Battling dementia, unable to walk as LA fires rage: A narrow escape from assisted living
The smell of smoke briefly overwhelmed the scent of Carlene Sutherland’s cherry pie and Sharon Tanner’s vanilla ice cream with chocolate syrup. But the two were too busy discussing their Pasadena assisted living facility’s laundry schedule to pay attention.
Plus, living in wildfire-prone California, the smoke could have come from anywhere.
But just up the canyon the night of Jan. 7, the Eaton Fire had ignited.
In minutes, smoke would cloud the Terraces at Park Marino, home to Sutherland and Tanner, as the fire barreled down.
Thanks to a quick decision by staff, they and 91 other residents would flee in wheelchairs, walkers and beds just before the three-story building burned to the ground.
Now, a dozen days later, with the traumatic memories still haunting them all, staff, residents and family members are faced with the question of what to do next.
“That was my home, that was my life,” Tanner, 72, told Paste BN. “I was very content and happy there, but nature decided to do something different.”
A home in Pasadena
Ten months earlier, Tanner, a former waitress born and raised in San Francisco, said she was “snobby” about having to move to the facility. She had been living on her own in Bakersfield, north of Los Angeles, but her health had deteriorated after she said her doctors’ overprescribed medications. She nearly died.
When she recovered, her sons told her she needed to move to LA, to be closer to her younger son, John. He gave her an ultimatum: See him just twice a year, or nearly every day. She reluctantly agreed to go into the assisted living unit at the Terraces, which had a rare opening, a testament to its reputation over its 25-year history. The facility also has memory care, temporary living and day programs.
Once there, she found smiles and friends. Sam Baum, the Terraces’ community relations director, told her he was glad she was there, she remembered. Two months in, she decided she’d stay until she died.
Tanner joined the residents’ council with Sutherland, her new friend. Nobody ran against them. “We were a shoe in,” she said.
Smoke in the distance
On Jan. 7, at around 6:30 p.m., as Tanner and Sutherland tried to sort out a better system for laundry, staff looked out toward the San Gabriel Mountains behind the facility. They saw flames in the foothills, set off against the darkness, office manager Maggie Jay recalled. Baum got in his car and drove toward the fire's source. He saw it in the distance, far beyond a creek, canyon and four-lane street.
Across the three-story facility, 10 staff members were attending to residents, who ranged in age from 60 to 102 years old. Some were in the lobby watching “Scent of a Woman,” the 1992 Al Pacino film, for movie night.
With the fire in the background, staff and residents began calling families to alert them of the possible danger.
Lawsuits allege utility equipment ignited the Eaton fire when the power company, Southern California Edison, didn’t shut off electricity during the widespread windstorm. National Weather Service officials described the winds at the time as “life-threatening” and “destructive.”
The investigation into the cause remains ongoing for the Eaton fire, which has killed at least 17 people, according to the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner. Ten others died in the Palisades Fire. Both are still burning.
As the clock ticked toward 7, Tanner saw smoke wafting into the building. For anyone, breathing in wildfire smoke is toxic. But for older people who have weakened immune systems and lung function, it can be life-threatening.
Word of the fire grew. Staff began moving the residents who weren’t already in the lobby.
Embers ‘falling like rain’
Looking out to the backyard, Tanner saw embers drift down slowly, then in haste. They burned the facility’s fence, bushes and trees.
“The embers were falling like rain,” she said. “It was just unbelievable how fast, and how serious, they were coming down.”
Shortly after 7 p.m., the building’s power cut off. Elevators used to move people downstairs suddenly didn’t work. Staff had to carry people down staircases. The back of the facility, housing the memory care unit, caught fire. Residents were panicking, said Tanner, who was wearing a mask, her eyes tearing up from the smoke. Terrified herself, she tried to calm fellow residents while they awaited evacuation orders.
Staff decided it would be best to leave, though local authorities hadn’t yet given notice to evacuate, said Adam Khalifa, CEO of Diversified Health Services, which owns the Terraces.
By chance, nurses and aides had practiced an emergency evacuation days before, so they knew what to do. They draped blue lanyards around each resident’s neck, containing information needed to identify them, their emergency contacts, medications and resuscitation orders. Six workers who were off the clock showed up to help with the evacuation, along with two of their husbands.
Still, “no matter how much you plan or prepare, there’s always that curveball that gets thrown” during an emergency, Khalifa said.
A long walk in the night
At around 8:20 p.m., the notice to evacuate finally came. The Terraces' evacuation staging area was supposed to be the building’s driveway. But the fire was too close.
A nearby 7-11’s parking lot was identified as the gathering point, instead. The distance as the crow flies is just over 750 feet, or a little over two football fields. Residents and staff began the slow march down an empty boulevard. They joined people from the Pasadena Park Healthcare and Wellness Center, a skilled nursing facility next door, who were evacuated in beds.
Maria Quizon, the Terraces’ executive director, pushed one older woman in a wheelchair while helping orient another who was confused. As they went, the winds forced Quizon to zig-zag down the street. Embers provided the only light in the smoke-filled night.
“It felt like a long, long, long walk,” Quizon said. “It was the longest, scariest walk I’ve ever done.”
Tanner tried to use her walker but was slow. A “gentleman,” she said, told her to sit in the walker as he scuttled her away. Outside, the smoke was just as thick as inside.
From the 7-11, residents boarded city buses and ambulances to the Pasadena Convention Center, about 4 miles away, which serves as the city’s designated evacuation hub.
Terraces resident Sybil Beacham, 87, had called her son Rushmore Cervantes to tell him about the fire. Cervantes' nearby Altadena neighborhood was threatened by the same fire. He and his wife rushed to the Terraces, but once assured she was out of danger, they hurried home to continue their own evacuation.
Families search for loved ones
At the 7-11, Michael Carrillo, 67, and Penelope Sallberg, 82, searched for Sallberg’s little sister, Nancy Cable, 79. The couple saw people in wheelchairs and on beds, with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and bed sheets for warmth. Some wore neither shoes nor pants. Carrillo and Sallberg couldn’t find Cable, who has dementia and lived on the second floor.
Heading back toward the Terraces, they were told Cable had already been evacuated.
A former special education teacher, Cable, who has long silver hair and wore a bathrobe and slippers, had pushed a friend in her walker to safety.
It was like the old Nancy, fiercely independent, Carrillo and Sallberg said. When asked if she needed help carrying her friend, they were told she simply responded, “No, I’ve got this.” Days later, when her sister brings up what Cable did during the fire, she doesn't immediately recall. She’s still in some shock, Sallberg said.
Looking for new home
After being shuttled to a handful of hospitals that night, Tanner relocated to her sister's in San Jose.
She’s on the phone every day with fellow Terraces refugees. There’s talk of soon moving several people into an assisted living facility down the road in Pasadena. Tanner wants others from her old community to move with her.
Terraces staff members are working out of an Embassy Suites a few miles away.
Baum, the Terraces' community relations director, isn't sure whether his house still stands. He hasn't been back since rushing home after all the residents were safe, quickly grabbing his wife Patrice's ashes, his two cats and some photos.
He and other Terraces staff members helping with relocations, doing check-ins and delivering medications to Terraces residents. Some have been placed in other facilities to help the displaced, and others are now looking for work elsewhere.
The Terraces itself is uninhabitable, with nothing left but a few walls. Rebuilding would cost $20 million, Khalifa said, and would take at least two years.
Losses for residents and staff are immeasurable.
“I’ve got to start all over from the bottom," Tanner said. "But that’s OK. Like I tell everybody, and like everybody says, we all came out alive.”