Coastline Pilot

17 June 2005

 

Laguna Landslide : Part 2

Catharine Cooper

 

Time shifts dimensions in the aftermath of disaster.  Possibilities are slowed to a painful grind, while needs speed beyond an easy grasp.

 

The morning of the slide, my mother and I watch repeated images of Flamingo Road, via newscast cameras.  She does not say much, nor does not want to eat.  Finally, she asks if I might wash the clothes she is wearing, since they are all she has.  She has left without purse or identification.  Everything with which has dressed her life are trapped in the remains of her home, flashed like a bad soap opera across the television screen.

 

My father has gone to the bank with my brother in hopes of obtaining emergency checks.  His mind is filled with immediate needs – lodging, transportation, medications, and funds. Their automobiles are crushed in the fallen and collapsed garage.  Checkbooks, bank statements, and bills -all neatly piled on his desk - are inaccessible. Prescriptions sit in the medicine cabinet, in the bathroom broken off from the main house.

 

By afternoon, a friend has loaned them a car, their medications have been replaced, and a change of clothes has been purchased at JC Penny’s. I am grateful to have an empty bedroom to offer and thrilled to keep them close.

 

The power of the morning weaves its way into the evening. All humans have been accounted for, though some pets remain missing. ‘Happy to be alive’ gives ground to the staggering reality – landslide – no insurance - unrecoverable loss. The totality of this will take weeks to fully seep into the psyche, and a deeper grieving will surface once the ‘need to take care of now list’ is completed.

 

Stunned and strained faces fill City Hall. Those evacuated from greater Bluebird Canyon mingle with those whose homes have been damaged or destroyed. Officer Danelle Adams, City Manger Ken Frank and Mayor Elizabeth Pearson-Schneider convey what is known and what can be expected. Maps turn the neighborhood into a sea of colors - red, red with blue stars, yellow and green.  Sadly, mom’s house is simply red – no entry, not recoverable.

 

Red and yellows are pulled from the larger group and assigned city officials. The Red Cross offers medication replacement, clothing, food and shelter. My mother and father are assigned Detective Joe Torres, a man whose patience and compassion will expand with the daunting tasks ahead.  Surrounded by families whose lives have been turned upside-down, he calmly outlines a process to salvage personal belongings from precariously perched and damaged homes.

 

The group itself prioritizes needs.  Pets are given the number one vote, and those with missing animals are given first shot at re-entry attempts.  We are told entry will be determined on a case-by-case basis.  Even though we are “red-red”, we hold hope that somehow, my mother’s purse can be salvaged.  We sadly joke that a woman’s life is indeed inside her purse.

 

Accompanied by Detective Greg Wallock, Steve and I climb up the steep hillside, over deep fissures in the ground, toppled and broken concrete culverts to the front of the house. The climb is too dangerous for my parents.  At the front of the house, we discover a gap – four feet wide by 30 feet deep -  between the entry threshold and the remains of the porch.  The front door supports the split ceiling, and the bedroom section of the house has cracked off from the main structure at a 35 degree angle.  Without specific blessings from the city, there will be no entry.

 

Doug Miller, Chief Building Inspector, evaluates the house over the course of the next two days, and grants us 30 minutes to retrieve essentials. Dressed in hardhats, boots, backpacks and headlamps, and dragging a ladder and plastic bags, we meet Torres and Miller on site.

 

My chest tightens as we climb up and in.  Ceiling insulation obscures the floor and blue sky shines through where once there was a roof.  The sense of home as a refuge no longer exists.  This place is anything but safe.  It creeks, has large cracks in the walls and is severed into pieces.  Steve heads downstairs for important papers.  I find ceiling slabs to cover holes in the floor, and make my way gingerly to the bedroom.

 

Vertigo is immediate with the severe slant of the section.  The sought after purse has been tossed to the floor, its contents spilling everywhere.  How will I know which items need to be retrieved?  I gather what I can within a sea of tossed books, photographs and broken glass. After the purse, mom has requested specific items from a bedside drawer.  I inch toward the drawer and decide to simply empty it into my backpack.  I grab some clothes out of the closet - things I know she likes to wear.  Steve comes up with the office papers, we pull valuable art work off the walls, and move them out of the weather vulnerable entry.  

 

I stand back on the crumpled street, three trash bags and two backpacks of ‘stuff’ as a testament to my parents 40 years in their home.  My momentary sense of victory is replaced by vague sense of inadequacy, and a commitment, in whatever way possible, to further retrieve their belongings.  No one is sure if the hillside will continue to slip or the homes be further damaged.

 

 

 

Next week : Part 3 : Charlie Williams, the female packing crew and the amazing support of city staff & Battalion Chief Tom Christopher.