Sifting through the noise and tragedy of the Eaton Fire

by Mick Rhodes | editor@claremont-courier.com

I’ve always loved their song — gentle and soothing when light winds blew, cacophonous and urgent, like a frantic bebop band, during Santa Anas. But when the metallic clang of our ragtag band of front porch wind chimes startled me awake at 1:10 a.m. last Saturday, their tune had taken on a new foreboding. Were the winds kicking up still more tragedy?

I wonder if I’ll ever feel the same way about our wind chimes, the Santa Anas, or Los Angeles.

A little more than a week after the most destructive group of firestorms in Los Angeles’ inferno-scarred history, I’ve spoken to many folks who feel the same way. And who can blame them?

Located immediately southwest of the SCE power lines some say were the genesis of Altadena’s Eaton Fire just after 6 p.m. January 7, my best friend Christine’s 1926 Spanish style home on Braeburn Road was an oasis, a symbol of 25 years of hard work, creativity, and business acumen that got her there.

The fires were still burning when we walked her neighborhood on January 8, hours after she and her 17-year-old son Colin saved their home — and those of a few of their neighbors — from sure immolation. They used garden hoses, and, after the water stopped flowing, buckets of swimming pool water, to extinguish embers from the fully engulfed homes across the street that blew into their yard. Most of those homes — architectural masterpieces all of them — were simply gone by the time I got there.

The wind had abated, but trees and power poles were still aflame, some in yards of untouched homes, seemingly waiting for a chance to make the leap. The foul-smelling air was thick with ash. The power had been off since the night before, which was nice because the streets were strewn with downed electrical lines. Open gas lines spewed fire in the former kitchens and laundry rooms of destroyed homes. It was unsettlingly quiet, very dark, with the unimaginable destruction illuminated only by hundreds of smoldering fires and the occasional team of solar pathway lights that hadn’t melted.

Police barricades had kept most traffic out of the area. First-responders cruised by every now and then, eyeing us suspiciously with lights flashing but sirens silent, as looters had already begun taking advantage in the chaos.

The streets were mostly clear, save a handful burned out cars. A massive boat on its trailer, untouched by fire, sat at an angle in the middle of the street, apparently abandoned by its evacuating owners, with homes on both sides completely destroyed.

Fire from an open gas line continued to burn the afternoon of January 8 at what was once the kitchen of this destroyed home on Braeburn Road in Altadena. Courier photo/Mick Rhodes

We paused at a burned out garage. The door was gone. Black ash simmered, breathing with the wind, glowing bright orange when it picked up. Using my phone flashlight, I could see the faint outline of large, straight objects on the charred ground. “That was a Maserati,” Christine said. All that remained of the Italian luxury car were axles and part of a drive train. The rest was just gone. Not just damaged: gone. I shuddered, thinking about the kind of temperatures required to do that. That Maserati looked like it had been smelted.

After 45 minutes of surveying the unreal scene, we sat down in her kitchen. She opened a bottle of white wine. We sipped at it and ate crackers in the dark.

On Sunday I joined a group of friends, volunteers, donors, supporters, and fire victims at Little Flower in Pasadena, Christine’s restaurant. If not for the shellshocked crowd at the clothing giveaway she and others organized for fire victims that morning, the brilliant blue sky and crisp, clean air would have qualified it as a red letter winter morning.

Some I spoke to had lost everything. All were grieving. There were a lot of hugs, some tears, anger, and even some laughter.

Thousands of Southern Californians have risen to help fire victims since January 7, donating food, clothing, shelter, and everything in between. Talk show host Jimmy Kimmel summed up the response in lovely fashion. Check it out at You Tube by searching “Jimmy Kimmel Returns During the Los Angeles Wildfires.”

California Governor Gavin Newsom has signed emergency declarations committing billions to recovery. President Biden was in town last week pledging the federal government’s unwavering support, starting with a $770 check for each person affected by the fires. Other agencies, like FEMA, have lumbered into action as well.

Tragedy can bring out the best in us, as evidenced by all the helpers that have come forward. Unfortunately, the flipside has also emerged. Critics are pointing furious fingers at everyone in positions of power in LA, including Newsom, LA Mayor Karen Bass, and LA Fire Department Chief Kristin Crowley. Meanwhile, Crowley is blaming city budget cutsfor hampering the performance of her department over this past week. It’s a big mess, and nobody is stepping up to take responsibility.

Maybe that’s because regardless of what resources were available, be they equipment, personnel, or even water, these fires were not going to be stopped. The most salient analyses I’ve read have focused on the winds. Have you seen the footage? Some were blowing near 100 mph. It’s terrifying. I don’t think anyone could have stopped the fires in Eaton Canyon and Pacific Palisades when the embers were being scattered for miles by hurricane force winds.

But blame will be assigned. Careers will be tarnished, some ruined. It’s what we do when something awful happens. I think I’ll counteract it by watching the clip of the late, great Fred Rogers, who had a way of cutting through artifice, ego, and anger: “My mother used to say, whenever there was a catastrophe … always look for the helpers.”

I want you … for the Claremont Courier
Readers may have noticed our full-time editorial staff of two, reporter Andrew Alonzo and myself, has been pulling off most all the journalism you’ve read in the Courier since last February.

We’ve done a good job on a great many stories, but there’s only so much we can cover. Some of our coverage has not been as robust or in-depth as I have wanted it to be. And, if I’m being honest, and I am, there are some stories we simply missed. This was not due to lack of effort or vision, just a lack of resources.

I aim to do better in 2025.

To that end, I am looking for a new, full-time reporter to augment our staff. An ideal candidate would be a levelheaded, hardworking writer with intelligence, curiosity, and tact. Knowledge of photography is a plus. Print journalists at the local level don’t make oodles of dough, but the job pays respectably in relation to like-sized publications, and it comes with medical and dental benefits and paid vacation and sick days.

If you’re that special somebody, or you know someone who might be, please inquire via email to editor@claremont-courier.com.

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