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Residents at home for the deaf recall night of terror in Danvers - The Boston Globe
When 86-year-old John Ricciuti looked out of his window last Wednesday morning, he was struck with memories of another trauma he lived through long ago, the Worcester tornado of 1953.
"I had the same feelings inside," the elderly man from the New England Home for the Deaf signed, placing one hand on his stomach. "We looked out, and the ceiling was coming down; the windows were broken. There was a lot of confusion. The cops kept saying, 'Come on, come on,' but we couldn't understand them."
It's been a week since an explosion in a Danvers chemical plant damaged about 75 houses and businesses, but many of these deaf residents who lived in a facility less than 200 yards away remain haunted by the experience.
Most were only alerted to the disaster when they were hit with flying shards of glass. Others were jolted from their beds when they felt the building quake, and all were confused and blinded by the flashing lights and the shrieking of fire alarms, a sound so piercing it pained even those with some minimal hearing.
While none of the residents were seriously injured, the blast rattled the tightknit group of deaf seniors, some facing additional challenges such as blindness, dementia, and ill health.
The home was established 105 years ago and Helen Keller, the renowned blind-and-deaf author, speaker, and advocate for rights for the disabled, was a board member in the early 1900s. Its new Water Street building is just two years old.
Now the sprawling, three-level facility, described by some of the its residents as a comfortable bed and breakfast with a homey common area for more than 60 deaf seniors, is so badly damaged that the startled residents have been forced to live out of boxes in a vacant nursing home unit nearby.
While they were sleeping last week, the ceilings on all three levels buckled and partially collapsed, almost all the windows and glass doors imploded, and debris ranging from metal light fixtures to pieces of cement rained down, residents and staff recalled in interviews this week.
As administrators meet with insurance agents this week to consider how to rebuild, a task expected to take months, staff members are scrambling to figure out how to pay for the repairs and other costs while helping their displaced residents try to regain some sense of normalcy.
"These residents went through an unbelievable crisis; it's a miracle they are alive," said Dr. Barry Zeltzer, the home's executive director. "But right now, they don't have much. They have very little clothing; there are no bureaus in the room. So they are putting what they do have for clothes in small boxes. They are not used to living like that."
Zeltzer hopes that the residents will be able to return home within three months.
"We're going to move forward and bring things back to normal as quickly as possible," he said. "But there's a lot ahead of us."
Meanwhile, the bulk of the anxious seniors, many still trying to cope with a devastating experience they could barely understand, found temporary shelter at the Essex Park Rehabilitation and Nursing Center in Beverly, while some went home to families.
Inside the nursing center, generous staffers scrambled to reopen a unit that had been shut down for renovations. Hospital beds and tables were rented, clothing was donated, and volunteers from the deaf community helped with translating in sign language and other needs.
Keeping themselves entertained, 50 deaf residents ate a spaghetti and meatball lunch Tuesday while they played cards, watched television, or simply gabbed using fluttering hands.
When 86-year-old John Ricciuti looked out of his window last Wednesday morning, he was struck with memories of another trauma he lived through long ago, the Worcester tornado of 1953.
"I had the same feelings inside," the elderly man from the New England Home for the Deaf signed, placing one hand on his stomach. "We looked out, and the ceiling was coming down; the windows were broken. There was a lot of confusion. The cops kept saying, 'Come on, come on,' but we couldn't understand them."
It's been a week since an explosion in a Danvers chemical plant damaged about 75 houses and businesses, but many of these deaf residents who lived in a facility less than 200 yards away remain haunted by the experience.
Most were only alerted to the disaster when they were hit with flying shards of glass. Others were jolted from their beds when they felt the building quake, and all were confused and blinded by the flashing lights and the shrieking of fire alarms, a sound so piercing it pained even those with some minimal hearing.
While none of the residents were seriously injured, the blast rattled the tightknit group of deaf seniors, some facing additional challenges such as blindness, dementia, and ill health.
The home was established 105 years ago and Helen Keller, the renowned blind-and-deaf author, speaker, and advocate for rights for the disabled, was a board member in the early 1900s. Its new Water Street building is just two years old.
Now the sprawling, three-level facility, described by some of the its residents as a comfortable bed and breakfast with a homey common area for more than 60 deaf seniors, is so badly damaged that the startled residents have been forced to live out of boxes in a vacant nursing home unit nearby.
While they were sleeping last week, the ceilings on all three levels buckled and partially collapsed, almost all the windows and glass doors imploded, and debris ranging from metal light fixtures to pieces of cement rained down, residents and staff recalled in interviews this week.
As administrators meet with insurance agents this week to consider how to rebuild, a task expected to take months, staff members are scrambling to figure out how to pay for the repairs and other costs while helping their displaced residents try to regain some sense of normalcy.
"These residents went through an unbelievable crisis; it's a miracle they are alive," said Dr. Barry Zeltzer, the home's executive director. "But right now, they don't have much. They have very little clothing; there are no bureaus in the room. So they are putting what they do have for clothes in small boxes. They are not used to living like that."
Zeltzer hopes that the residents will be able to return home within three months.
"We're going to move forward and bring things back to normal as quickly as possible," he said. "But there's a lot ahead of us."
Meanwhile, the bulk of the anxious seniors, many still trying to cope with a devastating experience they could barely understand, found temporary shelter at the Essex Park Rehabilitation and Nursing Center in Beverly, while some went home to families.
Inside the nursing center, generous staffers scrambled to reopen a unit that had been shut down for renovations. Hospital beds and tables were rented, clothing was donated, and volunteers from the deaf community helped with translating in sign language and other needs.
Keeping themselves entertained, 50 deaf residents ate a spaghetti and meatball lunch Tuesday while they played cards, watched television, or simply gabbed using fluttering hands.