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The Pasadena Civic Center

The city bus I had been evacuated on pulled up to the Pasadena Civic Center. One MonteCedro van adapted for wheelchairs was unloading in front of us. Droves of people were arriving. I’m not sure when that night the City of Pasadena had begun opening it, but they already had water, masks and chairs. We were directed to the last large room at the end of the hallway, the size of a couple of basketball courts. 

We were surrounded by scores of people all looking as disoriented as we must have. “Let’s stay together,” one of my friends said. Good idea, I thought. The haphazard line snaked past a woman frantically writing each person’s name and phone number, I assumed so they had some idea of who was there. Checking IDs would have been a ridiculous idea. It was 5 or 6a.m. and most people had run from their homes, frantically throwing a few things into a plastic bag or two. 

   I was amazed at how polite and kind everyone was. Despite tension and panic I never heard a person push against another or get angry. It was obvious that the City of Pasadena staff and whoever was trying to make the place somewhat livable for thousands were doing everything they could. Cots were out, some Red Cross blankets available. Volunteers were pushing more stacks of chairs into the hall and the one next door. The three of us found a few residents from our Altadena retirement community, dragged some chairs over and made a circle. 

We then could take time to figure out what we should be doing. I asked someone with a power bar where he got it. He pointed at a table with people milling around. 

“There’s a box of them.” I headed that way glad to be moving with possible purpose. 

I inspected what was there. Plenty of water, baby’s diapers, hand sanitizer. No power bars. 

I asked a volunteer. “They went long ago.” 

   We greeted more arrivals from MonteCedro and looked around for others. Jackie asked for help to sort through or at least find all the pills that had emptied into her bag during the evacuation. What a nightmare, I thought. A woman in a wheelchair who had been on my bus and her husband arrived in our circle, but I had a feeling she was not feeling well. Soon a woman in a green velour pantsuit came to talk with her – pushed chairs out of the way, commandeered a cot and got her into it. No one was quite sure who she was, but she was effective and moving fast. 

I began thinking about the things I should have brought. Passport, important things in my main computer. Not a lot. Meanwhile I was texting family, friends, and a friend who had asked me the day before if I wanted to evacuate to their place in Los Angeles. 

I’d blithely said, there was no need. Now, I texted that it would be great to come to their place and began plotting where I could walk to so they could pick me up since a lot of streets were closed. 

A line was forming quickly at the table up front, and I noticed people walking back with food in their hands. I was on my feet. They were Egg McMuffins. Who knows what chemicals lurk in those, but it was a lot of protein. 

“One per person,” said the volunteer overseeing the food.

What if I’m with someone who can’t walk easily?”

 “Oh, you can have another.”

I decided taking three was pushing it. It seemed that hundreds were in the line behind me. We could divide them up.

Back in our circle, I borrowed a piece of an extra chair someone was using, unwrapped them and fished my Swiss Army knife from my purse. What more could I want. I cut one in half for my two friends. Then I showed a wheelchair bound woman from our community with terrible tremors the Egg McMuffin.

 “Do you want some?” She managed a yes with a small sound. I cut it in half again and she was able to feed herself. What a nightmare this whole thing must have been for her. 

We all settled into idle chat and as I texted off and on I was acutely aware my phone battery was going fast. Where were the outlets? Out in the huge hallway someone pointed out people sitting by plugs. Just like in airports I realized. I walked and inspected, nodded hello to some, then suddenly a woman came up. 

“Nancy?” She looked familiar. We had a friendly talk, she reminisced about my home in the hills, hugged and we parted ways. I still don’t know who she was.

Finally, I saw a plug with four sockets and a man sitting on the windowsill beside it. Two were in use. 

“Is there one free?” 

“It’s yours,” he said. “I’m well taken care of.” We chatted for a while.

“If you want to go do something else, I’ll make sure it’s okay.” That seemed to be the spirit of people here. No pushing, no arguing or insults. Just plain nice.

I wandered up and down the hall a little, used the clean restroom and headed back. I began thinking how luxurious this was compared to what hurricane victims endured during Katrina. Back to my phone, I figured out how to sit on the windowsill next to my acquaintance by bracing one leg on the corner of someone’s cot. 

"Are you from Altadena?”

I nodded. We looked sad together. I’ve lived there for over 50 years. I love it. Many people have lived there a long time and love the slightly funky community up against the San Gabriel Foothills. 

 “And you,” I asked. He said because of his very large size (he was in the high obese range) it had been very hard to leave fast. He didn’t have much time. He packed what he could, and then hunted for his bird’s cage. He said the bird, that he’d had for a long time was very large, and he hadn’t used the cage for over a year. He couldn’t find it. 

“I’ve had that wonderful bird for a long time,” he said softly. “But I couldn’t manage to take him. I will feel guilty about that for the rest of my life.” We sat in silence.

To our relief, someone came past and asked if one of the sockets was free. My new acquaintance offered assistance, I unplugged my phone, watched as he helped the man figure out which cord to use and said goodbye. 

“I hope our paths cross again.” 

He smiled and I went back to my circle. 

Within an hour, with the help of my Los Angeles friends, I’d arranged to meet someone who’d get me to Los Angeles. By then, the MonteCedro staff had found our group. The civic center had sent most of the residents to the other hall. New volunteers were arriving, Gatorade, snacks, more water, you name it were going past on dollies and others with food in cartons walked among the chairs and cots offering items. 

I collected my belongings, put on my jacket, let the MonteCedro staff know I was leaving and headed down the sidewalk with a good feeling about how the center was being handled as snowy ashes sifted down from the grey sky.

*This submission is part of a four piece post. The other contributions are entitled:

Getting Mail, A Glimmer of Altadena Spirit Showing Through
Pasadena Village
Family Hunt for Our Old House