If the living escaped, race to save the dead in the cemetery of Altadena

Driving to work, Genevieve Alba saw flames burning in the mountains above Altadena. They watched from a distance, and with a funeral the next day, there was still something to do.

A woman needed to prepare for a service, a painstaking process that Ms. Alba began about 3:30 a.m. in a windowless room at Mountain View Mortuary and Cemetery. The smell of smoke was getting worse, but Mrs. Alba didn’t think about it as she concentrated on bathing the woman and putting on her makeup.

Then, as the sun began to rise, the boss hurried into the room. The city was on fire, he told her. They rushed out and found the house engulfed in flames.

“The sky was just red and there were explosions everywhere,” Ms. Alba, 30, recalled.

In a cemetery, there are many things to consider when you are cremated. The workers thought of their own safety, yes, but also felt a sense of duty to those whose recently deceased loved ones had been entrusted to them.

At this time formaldehyde was the first agent to consider. They began to load boxes of flammable oil chemicals into a car, and a worker drove them to the center of the cemetery, away from buildings and people, like setting off a grenade.

Then there was the handwritten book that mapped the location of each grave — both a story and a family heirloom. It was quickly put into a concrete box in the basement.

But what about the body?

As the fire burned, a terrible fear arose in Mrs. Alba’s mind: What if the dead body that she cared for was burned in the fire? What about the families still grieving the recent death of their loved ones?

Between the preparation room and the refrigerator outside, there were about 50 bodies, people who died during the festival or on the first day of the new year.

Mountain View Cemetery, at the southwest end of Altadena, is a natural oasis. Palm trees and pines stand tall, casting shadows on the lawns and graves below. Bird calls replace the rumbling sounds of the Los Angeles countryside, and coyotes can sometimes be seen walking between the rocks.

It turns out that this rural landscape, with its granite markers, mature trees and 55 acres of manicured lawns, may have kept the Eaton fire away from gasoline and sheltered buildings to the south.

The cemetery and its two accompanying mausoleums are the final resting place for some 142,000 people, three times the population of Altadena. It originated from the death of a young woman 143 years ago. When Laura Giddings died of tuberculosis at the age of 20, her father founded the cemetery in 1882, looking for a suitable place to bury her.

Each generation has passed the cemetery, and Keith Brown, great-grandson of the founder, is the manager of the work. One morning this week, Mr. Brown brushed a leaf from Mrs. Giddings’ grave as she thought about the time she spent here as a child.

He learned to drive on the wide road that cuts between the cemeteries, and over the years, the cemeteries have taught him something about loss, and even love. For days, Mr. Brown, 34, remembered the World War II veteran who came every Saturday to pay his respects to his wife — often flashing pictures of them and telling stories of their love — until she was buried with him there. in the same grave.

Mr. Brown did almost every job at the cemetery, including clearing the grounds, arranging burials and embalming. He lives in one of the two buildings above the morgue — next to the cemetery — and knows his phone can ring at any time with a family in need.

The cemetery expanded over time, pulling a mausoleum next door that was designed by a student of Frank Lloyd Wright. As it grew, it became the final home of many familiar names: science fiction author Octavia Butler; Charles Richter, the seismologist; and George Reeves, the actor best known for his role as Superman. There are also Civil War veterans, members of the Black Panthers, former California governors and generations of Altadenans who lived, died and are buried in the shadow of the San Gabriel Mountains.

Less than an hour from Hollywood, the cemetery has also been used for movies and TV shows, including “Kill Bill: Volume 2” and “Sons of Anarchy.” A fake grave sits near the center of the cemetery for the actors’ use only.

No one in Mountain View could remember the wind blowing as hard as it had last week, and no one had heard of such weather in the history of the cemetery. Gusts tore down branches and smashed windows at the home of 66-year-old Nate Rucker, a worker who lives above the morgue and across the street from Mr. Rucker’s room. Brown.

On Wednesday morning, the inferno raced towards the cemetery, destroying houses left and right.

No, he thought. That’s it.

He and other workers began dousing the roof and bushes with water until the hoses were exhausted. Finally Mr. Brown decided the flames were too close. He told his staff it was time to go.

Everyone got into their cars and drove away, walking through the smoke and embers and their bodies sickened by the possibility of the fire.

Mr. Rucker, a pastor, motorcyclist and funeral director, said he made it about a mile before he felt compelled to turn back, obeying what he said was a command from the Holy Spirit. He returned to his apartment in the morgue and loaded his biggest possessions into his car, including his wife’s ashes, in case he had to leave again.

As the flames got closer, he got to work, taking eight firefighters around the building and trying to put out the blaze, which had reached a fence line a meter away from the freezer room outside the building where the bodies were located. Polish. The flames were also dangerous near a large fuel tank where the incinerator is on fire.

Mr. Brown and other workers also returned later, along with a group of people from a nearby mortuary. They banded together, using shovels and drums to put out the hot fire, while others rushed into buses to take them to safety.

When their work is done, all the bodies are rescued.

“Everybody in the morgue is counted, dead or alive,” Mr. Rucker said.

As the wind died down that morning and the smoke rose, the ruins of the city became apparent. To the east, west and north of Mountain View, thousands of homes were destroyed.

But the tomb, to everyone’s surprise, was almost saved. Some of the equipment was destroyed, but most of the grass was green and almost all the graves were intact.

Mr Brown and his father Jay, who now owns the house, believe the cemetery may have started the fire. It was manned by his own staff, so the overcrowded buildings ran out of fuel.

The damage map shows the footprint of the fire, and how it stopped at the upper edge of the cemetery. The cemetery appears as a line on the path of destruction through Altadena, with houses to the south spared.

Mr. Brown knew there was more pain to come. Reconstruction, repair, burial, tears. He also knew that some of the 17 people who died in the fire may be buried there.

But it is possible, with the flames that passed through Altadena at night, the cemetery protected the house and the inhabitants from further destruction.

“North of us, the barriers and barriers are just gone,” Mr Brown said. “And then it just stopped.”

Sheelagh McNeill participated in the research.