A village transformed; Community extends itself as crisis center for crash;

By Pamela Ferdinand, Globe Correspondent and Karen Avenoso, Globe Staff

EAST MORICHES, N.Y.

Roland Penney pulled three bodies out of the water and into a borrowed motorboat the night TWA Flight 800 exploded over the sea.

The next day, Ayne Privitera opened her seven-bedroom waterfront home to American Red Cross volunteers. And John Zlatniski donated more than two dozen loaves of homemade bread to the Coast Guard and threw in free coffee with breakfast.

"In a tragedy like this, you don't think of a few dollars," said Zlatniski, the 61-year-old owner of John's Hometown Bakery and Deli. "You think, 'How can I help?' "

The crash transformed East Moriches, a tiny coastal village of shingled houses and fishing docks into an international crisis center. The shock of 230 lives wiped out and the loss of a local couple have bound residents together in grief and purpose, whether it is staying away from the crash site as requested or providing the supplies that thousands of investigators, rescue workers and others need to do their jobs.

There are those who would rather that the hubbub end, their streets cleared of police and media trucks, their privacy and quiet restored. But many others instinctively perform small deeds to ease the way for strangers.

Just 20 minutes from the Hamptons, East Moriches and its neighbor Center Moriches belong to the township of Brookhaven. Together, they have 16,000 residents. Unlike the estates along Dune Road in the Hamptons, only one of the houses that ends at a harbor has a locked gate. Locals describe themselves as closer knit and more middle class than the denizens of the Hamptons.

Until two days ago, residents thought of their town as sleepy. It is too small to have its own town hall, and a duck farm occupies several of its acres. The main roadway has just two lanes.

"We've dealt with small plane crashes, a few skydiving accidents," said Robert Miglino, 37, a minibus driver. "Nobody expected to see anything like this in their lifetimes."

Miglino said townspeople will need a long time to recover from the trauma. Those who witnessed the crash or assisted rescue efforts have little time now for their own grief.

Eric and Virginia Holst, a Manorville couple in their early 30s who were en route to the wedding of Eric Holst's brother in France, died in the crash. Eric Holst had a dental practice here, and Virginia Holst's mother attends a local church.

Many residents say they are almost as stunned by the onslaught of outsiders as by the crash. Fifty Coast Guard workers arrived from Boston and Cape Cod alone.

"The night it happened, it was bumper-to-bumper traffic - ambulances, police cars, all of a sudden, hundreds of people you've never seen before," said Roscoe Francis, a 50-year-old volunteer firefighter for Center Moriches. "It was like Sunday morning when church gets out."

The instant transformation has meant that dozens of satellite dishes from TV stations now spike the horizon, and Curtis Sliwa of the Guardian Angels conducts radio broadcasts from the harbor. Camouflaged military vehicles and refrigerated trucks containing body bags drive through the center of town. Rabbis enter this enclave of clapboard Catholic and Episcopal churches to deal with the bodies of Jewish victims, who must be buried as soon as possible under religious law.

Heroic and kind gestures from townspeople abound.

For Penney, 61, a deckside dinner picnic turned into a grueling night of trying to save lives. Penney and his son recovered the bodies of one male and two female victims, and towed them to a Coast Guard boat.

"It hit us when we got back home and thought about our own loved ones," Penney said. "Now I'm thinking about all the families who will never find their relatives."

At the Center Moriches fire station, scores of volunteer firefighters and EMT's worked 40 hours straight, bolstered by local gifts of homebaked brownies and cake. Most of them took time off from full-time jobs to be here; one female volunteer said she was suspended from her job for five days for choosing to help in the rescue effort.

Meanwhile, Boulevard Florists arranged to deliver bouquet after bouquet to the Coast Guard deck. One note from a Las Vegas sender accompanied white lilies and read: "God bless all of you. May the Lord keep you in the palm of His hand." Emily DeGroot, owner of the florist shop said, "If they wanted us to help with the rescue effort, we would close the store and go."

Even the media has been welcomed warmly by residents unaccustomed to the glare of publicity. The town's softball field is now a press parking lot, and home plate is covered with tire tracks. A local minibus company shuttles reporters to the Coast Guard command post, and charges nothing. Deli owners send donations by bicycle, and a local youth group has offered to haul garbage and pass out sandwiches.

But not everyone around here is a good Samaritan or happy host.

Mike DiGirolamo, who owns a boat company, said he has willingly abided by police requests to restrict rentals. But now his business is hurting. Boats idle in the marina, and his shack is deserted save for the decorative life-size sharks. "What are you going to do? People lost their lives," he said. "But it's getting kind of old."

At one house near the Coast Guard station, residents have posted a wooden sign on their lawn: "Please. No Parking. No Interviews. No phone access. Thank you."

Others tried to make the best of a bad situation and capitalize on the crowds. For instance, the DiSario brothers, two East Moriches teen-agers, hawked pretzels and drinks to the crowds.

When one customer complained that bottled water prices had risen to $ 2 from $ 1 the day before, 13-year-old Mike DiSario explained that the bottles were now bigger. Still, with a shrug, he accepted $ 1.

"I figured he seemed nice," DiSario said, "and you got to help people out."