Lost homes

Franco Gomez made it home to his family by dinnertime on a misty Friday in late January. Another exhausting week of working as a carpet installer, earning $130 a day, had drawn to a close.

To escape a damp chill that had seeped into their Northeast Philadelphia rowhouse, Gomez and his wife, Carolina, cuddled in a queen-size bed with their two children in a second-floor bedroom, the warmest space in the house. The family started to watch a Netflix movie, The Princess Switch.

Moments later, a thunderous explosion rattled their walls and shattered their windows, and their roof was cleaved open by something large and metallic: an 800-pound jet engine.

A smoldering piece of the roof crumbled, and struck 4-year-old Rayan on the back of his neck. Gomez darted out of the room, cradling his boy in his arms, then tripped and tumbled down the stairs to the first floor.

Gomez — with his wife and their daughter, Valentina, at his heels — grabbed for the front door. It didn’t budge.

“Our house is burning, Mami!” 9-year-old Valentina cried.

A neighbor managed to break open the front door, and the Gomezes rushed across the street. They watched helplessly as plumes of dark smoke rose from their home. Flames devoured all of their belongings, including a mermaid-shaped piggy bank that held $15,000 — the family’s only savings, a decade’s worth.

A Learjet medical transport had just crashed on nearby Cottman Avenue, leaving seven people dead and at least two dozen injured, plunging the neighborhood into chaos.

Mayor Cherelle L. Parker’s administration has spent much of the last 40 days trying to assess the extent of the damage — physical, material, and emotional — that homeowners and business owners have suffered in the wake of the Jan. 31 plane crash.

But the city’s efforts to help those affected were slow to reach the Spanish-speaking Gomezes, who struggled to find and pay for a new place to live, while encountering language barriers along the way.

They escaped the fire with just the clothes they were wearing, and were grateful to have suffered only minor cuts and bruises. Carolina Gomez has started a new nightly ritual: rewashing the few clothes that each family member has.

The Philadelphia Department of Licenses and Inspections has visited 366 properties near the crash site. Inspectors have determined that 14 homes were unsafe, due to fractured facades, loose bricks, and roofs that firefighters cut open for ventilation to help contain flames.

Two other properties were labeled imminently dangerous, including the Gomezes’ home; inspection records show that the building’s interior walls and joists were all damaged, and that the roof collapsed.

Earlier this month, Parker’s administration sent caseworkers from the Philadelphia Office of Community Empowerment and Opportunity to knock on doors in the five blocks closest to the crash, and ask residents directly if they needed assistance.

More than half indicated that they did not require help, said Stephanie Reid, the city’s deputy chief administrative officer.

Caseworkers have also been guiding some people affected by the crash through the process of filing claims with an insurance carrier that represents Jet Rescue Air Ambulance, the owner of the Learjet that nose-dived from the sky just moments after it took off from Northeast Philadelphia Airport.

Reid acknowledged that the city has not been able to reach every resident affected by the crash, particularly renters who have since relocated. The Inquirer found that several families have been displaced, at least temporarily.

“This is going to be an ongoing process,” she said.

“We’ve been working in this community since the crash on Jan. 31, and plan to continue outreach and support until those who need help have gotten the support they need. Some folks might not realize the needs they have for another month.”

The Gomezes, who were renters, face a more difficult path to recouping their losses. A relative helped the family set up a GoFundMe account. In five weeks, it raised only $1,313. (After this story was published Friday on The Inquirer’s website, donors boosted that total to more than $25,000.)

They lived for nearly a week at an American Red Cross shelter in a high school gymnasium. The nonprofit provided them with some food, medicine, and clothing.

“There is nothing quite as awful as waking up in the middle of a gym with absolutely nothing,” Carolina Gomez, 38, said.

Franco Gomez, 51, said the Red Cross had texted him a message in Spanish, informing him about a town-hall meeting the city planned to hold on Feb. 5. He hoped to obtain information about programs that might help his family.

The meeting, though, was held in English, and Franco Gomez was unable to find someone who could translate the discussion into Spanish.

“No one asked if we needed help, and we didn’t know how to ask for it either,” he said. “It felt like we were less than, something that could simply be left on the sideline.”

(Reid said four interpreters, who spoke Spanish, Brazilian-Portuguese, and Mandarin, were present at the meeting.)

The next day, the family learned the shelter would be closing.

They spent a few nights at a friend’s house and then moved into another rental property, but can barely afford the monthly $1,500.

“We have never lived like this before,” Carolina Gomez said.

A preliminary investigative report, released earlier this month by the National Transportation Safety Board, showed that the Learjet lifted off from a small runway at 6:06 p.m. and inexplicably rocketed back down to earth a minute later.

Basil Merenda, L&I’s commissioner of inspections, safety, and compliance, was at home, watching the evening news, when another agency official called and told him that a plane had crashed in the Northeast.

NTSB investigators determined that the plane struck a sidewalk near the Roosevelt Mall, creating a debris field that stretched 1,410 feet in length and 840 feet wide, and a crater that ran eight feet deep.

The plane’s six occupants — including 11-year-old Valentina Guzmán Murillo, who had spent four months undergoing treatment for a spinal condition at Shriners Children’s Philadelphia — were killed.

While one of the plane’s engines barreled through the Gomezes’ roof, a wing slammed into the ground behind their house.

Police officers and firefighters — including some from nearby Engine 71 — found carnage everywhere they looked: homes and cars engulfed in flames; human remains visible on the ground.

Four inspectors from L&I’s contractual services unit were dispatched to the neighborhood. Merenda describes the construction experts as “L&I’s version of the Marines” for their willingness to trek inside unstable buildings.

The inspectors visited homes on Rupert, Leonard, Hanford, and Calvert Streets. The agency continues to receive calls from residents who have discovered newfound cracks and loose bricks in their homes, Merenda said.

Violation records show that the two properties that inspectors labeled imminently dangerous began to rack up fines in February, while the 14 unsafe properties would begin to be penalized in April if homeowners had not taken steps by then to secure the buildings.

Parker has instructed L&I to not pursue collecting those fines.

“She wants us to show some compassion,” Merenda said. “These folks were innocent victims.”

The agency is considering expediting the permit review and inspection process for property owners who plan to rebuild. Merenda advised homeowners who are preparing to hire construction firms to first visit L&I’s website and check whether the companies are properly licensed by the city.

“We want to make it as easy as possible for people,” he said.

In early February, Parker and other city officials assembled at S. Solis-Cohen Elementary School, about half a mile from the crash site, and acknowledged to local residents that the neighborhood’s recovery would be long and complex.

“We are a resilient city,” Parker told the audience, “and we know how to take care of each other.”

Reid, the deputy chief administrative officer, said caseworkers with the community empowerment and opportunity office have been assessing residents’ needs and helping to connect them with available local and state assistance.

Some have also visited a community center, at Edmund Street and Bleigh Avenue, for guidance, and more than 340 residents have signed up for updates managed by the Philadelphia Office of Emergency Management.

The One Philly Fund, a fundraiser for victims of the crash that is managed by the Parker administration, has collected $20,000, Reid said.

The city contacted the Gomez family this week and offered to help, Franco Gomez said.

Hao Chen, who owns the home that the Gomez family rented, plans to demolish and rebuild, depending on what his homeowner’s insurance will cover, his brother said.

In the days following the plane crash, Carolina Gomez met with a representative from Catholic Social Services and said she was told that the nonprofit would pay the Gomezes’ rent for several months, once they secured a new place to live.

The family found a new place to rent, but it carried a steep price: a $1,500 payment for the first month, another $1,500 for the last month, and a $2,000 security deposit.

Carolina Gomez said Catholic Social Services did not deliver on the financial assistance it promised.

Desperate, she called her brother in Latin America. He cobbled the $5,000 together through donations from relatives and neighbors and overnighted it.

Kathy Bevenour, a Catholic Social Services assistant director, told The Inquirer that “help was provided” to the Gomez family but declined to offer specific details.

The charity’s hotline for rental assistance now leads to a recorded message: “We have run out of money at this time.”

The family is already behind on rent for the month.

“We don’t have any money, we have bills to pay,” Franco Gomez said. “We are really not making ends meet.”

On March 6, Valentina turned 10. She struggles with nightmares.

“My mom needs a jacket and my dad also needs a jacket,” the girl told a reporter, “and my mom needs shoes and my dad needs shoes, and me and my brother need shoes.”

After escaping the fire, Rayan remained mute for two weeks.

“Rayan just stopped talking, like he was in shock, like he is on pause,” his father said.

Recently, though, he has started to speak again.

The family has made one return trip to their former rowhouse.

Broken glass and ashes littered the floor, while toys and couches sat melted and charred.

“I tell my daughter that as long as we are all together, God will not abandon us,” Carolina Gomez said, “and little by little, we will get back on our feet.”

Inquirer video editor Astrid Rodrigues contributed to this article.