Coastline Pilot/LA TIMES

24 june 2005

 

Laguna Landslide : Part 3

Catharine Cooper

 

 

After life, limb, family and pets, how do you prioritize what ‘things’ you hold dear and important?  And can you remember where everything is?

 

Detective Joe Torres phoned on Saturday afternoon.  “Monday morning at 10,” he informed us. “You’ll have two hours to get what things you can from the house.” 

 

My parents begin their lists:  irreplaceable artwork, photo albums, the family silver, jewelry, credit cards, theatre tickets, a special piece of crystal.  How do you choose from 40 years of living what to rescue and what to relinquish?  With the integrity of physical structure in question, each foray into the house might be the last. 

 

Lists are re-written and re-prioritized. I wander mentally with my mother from room to room, identifying how items might be retrieved.  Since she will not be in the house, I draw a map of each room, and together we mark where things can be found.

 

Days of friends asking, “What can I do?” now has an answer.  We need hands – many many hands and strong spirits.  We need sturdy folk, fleet of foot, and unemotional to form a kind of human chain to pass belongings one person to the next.  I need muscles and I need packers.

 

Charlie Williams had built my home two years ago and in the process I had discovered a man of deep integrity with broad spirit and heart.  He jumped at the chance to help, offering his construction truck and crew to add to those of my husband Steve, and my brother Bobby.

 

I call my friends to help pack china, crystal and glassware.  Merri, my lifelong friend and daughter of my mother’s high school friend, is on the road from Danville before she even answers my voicemail.  She calls called her sister, Gerri, to help. Jenna, Eloise and Pam readily agree.

 

Because of the location of the house - smack in the middle of the slide - there is no street access of any kind.  To get to the house requires climbing up, over, and down a goat path of uneven rocks, loose dirt and boulders.  At the end of this path is the asphalt remains of Flamingo, a fractured, up heaved and twisted remnant of a street.  At the end of the dirt path is a down slope of around 60°.  A fallen utility pole blocks the path on the way to the neighbor’s rickety wooden stairs.  These must be climbed to reach the slope, which is riddled with deep fissures, and crossed to get to the back of the house.  This is simply going in.  Going out will require the entire journey in reverse, but carrying heavy loads.

 

I wake at 1:27 a.m., unable to sleep.  My mind replays the list over and over.  Mom has asked for so little.  She is more concerned with everyone’s safety than with her belongings.  Since I’ve been in the house once, I have a strong assessment of what is possible, and my personal plan is to bring as much from this dwelling as can be carried.

 

We meet at Bluebird Park to consolidate vehicles.  We are two trucks, one van, two SUV’s and 22 people.

 

Here’s the drill.  Clear the two checkpoints on Bluebird and Oriole, drive to the end of the road and park near the gate.  Wait for police, building and fire department support.  Listen to their instructions.  Firemen carry air horns.  Their job is to listen for new movement.  If the horn is sounded, drop whatever you are holding, evacuate immediately and reconvene at the gate for a head count.

 

We’re going in, and the clock is ticking!  Only three people are allowed in the upstairs and three downstairs.  All must wear hard hats.  No one is allowed in the kitchen. I set my packing crew up outside the house with boxes and bubble wrap.  I carefully grab china and crystal, carrying stacks of breakables down the narrow interior stairway to their waiting arms.

 

Charlie, Steve & crew go for furniture.  Doug, the building inspector suggests we rip off the railing.  It feels odd to tear apart the house, even though it is already broken, but with the railing gone, suddenly more is possible. Everything goes directly off the deck and begins the long journey to the street.

 

The bedroom floor tilts at about a 35° angle.  Broken glass from pictures and a shattered lamp litter the carpeted floor.  I dump dresser drawers into trash bags, held open by Charlie.  Together we make short work of emptying the contents of the room, except for furniture.  Clothing, mementos and photographs mingle in sturdy garbage bags. 

 

While the kitchen is temporarily off-limits, the dining room is not.  Charlie holds my feet as I lay over the counter to retrieve the silver from the bottom kitchen shelf.  Merri and Gerri come up to help me with the last of the china hutch, and we shift places.  I hold Gerri’s feet while she pulls up china and cut glass.  We grab wine glasses from overhead and hurry them downstairs.  Bubble wrap is gone so we grab towels and sheets – anything to soften the ride down to the street.

 

Doug signals that we’ve ‘gotta leave now’. I quickly scan the house. The living room is empty except for the grand piano, couch, end tables and books left on the shelf.  Bedroom furniture is mired until a rescue plan can be devised.  Desks, safe and another bedroom set remain behind.  Loose papers and odds and ends litter the floor. Best that my mother, the impeccable housekeeper, not see this mess.  Two cars remain crushed under the collapsed garage.

 

What we don’t have time to carry, we leave for the next day.  Detective Torres has given us an additional one hour to load what we have already pulled out.

 

The pile at the bottom of the wood steps is daunting.  We catch our breath and begin the long carry up the street, over the dirt goat path to the trucks. Battalion Chief Tom Christopher takes off his heavy gear and lends his strength to the carry. 

 

Hot and exhausted, we pass one object and the next, until all is loaded in the trucks.  Emma arrives with water and after a brief rest, my folks belongings are transported to my garage.  The next day, Scott, Connie, Emma, Merri, Scotty, and the same wonderful Charlie & Steve crews finish the work of the day before. Even the dining room chandelier is cut down and carted out. 

 

Next will be the equally daunting task of sorting bags and boxes of disparate objects and repacking for storage. And of course, dealing with the endless city meetings, countless questions, financial responsibilities, insurance agents, government agencies and the tenuous steps of reestablishing a home.

 

Again and again, I cannot thank the city, their staff, my friends, and Charlie for their unwavering support. Each and every one of them has played an invaluable role in making this stage of my parents’ transition possible.

 

Catharine Cooper’s parents, Kay & Lewie Wright, lived for 39 years at 1044 Flamingo Road.  She can be reached at 949-497-5081 or email: ccooper@cooperdesign.net.