Communities Struggle to Cope With Brutal Slayings

The sign in the frontyard reads like a lamentation, standing above the irises, roses and burning candles of the makeshift shrine on Marjorie Street.

These are the things we should be able to count on here in Pico Rivera, the anonymous message reads: Kids playing ball in the street until sundown, Friday night football games at El Rancho High, fathers coaching children, devoted team moms.

That portrait of Pico Rivera, a middle-class suburb 11 miles southeast of downtown Los Angeles, was punctured by the fatal stabbings of four members of the Flores family and the wounding of another. As the family’s mother, Sylvia Flores, 39, recovers from her injuries, the city of 65,000 struggles with its psychological wounds.

“The other night, I dreamed that it happened to me,” said Stephanie Rodriguez, 17, a classmate of one victim--Richard Jr., also 17. “I have a sliding glass door in my bedroom, and I kept looking at it when I woke up, expecting someone to come in.”

For more than a week the city has been wrapped in fear--and then disbelief. The 16-year-old adopted daughter of the Flores family and her high school boyfriend were arrested six days after the attack and have been charged with murder and attempted murder.

Investigators say Monica Diaz and Michael Naranjo, 17, were angry at the strict rules imposed on their relationship by Richard Flores Sr. The chilling account of how Richard Sr. and Richard Jr. were killed, along with Sylvia Flores, 13, and Matthew Flores, 10, led many residents to grief counselors hired by the city and school district.

“My little brother played with Matthew,” said a tearful Denise Rizo, 17, who is on an El Rancho High summer basketball team that the younger Sylvia belonged to.

Yet, in a testament to the character of this city of mostly middle-class Mexican Americans, much of the talk last week was of pulling together, rather than moving away.

The sentiment is evident in the prayers for the Flores family posted at public buildings and churches; in the candlelight vigil that drew about 500 people to Rivera Park, where Richard Sr. had coached and his three slain children had played. A community fund-raiser was held Saturday.

Nestled between the Rio Hondo and the San Gabriel River to the west and east and the Pomona and Santa Ana freeways to the north and south, Pico Rivera was created in 1958 with the merging of the communities of Pico and Rivera.

Growing Up, Raising Families

Until the late 1940s, the area had a housing covenant that restricted Mexican Americans from buying homes there. But now the population is more than 80% Latino, with a median household income of nearly $36,000. The 1950s-era houses cost, on average, about $164,000, with the most expensive as high as $300,000, city officials said.

In addition to its public parks, the city has a municipal golf course and is home to the Pico Rivera Sports Arena, a major venue for rodeos and visiting Latin American bands.

“This is the kind of place where, when you come home, you have your dinner, crack open a can of beer and watch the news,” said City Councilman Pete Ramirez, who has lived in Pico Rivera for 40 years.

Many residents older than 30 talk about how their families moved here from East Los Angeles when they were young, how they spent their childhood playing sports and how they are now raising their own families here.

Though Pico Rivera has other crime worries, largely gang-related, “for the most part, we’re just a community that is trying to take part in America,” said Gregory Salcido, a city councilman and teacher at El Rancho High.

The Flores family resonated with such stability. They were active in one of the city’s largest churches and in youth sports.

Richard Sr., a big man who was quick with a joke, worked as a purchasing agent for a Monterey Park architectural firm. But he spent most of his spare time coaching youth baseball and football. Before the tragedy, his wife, Sylvia, was a Eucharistic minister at St. Hilary’s Catholic Church and a team mom who cooked lasagna on the nights before big tournaments.

Richard Jr. was known around the El Rancho campus for his sly humor. Matthew was a ball boy for his siblings’ teams who made friends with the neighborhood ice cream man. His sister Sylvia was an optimist. She was also a star athlete, like the Flores’ eldest daughter, Esperanza, 18, who along with Laura Reta, 18, another adopted daughter, escaped unharmed the night of the killings.

“If you knew one of the family, you knew them all,” said Pearl Garcia, 15, one of Sylvia’s basketball teammates. “They were all always hugging and greeting each other with a kiss. “

That sense of intimacy with the Flores family may explain why there has been a pilgrimage to the family’s house. The stream of visitors keeps adding to the enormous makeshift shrine, and the scent of burning candles hangs heavy in the summer air.

Many simply sit in their idling cars for a few minutes to stare at the house in silence. Others appear to find therapeutic value in discussing their disbelief about the tragedy.

“I came here because I felt so helpless,” said Rita Prieto, 43, of Whittier. “I feel like there is something I should do to help the family.”

Juan Carlos Mosquera, 34, the neighborhood ice cream vendor, recalled helping 10-year-old Matthew Flores learn to do cartwheels.

Joining neighborhood restaurants and schools that have so far collected several thousand dollars for the Floreses, Mosquera now carries a bucket for donations on his truck, covered with Pokemon drawings.

“I like this neighborhood,” he said, after adding a rose bouquet to the Flores shrine. “I’ve got kids running after me all the time.”

Some neighbors, however, are growing frustrated by the constant stream of traffic. A few have complained to the Sheriff’s Department.

They see neighborhood kids trying to get a peek inside the house or hear adults talking loudly about the tragedy, and think that it’s time for Pico Rivera to move on.

“It’s getting very tiresome,” said one neighbor. “It’s great to see people coming together, but we need to start the healing process.”

Salcido agreed, saying that “there is no sense in dwelling on this human tragedy that has no rhyme or reason to it.”

The younger Sylvia Flores’ summer basketball squad played its first game without her Tuesday in Bell Gardens. Wearing black arm patches, the girls gave it all they had--and some cried--during the game against Santa Fe High School. They lost on the last shot.

“It’s going to take a long time for us to get over this,” said Jennifer McClain, 17, a lanky power forward. “They were like our family too.”