by John Neiuber

What kind of house is this, he said
Where I have come to roam?
It’s not a house, says Judas Priest
It’s not a house, it’s a home.

Bob Dylan — “The Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest”

The recent fire disasters in Pacific Palisades and Altadena have exacerbated the housing crisis in California and particularly in Los Angeles County. However, to speak about this as merely housing ignores the human element of the disaster.

The wildfire victims did not just lose a house; they lost a home. They also lost the embodiment of all that word includes: a place of refuge, a place where memories are created, a place where one belongs, a place where one is comfortable, a place of safety, a place where there are those they love.

When my wife Karen and I were considering purchasing in Claremont 22 years ago, we had just toured another home nearby prior to seeing our 1908 Craftsman. The realtor had not yet arrived. We were walking around the property and Karen looked in the window of the dining room and declared, “I think this is my house.” A few years later, we were celebrating the 100^th anniversary of the house and invited the three other previous owners and their descendants, the people who had made the house a home. Karen shared with them a quote from Mark Twain that had come to represent how we felt about our home:

“To us our house was not insentient matter — it had a heart & a soul & eyes to see us with, and approvals, and solicitudes and deep sympathies; it was of us, and we were in its confidence, and lived in its grace and in the peace of its benediction. We never came home from an absence that its face did not light up and speak out its eloquent welcome — and we could not enter it unmoved.”

The historic Johnson house on Mountain Avenue is an important stone structure. Its original owners contributed to the history of Claremont. Photo/courtesy of Claremont Heritage

It is quite unimaginable to truly understand what the people in Altadena and Pacific Palisades are experiencing, or the range of emotions and feelings of loss that they encounter daily. But we do know that they lost a home and all the meaning that word describes about their lives. Again, Mark Twain:

“A man’s house burns down. The smoking wreckage represents only a ruined home that was dear through years of use and pleasant associations. By and by, as the days and weeks go on, first he misses this, then that, then the other thing. And when he casts about for it he finds that it was in that house. Always it is essential — here was but one of its kind. It cannot be replaced. It was in that house. It is irrevocably lost … it will be years before the tale of lost essentials is complete, and not till then can he truly know the magnitude of his disaster.”

That is the thing about loss: whether it is a home or a loved one, we miss this or that thing or a memory arises at certain times and the magnitude of the loss is revealed. It is the nature of loss.

More than 30 historic buildings were destroyed in the fires. Besides the personal loss to each owner, there is the history of the building, the story of the architect who designed it, the people who occupied it and made contributions to their community and its culture.

The interior of the historic Garner House, built in 1926 by Herman and Bess Garner, whose contributions include Padua Theatre. Photo/courtesy of Claremont Heritage

When I consider our own home, now in its 117^th year, it has a story to tell. Built by Winfield and Katie Palmer, they called the home, “the sycamores.” Sycamore trees were prevalent due to a stream that ran down Seventh Street and emptied into a swamp, that is now the site of Pilgrim Place.

Winfield Palmer was a rancher, president of Claremont National Bank, manager of the Claremont Citrus Association, and president of the first town committee. He and two associates purchased 29 acres, from Harrison to Eighth Street, and Indian Hill to Berkeley, that they subdivided into a residential development called Eucacia Park. The sycamores was designed by prolific Los Angeles architect, Arthur Acker, along with three other homes in Claremont.

Later the house became the home of Morrill and Mary Ilsley. Morrill was the first college physician and his doctor’s office was in the house. Mary was the guiding light of tree planting in Claremont and chaired the committee for many years. Their son, John, also became a doctor and raised his family in the home.

The home was then purchased by the Tessier family, whose company, Arteco Partners, redeveloped Pauda Theatre, the College Heights Packing House, and is developing the northern portion of Village South.

Like those lost in the wildfires, every home has a history and a story that deserves to be told.

This international style house was part of the Intercultural Council Houses, the first integrated housing development in Claremont. Photo/courtesy of Claremont Heritage