Thousands Flee Huge Toxic Cloud : Evacuees Get the Message: ‘Get Up and Go’

Some thought it was just another drug bust, others figured the loud night noises were teen-agers with radios blaring, but for most of the thousands evacuated early Saturday, the warnings barked from loudspeakers meant grab the kids, pile in the car and go .

And if admonitions in English weren’t intelligible to many, the reek of chlorine, the burning eyes and the choking coughs gave a chemical urgency that needed little translation.

As the evacuation progressed, some scenes resembled a picnic in hell.

For the Parazan family of East Los Angeles, nothing seemed to go right.

At 3:15 a.m., there was confusion about what was happening. Some believed that youths with loud radios, who had earlier disturbed neighborhood tranquility, were returning. “We were thinking the cholos were going back to cruising,” explained Carlos Parazan, 25.

It finally sank in that the chlorine smell meant it was time to leave.

Three vehicles were in the driveway on Oakford Avenue. “None of them work,” said Manuel Parazan, 31. “Can you believe it?”

Carlos sent his wife, Martina, and Carlos Jr. off in a neighbor’s car. Then he, brother Manuel, sister Claudia and friend Maximilian Chaveria started walking. They kept walking until night turned into a hot and dusty day.

Four hours and eight miles later, they were resting tired feet at Pioneer High School near Whittier, one of six main evacuation centers. The group was supposed to meet Carlos’ wife and son, but they never made it to the center. The family was reunited hours later when both groups returned home.

As the gas cloud shifted in the early hours of Saturday, authorities expanded the evacuation area several times, making it difficult to estimate of the number of people evacuated.

Reaction to the evacuation also went through stages.

At emergency shelters, the oft-repeated refrain was, “We were frightened, we didn’t know what was going on” and a plaintive chorus of, “When can we go home?” from people clutching sleeping babies, quivering pets, grass-stained blankets and six-packs of soft drinks.

‘Everyone’s Been Nice’

Many said that things went smoothly once they arrived. “Everyone’s been nice,” said Maria Guzman, 19, as she sipped orange juice from a plastic cup at the Whittier Community Center.

But by Saturday afternoon, after almost everyone had safely returned home, Eastside community leaders were criticizing officials for failing to provide mass transportation during the evacuation and for issuing warnings only in English.

While most people appear to have gone to the homes of friends and relatives beyond harm’s way, more than 2,600 went to Red Cross shelters, and others apparently waited it out at home.

As many as 500 arrived at Pioneer High School, which was the first shelter the Red Cross opened. Other emergency centers, which were in operation for several hours Saturday, included Rio Hondo Community College north of Whittier; Whittier Community Center; Pico Rivera’s El Rancho Adult School; Mark Keppel High School in Alhambra, and Roosevelt High School in Boyle Heights.

At Pioneer High, tired adults sat outside or huddled on bleachers in the gymnasium. Groups of small children raced across the polished gym floor in games of tag that frowning grown-ups periodically but futilely tried to halt. Even smaller children helped lift each other to water fountains made for high school students.

‘Very Understanding’

Marty Rosendale, a tall, loose-jointed sort who was coordinating the Red Cross operation, said some with chronic medical conditions had evacuated so fast that they left behind their medication. Nevertheless, he said, “The people have been very understanding.”

The weight room off the gym held the clientele of the Casa Maria Guest Home in Montebello, a confused-looking group of 42 that supervisor Terri Romero said included people suffering from mental illness and retardation.

Phyllis Mimsquz, a nurse from the facility, said, “We got them up at 5:30 a.m., and they didn’t understand what was going on. They thought it was time to take their morning baths.”

Under the basketball backboard at the other end of the gym, Mary Perez, 26, of Commerce sat on sleeping bags, watching over her son Manuel, 8, and nephew Mikey Aranda, 5, who were somehow able to sleep through the hubbub.

Perez said neighbors had gone door-to-door to give the warning after the police came along her street at 4:30 a.m. The small groups of neighbors that emerged on the street at that hour gave an odd sense of excitement. “It was weird,” she said.

Alerted by Police

Many got the warnings from the police.

Nina Genofkian, 16, a senior at Montebello High School, was wakened by police loudspeakers.

“Oh, my God. This is a raid,” she said she recalled thinking. “I thought it was another drug bust on the street.” She said she learned differently when she went outside and smelled chlorine. She evacuated herself to her sister’s home.

Ray Dorame, 19, of Montebello said the police drove down his street around 2 a.m. with bullhorns blaring and lights flashing, warning people to leave. He only had time to rouse his nieces and nephews and head for his car.

“Who cares about grabbing stuff, we’re talking a life-threatening situation here,” Dorame said.

But after a couple hours at Pioneer High School, Dorame was thinking more of his stomach.

“They said they’re going to serve steak and eggs, but I don’t know,” he said, eyeing a catering truck dubiously. Instead, he got orange juice and an Egg McMuffin.

For Frank Sapiens, a Red Cross shelter manager at the Whittier center, Saturday’s evacuation evoked memories of the Oct. 1, 1987, earthquake, when the shelter kept its doors open for 20 days to those who lost homes and who feared returning to damaged buildings.

“This is much easier,” he said, surveying the group of 20 who idled the time away about 11 a.m. “Everyone will be on their way home soon.”

Jose Huerta of East Los Angeles had planned to take his kids to the movies on Saturday. Instead, his family was rousted from bed at 3 a.m. by a sheriff’s bullhorn.

“I walked outside and it smelled real strong, like bleach. My eyes and my throat burned and I couldn’t talk or swallow for a few minutes,” said Rachel Garcia Huerta.

The family stopped only to pick up Rachel Huerta’s mother, Frances Aldana, in Montebello.

“They yanked me out so fast I couldn’t even get my insulin,” Aldana said.

Trying to Find a Bus

Alice Jones of East Los Angeles tried unsuccessfully at 6 a.m. to find a bus that would carry her and her 24-year-old daughter Juanita to a shelter. Then a neighbor with a big car offered them a ride to Roosevelt High School.

Jones said some of her neighbors opted to wait out the toxic fumes in their homes with the windows shut.

“They didn’t want to leave,” Jones said, shaking her head in disbelief. “But getting out seemed like a sensible thing. I didn’t want to stay and breathe toxic fumes.”

The plans of Robert Alonso and Rosaura Ledesma, who were supposed to be married at 1 p.m. Saturday at St. Alphonsus Church in East Los Angeles, also were disrupted. Ledesma called the church and said she got scared, a church spokesman said. The wedding was rescheduled for 6 p.m.

Reluctant to Leave

The largest group evacuated apparently was from the Commerce Casino, a huge building with 135 gaming tables, a bar, gift shop and beauty salon. The facility, about 2 miles south of the Grow Group factory that released the fumes, is open around the clock.

About 2,000 customers were busy gambling about 2 a.m. when sheriff’s deputies advised people to go.

“The problem was coaxing customers to leave,” said Jim Dragomir, marketing director for the casino.

But hundreds fled and besieged the valet parking attendants, demanding their car keys.

“People were pushing and shoving and screaming,” reported Allyn Jaffrey, 33, an Orange County public defender who said she is a regular at the card club.

About 350 had used the valet parking provided by the club. It took more than an hour to sort out the mess.