Saying Goodbye to a Place of Dreams

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Every house has a soul. The walls absorb the sounds of a family, the laughter, the fun, the franticness, the sorrow.

A house is filled with vibrations and is a member of the family that inhabits it. It offers places to dream, to sleep, to play. And each house, like individual family members has its own little quirks and oddities.

Our house on Radcliffe was filled with sun and peace and calmness.

In 1994, with the help of brand-new architect firm, Marmol Radziner, a 1930s home that had been on the market for several years was turned into something special. The original two-bedroom home with coffered ceilings and tiny rooms had been added onto several times and each addition was more ghastly.

The two-story building in the back, and the seven-foot ceiling and wall paneling in the family room, which had originally been an outdoor deck were removed.

When the project was finished, it paid homage to the original house but opened up possibilities to the future with a soaring skylight that brought in light year-round.

The rooms and the kitchen opened to the yard, and birds, squirrels and even a bunny spent mornings and evenings there. The lighting inside was superb for growing orchids and even on the hottest days, the breeze from the ocean made it tolerable.

And then it burned.

It did not need to burn.

If there had been enough police in the town, maybe they could have cracked down on kids illegally setting off fireworks. If L.A. Karen Bass had approved the Fire Chief’s request to hire “hot shots” to keep an eye on prior fires it would have never ignited again. Had firefighters used the water from residential swimming pools and the Palisades High School swimming pool or even ocean water homes could have been saved.  Had DWP had full reservoirs and turned off the electricity so that the wind didn’t whip around breaking power poles and sending additional sparks more homes might not have burned.

Had the State of California or MRCA done the brush clearance required of property owners . . .

My garage and so many other buildings were still standing on January 8. Why was no one putting those fires out? There were so many pools—and helicopters could have certainly flown on that day.

Yes, our house did not need to burn, it was a causality of lack of basic city services.

I’ve been up to the Palisades a lot to cover local issues for CTN. Early on, I would leave bird seeds for my little friends that still were showing up even after everything was burned. I dug out my plants and transplanted them to pots on my balcony.

But every time I went up, there was hope I would really be going home, that living in the Marina was a surreal dream and I would wake up.

On Thursday, it was different. I was crying as I drove up to our house. The Army Corps of Engineers were removing the “debris” formerly known as our home. There would be nothing left.

The company working for the Corps were so kind. They asked if I needed anything. They said if I wanted to look at something or for something, I only had to tell them, and they would stop.

I mostly watched and thought. This group of individuals are working seven days a week from 6:30 a.m. to 6 p.m. to help clear lots for individuals.

The majority of us are angry and some of us are putting our anger on them, unfortunately.  They are not the problem; they are the only people concretely doing something to help residents move to the next step.

One man said he grew up on Catalina and that this area reminded him of his home—neighborhoods on small streets.  He told me they don’ t have Easter off—they will be working. Another person had come down from Washington State to work for six months.

I took them food and if anyone else is having debris removal—please do it, too, give them breakfast and lunch and snacks.

Even as the City drags its lazy a**, these guys are working hard.

In spite of my sadness, I became captivated by the excavator operator. The way he could maneuver the machine, and the claw was as if it were an artistic dance.

The way the men sorted the steel, the concrete and the debris was fascinating. They covered the trucks that left the property, water was spraying from a hose onto the property to keep the dust down, and a water sweeper came down the street morning and night.

And then the life of a little house almost 100 years old was over – its dreams and secrets burned forever.

The inspectors stopped by and looked at the cleared lot.  One said, “What’s that smell?” It almost smelled like maybe there was a dead body on the lot.

My husband fishes in Alaska every year and we had a freezer of fish in the garage. The fire and the lack of electricity “ripened” everything. I told the inspectors about the fish and after the fire I went to the EPA and told them about it, but they weren’t interested.

I said, “I guess I should have told them it was a freezer full of asbestos and they might have come right away.”

At one point, Pacific Palisades will rise from the ashes like a Phoenix, but now the emotion is still too raw the hurt too deep to embrace transformation.

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