Louis Scoglio, 63, lives at 27 Riverside St., less than 200 yards from the epicenter of Wednesday's explosion, in a home just recently outfitted to the needs of a man who cannot move his legs and has only limited use of his arms. He was awake when it happened, having just been turned over in bed by his attendant. His wife, Carol, was asleep upstairs.

"The blinds were down," he said yesterday from Beverly Hospital. "There was a blue flash. The windows shattered. And then there was a big yellow fireball." More blasts followed, he said.

Within a short time, the lights went out. He didn't know it, but his house had buckled on one side, and the front door looked like someone had gone at it with a chisel. The roof was damaged. Several windows - not merely the glass - were destroyed. In some places glass was blown in, in others blown out.

"They're talking like (the house) might need to be torn down," Scoglio said.

"And they just completed doing their house over," lamented brother-in-law Stephen Gray, also of Danvers. He'd seen the fireball from his home some blocks away.

"Oh, my God," cried his wife, Cheryl Gray. "It's my brother's house."

Riverside Street soon filled with vehicles and people, some yelling, urging, "Get out of your houses!"

Soft-spoken, Scoglio remembered that he kept his head, calming the people around him. "There's no need to panic," he said. He's had this attitude all his life, he said, even before losing his mobility in a car accident last December. He swerved to avoid a deer and plunged down an embankment, turning over and over.

"I forgot to wear my seat belt," he said. "I usually wear my seat belt."

In the wake of the explosion, it took a few attempts to get help. "I was a little disappointed at first," he said. But eventually Danvers police helped him to his van. And a good thing, because in the confusion there was another seat belt lapse. Scoglio began to pitch forward as the chair rolled down the ramp. A Danvers patrolman caught him.

"I didn't get his name," a grateful Scoglio said. "They were very nice. Everybody involved was nice."

Seeking shelter

In the van, he and his wife weren't sure where to go - no one told them. They went to Denny's Restaurant and from there were directed to the high school, before being temporarily housed at the hospital. "I need special care," he said. At the hospital, he shared a room with his wife, and he doesn't expect to get a bill.

"All they had was the clothes on their backs," Cheryl Gray said.

They had to leave without Rocky, the family cat, presumed lost to the explosion.

For the immediate future, Scoglio is headed to an assisted-living facility in Danvers. Eventually, he wants to get back in his house. But it took hours yesterday for his wife just to get permission to go inside and retrieve necessities, like his wheelchair battery and braces.

He chided her not to forget things for herself. "She doesn't think of the things she needs," he said. "Carol is a very nice woman. Very helpful."

Scoglio didn't complain about his situation.

"There's poor people blowing in a tube just to get their wheelchair around," he said.

With effort, he can maneuver his wheelchair by hand. Moreover, in his brief hospital stay he's won over enough nurses that they offered warm goodbye hugs at the end of the day, knowing he will likely be gone when they return.

He speaks warmly of Beverly Hospital and its staff.

As for the chemical company where the blast occurred, he said, "They should let you know what's near you."

Before day's end, there was good news yesterday. Scoglio's sister-in-law had been allowed to visit the shattered neighborhood, where she found Rocky. The cat is now living at her house.

Despite having been critically injured in an accident and then surviving a massive explosion, Scoglio laughs off the suggestion that he's had bad luck.

"This is the way I think," he said with a smile. "I think for some reason or other I have very good luck. But not quite good enough."