiday season turned bittersweet with word last week that the federal government would offer a giant payout for the loss of his wife.

“I guess I will take whatever they give me,” said James, a 47-year-old gym teacher who stands to receive more than $700,000 for his wife’s death on Sept. 11. “It’s not that big a deal to me, the amount of money. It will never bring Gricelda back.”

As they struggled to comprehend the implications of the settlement promised by the government, family members of some of the nearly 3,000 World Trade Center victims interviewed after the announcement said over and over that no dollar amount could make up for what was taken from them. Most were too numb to do the calculations of a complicated formula that uses a decedent’s age and annual salary to produce lifetime earning potential.

Under the plan, the average payout will be $1.6 million; each family will receive at least $250,000 for pain and suffering. Some survivors acknowledged that the bailout eases the financial panic they have felt--from bills piling up to the big financial decisions down the road.

Now Christina Lynch can reconsider her decision to sell the half-million-dollar suburban home she bought last May with her husband, Rich, a trader at Euro Brokers who was so devoted to his job on the 84th floor of Tower Two that he kept working after the first plane hit.

And Lynch can take some time to decide whether to go back to work or stay home with her 18-month-old daughter, Olivia.

“If this new money really comes through, it will take away some of the pressure,” said Lynch, 31. “But it’s not going to make me feel better. I still go to bed at night and cry.”

But Elizabeth Rivas, whose late husband, Moises, made $478 a week as a line chef at Windows on the World, said Saturday that the government figures were nowhere close to sufficient.

“I think a million and a half is very little for us,” said Rivas, who spent Friday at the Family Assistance Center at Pier 94, trying to determine how much her family will get from the new federal fund.

Since Sept. 11, the generosity of strangers has meant that Rivas’ $925-a-month rent is paid at least through April. A UPS truck arrives every day with boxes of donated toys from around the country for Moises Jr., 4, and Moesha, 2. Charities and the government have carried her along so far, paying her about $30,000 and enabling her to replace the rattletrap minivan she used to ferry her family around Washington Heights and the Bronx.

Rivas wants more. She wants a million dollars each for Moises Jr. and Moesha, and the same for herself. She said she will sue, and she doesn’t care how long it takes.

“This settlement,” she said, “does not make me happy.”

Victims Represent Cross-Section of City

At work on what was otherwise an ordinary day, the World Trade Center victims--and the families they left behind--mirrored the diverse demography of the city around them. Some were fabulously wealthy. Some scraped by.

The dead included a variety of relationships, straight and gay. The victims left behind 7,500 children.

Whatever their differences, no one was prepared for what happened Sept. 11.

The last few days have been a whirl of emotion for a number of the families as they learn of the federal payouts. Their initial reactions have been as varied as their financial situations: Some are satisfied, some are skeptical and still others are angry.

Last week’s announcement comes after three months of angst over mortgage and tuition bills and mounting credit card debt--with no paycheck coming in. Millions of dollars in emergency cash has been poured on these families by charities and public agencies to tide them over.

However, the emergency phase of this crisis is passing. The Family Assistance Center that opened days after the terrorist attack is closing Saturday; a single city office has just opened to handle the families’ more immediate needs. And $1.5 billion is still sitting in the coffers of dozens of charities until their boards of directors decide how to distribute it.

Now the families are confronting the next phase of their new lives. There are financial decisions to be made: Should small businesses be shuttered if they had relied on the lost incomes of the Sept. 11 dead? Should homes be sold? Should stay-at-home mothers go back to work?

“This money may mean I can stay home for another year--or when it comes to looking for a position, the bottom line won’t be the No. 1 issue,” said Lynch, who recently earned a graduate degree in guidance counseling but has been home taking care of her daughter. “Maybe if I do go back, I could go part time.”

Money Could Help Ease Bad Feelings

While families are still unclear exactly how much they will receive from the new fund, it could also serve to mollify some of the ill will that has been building against the federal government.

“Myself and Mike’s mom and brothers have just been getting angrier and angrier,” said David O’Leary, whose partner of almost 20 years, Michael Lepore, was killed on the 97th floor of Tower One. He believes that the government should have been better prepared to prevent the attacks.

In a relationship filled with friends and comforts--a house, travel and three dogs--Lepore was the feisty one, O’Leary more laid back. “You should be glad it was him killed and not me,” O’Leary said. “He wouldn’t have let anyone off the hook.”

O’Leary, a 45-year-old publishing executive, has had so much trouble stomaching the idea of cashing in on the death of Lepore, a systems analyst for Marsh & McLennan, that friends had to push him to seek emergency relief funds.

“That took convincing,” he said. “You really have to separate the loss of your loved one from all the rest of it.’

For his part, O’Leary simply could not face the thought of going to the Red Cross for help. So the Red Cross came to him.

Three “lovely Southern women,” he said, took the train from Manhattan to the home he and Lepore owned north of the city. They would not even let him serve coffee; they just got down to business. Within days, O’Leary had a check for $10,000 to cover the cost of Lepore’s memorial service, right down to the peach-colored roses he placed next to Lepore’s photograph, atop the piano. In all, the Red Cross gave O’Leary about $30,000 in emergency cash.

O’Leary said Friday that the paperwork associated with Lepore’s death has been so overwhelming that he worked four-day weeks, spending the fifth on the minutiae that have consumed these families since Sept. 11.

The silver lining for O’Leary may be that all the documentation he had prepared may smooth the path for his claim with the federal government. O’Leary received a call Thursday from the Empire State Pride Agenda, telling him that domestic partners would be covered by the federal compensation. After insurance, pension and other payments are deducted, O’Leary could receive $1 million or more.

The government settlement is “absolutely the right thing to do,” O’Leary said, “although I question a lot of their motives for it. I don’t think they are purely trying to help the families. I think they want to keep from clogging the judicial system.”

The broad range of payouts also irks O’Leary.

“It can never bring your loved one back, so just do it equitably,” he said. “Give everyone the same amount.”

Sadness Fills Wedding Album

Sara Mulligan, a widow at 28, had been considering moving out of the $2,300-a-month Manhattan apartment she shared with her husband. Now she can stay put while she sorts out her life.

She is working and going to school. At night, she returns to an apartment filled with pictures from her wedding last May to Pete Mulligan, a broker at Cantor Fitzgerald who died on the 104th floor of Tower Two. Thirty people in their wedding album--all Cantor brokers--are dead too.

“It’s one of those things where the emotional impact of my husband’s death, heading into the holidays, is taking over my everything,” Mulligan said. “I can’t really think about money. But I guess this fund is a good thing.”

Through her grief and confusion about the future, Mulligan voiced a note of resentment over the inequities in death benefits among some Sept. 11 families.

Families of those who died in uniform or in the Pentagon received the most benefits. Because of their high-risk jobs or connections to the military, these victims’ families had hefty pensions, life insurance and a variety of other death benefits coming to them.

But families of civilians--the chefs, secretaries and even stockbrokers--had fewer resources to draw on.

Some had life insurance--Mulligan’s husband had a $175,000 policy--but many did not. And while almost every family was getting something--whether from Worker’s Compensation or Social Security--the civilians felt the most uncertainty.

The federal payout is designed to solve some of the inequities. Families like those of firefighters and police officers who already have generous death benefits coming their way will have those amounts subtracted from any payout they might be due from the federal government for the lost income of the victim.

“It was very tough hearing about these firefighter funds as if they were the only heroes out there,” Mulligan said. “There are 700 Cantor Fitzgerald people lost. Most were young and weren’t making big fees, and some had families. . . . Pete believed in what he did. He was also a hero.”

Her voice heavy with sorrow as she approached her first Christmas as a widow, Mulligan said her husband’s belief in the economy influenced her decision not to sue the government or the airlines over his death. “He would never want me to do anything that might hurt the economy or business.”

Suit Could Take Years to Resolve

At home with her children, Elizabeth Rivas conceded Saturday that suing certainly would take time. She would have to share any court settlement with a lawyer. She is not even sure who she would sue, the government or the airlines. But she is determined to provide a comfortable life for the two youngsters her 29-year-old husband left behind.

“I don’t care if it takes 20 years,” Rivas vowed.

With his $25,000 annual salary, Moises Rivas paid half the rent on the two-bedroom apartment near the George Washington Bridge. (The other half came from Social Security benefits paid to Elizabeth’s four older children, whose father died of cancer.) Sometimes he brought home extra money by singing with a band from his native Ecuador.

Moises was performing the night he and Elizabeth met. Moises made a bet with one of the musicians that he would marry the woman with the big, soulful eyes. He won.

Years of support from government assistance served Rivas well after Moises was killed. She knew how to tap the social service system for what she could get. The 39-year-old, two-time widow also made a point of talking publicly about her plight. Spanish-speaking television lapped up her story, trailing her so steadily that when she went to the Bronx recently to collect milk vouchers, strangers offered condolences.

Rivas also settled into an ad hoc financial arrangement with a neighbor she knows only as “Peter, a white guy.” Two days after the tragedy, Peter brought Rivas an envelope containing $200 to help with her rent. He opened a bank account for the donations that poured in.

Her husband had serious earning potential, Rivas insisted. Two days after his death, a license arrived from the city for an asbestos inspection job that would have paid $25 an hour.

The new fund could bring Rivas about $600,000. It may sound like a lot of money, but, said Rivas, “what is a lot of money? My husband had his whole life in front of him to make money.”

“I’m not going to take it,” she said.

A Girl Leaves Cookies for Santa

At the East Side apartment building where he works as a doorman, 44-year-old William Cintron accepted a plate of cookies Saturday from a little girl who lives there.

“Hi, Nina,” he said. “Do you want to leave these for Santa Claus? OK, I’ll do that.”

In a world gone topsy-turvy since Sept. 11, it was a snapshot of what life is supposed to be at this time of year: cookies and Santa Claus, not sadness and settlements.

In 15 years of marriage, Cintron and his wife, Edna, shared everything--sometimes even a single sandwich and one cup of coffee. All their expenses were divided 50-50 too.

Most important, they shared a deep spiritual connection. It was Edna, 46, who lifted Cintron out of homelessness and guided him to conquer his alcoholism.

“Edna, I met her and fell in love with her at first sight,” he said.

When William told Edna he wanted to open a small flower shop, of course she kicked in money to help him get started. She worked at Sweet William, their small shop in East Harlem, while the business got off the ground.

With her $18-an-hour job as an administrative assistant at Marsh & McLennan, Edna had reached her professional stride, her husband said.

“My wife, she was so happy, so happy,” he said. “We came a long way to be where we are, and my wife got to the stage where she wanted to be. She would get up in the morning and feel so good about going to work.”

He has turned over his financial affairs to a lawyer who lives in the building where he works. He said he considers the details too personal to discuss, explaining, “I’m sure my attorney will do what’s right for me.”

On Saturday, Cintron was reading about the proposed offer from the federal government. He had not calculated how much he might receive but said, “There’s a lot more to the story than meets the eye.” He added that he expects he will be part of at least one large lawsuit.

With his wife gone, Cintron is working harder than ever to occupy his time. He goes home to an apartment that is not empty “but full of angels. My wife, she’s there in spirit. She’s everywhere.”

He understands there can be no price tag for what he lost.

And no matter how much money anyone gives him, like every person who lost a loved one at the World Trade Center, he knows “you can never live a normal life again.”