At a Pasadena post office, people displaced by Eaton Fire share grief, hope, community

Altadena residents who lost their homes in the Eaton Fire still need to get their mail. And right now that means waiting sometimes hours at a post office in Pasadena.

This week, it was a scene of grief, hope and community.

Dozens of people stood in line and waited in plastic chairs Wednesday morning outside the post office at the bottom of Lincoln Avenue. In this postal service purgatory, faces looked dazed, tired. Speaking with LAist, they talked about what they lost — homes, neighborhoods, vehicles — and whether they thought they would ever get it back.

“We lost everything. I mean, we were so unprepared,” said Alexandria Rosewood, who waited with her husband for their address to be called so they could pick up their mail. “We left thinking, ‘Yeah we’ll be back tomorrow or two days maybe, you know?’”

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Rosewood’s family had been in that house for more than five decades. But amid all the loss, Rosewood said she’s inspired by people in her neighborhood.

“There’s nothing but love, you know what I mean? And so much pride. It’s amazing,” she said. “You know it always sucks that you have to wait for a tragedy to see that kind of display. But I mean, without hesitation, people are just stepping up.

“That’s the thing,” she continued. “Altadena is all of our home, right?”

People waiting to get their mail at the post office on Lincoln Ave.

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Robert Garrova / LAist

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Some people reported waiting for hours to get their mail. But they seemed to be taking it in stride.

Steve Edelman said the employees at the post office were doing a great job, all things considered.

“You don’t hear that about the post office very often do you, honey?” he joked.

His home, which was destroyed in the fire, was located just a few blocks away from an Eaton Canyon trail head.

“Every time you think about something you lost, a little more pain,” he said. “And the really bad part is everybody [says,] ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.’ Finally someone called me and said, ‘Hey Steve, it took me so long to call you because I didn’t know what to say.’

“I said ‘I love you.’”

Richard Castaneda was wearing a weathered jean jacket as he stood in line. At 87, he has a bushy white mustache and calloused hands — evidence of time spent gardening.

“I had a pickup truck with gas… and that exploded,” he said. “I wasn’t ready to retire yet. I was still working.”

Castaneda had been in his house on Olive Avenue since 1986. He said he and several members of his family got out just in time.

“Physically they’re OK, but mentally not, I guess,” Castaneda lamented.

Castaneda said he thinks his insurance might have lapsed just before the fires. Right now he’s just looking for a place to rent.

“I don’t know what’s going to happen. I really don’t. Hopefully I get some kind of help,” he said.

With her dog calmly waiting with her, Anne Louise Bannon said she’s thinking about the things that are impossible to replace right now, like the oil paintings her parents created when she was a kid.

“I don’t want to say it’s OK. It’s not OK. It sucks, baby,” she said. “But, you know, I was going to say it could be worse. And technically, yes, it could, but we’re scraping the bottom here.”

But Bannon said she’s still hopeful. And as for rebuilding? That’s pretty clear.

“Hell yes I’m rebuilding....We’re not leaving this area. It’s just too special. Too wonderful. And all the people I know who live here have said the same damn thing. I mean, I’ve got a 100-year-old oak tree in my front yard,” Bannon said.

That oak tree is scorched, she said, but it’s still there.