Sharon Tanner, having recently relished her $1.25 win at the bingo tables, found herself in a meeting room adjacent to the dining area of her senior living community, where discussions turned to a pressing issue: residents leaving laundry unattended in the machines. As dinner at the Terraces at Park Marino in Pasadena, California, progressed, residents began congregating in the lobby for the evening’s feature presentation, “Scent of a Woman.” Suddenly, Tanner and the resident council’s vice president, Carlene Sutherland, were interrupted by a realization that smoke was wafting in.
Tanner noted, “I smell smoke,” to which Sutherland agreed, sensing the same. Unbeknownst to them, a fire was raging in the hills nearby. Though staff assured everyone they were not in immediate peril, the women imagined the scent resulted from a distant blaze. However, as agitation spread throughout the lobby, and with the gusty winds outside stirring chaos, the power abruptly went out.
Peering through a large window into the backyard—a place where she often dined—Tanner gasped as embers descended like hail. Moments later, she witnessed the bushes ignite, followed by a wooden fence, signaling the unfolding disaster. Within an hour, staff and residents would find themselves in a desperate scramble for safety, as chaos engulfed the facility.
In the Safe Haven wing, four residents required hospice care. Yesenia Cervantes, in charge of the memory care unit, experienced a surge of dread as she prepared for an urgent evacuation. Deep down, she pondered a heart-wrenching question: Would they need to choose whom to save and who would be left behind?
The wildfires, wreaking havoc in the Los Angeles area since January 7, have obliterated over two dozen lives and damaged thousands of structures, costing an estimated $250 to $275 billion. Currently, fewer than 100,000 residents in Los Angeles County face evacuation orders, but approximately 850 individuals in nursing facilities and assisted living establishments were evacuated from the flames last week, including those residing at the Terraces.
Nestled amidst the San Gabriel Mountains, the Terraces is a three-story wooden and stucco structure partially ensconced with ivy. Its 95 residents, aged between 60 and 102, belong either to assisted living or memory care units. Just like any other Tuesday, January 7 had commenced with breakfast, chair exercises class labeled “Stay Fit,” and lunch options such as orange chicken or cold shrimp salad.
As “Movie Night” began, a visiting nurse alerted staff of a nearby fire. Community relations director Sam Baum, wanting to assess the situation firsthand, jumped into his car. In a twist of fate, while part of the Eaton fire began consuming Altadena, Baum arrived only to find a swarm of firefighters and threw caution to the wind, believing the Terraces would remain unscathed. Upon his return, he reassured staff, “I think we’re OK,” as officials gave no evacuation suggestions. However, the staff promptly began ushering residents down to the lobby, attaching identification lanyards bearing their photographs and essential medical information.
Off-duty staff members responded heroically, stepping in to assist with the evacuations while others notified families of the emergency. Without warning, the power cut out around 6:40 p.m. As smoke ensnared the building, Cervantes wrestled with the dilemma of evacuating multiple residents safely. She and a colleague sprang into action to extinguish flames that erupted in the backyard, all while serving as a guide for frightened residents in the lobby, handing out masks to filter the impending smoke.
By 7:45 p.m., the fire rekindled in the backyard, prompting an evacuation order for the memory care section. Some residents remained in bed, including one who had suffered a seizure earlier and was too feeble to rise. Cervantes urgently lifted her into a wheelchair, while other staffers made repeated trips upstairs to carry residents out, expertly maneuvering emergency stair chairs and wheelchairs despite the chaos enveloping them. Flames engulfed the dining room as they scrambled outdoors into confusion, while frantic first responders directed reluctant survivors down the street toward the 7-Eleven.
Amid the chaos, Tanner, 72, struggled until a helpful stranger urged her to sit on her walker and hold her feet up for safety. After efficiently escorting her across the street, he disappeared to assist others. Meanwhile, executive director Maria Quizon spotted a bewildered man on a bench and urged him to join her, navigating the gusty winds while attempting to keep everyone safe.
Once the adjacent nursing home completed its evacuations, its staff pitched in to help gather residents from the Terraces. The urgency of the situation prompted a collective commitment from all involved: “Nobody’s dying,” vice president of operations at Pasadena Park reaffirmed to herself. Upon reaching the convenience store parking lot, transport vehicles awaited. Tanner and others boarded ambulances, while others clambered onto buses destined for the Pasadena Convention Center, located five miles away.
In a race against time, Baum returned to his condo nearby to collect irreplaceable memories—ashes of his late wife, medication, and cherished photographs—before returning to the convention center to rejoin his team. As the clock struck 10:25 p.m., Miller reached out to her son, ensuring he did not fret for her safety. Finding herself among displaced residents in a vast facility, Miller described it as a “football field with a linoleum floor and lots and lots of people.”
Terraces staff worked tirelessly, finding temporary accommodations for all residents at other facilities. They ensured that friends Miller and Eddie remained together despite the upheaval. When the flames died down, what remained of their once-secure home was merely a charred edifice, still bearing the black metal letters spelling out “the Terraces at Park Marino” over the entrance.
Miller lost invaluable mementos, having only her wallet and the clothes she wore when they fled. Her son praised the staff’s dedication and quick thinking under dire conditions, commenting, “It was like a hurricane with flames, and they did amazing work for the very short notice they had.”
The staff of the Terraces established a makeshift command post in a nearby hotel to facilitate support for residents and employees alike. Baum reaffirmed his commitment to rebuilding their cherished community, insisting they would reunite. Tanner, who had only been a resident for ten months but cherished her new home, expressed hope despite her current temporary living situation. “As soon as it’s built, I’m back to the Terraces. That was my home, and that’s where I want to live.”
