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This time, the fire danger was all too real

Fire alarms went off every day at the Norman Blumberg Apartments - so often that people stopped believing the sound signaled an emergency, residents said.

An injured firefighter is rushed away Wednesday morning from a high-rise fire at the Norman Blumberg apartments at 24th and Jefferson streets in North Philadelphia. (Alejandro A. Alvarez/Staff)
An injured firefighter is rushed away Wednesday morning from a high-rise fire at the Norman Blumberg apartments at 24th and Jefferson streets in North Philadelphia. (Alejandro A. Alvarez/Staff)Read more

Fire alarms went off every day at the Norman Blumberg Apartments - so often that people stopped believing the sound signaled an emergency, residents said.

So when the alarms screeched about 5:45 a.m. Wednesday, residents said, many at first ignored the noise, continuing to get ready for work or prepare breakfast for their children.

The smell of quickly spreading smoke, and the frantic pounding of neighbors on doors, alerted high-rise residents that this was real - a life-threatening blaze that injured 16 people, including 10 firefighters.

One fireman was in critical but stable condition at the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania.

In interviews as they stood outside the public-housing development, near 23d and Jefferson Streets in North Philadelphia, resident after resident described how the frequency of false alarms had dulled their sense of potential danger.

"If my neighbor didn't knock, I'd never have come out," said Dayell Jenkins, 28. "It's like the boy who cried wolf. You never know if it's a real fire."

When she opened the door of her 12th-floor apartment, Jenkins said, "a tsunami of smoke" engulfed her. She grabbed her 4-month-old daughter, called her 9- and 8-year-old daughters close, and struggled to guide the family down a crowded stairwell.

Michael Kelly, chief of the Philadelphia Housing Authority, which operates the apartments, said Wednesday night that he was unaware of any problem with false alarms in the building.

He called the fire a "terrible tragedy." It left 31 residents, including 10 children, temporarily homeless because of damage. Those families will stay at a hotel; other residents were allowed back inside Wednesday evening.

Fire alarms are in each of the building's 143 units, residents said, but kitchen smoke or vandalism frequently sets them off. Some residents wrap the alarms in padding or pillows to try to mute what they consider an annoyance.

"Twice a day the alarm goes off, so we don't believe it," said Tamika Myers, who lives with her four children and her brother.

But on Wednesday a blaze broke out on the eighth floor of the 18-story building, trapping people on the upper floors and forcing the Fire Department to make several rescues.

One family, with several children, was trapped in its apartment for about 30 minutes. Firefighters battled through thick smoke to reach the family.

Fire officials called a second alarm about 6:20 a.m., and firefighters brought the fire under control at 7:06 a.m.

An upgraded fire-suppression standpipe system was recently installed at the apartments, one of 18 high-rises slated for similar improvements under a $6.1 million modernization program funded by federal stimulus money, according to PHA spokeswoman Nichole Tillman.

Eight of the 10 injured firefighters were released after being treated at hospitals, Fire Commissioner Lloyd Ayers said.

Michael McGuire, a five-year veteran with Engine 27, was the most seriously hurt. He was found unconscious and carried down flights of stairs in a flexible stretcher. He was injured as he went door to door, searching for residents.

McGuire was expected to recover, as was a battalion chief who remained hospitalized, Ayers said. The chief's name was not released.

Six residents sustained minor smoke-related injuries, Ayers said, and all were treated and released.

An extension cord that ignited apparently caused the fire, Fire Marshal James Bonner said.

About 150 people live in the apartments and were evacuated into the cold dawn. Outside, several described harrowing escapes, others the certainty that they were going to suffocate in the fire. People were angry.

"We need a protest!" one woman shouted.

Across the street, the American Red Cross opened an emergency shelter in the John F. Reynolds School, providing blankets, food, drink, shoes, and diapers to scores of residents.

"We will be here as long as we are needed to keep these residents warm, safe, and fed," said Dave Schrader, spokesman for the Red Cross of Southeastern Pennsylvania.

At midday, dozens of residents stood staring up at the apartments, watching water come off the building like rain.

Jamillah Bellamy, 29, said she and her four children had been trapped on the 13th floor as smoke filled their apartment.

"We damn near died," she said. "We were stuck in one room, breathing out the window, crying. . . . Imagine being in a building that's on fire and you can't get out. You're supposed to protect your kids, but you can't even protect yourself."

She stood wrapped in a white-and-red Red Cross blanket, holding an empty small-animal carrier. Her cat was still inside the building.

She said she had heard the alarm but had not known whether to react.

"You don't know if it's a fire or not. You just get up and check, and pray it's not a real fire," she said.

A high-ranking Fire Department official, who did not want to be identified because he was not authorized to speak on the subject, said public-housing developments generated loads of so-called "nuisance alarms." They're caused by a combination of malfunctions, kitchen smoke, and tampering, he said.

The Norman Blumberg Apartments opened in 1966, named after a labor leader and former PHA board member who died in 1965. In succeeding decades, the development was known for drugs, violence, and gang activity. In 1998, PHA officials proudly cut the ribbon on a $15 million renovation, embracing a high-rise model that, even then, experts said did not work.

The apartments stand at 1516 Judson Way, fronting onto a brick and concrete courtyard.

Violence and danger are the realities for people there, residents said. They worry about letting their children outside to play. And about conditions inside.

Haneefah Anderson was getting her three young children ready for the day when she heard the fire alarm, she said.

"Nobody moved," she said. "The alarm goes off every day. Now we get a real fire, and nobody believed it."