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Espart, California – In their despair and sadness, three generations of close Ramos family gathered in this dusty lot, three-quarters of a mile from the site of last week’s massive fireworks explosion.
They all wear placards around their necks and photographs of the smiling brothers Ramos, Johnny, 22, Jesus, 18 years old. Teddy bears and votive candles, Jesus’ favorite candies, peanut butter cups on wreath, sit in the center. They posted signs on a chain link fence facing the road and telegramed outrage over the lack of information from authorities about what happened when a little-known operation exploded at Inferno just days before July 4th.
Read one sign: “I will ignore it for 7 days.” “I want an answer.”
Despite their presence and frequent visits from local TV crews, so far there have been no official accounts for accidents or deaths.
Among the almond orchards and sunflower fields, there was no much information about how and why the dangerous fireworks facilities are operating here. Nothing about what caused the accident on July 1, fled residents and caused a 78-acre grass fire.
Johnny and Jesus Ramos are as tight as their brothers can and have not been heard since the accident. The family says they don’t have their brother-in-law Joel Melendez or their beloved friend, Carlos Rodriguez. Authorities say seven bodies have been recovered from the warehouse.
It was the Ramos brothers’ first day at a temporary job packing fireworks, with a busy lead-up on their July 4th holiday.
The family heard the news about the explosion and rushed from their Bay Area home to the scene, desperate for information. But there was no one there in the future.
For a few days they only knew what they saw on TV. Something was wrong with the devastating fireworks, a fireworks company that designs and produces giant displays. The company, which has been in business for decades, operates in San Francisco and is responsible for this modest sales base at the root of a small valley known for its foodie circle for its delicate organic vegetables.
Three days before the holiday of the year’s biggest fireworks display, the building exploded, causing an infuriating fire on the floor of Flat Valley amidst the sounds of fireworks popping out and screaming. Rescue personnel were unable to approach the scene.
Community members with water irrigation trucks responded to the first explosion and recorded a video from the center of the flames, whom he was sure he had heard a scream.
“My two sons were killed,” said Johnny Ramos Sr., 45, sitting with his relatives in the shadow of the bushes. “We are family. We are staying here. We are waiting for some officers to explain everything.”
Johnny Ramos, 45, is the brother of Johnny and Jesus, the fathers of the two of the victims, who believes they are both dead.
(Jessica Garrison/Los Angeles Times)
But the authorities didn’t say anything to them, he said. There are no company officials either.
European County officials notified families that seven archaeological sites had been pulled from the site over the weekend of July 4th, but said DNA testing has been held back for confirmation of the victim’s identity. The results are expected in the next few days, officials said.
The Ramos brothers were heading from the Bay Area to a fireworks warehouse, hoping that work at the facility would lead to a better future.
Just graduating from high school, soccer and soccer star Jesus Ramos was hoping for his first child, scheduled for seven months. That’s why he was so eager to get a job, said his brother Ernesto Ramos.
“He saw it as a new chapter in our lives. He was excited,” Jesus Ramos’ girlfriend, Syanna Ruiz, told ABC 10 about his part-time job. “He was excited to be a dad.”
Jesus Ramos began working around 7am that day and called her around lunch, she said. After planning to meet after work, they said their goodbye and they loved each other – without knowing that it was their final conversation.
Jhony Jr. went to work in the warehouse with his younger brother. The two brothers put almost everything together.
Their brother-in-law Joel had been helping them get hired. He worked there for about two years, the family said.
“They were hardworking men,” Ernesto Ramos said. “We don’t come from rich families, but we’ve always had each other.”
His brother said, “I was just putting their lives together.”
Jesus was a very lightning footed soccer player employed to play in England, but his mother – protecting her baby – never let him go, Ernesto said. He also loved drawing. His older brother and constant companion Johnny were car-loving football linebackers.
Charlize Hernandez on the left, who lost three cousins in the explosion, and Sianna Lewis, who lost her boyfriend, Jesus Ramos, placed the food and drinks that the young man had liked at the monument on Monday.
(HectorAmezcua/tns)
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Espart, a population of 3,700, is a close-knit community, but many said they knew little about the fireworks facility until the explosion shook the ground beneath it.
Sergio Medrano, 30, runs a taco truck that parks on the corner of Road 86A near the warehouse and Route 16 in the state. He said he was on the truck at about 5:50pm on July 1st.
“I started hearing the explosion,” he said. “It all vibrated. …I was scared. I didn’t know what it was. I heard it very close.”
He hid in the ground and, like he did, he saw a huge fireball rise up in the sky.
Esparto’s fire prevention district responded to the scene, but was unable to engage in the explosion coming from inside the warehouse, leading to a furious fire across the valley floor.
Signs posted outside the scene of a fireworks warehouse explosion in Europe County.
(Jessica Garrison/Los Angeles Times)
“As the commander of the case… it’s a really difficult decision. It’s almost hard to talk about it,” fire chief Curtis Lawrence said at a news briefing Monday. “Looking at the incident, knowing what was going on, we had to make the most appropriate decisions to protect the rest of our lives that were in danger.”
European County officials have asked the former state fire service office to lead the investigation due to the scope of the accident. The Forestry Fire Protection Bureau did not respond to a request for comment.
The catastrophic fireworks is a supplier of local fireworks shows, and several municipalities, including San Jose, were forced to cancel holiday shows due to the accident.
County officials told Sacramento News Bureau KCRA that Esparto’s property, where the fireworks are stored, was zoned for agricultural purposes and not explosives.
Kenneth Chie, owner and CEO of the devastating fireworks, could not be reached for comment.
His attorney, Douglas Horngrade, said in a statement that his client “is innocent of misconduct. We will refrain from further public comment until the investigation is over. Once again, we express our sincere sadness to the victims’ families and loved ones.”
California firefighter Daniel Berlan said his office is working with federal and local investigators to determine how the explosion occurred.
“It’s too early to guess what went wrong, but anyone will be accountable if they find themselves violating the state’s strict fireworks laws and regulations,” Berland said in a statement.
County records show that the warehouse was on property owned by Sam Machado, a deputy European County Sheriff’s Officer. His home was destroyed in the fire, according to county officials.
Volunteer firefighters from the Esparto Fire Protection District were running another fireworks business on the same property and appeared to be employed in the devastating fireworks, according to news station KCRA.
Cutlight is on leave, Lawrence said.
“There are no comments on the investigation. We cannot answer properly,” Lawrence said. “As much as you want answers to these things, families want answers, but they have an obligation to make sure this is done in the right way and is thoroughly done.”
And the Ramos family, along with their friends, are waiting here. Under the shadows of shaded structure shelters and low-growth bushes donated by the county. The residents of Esparto, who were hit by loss, have dropped their food. On Monday, pizza boxes were stacked on the table.
Family and friends messed around with placards wearing photos of their siblings exposed. They watched a video of Tiktok on the day of the accident and then watched the news reports that followed.
There was no clear discussion about creating this vigil here, some families said. They just came.
“It was never actually organized,” Ernesto Ramos said. “We’ve been here since it started. It’s family.”
The sky above was blue and no clouds were visible. The fireworks facility was not visible beyond the lush green canopy of the almond orchard. Fire trucks and officials’ state vehicles drove down the streets entering and leaving the site. The air began to spurt in the late afternoon with loud pop. The bomb squad had exploded more fireworks to try to make the area safe.
The family barely responded to the explosion. They stayed in the hot sun and waited for their answers.
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