Cambria house fire brings back memories of blaze that destroyed Tribune reporter’s home
Sometimes it’s easy for readers to forget that most journalists aren’t hard-hearted news gatherers rolling roughshod over sources in search of a good story.
That’s how we’re often portrayed by Hollywood and media haters.
In my decades as a community reporter, photographer and columnist, I’ve never had a coworker who fit that description.
Journalists are humans, too.
As we rush around the site of a emergency — snapping photos, taking notes and interviewing the incident commander — we hurt for the people involved. We care.
Cambria house fire brings back memories of loss of home
Early on Oct. 20, an ominous sense of dread settled in the pit of my stomach as I sped down Ardath Drive in Cambria.
As a community reporter, I was heading for a home that was burning.
Kittycorner across the street from the house fire was the location of my former home — the one that had been destroyed by fire on April 13, 1994.
Covering a fire is always hard, but it’s especially painful for those of us who’ve lived through a house fire.
As a survivor, you never fully recover.
That pain and anguish never goes away. It just compounds with every subsequent fire or disaster you cover.
Yeah, déjà vu hurts. You want to cry, to wail at fate. Again.
Smell, shock of blaze resonates
Driving down the hill on Oct. 20, as I had more than a quarter century ago, the first visceral gut-punch I got was the stink.
All fires smell, but a house fire has a particularly pungent reek, the pervasive blended odor of burnt wood, roofing, plastics, books, photos and dreams.
That stench invades your soul. It soaks your hair, skin, clothes and your vehicle. Getting it out takes time, determination and a lot of Lysol.
Rounding the Sherwood Drive corner, I saw the yellow snakes of fire hoses stretching out from hydrants to fire engines and from engines toward the fire.
Red lights flashed from the fire trucks that were lined up at the curb.
I saw firefighters in their sooty turnouts, and breathing apparatuses that had been used and cast aside as they were replaced by fresh oxygen supplies.
Then the dazed homeowners came into view, and I realized with a shock that I knew the couple: Leland and Marisa Powels.
It’s not unusual to come across someone I recognize in this small, close-knit community. But the Powelses are well known and admired in town, especially for his collection of antique and vintage vehicles and their willingness to share their native milkweed to help migrating monarch butterflies.
When I served as the 2018 Pinedorado parade marshal, Leland drove me in one of his gorgeous antique cars. His wife escorted me out of and back into the vehicle in queenly fashion whenever I chose to walk along the route instead of riding.
Leland and Marissa were so kind and really got into the experience. They made me feel truly regal and honored.
Marissa said she still remembers it fondly as a Pinedorado highlight.
On the morning of the fire that destroyed Leland and Marissa’s house, I waited for the couple to finish getting an update from acting Fire Chief Mike Burkey of the Cambria Fire Department, then walked up to them.
Leland was still too shaken to talk about the fire, but waved and acknowledged me when I blew kisses to him.
Marissa, however, threw her arms around my neck and hugged me, saying, “I knew you’d be here. It’s so comforting to see your face. I’m so glad you’re here.”
I almost lost it, right then and there. But I knew this was stiff-upper-lip time.
If I fell apart, so might the soot-streaked woman who was doing an incredibly courageous job of staying as upbeat as possible while repeatedly expressing her gratitude for surviving the flames with her husband and their dogs.
The depth of the tragedy would hit her later, I knew.
I told Marissa I’d be there for her anytime, day or night, with advice, a shoulder to lean on, ears to listen and the kind of comfort you can really only get from somebody who’s been there, done that and prevailed.
Outpouring of community support for couple
I’m sure that Marissa’s positive approach to life and big smile will continue to serve her well through what’s to come.
Meanwhile, the community is rallying around Marissa and her husband, offering hugs and help.
It’s clear from online comments in what high esteem the Poweles are held.
Casey Erickson wrote with heart emojis on Facebook, “So glad everyone in this great family is OK.”
“They’re wonderful people who have generously shared their milkweed when my monarchs were starving,” Janet Brunson-Walbaum wrote on Nextdoor. “I feel gutted. So glad they and their animals are safe. Praying.”
Commenters also expressed thankfulness for the firefighters who battled the blaze.
Kathy Preciado wrote on Nextdoor that “the firefighters did a great job: putting out the fire, containing it, and then walking the streets to check on embers. We are all so very grateful.”
Gale M. also expressed her “gratitude to the weather that refrained from blowing gusty winds!”
More deja vu
That was not the first time I’ve had to report on a fire that involved a friend or loved one.
I raced up San Simeon Creek Road in July 2003 to a horrific fire.
The blaze destroyed the hilltop ranch home as I watched. What’s worse, my dear friend and acquired “big brother” Billy Warren was inside the house when it erupted in flames, and died.
I still have nightmares about that afternoon and the loss of my beloved 6-foot, 5-inch-tall friend.
I will always miss the kind, funny rancher and horseman that my sons called Uncle Billy, and the wild Jeep ride we took with him over the San Simeon hills and Santa Lucia ridge.
There was another fire in 2018 in which a friend was so badly burned that she’s still recovering.
Amid those accumulated memories of blazes past and present, I must continue to report on house fires — both the infernos consuming those homes and the one that burns inside my gut and heart every time I see the flames and smell the telltale smoke.
