THINK THEY KNOW WHY THEY LOST THEIR HOME YET?
They lost ‘72 years of life stuff.’ How will they start over?
The Los Angeles fires roared through local landmarks and famous works of art. They also stole the mundane stuff, what made people’s houses into homes.
John Wirth and Gail Matthius Wirth laid awake, walking through their lost home. Up the front steps, brick, where marriages and births were celebrated and photographed. Past the kitchen counter, where new boyfriends sat for interrogation. Opening cabinets and drawers. Looking toward shelves, reaching for the chalkware Shirley Temple figurine or the Tony Gwynn foul ball.
These were the little things, the things they collected over 72 years of life each, the things that made that saltbox house on Charm Acres Place theirs, that made it home. These were the things they left behind.
John and Gail, a writer and actor, are two among thousands across Los Angeles who are doing this sleepless mental taxonomy, picturing themselves wandering down hallways that no longer exist, reduced to ash in the firestorm. The two biggest blazes, one in Pacific Palisades and another in Altadena, burned through more than 12,000 structures. Among them were local landmarks and movie backdrops; inside were works by world famous artists and original recordings by master composers.
But another loss will be impossible to quantify: the personal archives of countless Angelenos and their families — belongings gathered, gifted, handed down, cherished. They might have been mundane, but they were full of meaning. Together, they told the story of lives lived; en masse, they told the story of a place.
“We’ve lost our home and community and lifestyle,” John said. “But we also lost our imagined future. I thought I would be here forever.”
John and Gail, like all those who survived — at least 27 did not — were among the lucky ones. They escaped the Palisades with their two dogs, a few photo albums and a couple bags of stuff, hastily grabbed. A friend helped them find a temporary place to rent, and they moved in Wednesday.
Even so, they face a daunting reality. They’re both in their eighth decade, and they must now start over in a new place, where stark white walls and empty closets are constant reminders of everything they lost.
“They wanted to tell us about the storage space,” John said with a faint smile. “Yeah, we don’t need it. I’m laughing so I don’t cry.”