Lane
thought the first day of summer vacation back in 1976 was going to
fun and relaxing…little did she know by the end of the day she
would be both witness and participant to a community emergency…and
the surprising outcome!
It
has been years since I have assumed most days will be similar to the
day before. I believe this is one of the harsh realities of adulthood
- we lose the naivete and blind faith we have as children - that
today or tomorrow will be a good day...that nothing bad or scary will
happen…or that bad things happen other places.
June
14, 1976 started out like that in my mind - it would be a fun and
sunny day. We had just gotten out of school for the summer...maybe
we’d go swimming. As the day stretched into late morning, my
assumption was shattered. Just after 11:00am, a fire broke out on San
Rafael Hill. The local paper would later describe it as “A
savage brush and tree fire ravaged San Rafael Hill.” But,
when the fire had just begun, there was such an “about face”
mind, body and spirit, all I could think about was “what is
going to happen...are we going to lose our house...what about the
pets...what about the older neighbors...what should we do?”
Despite
the fire being center stage, an experience like this also includes
the participants or “players” - my family, neighbors,
firefighters, the community and all our homes. Our neighborhood is
called Fairhills and located in the City of San Rafael - a suburb
north of San Francisco (Marin County). Mr. Arthur W. Foster,
a
very rich businessman, broker, and philanthropist, purchased the 180
acre mansion in 1886 and named it Fairhills. He lived there for 44
years with his wife and nine children. The house was known as a
“showplace” in San Rafael - complete with a three-story
barn, laundry, gatehouse, pond, vineyard, orchard and “children’s
recreation area”. Decades later as the city grew (mid 1940’s),
real estate developers deemed this exquisite estate “unsuitable
for present day living”. There were a few architectural
mementos left that all of us living there knew where part of this
former mansion - a grey stone wall that lines the main street, a
gazebo in one home’s yard, the gate house and palm trees. In
1976, the homes were good sized with nice yards and spread out. Most
of our neighbors were older people and we didn’t really know
them. We lived high on the hill off the main street which was also a
hill. I used to say “we live up two HUGE hills and up a very
steep narrow driveway.” Unfortunately, my sisters and I
grumbled about having to walk up the all the hills (especially with
our bikes) more than we focused on the fabulous view of Mt. Tam (our
local mountain) and all this house and area had to offer.
Back
to the start of the fire...As I stood outside in our driveway with my
two sisters - possibly still in our pajamas (it was summer vacation
afterall) - we frantically looked around as the pungent smell of
smoke quickly filled the air and the constant shrill of the sirens
from the fire trucks could be heard in the distance. In the
beginning, we had no idea what the magnitude of the fire was...and
where it was. Both our parents were working so we called them and
they immediately came home.
I
suppose with any emergency, there is always what goes on in the
background or “backstage”. In this situation - backstage
was how our family functioned as a whole. In 1976, no one really used
terms like “dysfunctional”
or someone has “issues”. And, no one talked about a
family member having a drinking problem (my father). For many years,
I looked back at this day and had to acknowledge that despite a lot
of arguing with my sisters, a yelling mother and a distant father -
we pulled it off. I guess you could say our strategy was to divide
and conquer. Initially, we figured out the tasks - finding out
information, watering down the roof, checking on the neighbors,
figuring out if we would need to evacuate and what to do with the
pets.
We
got the "chain" going with the hoses and rounded up buckets
in case we needed them too. My sisters and father got on the roof and
watered down the shingle roof. A while later, my mother helped me
round up the cats and dog and I headed over to a neighbors’
home that I could reach by going through our backyard, across a
little bridge and down part of a hill. This was more taxing than it
sounds since I had the dog on a leash (not very obedient) and the two
cats in the carrier meowing loudly. The day was very hot - mid 90’s
- which was extreme for our area. Summer days were usually in the
70’s with no humidity. I made it to the Kenney Family’s
large home. They were a military family with at least six children
(my sisters and I were friends with the three girls). Nothing could
ruffle Mrs. Kenney’s feathers. Her husband was gone for periods
at a time and she rolled with the punches raising six kids with just
a little help from relatives or friends. The house was comfortable
and there always seemed like laundry was being done. I appreciated
the relatively calm environment especially since we had less people
at my house, but it could be very loud. My arrival didn’t seem
to faze them even with the animals. They, too, were on the roof,
trying to stay on top of the fire. And, they too decided splitting up
would be a good idea. If memory serves me correctly, I ended up in
their big station wagon with Mrs. Kenney at the wheel, my friend
Kevin (a girl - who I thought had a cool name), her sister
Laura...along with their duck, cat and my cats (in carrier) and dog!
My dog was surprised to see the duck and the cats were yowling...and
every human and pet was HOT!
By
now, all the streets leading into the Fairhills area were blocked by
emergency crews. I don’t think Mrs. Kenney knew where to go but
I can remember her driving up and down hills and we eventually got to
an area in the city that was not affected by the fire. This may not
seem like a challenging task but in fact it was. We eventually found
out that at the same time, another fire about 10 minutes away (San
Anselmo’s Sorich Park) was raging. This fire blackened 173
acres and was also considered arson.
Of
course as I sat in the hot car, I wondered what was going on at my
home...was my family okay (especially on the roof)? To be honest, I
probably wondered if they were arguing...my sisters are very bossy
and our father was short tempered at times. I don’t remember
how long we were in the car but it seemed like a while as the wispy
fragmented fire particles floated in the air and the smoke hung like
heavy grey curtains in the hot summer air. With
smokey
outside air circulating inside the car and duck feathers on the seats
along with the cats expressing their displeasure, we finally exited
the car. The Kenny's home was safe and I knew how relieved the family
was. I made my way home with the animals and was also relieved that
our home was safe for the most part. The climax of the afternoon was
when some of the shingles caught fire. My sisters and father put out
the flames as fast as they could but some were damaged. Instead of
replacing the small percentage of damaged shingles, my parents
replaced the entire roof with clay tiles. Every day the tiles sat on
the roof was a reminder of what happened and how much worse it could
have been.
The
“second act” of this production was what went on while we
were at our posts. All totaled, 175 firefighters were
dispatched
from 20 county departments and nine air tankers dropped fire
retardant materials on both fire areas. The air tankers included a
WWII B-17 “flying fortress” heavy bomber (wow!). There
were 11 rigs dispersed to battle the flames, block off the roads and
help evacuate residents. In the end, five homes were damaged and 50
homes evacuated during the fire. The fire burned 52 acres with three
firefighters hurt and six received treatment for minor burns and
smoke inhalation. The emergency teams did a great job since this is
still considered a major fire decades later. There were quotes in the
paper like “Wind-flung
branches
were dropping off towering eucalyptus and fir trees flaming like
torches” and "firefighting
was hampered by the steep slopes and flying embers."
There was also an article a few days after the fire - a homeowner was
quoted saying “Friends
came up
to help fight the fire. It’s the way it is periodically.
Fortunately, the fire department does an outstanding job. When it
threatens homes, that’s what’s scary,” she said.
“Let’s face it, your home – that’s where your
dreams are.”
I thought about
that last statement off and on for a while. Very often we think of
our dwelling as a structure - a place to come home to, entertain,
clean...but perhaps less about the deeper emotional things we think
about. Was I thinking about dreams when my sisters and I slept
outside in the summer on the crab grass in the side yard looking up
at the stars? When we swung out of the big oak tree on the rope swing
in the backyard? When we looked up at Mt. Tam and acknowledged its
beauty and tranquility? When we had relatives over for a holiday?
Maybe both memories and dreams...but certainly more than just a
structure.
Of
course the prequel to all of this is: What happened at 11:00am? After
an investigation, it was learned that a 12 year old boy set the fire
playing with matches on Robert Dollar Drive (the residential
neighborhood below the Fairhills area). It just so happened that some
young people working for the City’s Park and Recreation Dept.
were pulling weeds - to reduce fire hazard risk (go figure!).
17 year old “Dean”
smelled
the smoke and ran down the hill to report it. The dozen teenagers
picked up hoses, rakes and shovels to fight the flames before the
firefighters arrived. The fire raged near the City Hall and nearly
took over Falkirk Cultural Center (the historic former estate of
Robert Dollar) but the teenagers saved the day!
A
much needed side note...Falkirk was built in 1888 and is an elegant
three-story home set on 11 acres. In 1906,
Captain Robert Dollar, a wealthy
businessman (timber and shipping) and civic leader, bought the
estate. This was
another beautiful
Victorian treasure in our town. In February 1972, an attempt was made
to secure the property from the Dollar Family for development with
plans to demolish the mansion and outbuildings. Luckily, that same
year, the estate was placed on the National Register of Historic
Places, and a grassroots citizen’s group, Marin Heritage, began
a three-year struggle to save the estate. In 1974 - two years before
the fire - it became the Falkirk Cultural Center. I would call this
serendipitous irony - after a huge effort to save this magnificent
historical estate...two years later it almost burned to the ground!
As I mentioned before - those teenagers saved the day!
Over
the next few weeks, everyone talked over the events of the day. It
would later be reported in the paper “In
all residential fire areas residents could be seen on the rooftops
frantically watering down the tinder dry shingles to keep sparks
igniting them especially with the high winds blowing”.
I remember after reading this I acknowledged that I, too, had done
something important. My time with the duck and yowling
cats
proved humorous to my family. On a serious note, I know everyone was
extremely relieved our home and pets were saved. Over the years, this
fire story would come up probably because it wasn't
an
ordinary day but also because we learned that we could pull together.
Even
this many years later, it would be remiss to not think about the
lucky breaks in the midst of a raging fire and the damage that
resulted. If the teenage boys had not been near the site of the fire
and did not fight off the flames before the firefighters came, the
Fallkirk Estate (and perhaps other homes) would have been lost. In
1976, my sisters and I were 17,15 and 13. If we have been younger,
maybe we wouldn't be able to help as much. In addition, there was
neighborly help - people helped each other in any way they could.
The
"fire smell" hung in the air for days...it felt like it
followed us around. The pasty ashen hill yielded an almost
apocalyptic aura where the land had been so severely burned. As the
surrounding areas turned green in the winter, San Rafael Hill stood
spiritless and vacant. It would take a long while for the earth to be
filled in with new growth and the "fire scars" to
disappear. The Fairhills area had always been rather mystical to me
as I would walk by the rusty iron gates at the bottom of the main
street or walk by the house with the gazebo in it. Perhaps I was
thinking about the family - what were they like? What was it like to
live in such a grand house? There were other homes in the County that
were Victorians or at least a century old. But, this was my
neighborhood...where I was lucky enough to be able to walk through
history every time I trudged up those "two HUGE hills and up a
very steep narrow driveway". And, perhaps this was the start of
my interest and passion in history...and the knowledge that our
historical past, present, and future is priceless and should be
protected always…even if it involves hard work, fear,
discomfort and a duck!
(Author
Note: Lane gratefully acknowledges the Marin History Museum and the
Marin Independent Journal who made it possible for her to
review this childhood experience and learn even more about her
special childhood home, neighborhood and what it means to have family
and community band together).
Contact Lane (Unless
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the
author's name in
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won't know where to send it.)
