6 months after Sandy, thousands homeless in NY, NJ

Associated Press/Mel Evans - Homes severely damaged last October by Superstorm Sandy, are seen along the beach Thursday, April 25, 2013, in Mantoloking, N.J. Six months after Sandy devastated the Jersey shore and New York City and pounded coastal areas of New England, the region is dealing with a slow and frustrating, yet often hopeful, recovery. (AP Photo/Mel Evans)

Flags decorate a fence Thursday, April 25, 2013, in Brick, N.J., around the burned remains of more than 60 small bungalows at Camp Osborn which were destroyed last October during Superstorm Sandy. Six months after Sandy devastated the Jersey shore and New York City and pounded coastal areas of New England, the region is dealing with a slow and frustrating, yet often hopeful, recovery. (AP Photo/Mel Evans)

A home rests in Barnegat Bay, Thursday, April 25, 2013, in Mantoloking, N.J., after it was swept away last October by Superstorm Sandy. Six months after Sandy devastated the Jersey shore and New York City and pounded coastal areas of New England, the region is dealing with a slow and frustrating, yet often hopeful, recovery. (AP Photo/Mel Evans)

Homes severely damaged last October by Superstorm Sandy, are seen along the beach Thursday, April 25, 2013, in Mantoloking, N.J. Six months after Sandy devastated the Jersey shore and New York City and pounded coastal areas of New England, the region is dealing with a slow and frustrating, yet often hopeful, recovery. (AP Photo/Mel Evans)

MANTOLOKING, N.J. (AP) — The 9-year-old girl who got New Jersey's tough-guy governor to shed a tear as he comforted her after her home was destroyed is bummed because she now lives far from her best friend and has nowhere to hang her One Direction posters.

A New Jersey woman whose home was overtaken by mold still cries when she drives through the area. A New York City man whose home burned can't wait to build a new one.

Six months after Superstorm Sandy devastated the Jersey shoreand New York City and pounded coastal areas of New England, the region is dealing with a slow and frustrating, yet often hopeful, recovery. Tens of thousands of people remain homeless. Housing, business, tourism and coastal protection all remain major issues with the summer vacation — and hurricane — seasons almost here again.

"Some families and some lives have come back together quickly and well, and some people are up and running almost as if nothing ever happened, and for them it's been fine," New York Gov. Andrew Cuomo said at a news conference Thursday. "Some people are still very much in the midst of recovery. You still have people in hotel rooms, you still have people doubled up, you still have people fighting with insurance companies, and for them it's been terrible and horrendous."

Lynda Fricchione's flood-damaged home in the Ortley Beach section of Toms River, N.J., is gutted; the roof was fixed just last week. The family is still largely living out of cardboard boxes in an apartment. But waiting for a final decision from federal and state authorities over new flood maps that govern the price of flood insurance is tormenting her and many others.

"The largest problem is, nobody really knows how high we're going to have to elevate the house," she said. "At town hall they told us 5 feet, but then they said it might go down to 3 feet in the summer. Most of us are waiting until the final maps come out. It's wait-and-see."

But more than anything, Fricchione is optimistic, buoyed by a recent trip to New Orleans with her daughter during which they met a resident of the Lower Ninth Ward who was one of the first to move back in after Hurricane Katrina inundated the neighborhood that has become a symbol of flood damage — and resilience.

"Talking to that man was wonderful!" Fricchione said. "He said it takes time and you just have to have hope and know it will all work out eventually."

By many measures, the recovery from Superstorm Sandy, which struck Oct. 29, has been slow. From Maryland to New Hampshire, the National Hurricane Center attributes 72 deaths directly to Sandy and 87 others indirectly from causes such as hypothermia due to power outages, carbon monoxide poisoning and accidents during cleanup efforts, for a total of 159.

The roller coaster that plunged off a pier in Seaside Heights, N.J., is still in the ocean, although demolition plans are finally moving forward. Scores of homes that were destroyed in nearby Mantoloking still look as they did the day after the storm — piles of rubble and kindling, with the occasional bathroom fixture or personal possession visible among the detritus.

Throughout the region, many businesses are still shuttered, and an already-tight rental market has become even more so because of the destruction of thousands of units and the crush of displaced storm victims looking to rent the ones that survived.

Homeowners are tortured by uncertainty over ever-changing rules on how high they'll need to rebuild their homes to protect against the next storm; insurance companies have not paid out all that many homeowners expected; and municipalities are borrowing tens of millions of dollars to keep the lights on, the fire trucks running and the police stations staffed, waiting for reimbursement from the federal government for storm expenditures they had to fund out of pocket.

And yet, by other measures, remarkable progress has been made. Boardwalks, the tourism lifeblood of the region, are springing back to life. A handful of homes are going up, and the whine of power saws and the thwack of hammers is everywhere in hard-hit beach towns as contractors fix what can be saved and bulldozers knock down what can't.

Volunteers in Highlands, N.J., are rebuilding the home of Bromlyn Link, the single mother of a 17-year-old boy, both of whom are members of the town's first aid squad and who spent 12 to 14 hours a day helping friends and neighbors forced to live in shelters for weeks after the storm.

Mantoloking, which was cut in half by the storm and saw all 521 of its homes damaged or destroyed, is creeping back to life. The post office recently, reopened, and the first of 50 demolitions will start next week, which is also when Mayor George Nebel will join the 40 other residents who have been able to move back home.

Beaches that were washed away are coming back, due both to nature and bulldozers, and real estate agents say demand for this strangest of upcoming summers appears good, particularly in the large portions of the Jersey shore that were relatively unscathed by Sandy. Beach badges, required for access to most of New Jersey's shoreline, are selling at a near-record pace in Belmar, N.J.

And while towns fortify beaches and dunes and put up sea walls, rock barriers or even sand-filled fabric tubes to guard against future storms, state governments are readying hundreds of millions of dollars to buy out homeowners in flood-prone areas who want to leave.

"We've made a lot of progress in six months; I know we still have a long way to go," New Jersey Gov. Chris Christie said at a recent town hall meeting. "By Memorial Day, every boardwalk that was destroyed at the Jersey shore will be rebuilt. Businesses are reopening. Rentals are picking up again, roads are back open."

Christie estimated 39,000 New Jersey families remain displaced, down from 161,000 the day after the storm. In New York, more than 250 families are still living in hotel rooms across New York paid for by the Federal Emergency Management Agency, while others are still shacking up with relatives or living in temporary rentals.

Everyone simply wants to make their homes livable again, said Ray Marten, whose home in the Belle Harbor section of New York City's Queens borough burned down when a fire swept along his street during the storm, and whose family of six is renting a nearby house.

"If you go up my block now, all the houses have been demolished and removed," Marten said. "They're pretty much just holes in the ground. Sand pits."

Separation is the new reality for the Gatti family, a clan of several generations that shared the same three-story home near the ocean on Staten Island until Sandy destroyed it. The flood-soaked place was demolished months ago, and they're waiting for a government buyout. Now the family is scattered across New Jersey, New York and Texas.

"The whole family's separated," said Marge Gatti, the matriarch. "And it's terrible, you know?"

Her son, Anthony, recently drove a U-Haul packed with his meager belongings to Killeen, Texas, where he will start a new life as a car mechanic.

"Mentally, I'm not all that well in the head," said Anthony Gatti, who slept in a tent in front of the ruined home for weeks after the storm. "I know I've got to get some kind of help. I can't seem to shake it out of my life."

Ginjer Doherty was 9 years old when Sandy bubbled up through the floor of her Middletown, N.J., home and ripped the front wall off it. She and her parents went to a firehouse a few days later to see Christie talk about what was being done to recover.

The governor comforted Ginjer, telling her she would be all right, that the grown-ups were on top of things and would take care of her. Ginjer recently had an essay published in Time magazine recalling the encounter and describing her life after Sandy.

"My house was all messed up, and people told us we couldn't stay there anymore," she wrote. "The governor told me not to worry — that my parents would take care of everything — and he looked very serious and sad, and he cried.

"Things are going O.K. for my family," she wrote. "We want to go back home, but rebuilding is going to take a long time. But we have a place to live for now. I even rescued a cat that was homeless after Sandy; I wanted him to be safe and loved like I feel."

In an interview with The Associated Press, Ginjer, now 10, said she is sad that her home won't be ready until October; her mom says it has been gutted and needs to be elevated.

Of the delay, Ginjer said simply, "It stinks."

Sandy also damaged interior areas, particularly those along rivers in northern New Jersey. Cities including Hoboken and Jersey City were inundated, and officials continue try seek exemptions for skyscrapers and large apartments from federal rules requiring flood-prone buildings to be elevated. George Stauble, whose Little Ferry house took in four feet of water, said FEMA payouts caused some rifts between neighbors.

"Everybody's house had pretty much the same amount of damage, but people are getting different amounts of money, and that's caused some problems," he said, adding some homeowners received as little as $8,000, while others received as much as $29,000.

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Contributing to this report were Associated Press writers Meghan Barr and Deepti Hajela in New York and David Porter in Little Ferry, N.J.

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Wayne Parry can be reached at http://twitter.com/WayneParryAC.

New England keeps its stride after two tragedies

FILE - A U.S. flag flies at half-staff on Main Street in Newtown, Conn. on Saturday, Dec. 15, 2012 in honor of those killed when a gunman opened fire inside the town's Sandy Hook elementary school. In just a four-month span, New England has been the backdrop for two incidents of mass carnage - the Dec. 14, 2012 shootings in Newtown, that killed 20 children and six staff members at the school, and the Boston Marathon bombings on April 15, 2013 that killed three people and injured more than 260. (AP Photo/David Goldman, File)

FILE - In this photo provided by the Newtown Bee, Connecticut State Police lead a line of children from the Sandy Hook Elementary School in Newtown, Conn. on Friday, Dec. 14, 2012 after a shooting at the school. In just a four-month span, New England has been the backdrop for two incidents of mass carnage - the Dec. 14, 2012 shootings in Newtown that killed 20 children and six staff members at the school, and the Boston Marathon bombings on April 15, 2013 that killed three people and injured more than 260. (AP Photo/Newtown Bee, Shannon Hicks, File) MANDATORY CREDIT: NEWTOWN BEE, SHANNON HICKS

BOSTON (AP) — Six small states, settled before the nation's birth, wedged between New York, Canada and the Atlantic Ocean: They add up to New England.

It's a unique region defined by its compact geography, its culture and its "sense of place," as Harvard history professor Laurel Thatcher Ulrich put it.

"The mystique that has grown up over the centuries, perpetuated by the invention of celebrations like the 'First Thanksgiving' and all the images associated with the Revolution," she said, "convinced people that there really was something called New England and that it mattered."

Now, in just a four-month span, a harsh new chapter has been added to that long, distinctive history.

New England scenes have been the backdrop for two body blows of malevolent mass carnage — the Dec. 14 shootings in Newtown, Conn., that killed 20 children and six staff members at Sandy Hook Elementary School and the Boston Marathon bombings on April 15 that killed three people and injured more than 260.

Yet even amid the horror, the nation and world again glimpsed the old New England spirit and solidarity.

The bombings were a reminder of Boston's role as de facto capital of New England. Its sports teams, most notably the Red Sox, are avidly followed in all six states. Its marathon draws competitors from across the region (and of course far beyond) — and attracts thousands of regional spectators, too. Women from Connecticut, Maine and Rhode Island were among the injured requiring surgery.

An eight-member group from Newtown competed in the marathon, seeking support for a scholarship fund to benefit siblings of the shooting victims. Before the start, there were 26 seconds of silence in honor of the Connecticut victims, and each mile of the race was dedicated to one of them.

So the pain has been shared — and so has the post-bombing effort to respond resiliently. Members of the Newtown group said they would expand their efforts to also support the bombing victims.

"We're looking for things to pull us together, and the tragedy gave us a focal point — the more so that it happened at one of our defining regional events," said Boston University professor William Moore, a cultural history specialist affiliated with BU's Program in American and New England Studies.

At least in living memory, New England has not experienced a gun rampage as deadly as the Newtown shootings nor a terrorist attack on par with the marathon bombings.

Yet the region has by no means been immune from calamities.

Ten years ago, 100 people were killed after a pyrotechnics display ignited a blaze during a rock concert at The Station, an overcrowded nightclub in West Warwick, R.I. Its owners had tried to stem noise complaints by lining the walls with what turned out to be flammable packing foam. Even worse was the Cocoanut Grove nightclub fire in Boston in 1942, which killed 492 people.

In 2011, the remnants of Hurricane Irene wreaked havoc on Vermont, New England's only landlocked state. Up to 11 inches of rain fell in some areas on Aug. 27-28, displacing thousands from their homes, killing six people, damaging or destroying 500 miles of roads and 200 bridges, including several of the state's iconic covered bridges. About a dozen communities were cut off for days.

But soon afterward, Vermonters began to rally around the phrase, "I am Vermont Strong," which is still found on many license plates that were sold to help finance recovery projects.

Gov. Peter Shumlin, in office just eight months when Irene hit, was in Boston on April 21 — six days after the marathon bombing — to attend the Red Sox' annual Vermont Day.

"You feel exactly the same spirit in the streets of Boston right now. We were Vermont Strong; they are Boston Strong," Shumlin said. "The American people are the best people in the world and they care about neighbors, they care about strangers, and we're not going to let storms or senseless terrorists take us down."

Maine and New Hampshire have been spared large-scale calamities in recent decades, though they've had their share of jarring incidents.

In 1997, a New Hampshire man fatally shot two state troopers, a judge and a newspaper editor in the far-north town of Colebrook before being killed by police in Vermont. In Maine, 14 migrant workers died in 2002 when a van plunged off a bridge — the worst traffic accident in state history.

In Massachusetts, seven employees of a technology firm in Wakefield were shot dead in 2000 by a co-worker. Connecticut has suffered two workplace-related mass shootings since 1998 — one claiming nine lives at a Manchester beer distributor, the other leaving five dead at the state lottery headquarters in Newington.

Further back, all of New England was battered by the great hurricane of 1938, which killed more than 600 people and wrecked tens of thousands of homes.

Given that it encompasses six states, New England's compactness is striking, with 14.5 million people living in an area about the size of Washington state. In good traffic, a driver heading out of Boston could reach each of the other five states in two hours or less.

New England's initial colonization was undertaken by the Puritans and others from Britain. Many of the region's cultural archetypes reflect this heritage — the quintessential imagery of white steepled churches overlooking village greens, the town meetings still held annually in many communities, the flinty Yankee farmers and stone walls evoked in Robert Frost's poetry.

In his writing and speeches, Frost often captured the mix of individualism and community spirit that New Englanders like to think of as inherent traits.

"I hold it to be the inalienable right of anybody to go to hell in his own way," he said in an address in 1935.

Yet Frost also wrote in one of his poems, "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, they have to take you in."

By the time of his death in 1963, New England's demography had been transformed. After waves of immigration from Italy, Ireland, Portugal and Quebec, it's now one of the most heavily Roman Catholic parts of the country. Accents have evolved — in Maine, in Boston, and elsewhere —that are unmistakable if not always euphonious. Lobstermen and maple-syrup makers still ply their trades, but so do hedge-fund managers, nuclear-submarine engineers and some of world's trendsetters in medical technology.

The region's myriad colleges and universities attract students from across the U.S.; some return home with new loyalty to the Red Sox and new ways to employ regional vocabulary, like the perversely positive adjective "wicked."

On average, New Englanders are healthier, wealthier and better educated than other Americans, with a low divorce rate and high ranking in child well-being. Yet the prosperity is uneven: Some Connecticut cities have been plagued by financial crises even as its New York suburbs prosper, while Rhode Island has had one of the nation's highest jobless rates in recent years. Most of coastal and southern Maine is faring well, but the economy is bleak in many inland towns.

For many decades, northern New England was reliably Republican. Now all 21 of the region's U.S. representatives are Democrats, and all six states voted for Barack Obama in 2012. Five of them are among the nine states that have legalized same-sex marriage, and the sixth — Rhode Island — is on the verge of following suit.

Regional solidarity exists in many other parts of the United States, but so do cross-border rivalries — often expressed in sports competition between state universities. Georgia and Alabama have much in common, as do Ohio and Michigan. Yet football games between their flagship state universities rouse fiercely partisan passions.

That phenomenon scarcely exists in New England. Instead of interstate rivalry, there's common loyalty to the Boston-area major league teams. Indeed, the NFL's New England Patriots and the New England Revolution of Major League Soccer are the only American big league franchises with names evoking a group of states.

As for baseball, Red Sox Nation encompasses all of New England, save for a swath of southwestern Connecticut where the hated New York Yankees have followers. Each season, the Red Sox designate one of their home games as a special event honoring each of Massachusetts' fellow New England states. And three of the team's minor league affiliates are based nearby — in Pawtucket, R.I., Portland, Maine, and Lowell, Mass.

When Hall of Famer Carlton Fisk played catcher for the Sox in the 1970s, he was beloved not only for his on-field skills but because, as a Vermont native raised in New Hampshire, he was the Boston equivalent of a hometown product.

William Moore, the BU professor, said New England defies simplistic definitions.

"We don't necessarily share a cuisine, except for Dunkin' Donuts. We don't share a religion," he said. "We're looking for something to bind us together, which is why the whole Red Sox Nation idea is so powerful."

And when hard times come, that connectedness helps.

In the aftermath of the Newtown shootings, the neighboring town of Monroe, Conn., began renovating a vacant school building to take in the children from Sandy Hook. At a news conference three days after the shooting, a Monroe police officer sought the right words to describe the efforts.

"Monroe is a small New England community," said Lt. Brian McCauley, "and we are helping our family."

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Associated Press writers Wilson Ring in Montpelier, Vt., Mike Melia in Hartford, Conn., Michelle Smith in Providence, R.I., Kathy McCormack in Concord, N.H., and David Sharp in Portland, Maine, contributed to this report.

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Follow David Crary on Twitter: http://twitter.com/CraryAP

Bangladesh owner is at nexus of politics, business

FILE - In this April 24, 2013 file photo, a man who was trapped in an eight-story building housing several garment factories is rescued after the structure collapsed in Savar, near Dhaka, Bangladesh. The owner of the building sits at the nexus of party politics and the powerful $20 billion garment industry that drives the economy of this deeply impoverished nation. Experts say this intersection of politics and business, combined with a minimum wage of $9.50 a week that has made Bangladesh the go-to nation for many of the world’s largest clothing brands, has created a predictable danger for factory workers. Government officials, labor activists, manufacturers and retailers all called for improved safety standards after a November fire in the same suburb, when locked emergency exits trapped hundreds of garment workers inside amid spreading flames and 112 people died. But almost nothing has changed. (AP Photo/ A.M. Ahad, File)

FILE - In this April 27, 2013 file photo, Bangladeshi garment workers shout slogans and block a road during a protest against the collapse of an eight-story building that housed several garment factories and poor safety standards, in Dhaka, Bangladesh. The owner of the building, who ignored inspectors who advised to close the structure when cracks appeared in the building a day before the collapse, sits at the nexus of party politics and the powerful $20 billion garment industry that drives the economy of this deeply impoverished nation. Experts say this intersection of politics and business, combined with a minimum wage of $9.50 a week that has made Bangladesh the go-to nation for many of the world’s largest clothing brands, has created a predictable danger for factory workers. Government officials, labor activists, manufacturers and retailers all called for improved safety standards after a November fire in the same suburb, when locked emergency exits trapped hundreds of garment workers inside amid spreading flames and 112 people died. But almost nothing has changed. (AP Photo/A.M. Ahad, File)

SAVAR, Bangladesh (AP) — When the cracks in the building appeared early Tuesday afternoon, a stocky man in his early 30s, a feared political operative who a neighbor says dropped out of school in seventh grade, quickly arrived at the scene in this crowded industrial suburb of the capital.

By then, fear had spread through the 3,200 people who worked in the five clothing factories that jammed the upper floors of Rana Plaza, and the handful of shops on the lower ones. Most of the workers had gathered in the street out front. Few wanted to go back in. Inspectors said the eight-story building should be closed until it could be inspected.

But Mohammed Sohel Rana scoffed.

"The building has minor damages," Rana, the building's owner, told gathering reporters. "There is nothing serious."

The next morning, many of the building's shops and a first-floor bank remained closed. But the factories' 8 a.m. shift began as usual. About 45 minutes into the shift, the building suddenly collapsed, killing at least 350 people in a fury of falling concrete. It was the worst industrial accident in the history of Bangladesh. More than three days later, rescuers are still crawling through the wreckage, hoping to find anyone who has managed to survive so long. By Saturday, nearly all the people being carried out were dead.

Rana, though, has disappeared. He hasn't been seen, according to local media reports, since he left his basement office in Rana Plaza and drove away, just before the collapse. Today, his political patron has abandoned him and authorities want to arrest him.

Rana sits at the nexus of party politics and the powerful $20 billion garment industry that drives the economy of this deeply impoverished nation. Experts say this intersection of politics and business, combined with a minimum wage of $9.50 a week that has made Bangladesh the go-to nation for many of the world's largest clothing brands, has created a predictable danger for factory workers.

Government officials, labor activists, manufacturers and retailers all called for improved safety standards after a November fire in the same suburb, when locked emergency exits trapped hundreds of garment workers inside amid spreading flames and 112 people died. But almost nothing has changed.

"Successive Bangladeshi governments have paid lip service to worker safety but in reality it is only the factory owners who have the ear of policymakers," Brad Adams, the Asia director for Human Rights Watch, said in a statement. "How many factory tragedies will it take before the Bangladeshi government ends its cozy relationship with powerful company owners and prioritizes worker safety?"

Before the collapse, Rana was little known outside of the few blocks of his tiny empire, a grid of poorly paved streets in the crowded industrial suburb of Savar, built up over the past decade or so around hundreds of garment factories.

The son of a local businessman with political connections, Rana became a neighborhood force by working as an organizer for the two political parties that have competed for power for decades in Bangladesh, according to local politicians, as well as someone who grew up near Rana and still lives in the area.

While Rana is currently a leader of the youth group of the ruling Awami League, he has also worked for that party's archrival, the Bangladesh National Party.

"He doesn't belong to any particular political party," said Ashrafuddin Khan Imu, an Awami League leader and longtime Rana rival. "Whatever party is in power, he is there."

In essence, these people say, Rana is a neighborhood political enforcer, regularly ordering thousands of people into the streets for rallies. Most recently, Imu said, he has been working for Awami League lawmaker Talukder Touhid Jang Murad. When Murad was asked about Rana after the collapse, Murad denied any connections. The next day, Dhaka newspapers printed photographs of Murad kissing Rana on the forehead after a successful rally earlier this year.

"He used to intimidate people whenever he needed them, like bringing people out for street marches in support of the lawmaker," said the neighbor, who spoke on condition he not be named, fearing Rana would send his men to beat him up after having been threatened once before. "Neighbors would avoid him ... No one wanted to upset him."

Money came with his political connections, with wealth built upon a string of government-owned properties he acquired at reduced prices, according to local media reports. He built a small apartment building and a small commercial building, where a Bata shoe store is now on the ground floor. In 2010 he built Rana Plaza on land that had once been a swamp. He had a permit to erect a five-story building, but built three additional stories illegally.

Until Wednesday, he lived just a few blocks from Rana Plaza, in a five-story red-brick building he owns at the end of a narrow alley. The ground floor has a hand-painted medieval scene, with an aristocratic woman, or perhaps a bride, being carried by scowling bearers in a covered palanquin. The neighbor says he is married, and has two children. The buildings indicate he is a man of considerable stature locally, but is almost certainly not a member of the country's tiny elite.

After the cracks appeared in the building, witnesses say Rana quickly went to work. On Wednesday morning, he and a number of factory managers ordered nervous workers into the building shortly before the collapse, according to the neighbor, who was present at the scene, and local press reports.

"I was too afraid to go inside the building. But the factory officials assured us they would also be in the factory, so there should not be any problem," said Kohinoor Begum, a factory worker who survived but whose hands were injured.

By Saturday night, Rana was still nowhere to be found. Authorities say they detained his wife on Friday, apparently as a way to convince him to surrender.

What will happen to him? At first glance, the situation doesn't look good: He's on the run, his political allies have publicly abandoned him, Bangladesh's most powerful garment industry association says he ignored their warnings to shut the building, the prime minister has called for his arrest.

But in the streets of Savar, many people note that while three managers have been arrested in connection with the Tazreen fire, the factory owner remains free.

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Sullivan reported from New Delhi, India. Julhas Alam in Dhaka contributed to the report.

Israel responds to Gaza rocket fire with airstrike

SC woman pleads guilty, mentally ill in 4 slayings

Family members hug outside of court after Susan Hendricks was sentenced to life in prison on Friday, April 26, 2013, in Pickens, S.C. Hendricks pleaded guilty but mentally ill to killing four family members in October 2011 in Liberty. (AP Photo/Jeffrey Collins)

PICKENS, S.C. (AP) — A South Carolina woman with multiple personalities was seized by one that didn't know right from wrong when she killed four relatives and tried to pin the killings on one of her sons she had just shot in the head, a psychologist testified Friday as she admitted to the slayings.

Susan Hendricks, 49, pleaded guilty but mentally ill to four counts of murder and accepted a life sentence in a plea bargain with prosecutors. Authorities said she stood to gain about $700,000 worth of life insurance policies after her two sons, ex-husband and stepmother were killed in October 2011.

The life insurance money was one of many motives and authorities will likely never know why she killed her relatives because of her mental problems, prosecutor Walt Wilkins said.

The psychologist testifying for Hendricks' defense team, David Price, said Hendricks suffered severe post-traumatic stress disorder from extensive childhood sexual abuse before she left home at 14. Hendricks was abused by both of her parents, who also let others abuse her, Price said.

"This is the worst I've ever seen," Price said.

Susan Hendricks was admitted to psychiatric hospitals several times in the past three decades. Her personalities likely started as a coping mechanism, Price said.

Wilkins said Friday was the first time he heard about the abuse, but promised to investigate if Hendricks' attorneys send him details. South Carolina has no statute of limitations on crimes.

Hendricks is competent to stand trial now, Price said. While Hendricks' main personality could differentiate right from wrong, another personality was in action the night of the murders, Price said.

Hendricks will spend the rest of her life in prison, but the guilty but mentally ill plea assures she will get psychological help behind bars.

Hendricks was eligible for the death penalty, but the family accepted the life sentences. Stephanie Hopkins, a cousin to Hendricks' sons, said Hendricks never seems right, but she didn't think she had serious psychological problems.

"I always knew she was crazy. But when I say crazy, I mean not mentally ill like this," Hopkins said.

Hendricks said little in court. She was attentive to the judge's questions, answering "yes, ma'am." But she did not turn to look as Hopkins and her stepmother's brother stepped up to speak.

"I hope that Linda and Mark and Matthew and Marshall will sit in judgment on Susan when she passes away like she sat in judgment on them. I hope God has mercy on her soul," Gordon Finley said.

The gun used in all four slayings was found beside 23-year-old Matthew Hendricks and investigators said Susan Hendricks told deputies her son was suicidal. She also led them to a note in the kitchen. The note was written by Matthew Hendricks, but not the day he died, Wilkins said.

Family and friends of the victims sobbed as Wilkins recounted what happened early in the morning on Oct. 14, 2011, in two homes in Liberty in northwest South Carolina. At Hendricks' home, deputies found the body of Matthew Hendricks shot in the head in his bed with a gun on a table beside him. Susan Hendricks' stepmother, 64-year-old Linda Burns, was found in her bedroom, a trail of blood leading to her bed from the living room. She was shot several times in the chest, arm and stomach.

Next door, authorities found the bodies of her other son, 20-year-old Marshall Hendricks. He was shot several times in the house and tried to run outside. Investigators said she fired the final shot at her son on the concrete stoop outside the home and covered him with a blanket. Susan Hendricks' 52-year-old ex-husband Mark Hendricks was found on a couch, shot in the chest.

Her story of a murder-suicide quickly fell apart. Deputies were puzzled why she didn't call 911. Gunshot residue was found all over her clothes and some of Marshall Hendricks' blood was found on her pants.

The murders weren't the first deadly shooting in Susan Hendricks' home.

In April 2006, authorities said Doyle "Brian" Teague, 36, was killed by Hendricks after entering her home uninvited. Hendricks claimed self-defense, and deputies said they never had enough evidence to file criminal charges.

Hendricks' lawyer John Mauldin thanked Wilkins for accepting a plea deal. He said Hendricks was remorseful and didn't want to drag people through a death penalty trial.

"Nobody was really going to win anything," Mauldin said. "Here today, sanity prevails, if I can say it that way."

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Follow Jeffrey Collins on Twitter at http://twitter.com/JSCollinsAP