Tuesday, March 13, 2001
My daughter Hannah took a competency test recently and had to answer, "What was your most memorable experience?" That's an easy question for our family because our house once burned down. It's not something you forget.
You might be surprised to learn I also categorize it as one of the best experiences of my life.
Had you dropped by our Tucson home the morning of Jan. 2, 1992, you wouldn't have thought so. What remained of our three-bedroom, ranch-style house was a charred shell. The garage door had blown off. The windows were mostly broken. The front door was ajar and within you would have seen smoke-blackened walls, ceilings and floors. You would have found burnt furniture, a melted microwave oven, nails in the bedroom walls where the paint had melted away and water damage everywhere.
What wasn't there: What you would NOT have found was the Cozy Coupe my then 4-year-old Hannah had bought herself as a Christmas present, after saving allowances for months. It had melted completely away.
You would not have found our Christmas tree or the gifts beneath that all caught fire.
In the garage, you would have discovered the 1952 Willy's pickup my husband had just bought with dreams of renovation. It sat, ruined, on its wheels, the tires melted away. There also, you would have found charred tools and the remnants of a desk we were refinishing -- the likely cause of the fire.
Yet, I can make a case the fire left me with great memories. In a word: neighbors.
It was 4 a.m. when a spray paint can in the garage exploded, then another, and another. John and I sat upright in bed. I ran to my son Josh's room, nearest the sounds, then gathered up Hannah. John went toward the attached garage.
By the time I had ushered the kids out the front door, a neighbor from across the street was flying at us with a garden hose. When he reached the end of his tether, he snapped back onto the ground like a Keystone Cop.
Help arrived: By the time I had the kids halfway to our "safe" house (Debbie Watts'), another neighbor, a stranger, was running toward us. "Is anyone in there?" he shouted, without stopping.
"No, we're all out," I said. He kept going toward the fire.
Our knock on Debbie's door was answered immediately. Later, her husband, Jim, would tell us hearing that knock was the most relieved he'd ever felt.
"When I looked out our bedroom window and saw smoke over your house, I just thought, 'Josh and Hannah!' Then I heard that knock!"
By the time I returned to help John, there were neighbors on both sides spraying down the house with garden hoses. Jim Watts joined them to fight the fire until his pant legs were so hot, he doused them with water, scalding his legs.
He kept on fighting the fire. I can't tell you how little I cared about the house at that point. John was safe. Josh and Hannah were safe. The Tucson Fire Department took 15 minutes to respond.
Generous offers: As day broke, neighbors came offering us places to stay. The offer that choked me up then, and still chokes me up now, came from our next-door neighbor, Rob Deblasi.
Rob worked nights as an orderly in a facility for the mentally ill. He made minimum wage. He usually stayed up all day with his toddler, grabbing just an hour or two of sleep, so that his wife could work day hours without day-care expenses. It was Rob who came up to me on the sidewalk and said, "I have $5,000 in savings if you need money to get by."
Helping out: Friends donated clothes to us. Some had us over for dinner. A couple we didn't even know gave us a table and chairs for an apartment. Someone gave us $50 anonymously.
We expected to max out our insurance, so we were very conservative about spending. Our neighbors organized a washing battalion and salvaged what clothing they could, delivering it, through Debbie, clean and pressed.
When Christmas vacation was over, Josh returned to first grade. By the third day, we had to pick him up from school to collect all the games and toys and pajamas kids had brought in for our family. For a time, we boasted we had 25 boxes of puzzles because of them.
It's because of that fire that I know people are basically good. That heroes lurk right around the corner. That the word neighbor can mean more than the guy who lives nearby.
And that, if you ever ask me, "What was the most memorable experience of your life?" or even "What was the best experience of your life?" I can answer without hesitation, the time my house burned down.