Out of the ashes rises…..the Andrews.
The town of Pacific Palisades was brought to its knees recently by a wildfire devastating a majority of the community. For those of us who grew up there, it was both sad and surreal to see our schools, churches, stores and homes reduced to unrecognizable rubble. It all happened so fast (as fires always do), but the residue of our memories continues to linger.
What are we remembering? Places certainly, as our mind and emotions juxtapose what used to be with what is (or isn’t). But more often our memories cling to the people associated with these schools, churches, stores and homes; for me, my Ocampo Drive images aren’t focused on the disfigured houses but on the Zallers, Olsons, Gutierrezes, Serras, Martinis and Martins who used to live there.
And when I think about the Palisades as a whole—I think about the Andrews. For many years their home on Via de las Olas was an outreach, a way station, a place to go, a place to feel loved and cared for. Wayfarers from Palisades High or Calvary Church or the surf and golf communities could find a place to hang or stay as they navigated their way through adolescence or young adulthood.
Although located in one of the most desirable sections of this desirable town, the Andrews place was no Palisades megastar/mega mansion with a keep your distance vibe. Never locking their front door was what the Andrews were famous for; everyone knew this and knew what it symbolized: a never ending welcome.
The Andrews home was certainly welcoming for me, having lived there for two separate periods during a crisis (divorce) and a need (nearby ailing father to nurture). While living in the house I wasn’t charged, I wasn’t put to work, I wasn’t asked to be anything other than myself. Dozens of others had a similar experience.
The Andrews at the Andrews home included the kindly Gene, the absent-minded professor and golfing genius who operated a scorecard making business out of the back house. The matriarch was Darl (Dar Dar), who could dispense massive hugs and the occasional tough love with equal aplomb. And there was the youngest son Ryan, he of the handsome face and devilish grin, who was literally friends with everyone.
My connection to the Andrews came through their oldest son Geno, who I met at the neighborhood Calvary Church. If truth be told I actually didn’t meet Geno, I experienced Geno, as big a whirlwind of teenage rambunctiousness as can be imagined. Not much of his extroversion personified has changed. And I am blessed to say he has remained one of my closest friends and was the best man at my wedding.
For the record, Geno had become keeper of the Andrews flame before the flames hit the Andrews. As the parents passed away and the house became a rental/place to crash, Geno kept the stories and the relationships alive and the place acquired a name: St. Andrews West. Fitting. As many know St. Andrews is the most famous golf course in the world; most don’t know Gene Andrews tied an ongoing tournament record at the course for four straight birdies in the most difficult section.
Does the Saint part fit? No one would accuse the Andrews of spiritual perfection but the following quote from theologian Frederich Buechner might fit the bill: “Saints are essentially life givers. To be with them is to be more alive.” With this criteria St. Andrews West was holy ground.
Holy ground became burned ground, of course, as you can see from the before and after pictures above. I was personally able to tour the destruction at the place; seeing the occasional personal item (broken dishes etc.) mixed in with the wreckage actually added to the desolation. The overall experience begged the question: what good could possibly come from this?
An answer relates to the good that came before. With the Andrews, theirs was a fire before the fire, giving us memories to take with us into the future. The Palisades will heal the same way towns all over the world heal, with caring people who came out of the woodwork long before the woodwork burned. And we can be thankful many towns have families that have a history of reaching out; we of the Palisades can be thankful that we had (and have) the Andrews.
The town of Pacific Palisades was brought to its knees recently by a wildfire devastating a majority of the community. For those of us who grew up there, it was both sad and surreal to see our schools, churches, stores and homes reduced to unrecognizable rubble. It all happened so fast (as fires always do), but the residue of our memories continues to linger.
What are we remembering? Places certainly, as our mind and emotions juxtapose what used to be with what is (or isn’t). But more often our memories cling to the people associated with these schools, churches, stores and homes; for me, my Ocampo Drive images aren’t focused on the disfigured houses but on the Zallers, Olsons, Gutierrezes, Serras, Martinis and Martins who used to live there.
And when I think about the Palisades as a whole—I think about the Andrews. For many years their home on Via de las Olas was an outreach, a way station, a place to go, a place to feel loved and cared for. Wayfarers from Palisades High or Calvary Church or the surf and golf communities could find a place to hang or stay as they navigated their way through adolescence or young adulthood.
Although located in one of the most desirable sections of this desirable town, the Andrews place was no Palisades megastar/mega mansion with a keep your distance vibe. Never locking their front door was what the Andrews were famous for; everyone knew this and knew what it symbolized: a never ending welcome.
The Andrews home was certainly welcoming for me, having lived there for two separate periods during a crisis (divorce) and a need (nearby ailing father to nurture). While living in the house I wasn’t charged, I wasn’t put to work, I wasn’t asked to be anything other than myself. Dozens of others had a similar experience.
The Andrews at the Andrews home included the kindly Gene, the absent-minded professor and golfing genius who operated a scorecard making business out of the back house. The matriarch was Darl (Dar Dar), who could dispense massive hugs and the occasional tough love with equal aplomb. And there was the youngest son Ryan, he of the handsome face and devilish grin, who was literally friends with everyone.
My connection to the Andrews came through their oldest son Geno, who I met at the neighborhood Calvary Church. If truth be told I actually didn’t meet Geno, I experienced Geno, as big a whirlwind of teenage rambunctiousness as can be imagined. Not much of his extroversion personified has changed. And I am blessed to say he has remained one of my closest friends and was the best man at my wedding.
For the record, Geno had become keeper of the Andrews flame before the flames hit the Andrews. As the parents passed away and the house became a rental/place to crash, Geno kept the stories and the relationships alive and the place acquired a name: St. Andrews West. Fitting. As many know St. Andrews is the most famous golf course in the world; most don’t know Gene Andrews tied an ongoing tournament record at the course for four straight birdies in the most difficult section.
Does the Saint part fit? No one would accuse the Andrews of spiritual perfection but the following quote from theologian Frederich Buechner might fit the bill: “Saints are essentially life givers. To be with them is to be more alive.” With this criteria St. Andrews West was holy ground.
Holy ground became burned ground, of course, as you can see from the before and after pictures above. I was personally able to tour the destruction at the place; seeing the occasional personal item (broken dishes etc.) mixed in with the wreckage actually added to the desolation. The overall experience begged the question: what good could possibly come from this?
An answer relates to the good that came before. With the Andrews, theirs was a fire before the fire, giving us memories to take with us into the future. The Palisades will heal the same way towns all over the world heal, with caring people who came out of the woodwork long before the woodwork burned. And we can be thankful many towns have families that have a history of reaching out; we of the Palisades can be thankful that we had (and have) the Andrews.
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