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| Emergency workers patrol the scene Saturday, April 20, 2013, three days after an explosion at a fertilizer plant in West, Texas. The massive explosion at the West Fertilizer Co. Wednesday night killed at least 14 people and injured more than 160. |
WEST, Texas (AP) -- After days of waiting, the first group of residents who fled their homes when a Texas fertilizer plant exploded in a blinding fireball were allowed to go home Saturday to find out what remained.
The
news came after a nervous day where West officials told residents
packed in a hotel waiting for updates about their neighborhood that
leaking gas tanks were causing small fires near the blast site, keeping
authorities from lifting blockades. But officials emphasized that the
fires were contained and the town was safe.
"It is safe, safe and safe," City Council member Steve Vanek said emphatically at a news conference.
He
said residents in a small area would be let back in later Saturday
afternoon, but did not indicate when all evacuated residents could
return.
Residents with homes inside the zone
were told to assemble at a designated location and show identification.
As the hour when the area was to be opened neared, residents and
insurance agents formed a mile-long line of cars. Law enforcement
checked the IDs of each person inside.
Some
who do not live in the designated area were turned away. Police used
soap to number the windshields of cars allowed into the area.
Evacuated
residents had been anxiously waiting to return and assess what is left
of roughly 80 damaged homes after the blast Wednesday night at West
Fertilizer Co. that killed 14 and injured 200 more. The blast scarred a
four-to-five block radius that included a nursing home, an apartment
building and a school.
Many hope to find
insurance papers and family records to help with recovery. Others simply
wish to reclaim any belongings that might be buried under splintered
homes.
Tom and Tiffanie Juntunen were in the
car line waiting to enter. As first responders, they had gotten a
glimpse of their home and knew what to expect, but wanted to grab a few
essentials before spending the night with friends.
"There's
a boil order, utilities could be sketchy, better to hit the road," said
Tom Juntunen, a 33-year-old construction worker.
He
said their home's front and back doors had been blown in and the garage
door looked as though it had been battered with a sledgehammer.
"I
thought at first the SWAT team kicked the doors in," he said, "but then
we saw the blast left all the kitchen cabinets open and all the other
damage and we knew it was just from the force of the explosion."
The Juntunens live in an area farthest away from the blast where homes were less damaged.
During
a town hall meeting Saturday, Mayor Tommy Muska apologized for failing
to communicate with residents, telling them he was focused on technical
aspects of the situation.
He said the damage
northwest of the site is the worst. "When you see this place you will
know a miracle happened," Muska told the town hall crowd.
Those
being allowed in are only to collect a few belongings, he said, adding
there's no water or gas and just a little electricity.
The mayor said "it's devastating" closer to the blast area, which is where his family lives.
"I've seen our neighborhood and it's not really pretty," Muska said. "This is going to be a marathon, not a sprint."
He
was reluctant to give a timeline on when residents in that area could
get to their homes. He said the re-entry would be divided into three
stages and hoped everyone would get in within the week.
Students
from a school near the plant that was heavily damaged by the blast will
finish their year in a nearby town at a facility repainted in their
school colors, red and black.
Earlier
Saturday, at a hotel where evacuees huddled, paramedic and town
spokesman Bryce Reed told residents that small tanks were leaking and
had triggered fires in one part of town. He said they were small and
were contained, and didn't cause further injuries.
"The
whole place is still on fire, smoldering, all that kind of stuff. It
could spark up," Reed said. But, he cautioned, "There isn't really
enough structure left to light up and burn."
Reed
described dozens of portable, white tanks at the site that are
typically filled with anhydrous ammonia from larger storage tanks for
when farmers request them. The tanks get weak when they are exposed to
fire and bleed, he said.
The tanks are
attached to plows pulled by tractors and feed streams of the chemical
into the ground as the plow passes to fertilize. Reed said they resemble
large, horizontal propane tanks.
"You're safe where you're at," he told those at the hotel.
Resident Gene Anderson, 64, said hearing Reed's comments helped avoid panic: "He just nipped it in the bud like it should be."
But
closer to the site, things were more tense. Ron Price, a 53-year-old
construction worker, said he approached the police barricade to check on
his son's damaged home.
Price said he drove
his truck up to the roadblock and was trying to get in when state
troopers "came flying down the road" from a half block away and told
everyone to get back because there was another chance of explosion.
People in their backyards outside the barricade were also told to get
back, he said.
"It was pretty scary. Everybody just jumped and took off running," Price said.
Dorothy
Sulak, who lost her home and her job when the blast went off, was among
those hoping she could get back in. The fertilizer plant secretary fled
with only the clothes on her back.
There's a
hole in her roof now, and her medicine, cash, even her glasses, are
somewhere in the rubble. She used reading glasses for three days, until
she could get a ride to nearby Waco to be fitted for new prescription
frames.
"Yes, it's just stuff. But it's my stuff," said Sulak, 71.
