August 5-11, 2004

city beat

Sacred Ground

REMEMBERING IRIANA: Liza DeJesus, whose daughter was killed four years ago, wants this lot in Hunting Park to become a memorial playground. Photo By: Michael T. Regan

A young homicide victim's mother wants to turn a vacant lot into a memorial. The owner says it'll cost her.

by Deborah Bolling

Four years ago, little Iriana Morales DeJesus was killed in North Philadelphia, just steps away from her front door. The senseless rape and strangulation devastated the tight-knit Hispanic neighborhood where the 5-year-old had lived.

Today, Iriana's mother, Liza, wants to transform heartbreak into something beneficial for children who still live and play there. She's set her sights on a small vacant lot a few yards away from where her daughter's body was found, hoping to turn it into a much-needed neighborhood playground. But Nick Tsamos, the New York businessman who owns the land, says the selling price for his property is firm at $50,000 — an amount clearly out of reach for Liza, a security guard. (The city assesses the lot's market value to be $5,000.)

"Nick needs to dedicate that lot to the memory of my daughter," Liza says. "Out of the kindness of his heart he should give it to us. He should want to do something positive for this community."

Iriana disappeared the evening of July 29, 2000. That summer, Philadelphia was hosting the Republican National Convention and Center City was abuzz with political excitement. Not surprisingly, the goings-on in the far reaches of Hunting Park were not even a blip on the radar screen, so when a drifter landed there after errantly hopping a train for Philadelphia rather than Chicago, no one became suspicious. The slightly built Honduran, known only as Carlo, took work as a handyman for a local contractor. In exchange for his labor, he was allowed to sleep in an unoccupied building not far from the DeJesus home.

As children played in the street and adults took refuge on their stoops to escape the heat that tragic night, police say Carlo coaxed Iriana to his remote living quarters. At the time, no one thought anything was amiss, but when Liza could not find her young child, she called upon neighbors and police to help with the search. Five days later, Iriana's body was found in the place where Carlo had slept, stuffed in a garbage bag and partially obscured by a piece of linoleum. The drifter had already disappeared.

"Carlo is the prime suspect, but we have no way of knowing who or where he is," says Homicide Unit Det. Joseph Bamberski, who's been on the assignment since the beginning. "Right now, luck is what we need most because he could be anywhere. At this point, it's definitely a cold case."

Shortly after Iriana's death, Liza and her daughter Iyanna moved to Louisiana. Three months later, homesick and unable to find work, she returned, renting a house about four miles away from the scene of the crime.

Last week, on the fourth anniversary of Iriana's disappearance, Liza hosted a memorial for her daughter. More than 100 neighborhood children and their families took part in the festivities held on Reese and Fairhill streets near Pike. Pink and purple balloons were tied to the Fairhill Street stop signs. Small children, in bathing suits and bare feet, pranced in the gush of the open fire hydrant, deftly avoiding the broken glass that carpeted the street. The smell of hamburgers cooking on an outdoor grill competed for space with the raucous laughter that filled the hot, summer air.

"I'm glad people are having a good time, but it's not a party," said Iyanna, 13. "It's a memorial for my sister."

Wearing an airbrushed T-shirt depicting Iriana with a bright smile and long, thin braids, Liza promised that she will not let the memory of her daughter fade away.

"I do this every year, but this is the biggest one I've done so far," she said, proudly gesturing to the children being submerged in the water-dunk game and the 18-foot-tall colorful plastic funhouses that she'd rented for the afternoon. "I got some donations, but most of it came out of my own pocket. I guess I spent close to $1,000."

A few yards away, at the corner of Pike and Reese, was the lot that Liza envisions as a haven for the children of the community. Today, the small patch of land is home to a few parked cars, a speedboat, some crushed plastic bottles, old tires and discarded rugs, broken glass and weeds. Feisty and full of both life and hope, Liza is convinced that it doesn't have to remain a blight.

"I just want to do something positive for the children in this neighborhood," she says. "The owner has a problem with me doing something for them. But he's not doing nothing. As a mother, I'm crying out for help. I don't want these other mothers to go through what I'm going through."

In 1995, Nick Tsamos, who now lives on Staten Island, purchased the four-lot parcel of land for $7,200. He says that he bought it as an investment and intends to sell the property at a profit.

"Donate it? No way," he says. "It's a commercial property and I'm a businessman. I'd lose money, and I've already spent a lot on that property for violations and taxes. Actually, I'm trying to sell all my properties in Pennsylvania because [they're] too far away from my businesses in New York. Right now, I have someone interested in buying these lots and turning them into a car dealership."

Liza says that Tsamos, who has owned a number of area properties for the past 15 years, has gained a reputation as a slumlord. Tenants complain he overcharges but underserves.

Tsamos says that many of his tenants are negligent, often making rent payments late, if at all. Describing the community as one rife with drugs, crime and litter, he says he wants out.

Liza is angry that Tsamos has taken no responsibility for the maintenance of the lot, instead leaving the task to community members and the city. Recently, she reached out to City Councilman Juan Ramos, hoping that he can somehow intervene.

"Unfortunately, the property is privately owned by someone who is paid up on their taxes, so the city has no jurisdiction over it, " says Josh Cohen, Ramos' spokesman. Tsamos pays $132.22 a year in taxes on the property. "If there are other properties in that neighborhood that we can identify and we can help Ms. DeJesus acquire, we will. We want to work with her. We're 100 percent committed to helping Ms. DeJesus."

On Tuesday, Tsamos and his business partner traveled from New York to assess the properties. An unplanned convergence of events brought him face-to-face with Liza and neighbors. Tensions were high as the property owner and the grieving mother argued for a half-hour, but nothing changed.

Her efforts, though, will not be daunted. With her community solidly behind her, she plans to continue to fight for the lot.

"I'm not forgetting my child," she says. "I'm always gonna love my baby, whether she's in heaven or in my heart."