From shock to reality, a fire victim tells her tale

The following personal account, titled “This is a Hell of a Way to Meet Your Neighbor,” was written by Crystal Dawn, a former resident of the condo complex near Arizona Terrace hit by fire May 5. See her GoFundMe page here >> Note that the Housing Corporation of Arlington is raising money for victims in an effort that includes a concert at the Regent Theater on Wednesday, June 10.

Bang! Bang! “Get out!” “Get out!” Sheepishly, I peer through the living-room blinds and see flames blazing off of the roof of the building to the right of the U-shaped complex. I was in the inner part of the U. Many thoughts raced through my mind: Get dressed, as I was in my underthings. Should I take my cats? Will my stove blow up? And the unoriginal, get out of the apartment now.

Watched in shock

Next to the building to the left of the U, people were all over in bathrobes, no shirts or shoes and watched in shock as embers started flying off the roof. As firefighters worked tirelessly to put out the four-alarm fire, people of all races, ages, sexual orientations and religions held hands and linked arms as we stared in bewilderment at our homes going down in bright yellow and orange “light-up-the sky” flames.

As the fire rapidly spread from one building to the next, all residents were asked to move to an area away from the smoke. Most of us were huddled in a group just outside of the U-shaped complex. The firefighters who worked on the hoses where we were gave those who had no shirt a blanket and white Hanes socks for those with bare feet.

We tried to make sense of what woke us up at 4 in the morning on May 5, 2015. But, with our disheveled hair and one woman in frog pajama bottoms, no sense could be made. We talked about anything except why we were outside in the light rain. I saw one person throw up, and many others who looked dazed and confused.

Two hours later, the roaring fire still wouldn’t give up, and was spreading from building to building. Then, a new crew of firefighters from surrounding cities (Waltham, Medford and Cambridge) came to relieve those who were tired and soot-faced.

‘Why-me?’ looks

The news camera’s came to tell the tragic tale. I told one cameraman what was going on in a matter-of-fact way, because the shock of it all hadn’t set in yet. The American Red Cross arrived to give out water, food and blankets. Law enforcement answered the same questions over and over and never complained.

One of the things that bothered all of us was the unknown. There was speculation that not everyone was accounted for; but the assumption was the person could have been on vacation or went to work. As the rumors spread from person to person, time moved so slowly, and everything was a blur. Everybody was disillusioned, confused and had that “why-me?” look on their faces. As a writer of short stories, short films and the like, I started writing in my head, because writing has always been cathartic for me.

As more hours passed by, strangers and neighbors bought and gave out coffee and bagels. One woman gave three of her own sweat jackets to those like me who didn’t bring a coat. The gas station manager across from our burning homes let people use the restroom. Though he was hesitant, because he thought he might get fired for letting so many inside the restroom. Inside the gas station, there is a Dunkin’ Donuts, and the manager gave us well wishes.

But I’ll never forget the neighbor down the street. As eight of us huddled together for warmth and closeness, wrapped in blankets, a woman came by and offered hugs. Those on the ground, got up, those of us, including me who were leaning against a splintered fence, got up and gladly accepted her big bear hugs.

It was 8 or 9 o’clock when the fire was finally put out by the amazing firefighters. After the building inspectors went inside, those who could were allowed five minutes inside their apartments to get money, identification, medicines and, for me, my cats.

Search for cats

Once inside, I smelled that awful smoke on everything — the furniture, my bed, clothes and even papers that I had lying around. There was maybe four or five inches of water covering the bathroom, bedroom and kitchen floors. I found my “lucky” black cat, Caruso, hiding under the bed, and I was able to put him in the cat carrier. But my other cat, Meowzer, was on top of the refrigerator, and I couldn’t get to her. In my mind, though, I was making a “Sophie’s choice,” because even if I could have gotten to her, I wouldn’t have been able to take her with me.

I have several health issues that prevent me from lifting, pulling, pushing, reaching and carrying too much, so I left her there with some food and a bowl of water that I put on the kitchen counter. It about killed me that I left her, my lovable companion of almost 14 years, but in the end, I know that in that moment, I made the right choice.

Whenever, I’m nervous or stressed, I lick my lips so they become chapped. To relieve them, and replace the smoke smell on my face, I took my Burt’s Bees peppermint lip balm out of my purse. Then, I closed my eyes and just let the inviting smell open my senses and take away the smoky smell, if only for a few minutes. That was a small thing that made me somewhat happy on a day of complete sadness, loneliness and mourning.

I had and still have mixed emotions of that terrible day. I’m glad I got out of my apartment safely and later, my two cats that are a great comfort to me, especially now. But I’m sad for my neighbors — the woman who just got back from her honeymoon, only to escape the fire with the clothes on her back, her new husband, and her cat. My friend Steve, who lost everything. Carol, a woman who lived in the complex for decades and always had a smile for me, lost everything.

To get us warm and out of the rain, an MBTA bus arrived, and one at a time, we boarded and sat down with our limited belongings, or nothing at all. While waiting for everyone to go into their homes and salvage what they could, the State Police were there and took our statements to get a sense of how and why this happened.

A smiling boy

On the bus, the shock and denial wore off, and the reality of ‘where am I going to sleep tonight’ set in. This is when I started writing on my cell phone; what I saw, what I felt, and what my friends and neighbors were saying, about what was going to happen to us. On the bus, I was talking to a woman who said she didn’t care about any of her things, because what she had with her was the most important thing in the world — her smiling little boy, Liam. To bring a smile to the firefighters’ faces who were leaving, a neighbor let them pet her cute little dog. At that moment, when the bus was preparing to leave and I felt scared, that was exactly what I needed to see.

At 11 o’clock, we were driven by bus to the Arlington Police Department for the displacement process. We filled out the paperwork for the American Red cross to find temporary hotel housing, and were given emergency funds, enough for food, toiletries, clothes and shoes.

At noon, in this small room, there was pizza and soda, but not many could eat or hold anything down. I took two bites of a slice of cheese pizza and felt nauseous. I was able to drink tea. A clothing company came and dropped off two boxes of T-shirts, sweat shirts and warm fleece jackets. I wish I could remember their names to thank them! When a woman from the Red Cross asked me what she could do for me, I told her that I wanted to call my mother, but she lives in California. Then, she asked a policeman and he let me use the phone for 10 minutes.

It’s such an overwhelming situation, the fire, the not knowing and neighbors I didn’t know helping out. A stranger went to Henry Bears and bought toys for the three children who lived in the complex. And neighbors who I recognized but never really knew gave each other a hug, saying that it’s all going to be OK.

Learned of death

At 6:30 that evening, a meeting for all those that were temporarily and permanently displaced drew questions – some were answered, but many more were not. Sitting in a large room of the nearby Thompson School, we learned that the speculation about a fatality was true: Wei Lee, only 47 years old who lived in building 10, died, along with his cat, ChoCho. My friend Steve’s adorable cat, Ruby, also died. I asked James from the Board of Health about Meowzer’s safety, and was told that animal control would get her out of the apartment the next day.

At that meeting, we also learned that the fire was caused by the flick of a cigarette. It’s crazy to think that something so small could cause so much damage. But I don’t blame the person responsible, because I don’t want that negative emotion inside of me. Instead, I’ve been praying for him, because just like 60-plus people, he lost everything too. And I’m sure he blames himself more than I ever could, because a man died. I know that I’d have a hard time dealing with that, so no blame, only forgiveness.

The next day, May 6, at 10 a.m., I received a call from a very nice woman, Amanda Kennedy, head of from animal control, and she was able to get Meowzer out, and brought her to her office. I felt better knowing Meowzer was comfortable.

Later that afternoon, with a firefighter and an electrician, we were allowed one at a time to go into our apartments. They gave me two black trash bags to get anything salvageable. There was a big wooden partition up, so to get to my home of three years, I had to cautiously pass by what used to be my neighbors homes. Instead, I stepped over broken glass from where the windows use to be, burned wood and tar where the doors use to be and blackened walls and furniture inside their homes.

Time to retrieve belongings

In the 10 minutes they gave me, I was able to retrieve some things, like photos, some clothes, my Bible and my laptop. Outside, still lingering in the air from the partially collapsed roofs were dry ash and soot. Cleaning crews, law enforcement, firefighters and people from the condo association board were there helping in any way they could answering questions and giving out community resource numbers. This is when I found out why the smoke detectors never went off, that the fire was contained inside the walls. When that happens, the fire spreads upward to the roof and there is little smoke, except on the roof.

A few days later, I picked up Meowzer from animal control, and you can’t imagine how happy I was to see and hold her.

It took almost a week for me to cry. I cried for Mr. Lee’s family, his cat ChoCho, for Steve’s cat, Ruby, and all of the people whose lives were changed in an instant. I’m not sure how long or if I will ever get the words, “Get out” or the image of the burning flames out of my mind. But I keep telling myself, “It could’ve been a lot worse,” as Fire Chief Bob Jefferson told selectmen later, and the images turn to grateful, mostly.

The outpouring of love since this horrible experience has been as overwhelming as the tragedy, because so many people want to help, such as VCA City Cats in Arlington, who gave free checkups to fire victims with cats, and a bag of Hill’s Science diet cat food. And the Salvation Army in Cambridge is gave vouchers for clothes to the fire victims as well.

Two weeks after the fire, and my emotions were all over the place. I am trying to be positive and proactive, but there are days where I still wake up, and think, “Wow, this is really happening.” There are days that I receive good news and days when I don’t get the news I was hoping for, so it’s like a psychological roller coaster with all the ups and downs.

‘Uninhabitable for humans’

Again, I was allowed to go back into my former residence. This time, I went through the other entrance at building 19, on the left side of the U-shaped complex. As far as an architectural structure, it was deemed safe enough to remove the partition set up earlier. The condemned buildings were boarded up, but I could still see the darkened burned wood on some.

On the door, a notice on orange paper said the unit is uninhabitable for humans. I was so depressed at what I saw: all of my belongings (whether wet or not) in the middle of the room, and a big plastic tarp covering them. There was also some white kind of dust all over, and at times, it was hard to breathe.

The kitchen and bathroom sinks and some cabinets were removed. I knew the electricians and building inspectors would have to open up the lower portion of the walls to prevent mold and other contaminants, but it just didn’t look like my place anymore. I felt sick looking at it. And the thought of strangers touching my intimates, my childhood memories and seeing my personal information, such as my Social Security number, bothered me a great deal.

But as I was seeing things from my childhood, such as my sticker books (remember Skratch ‘N’ Sniff and the Kool-Aid man?), my grandmother’s wedding ring and photo albums, I felt a big knot in my stomach, and a hole in my heart for the 60-plus people who don’t have any memories at all.

But what everyone does have is the help of their community. Let us not forget that! As Ellen DeGeneres always says at the end of every show, “Be kind to one another.” It makes a big difference in the lives of people that are hurting. On this tragic day, the kindness that I was shown by so many is what I will remember most.

Learning experiences

My learning experience: get renter’s insurance, and always appreciate your local Fire Department, Police Department, community resources and the American Red Cross. I found out that 95 percent of the people that work for the Red Cross are volunteers. You can appreciate them by sending thank-you cards, making donations, volunteering and especially smiling at them whenever you see them.

Please consider donating to the 60-plus people now displaced in Arlington. Do this at the Housing Corporation of Arlington’s main page and click on donations or call 781-316-3606.

This personal account was published Friday, June 5, 2015.