A Morning Filled with Flames

Wind-lashed fires level homes in Southern California

All night long, the hot Santa Ana winds swept out of the Mojave Desert, gusting through communities south of Los Angeles at speeds topping 60 m.p.h. In Anaheim, just before dawn, the high winds blew down a power line, setting the fronds of a palm tree afire. Sparks showered onto the dry wooden shingles of a nearby rooftop, which exploded into flames. Sped by the winds, the sparks leaped from roof to roof, from street to street. For three hours, the fire raged out of control as residents in a four-block area of apartment complexes scrambled out of its path and fire-fighting units from neighboring towns helped battle the blaze. "I heard people screaming," recalled Linda Hebert, 21. "Neighbors were waking everybody up, and the police were telling us to leave." More than 2,000 people were evacuated, and some 1,500 were left homeless by the most devastating fire in the history of Orange County. Estimated damages: $50 million. No one was killed, but 17 people, including seven firemen, were injured, none seriously. Said Fire Chief Robert Simpson: "We were extremely fortunate."

A number of factors helped keep casualties low. The fires occurred at an hour when people were waking up and when daylight offered visibility. Also, the blaze burned from the roofs downward, affording precious extra seconds for people to escape. Perhaps most important was the selfless heroism of residents who pounded on the doors of sleeping neighbors before fleeing. One additional stroke of luck: the winds subsided at midmorning, giving fire fighters a chance to contain the advancing flames.

California Governor Jerry Brown, after visiting the scorched scene, declared Orange County a disaster area, which will permit homeless evacuees to qualify for low-interest loans. Said he: "It looks like some kind of war zone."

Victims who did not have friends or relatives who could offer them a place to stay were given temporary shelter by five local hotels. Many had got out with nothing but the clothes on their backs, and were grateful for that. Surveying the smoldering wreckage that only hours before had been her home, Joan Kolbo said, "The people who helped, that's the real story here."

For hours after the flames died down, thick clouds of smoke covered the charred remnants of buildings. In one burned-out house, water still gushed into a bathtub. Broken gas lines blazed like torches in the remains of apartments; the twisted hulks of blackened cars were scattered through the rubble.