My dad was a fireman and warned me early on not to get in the way at emergency sites, not to be a lookie loo. I still hear his words whenever something awful is happening, so if I look at all, it is later, after the smoke and workers have cleared.
I watched the Oakland Firestorm in 1991 from my loft at the Foundry. The spectacular explosions, the continual din of emergency vehicle sirens and the “breaking news” reports from the media kept me riveted to the event until it was under control.
Several days later, I drove into the Oakland hills and looked at the rubble. I saw how several homes were burned to the ground while one next door was spared; the wind driven fire leaped across freeways and quickly changed directions. Very odd. I drove along roads that were too narrow for fire trucks to maneuver, so many houses could not be saved. A house belonging to a friend of mine was spared because he lives directly behind the Claremont Hotel and the helicopter firefighters worked diligently to save the landmark — the retardant saved a few nearby homes, including his.
What was left inspired me (later that day) to paint my impression of the firestorm. I have been emotionally attached to that painting, hanging on to it for many years. I’ve decided to show it here alongside this story. Perhaps I will sell it one of these days. I’m holding on to happy memories instead.
