Opinion: Two Altadena Residents Who Became Homeless in the Eaton Fire

Louis

I lived in Altadena, on Poppyfields Drive, between Santa Rosa and Santa Anita avenues. I helped my parents purchase our home in 1975. I was the third owner. By the time they passed on, I was in another house, but it never occurred to me to sell it, because my three younger siblings still lived there. Some cultures have extended family that extends the lineage. It’s not like you get to a certain age and you just split.

How was I able to purchase a home with my parents when I was only 26? I was on the road with Ray Charles at the time. I play baritone sax. I played with Ray Charles for 20 years, on the road for about five years. It was a great experience. Definitely elevated my ability as a player — you get advice from your fellow, older musicians.

It was the first time I was away from home, so I learned a lot about life. It’s an experience, coexisting with other people. I got a chance to see America, at a simple level. We didn’t stay at fancy hotels. We interacted with people in the community. I spent time in Columbia, S.C. First time I went to New York City was with the band. Back then we’d go to major cities for two weeks. I stayed with a friend in Harlem.

Has my early experience of touring, moving from place to place, made dealing with my present situation any easier? Definitely. I’m able to roll with it more. I can move, get what I need. Touring has allowed me to be not as freaked out as I might have been. Don’t get me wrong: I’m still freaked out — but not to the point where you’re saying: “I give up.” It’s like I’ve been preparing myself for this.

Eventually, I moved back into the house on Poppyfields, with two of my brothers. We were there together, the three of us, on Jan. 7.

Tuesday morning — it was windy. But I didn’t think anything of it. I knew there was a fire in the Palisades, but that’s far away. Then I heard about a fire in Eaton Canyon. But that’s far, too, I thought. I got dressed, and I went to work. I had a gig that night at the Vibrato — a famous club near Beverly Glen. I’m there at 7:30, I’m playing, I’m on the bandstand. I think we did two sets. We’re starting to finish things up and people start calling me on my phone. “You OK?” I said, “Yeah, I’m OK” — not knowing the gravity of what was going on.

I get home around 10. The power’s out. But they’re still saying the fire is just in Eaton Canyon. But it’s real smoky. Around 11, my brothers and my next door neighbor and I assess what’s going on. It’s pitch black, and the air quality is really bad. I saw what looked like a fire, in the corner of the sky, but I figured that was the Eaton Canyon fire. Sometimes you see fires in the mountains, and they illuminate — they look closer than they are. That’s what I thought was happening.

We decided to go to the IHOP. We thought, let’s have a meal, chop it up a bit. We go home. I’m still wearing my dress clothes, from the previous performance, so I change into something a little more comfortable. The wind is still bad, with the velocity enough to be concerning — but not to the point where we thought the house was going to catch on fire. Until we decided to drive to the shelter. To be honest, I wanted to stay home and wait it out, but my brothers convinced me to wait it out there at the shelter, as a precautionary measure. So we get in the car. We go east on Poppyfields. I did see something then that looked like it was on fire. I thought, “Man, that’s crazy.” But it was still far away. Then we see an emergency vehicle. It’s this big black car, with red and blue flashing lights. The guy in the car shouts — I’ll never forget this — “Get out.” We get to the shelter around 1:30 a.m., but we stay in the parking lot. We don’t even register. We’re just waiting it out. The wind is still howling. My younger brother says: “Watch out, there’s some embers.” I didn’t take it seriously. As we now know, those embers were serious — they’re the ones that caused a lot of the damage. At no point did I think I was going to lose my house. It was only for precautionary’s sake that I went to that shelter.

Five hours later, my brother wakes me up. I’d fallen asleep in the car. It’s like 7 a.m. now. My brother told me that people were saying that our whole neighborhood was gone. But I still didn’t really believe it. …

At some point I know we traveled to the neighborhood. Turning on Lake Avenue, it looked like a war zone. Fires to a lot of familiar businesses — businesses I’ve known for years. Downed power lines. We drove around them. Was the area closed? Yes, parts were. In some of the areas they…smell smoke. So we drive farther down the hill. No, not yet. Finally, we get to Exposition Boulevard and Vermont Avenue, where the air is clear. Only then do we get cell reception.

A friend in Glendale tells us to come to his house. My brother-in-law tells us that the house next door to him is in flames. My husband sends me to Glendale, but he goes to help his brother fight the fire. We disagree about this — but that man’s got a heart of gold. He drives back up the hill.

First he stops at our house. He sees that our backyard is on fire. He goes to our front door. It’s locked and chained — that means someone’s inside. Our nephew has been staying with us. My husband pounds on the door for five minutes before our nephew finally wakes up. He’d been sound asleep. Together, they try to fight the fire in the backyard, but they find that there’s no water in the hoses. Soon the house is engulfed.

My husband said that embers the size of baseballs were flying around, and any little spark that touched anything sprung into a new fire, and the wind just gusted it away. He watched as the neighbor’s house caught fire, too. Then it went to the next house. And then it was the whole block. My husband and my nephew got in his car and they drove out. It was dark, and it was smoky; they didn’t know where they’re going. But they got out.

Meanwhile, it’s 2 in the morning, and I’m in Glendale. My friend makes me grits. She says to go to sleep, but I don’t know where my husband is. I don’t know where my nephew is. I’m not sleeping. At 6 a.m. a friend from church sends me a screenshot from Facebook. I see that my 93-year-old neighbor is OK, but that her house has burned down. But where’s my husband? Finally, my nephew calls. He says: “It’s all bad.” I say: “What do you mean?” My husband gets on the phone. He says: “It doesn’t get any worse than this. It’s all ashes. … Everything burned down.” I ask: “What? What?” Then his phone dies.

I didn’t see him until that night. He picked me up, and we drove through the back roads, which they hadn’t closed yet, to see our house. There were places in that house — a day later — that were still burning, still on fire. In the house next door I saw something that looked like a sparkler — like those sparkler fireworks that the kids play with, on the Fourth of July. I asked my husband, “What’s that?” He says, “That there is a propane tank.” So we decided to leave.

Driving away, I kept thinking: What happened? I mean, what happened!? And: Why didn’t we get an alarm from the sheriff’s office? When we were packing our bags, the night before, my husband had asked me if maybe we should leave, right then. I told him: “Don’t worry, honey, if we need to leave, the sheriff’s office will let us know. There’ll be those cars driving around, with their loudspeakers on the roof, shouting, ‘Everybody evacuate. Everybody evacuate.'” Well, we never saw one firetruck or police car in the neighborhood. Zero, zilch, nada — except for the ones that were parked at the major intersections.

Do we have insurance? In October, just four months ago, those crafty insurance people flew a drone over our house. They said: “You have two months to get a new roof and to cut those 12 trees down.” We’re talking tens of thousands of dollars to do this. I’m on leave from my job now, with a workplace acquired disability. We don’t have those kinds of funds. I asked them for an extension. They said no. So, in December — just two months ago — they dropped us.

I have to say, the community has been so nice to us. Kudos to Pasadena.

Joyce

My insurance agent says that they did this to a lot of people.