Six years later, the struggle to rebuild continues
Erin Stone
covers climate and environmental issues in Southern California.
Published April 28, 2025 5:00 AM
Jimy Tallal stands on a porch overlooking the Pacific Ocean in Malibu. It's all that remains of her and her husband Scott's former home that burned down in the 2018 Woolsey Fire.
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Topline:
Before this year’s Eaton and Palisades fires, the Woolsey fire was L.A. County’s most destructive. Six and a half years later, many are still struggling to rebuild.
Why it matters: Fewer than 40% of the 488 Malibu homes that burned in the 2018 Woolsey Fire have been fully rebuilt, according to city data. It's a warning for the latest round of fire survivors.
Read on ... to hear one couple's struggle to rebuild after the Woolsey Fire and what it may portend for those trying to rebuild after the Eaton and Palisades fires.
More than six years after the Woolsey Fire, a Malibu couple’s retirement dream remains deferred
Six and a half years later, fewer than 40% of the 488 homes in Malibu that burned have been fully rebuilt, according to city data.
One couple’s rebuild story
Scott and Jimy Tallal bought their dream home in Malibu in 2000 — a gorgeous, Spanish-style two-story house perched on a ridge in the Santa Monica Mountains. The house was old; it needed repairs. But it had good bones and a stunning view.
“ The neighborhood kids called it the Romeo and Juliet house,” said Scott.
“Because it had all the little balconies,” Jimy added.
Scott and Jimy Tallal's Malibu home burned in the 2018 Woolsey Fire. They bought it in 1998 and planned to retire there.
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The property was six acres and full of wildlife, which Jimy especially loved — deer, bobcats, foxes and the occasional mountain lion. She even started a wildlife rescue on their property, nursing orphaned baby squirrels and parrots found around town.
Jimy grew up in a small town in Pennsylvania. Scott in Dallas. For them both, it was a dream to settle in Southern California. Scott owned a small business doing surveys for TV stations and film studios, and founded the nonprofit Malibu Film Society. Jimy worked in human relations and as a local journalist for the Malibu Times.
“ We worked our whole lives for [the house],” said Scott. “Neither of us come from wealthy families.”
The house became home for 18 years.
Scott Tallal looks at photos of his former home that burned in the 2018 Woolsey Fire. Now he and his wife live in an upscale mobile home park in Malibu.
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"Our plan was to live there until we went out feet first,” said Scott.
The Tallals knew the fire risk when they bought the house. They got insurance through the state’s FAIR plan, the insurer of last resort. They supplemented that with private insurance they thought also covered wildfire damage. They’d later learn it only covered damage from normal house fires.
Over the years, there were some close calls with fires. Still, to the Tallals, the risk was worth it.
In 2018, Scott was 64 and on the verge of retirement. Then came the Woolsey Fire.
A terrifying day
By 11 a.m. on Nov. 9, 2018, the sky was black with smoke. A 17-mile-wide fire front was marching toward Malibu. Some 300,000 people were put under evacuation order, including the Tallals.
They packed a week’s worth of clothes, grabbed computer hard drives and the dog. They took a few valuables, including Scott’s dad’s flute. Scott ran around the house taking photos of everything he could for insurance.
A photo of the inside of the Tallals' former home that burned in the Woolsey Fire in 2018. It's one of many photos Scott took just before evacuating.
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They couldn’t fit much in their small car. One of their biggest regrets ... leaving their photo albums.
“I was not really convinced our house was going to burn,” said Jimy.
As traffic backed up on Pacific Coast Highway, the intensity of the flames created what’s called a “firenado.” Scott and Jimy watched the gas dial go down on their car. They had to keep the windows up and the air on — Scott has a lung issue that makes smoke especially dangerous.
As flames advanced over the mountain, they considered getting out of the car and running for their lives. While they’ve recovered from the acute emotional trauma of that moment, it still returns to them.
It ended up taking them nearly five hours to get to Santa Monica, usually a 30-minute drive.
The next day, on a TV news report, they saw their house had been reduced to a smoldering ruin.
“We were devastated and in shock at the sight,” Jimy later wrote in an essay about the experience.
The Tallals learned their home burned down by seeing it on the local news.
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Picking up the pieces
The next day, the Tallals got past checkpoints to see what was left of the house themselves. There was only rubble.certified
Over the following weeks and months, they went to as many of the city and federal recovery centers and events as they could. They appreciated the donations of clothes and other essentials — Jimy couldn’t bring herself to go shopping. It felt more comforting somehow to go to donation centers launched by the community and with other survivors.
Scott and Jimy Tallal pose for a portrait in the rubble of their home. Their neighbor, Eric Myer, a photographer, took the photo.
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Eric Myer
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“Your friends and your family, they don't know what to say after a fire,” said Scott. “They always say, ‘Well, at least you weren't hurt or worse.’ And that's true. But they don't realize that the home you make is a tangible representation of your lives together. We're together now for almost 40 years.”
“We had inherited antiques from Scott's family, there was a baby grand piano, there was art, there were mementos of all our travels, and just our lives,” Jimy said. “I still think about some of those items today. Almost every day, things will remind me of something I don't have anymore.”
A small bird-shaped vase that was a gift from Jimy's mother survived the fire and now is displayed on a shelf in the Tallals' new home.
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They picked through the rubble to see what they could find. A small antique vase shaped like a bird that was a gift from Jimy’s mother.
"The colors were much different before it went through the fire," Jimy said. "Now it reminds me that I didn't lose everything."
Another small ceramic antique that was long in Scott’s family. A few coffee mugs and dishes.
Gone was the piano that had been in Scott’s family for 80 years. Gone were the photo albums — pictures of their wedding, their trips abroad. Gone were the art pieces they’d collected from their travels. Gone were many precious gifts from friends.
They had to list all of it in the excruciating process of creating an inventory of every single thing they owned for their insurance claim.
A couple of weeks later, their neighbor, a professional photographer, took a photo of the rubble of their former home. That day, a rainbow stretched across the sky. The photo hangs on the wall of their new home today, an acknowledgement of the day that changed their lives forever.
The Tallals' neighbor, Eric Myer, took this panorama of the rubble of their home in 2018.
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Eric Meyer
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Roadblocks to rebuild
The Tallals couldn’t stay with friends or at hotels for long, and the longer they used insurance for temporary housing, the less money would be available for their rebuild. FEMA ended up giving them nothing — they later learned it may have been due to the Trump administration’s anti-California politics.
Despite their house being destroyed, they still had to pay their mortgage. They had no idea how they’d pay that plus sky-high rents without digging deeply into their retirement savings.
Luckily, a 90-year-old woman who lived nearby heard of their plight and said they could stay in her small guest apartment for free. They ended up staying there for four years as they attempted to rebuild.
Today, six and a half years after the Woolsey Fire, the Tallals' former house remains an empty dirt lot. Their former landscaper lives on the property in a trailer they bought for him. He makes sure weeds and grasses remain cut, per fire requirements.
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The city of Malibu waived permitting fees and other red tape to help speed up the recovery. They hosted events to help people find the resources they needed.
The Tallals went to these rebuild meetings hosted by the city and other government and local entities. The Tallals’ FAIR Plan insurance would cover up to $1.5 million. Their private insurance, it turned out, wouldn’t help them at all — they were not insured for wildfire losses, only typical house fire losses.
They joined a lawsuit against Southern California Edison, hoping the settlement would eventually make them whole for the rebuild. Three years later, they won the money, but federal income tax cut it down significantly (a law passed since exempts such settlements from federal income tax).
Jimy Tallal stands on the lot that was the site of her former home.
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The Tallals soon realized they’d never be able to afford to rebuild their house as it had been. The house was 30 years old and would require a new foundation to be up to new earthquake building codes. Fire officials told them they’d have to widen their driveway and install a water tank more than three times the size of their previous one to meet new fire codes. (In 2020, California passed a law requiring insurers to provide at least 10% additional coverage for new building code upgrades.)
Even with their insurance and settlement money, the Tallals ended up more than $1 million short of what they’d need to rebuild.
“We ended up getting 20 cents on the dollar of what we needed,” said Scott.
So they decided to go with the cheaper option of “pre-fabricated modular housing.” They thought they’d found a contractor they could trust. After they’d planned the house and paid the company, they were abruptly told the road to their property was too narrow and winding. The house couldn’t be delivered.
Instead of digging even deeper into their retirement savings, they realized they needed to give up on rebuilding at all.
Where the Tallals are now
In 2022, the Tallals bought a doublewide trailer in an upscale mobile home park in Malibu. They renovated it, installed solar panels and battery storage because there are frequent power outages in the area. State rebates helped cover the cost.
Their house still has a beautiful view of the ocean. They can see the hill their former home was on from the balcony. They moved in in 2023.
The mobile home where the Tallals now live.
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The Tallals still own the property where their former house was but say they’ll probably sell it eventually. Jimy estimates fewer than half of the homes in their former neighborhood have been rebuilt.
With all the costs, their retirement dreams are now deferred.
“I'll never retire now. I can't afford it,” said Scott. Both Scott and Jimy are now 70.
Scott and Jimy Tallal, with dog Enzo, are grateful to still live in Malibu.
When they had to evacuate again during the Palisades Fire, all of the trauma of the Woolsey Fire came rushing back. Now, more of their friends have lost their homes. The whole experience has led to “empathy overload,” Scott said.
Jimy Tallal shows a family heirloom that survived the Woolsey Fire. They keep some of the other items they managed to salvage in this cabinet.
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Things are forever different — they have a lot less space and miss the rural feel of their former home. Jimy especially misses the wildlife.
But, still, Malibu is home.
“There isn't a day that goes by that we don't appreciate how wonderful it is to live here,” said Scott.
Worse fire, more people affected
The conditions that set the stage for the Woolsey Fire — sparked by power lines after record drought, then driven by Santa Ana winds — is eerily similar to the conditions that drove the fires we just experienced.
“I mean, yes, this has always been a wildfire ecology here, but climate change is just making it so much worse,” Jimy said.
Beyond the Woolsey Fire, the Tallals have experienced this firsthand. When they first moved in in 1998, their former house didn’t have air conditioning.
“The longer we were here, the hotter it would get, and we ended up having to put air conditioning in,” Jimy said. “It's definitely changing. ... I can see it, and it's happening in a very short period of time.”
And policy to help is struggling to keep up.
Jimy Tallal stands on the patio of her house that burned in the Woolsey Fire. That's all that remains of the structure after the fire and debris removal.
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Policy changes since Woolsey
A suite of laws were passed in 2020 to help wildfire survivors in the wake of increasingly devastating fires in recent years.
In 2023, Congress passed a law to exempt federal tax requirements in the case of wildfire settlements, which could help some victims recoup costs if it turns out the Eaton Fire was sparked by Southern California Edison equipment.
Since this year’s fires, lawmakers have introduced more legislation to help survivors, including removing the inventory requirement for insurance claims in the case of a total loss. Other legislation is being introduced to further help wildfire victims and lessons have been learnedsince Woolsey.
But the biggest issue is the insurance conundrum. Most wildfire victims remain underinsured or not insured at all, and insurers increasingly are refusing coverage in high-risk fire areas. Those areas are only expanding.
Fiona Ng
is LAist's deputy managing editor and leads a team of reporters who explore food, culture, history, events and more.
Published May 2, 2026 5:00 AM
Elephant Hill in El Sereno.
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Topline:
A new trail across the beloved natural area of Elephant Hill in Northeast Los Angeles officially opens this weekend.
Why it matters: The route is years in the making, and it's a big milestone in the decades-long conservation efforts to preserve this local jewel in the community of El Sereno.
What's next: The trail is part of a decades-long effort to preserve the entire 110 acres of Elephant Hill. Read on to learn more.
The route is years in the making, and it's a big milestone in the decades-long conservation efforts to preserve this local jewel in the community of El Sereno.
The hiking trail connects one side of Elephant Hill to the other — from the corner of Pullman Street and Harriman Avenue all the way across to Lathrop Street.
It's 0.75 miles in total, but packs a punch.
"It's a pretty straight shot, but because of the terrain — the trail is kind of twisty and curvy. There's switchbacks — and great views," Elva Yañez, board president of the nonprofitSave Elephant Hill, said.
People have always been able to access the 110-acre green space, but Yañez said the new trail provides a safe and easy way to navigate the steep hillsides.
The El Sereno nonprofit has been working for two decades to preserve the land. Illegal dumping and off-roading have damaged the open space over the years. And the majority of the 110 acres are privately owned by an estimated 200 individual owners.
Mountains Recreation and Conservation Authority (MRCA) joined the efforts in 2018, spurred by a $700,000 grant from Los Angeles County Regional Park and Open Space District, in part, to build the trail. The local agency received some $2 million in grants from the Santa Monica Mountains Conservancy to add to the 10 acres of Elephant Hill it manages and conserves. This year, MCRA acquired an additional 12 parcels — or about 2.4 acres.
And the spiffy new footpath — with trail signage, information kiosks and landscape boulders — is not just a long-sought-for victory but a beginning in a sense.
"We know that it means a lot to the community," Sarah Kevorkian, who oversees the trail project for MRCA, said. "We're wrapping up the trail, but it really feels like the beginning of all that is to come."
A hint of that vision already exists — for hikers traversing the new route, courtesy ofTest Plot, the L.A.-based nonprofit that works to revitalize depleted lands.
"They're able to see at the end of the trail, at the 'test plot' — exactly what a restored Elephant Hill would look like," Yañez said.
The former Snapchat buildings on the Venice Boardwalk are now pop-up art spaces, free for all to visit.
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Topline:
A new art installation on the Venice Boardwalk features local and international artists, pop-up evening performances, and projects that explore the themes of childhood and home.
Why it matters: The Venice Boardwalk is usually a daytime playground, but a new art installation and performance pop up aims to breathe new life into the evening scene at the beach.
Why now: Two formerly vacant buildings with spaces facing the Boardwalk have been turned into free art installations after a new owner took over the former Snapchat-owned buildings.
The backstory: Stefan Ashkenazy, founder of the Bombay Beach Biennale, brings some of his favorite collaborators into a new space on the Venice Boardwalk, giving a chance for tourists and locals alike to check out projects from artists including William Attaway, James Ostrer, Greg Haberny, Robin Murez, and more.
Read on ... to find out how you can visit.
The Venice Boardwalk after sunset has generally been a no-go zone for tourists and locals alike, as the beachside bars and restaurants close on the early side and safety is often an issue. Now, a group of artists is out to bring some vibrancy to the creative neighborhood with a series of new installations that will include live evening performances – and even a “Venice Opera House.”
“Let's play with light and let's play with sound and give people a reason to come to the Boardwalk after sundown,” said artist and entrepreneur Stefan Ashkenazy, who is curating the project and owns the buildings housing them. “I mean, let's just be open 24 hours a day.”
The concept doesn’t have an official name yet, but he’s been calling it “See World.”
Artist James Ostrer's space looks out from a bed through the fence to the ocean at Venice Beach.
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William Attaway, a longtime Venice artist, created a gallery space filled with various paintings and sculptures.
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The pair of modern buildings on the Venice Boardwalk at Thornton Ave. – with their big balconies, floor-to-ceiling glass windows, and seven open garage-style retail spaces – have sat mostly empty since Snapchat vacated their beachside offices in 2019. Ashkenazy recently bought the building and recruited artists to fill those front-facing spaces with creative work until a full-time tenant comes in.
Over the past several weeks the installations have been created in real-time, in public.
Venice Boardwalk art pop-ups The installations are open now and can be seen from the Boardwalk for free 24/7. They will be up for several months and evening performances are ongoing.
All of the projects are loosely along the theme of “home,” with each artist claiming a “room” in the two buildings that stretch across a full block on the Boardwalk. Several local Venice artists are featured, including William Attaway, whose intricate mosaic work is recognizable on the Venice public restrooms along the beach. Attaway’s space features a floating larger-than-life-sized statue and various works in a mini-gallery. In the next room is Robin Murez’s pieces, featuring carved wooden seats from her beloved neighborhood Venice Flying Carousel.
Ashkenazy is no stranger to wild (and wildly successful) art ideas. He’s the owner of the Petit Ermitage hotel in West Hollywood, a longtime haven for visiting artists, and the founder of the decade-old Bombay Beach Biennale, where artists install all kinds of work in an annual event near the Salton Sea. Many of the artists from that community are featured at the Venice project.
A "Venice Opera House" will host pop-up music events throughout the summer.
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New York-based artist Greg Haberny's paintings on the wall of his Venice space.
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New York-based artist Greg Haberny and London-based artist James Ostrer have brought some of their work in the Bombay Beach Biennale to the Venice project. Their windows on the Boardwalk both speak to a child-like sense of wonder and creativity.
“I think it's just kind of exploring and playing a little bit, to have the freedom to be able to do that,” Haberny says of his imagined child’s bedroom space, which includes a fort made out of puffy cheese balls. “It's a big space, too. It's beautiful.”
Ostrer is experimenting with a performance art idea where he sits in bed amongst a room full of his own artwork, which he describes as “happy art with an edge.” Looking out at the ocean from the bed, he’s invited passersby to sit and have chats with him about his work or anything else they want to talk about.
“It’s a very intimate space, so you have a different kind of conversation,” he said. “I use art to channel human creativity, and [talk about] dark things.”
While there are open fences that block off the spaces, they aren’t sealed up at night. Both Ashkenazy and the team of artists seemed open to the idea that anything could happen and that the installations are a conversation with the public – and with that comes some risk.
Greg Haberny (right) works with his assistants on an installation featuring kid-inspired graffiti art and a "cheesy puff" fort.
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“I don't really know if I [would] say worried, but I guess it's just the cost of doing business,” Haberny said. “I don't really make things to get damaged or broken, sure. But I have done [things like] burned all my paintings and then made paint out of ash.”
While he’s felt safe – and even slept overnight in the installation – Ostrer has been collaborating with a local female artist who performs in a pig mask in front of his installation some nights. Watching her perform, he said, has taught him about the vulnerability of women in public spaces like the Boardwalk. “I've started to, on a very fractional level, have seen how scary that is. Because I've sat in the bed behind her performing at the front here… the way in which men are approaching her and shrieking at her … it's shocking.”
Ashkenazy says he will keep the artists in the space, potentially rotating new ones in, until a fulltime tenant takes over.
“This is an experiment … and after acquiring the building, the intention wasn't, ‘let's open a bunch of public art spaces,’ he said. “It is kind of …what the building wanted and listening to what the Boardwalk needed. Let's play, let's have the artists that we love and appreciate have a space to play and engage and give the locals and the visitors to the Boardwalk something to experience.”
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Adolfo Guzman-Lopez
is an arts and general assignment reporter on LAist's Explore LA team.
Published May 2, 2026 5:00 AM
Steve Campos sits on a bench he calls the "LA Bench" that approriates the logo used by the Dodgers in a statement of civic pride.
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Courtesy Steve Campos
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Topline:
LA welder-artist uses the well-loved "L.A." logo to create an “LA Bench” to spark civic pride. It may look like a tribute to the Dodgers, but it's more complicated.
Why it matters: Steve Campos is a second-generation welder born and raised in L.A. who is using his training and education to create work with more artistic designs.
Why now: The Dodgers’ success is making their logos ubiquitous. But the team's success, some Angelenos say, came at the cost of mass displacement after World War II of working class communities where Dodger Stadium how stands.
The backstory: The interlocking letters of the L.A. logo were used by the L.A. Angels minor league baseball team before the Dodgers moved to L.A. in 1958.
What's next: Campos is offering the LA Benches for sale and hopes he can get permission from the Dodgers to install a few at Dodger Stadium.
It’s about the size of a park bench and made of steel and wood. The bench’s arm rests are formed by the letters “L” and “A” in a design that’s unmistakable to any sports fan. But the welder-artist who created it says it’s not a Dodgers bench.
“This is about civic pride, L.A. pride. I made a design statement saying that it has nothing affiliated with the Dodgers,” said Steve Campos.
Campos grew up near Dodger Stadium, raised by parents who were die-hard Dodgers fans. So much, that they named him after Steve Garvey but that legacy doesn’t keep him from confronting how the Dodgers benefitted from the mass displacement of working-class people from Chavez Ravine after World War Two. That’s why he calls it an L.A. Bench, and not a Dodgers Bench.
The logo may be synonymous with the city's beloved baseball team, but the design of the interlocking letters was used by the L.A. Angels minor league baseball team before the Dodgers moved to L.A. in 1958.
“The monogram was here before the Dodgers,” Campos said.
A second-generation welder
Welding is the Campos family business. His father created gates and security bars for windows and doors for L.A. clients. That was the foundation for the work Campos has done for two decades since graduating from Lincoln High School, L.A. Trade Tech College, and enrolling in a summer program at Art Center in Pasadena.
The inspiration for the L.A. Bench came last year while he was playing around in his shop creating versions of the L.A. logo. A friend he hangs with at Echo Park Lake asked Campos to make him a piece of furniture.
“I was trying to figure out what my friend Curly wanted. He liked Dodgers and drinking and getting into fights, so I was like, 'Let me make something with the LA monogram,'” he said.
Welder-artist Steve Campos created whimsical steel sculptures with the LA logo.
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It didn’t design itself. He said he had to lengthen the legs on the “A” and lean the back of the “L” in order to make the bench functional. In the process, he’s made a piece of furniture with a ubiquitous logo that he’s embedded with his own L.A. pride, as well as city history past and present.
LA civic pride travels to Japan
Campos vacationed in Japan the last week of April and took advantage of the trip to reach out to people who may be interested in the L.A. Bench. He was caught off guard by people’s reaction when he showed them pictures of it.
“They look at it and they go, 'Oh, Ohtani bench,'” he said.
For them, it’s still a bench embedded with pride, he said, but centered around Dodgers star Shohei Ohtani, an icon in his native Japan.
I would love to get a couple of them installed at Dodger Stadium.
— Steve Campos, welder-artist
Campos has made four L.A. benches and is selling them fully assembled, he said, for $2,500 each — taking into account his labor and how costly the raw materials have become. For now, he’s offering the metal parts as a package for $500, which requires the buyer to purchase the wood for the seat and the back — an easy process, he said.
While he has no plans to mass produce the L.A. Bench, he does have one goal in mind that shows how hard it is for him to separate L.A. civic pride and the Dodgers.
“I would love to get a couple of them installed at Dodger Stadium,” he said.
Josie Huang
is a reporter and Weekend Edition host who spotlights the people and places at the heart of our region.
Published May 2, 2026 5:00 AM
Battery storage hubs are used to stabilize the energy grid but have led to lithium battery fires.
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Sandy Huffaker
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Topline:
San Gabriel Valley residents are rallying today against a battery storage project in the City of Industry. They warn it could bring environmental and health impacts and pave the way for more industrial development, like data centers.
The backstory: City leaders approved the 400-megawatt Marici battery facility in January. But residents in nearby communities say they were not adequately informed and are concerned about safety risks.
What's next: Some local activists have challenged the approval of the battery facility under the California Environmental Quality Act.
The rally: Protesters will be at the Peter F. Schabarum Regional Park in Rowland Heights from 10 a.m. to 1 p.m.
A coalition of residents from across the San Gabriel Valley are mobilizing over a battery storage project and possibly more industrial development in the City of Industry they say could pollute communities next door.
WHAT: Protest against battery storage facility in the city of Industry
WHERE: Peter F. Schabarum Regional Park in neighboring Rowland Heights
WHEN: 10 a.m. to 1 p.m.
Because of the City of Industry’s unusual, sprawling shape stretching along the 60 Freeway, it borders on more than a dozen communities, meaning what happens there can have far-reaching impact.
“Pollution does not end right at the border,” said Andrew Yip, an organizer with No Data Centers SGV Coalition. “Pollution travels.”
Beyond environmental concerns, locals have also been frustrated with how decisions are made by officials in the City of Industry, a municipality that’s almost entirely zoned for industrial use and has less than 300 residents.
Organizers say they’ve struggled to get direct responses from city officials whom they say have replaced regular meetings with special meetings, which under state law require less advance notice.
A city spokesperson has not responded to requests for comment.
Today’s protest is taking place at Peter F. Schabarum Regional Park in Rowland Heights across the street from the Puente Hills Mall, a largely vacant “dead” mall, which activists fear could be redeveloped into a data center and bring higher utility costs and greater air and noise pollution.
Yip pointed out that industrial developments make a lot of money for the City of Industry.
“But none of these surrounding communities receive any of those benefits,” Yip said. “Yet we have to put up with all the harmful effects and impacts from this city that does all this development without really reaching out.”
