The Day of the Palisades Fire:  My Story

(Editor’s note: Haldis Toppel lived in the Marquez Knolls area and sent this note with her Christmas Card. She has graciously allowed CTN to print it. The video taken of January 8, the day after the fire was sent by Amanda Keston, who wrote “I’m not sure who took this video, but this is my street in Marquez.” A viewer will notice there are no firefighters or police on the streets.)

By HALDIS TOPPEL

The Morning of the Fire

That morning at 10:26 a.m., a friend called and we chatted briefly. I mentioned that I smelled smoke; she responded by shouting that she saw flames, then abruptly hung up.

Looking outside of the windows of my home on Enchanted Way, I saw a small swirl of smoke rising from the mountains. The wind was fierce, sending palm fronds flying sideways. Suddenly, every instinct in my body screamed: “Take what you can and get out!”

This was nothing like previous evacuations, which had been calm and allowed time to prepare. I quickly locked Sandy and her dog food in the car, then tried to pull out a drawer of important papers from the nightstand. It was too heavy to lift, and panic set in as I realized I no longer had the strength I once did. I’m ?

With a surge of adrenaline, I managed to drag the heavy drawer across the floor and into the front seat of my Tesla. I moved through the house, focused only on survival, prioritizing what was most important and reminding myself not to be greedy or delay my escape.

Evacuation Efforts

By 10:40 a.m., I had called my two tenants, George and Heaven, instructing them to collect their belongings and to prepare to evacuate.

I also called my son Curt, who lives in Playa Vista, for help emphasizing the urgency of the situation. The sky above the house had darkened with heavy smoke, making it impossible to determine the fire’s location.

There were no fire trucks, police, or emergency crews in sight, no helicopters giving warnings or directions. We were entirely on our own. I dragged two more drawers filled with valuables and papers to the car, adding clothes, bedding, artwork, and some cherished black pottery, while leaving other items behind.

The smoke thickened, and it became clear we were in the path of both smoke and fire. I could hear the yellow Superscoopers flying low near Palisades Drive, dropping water, then returning to the ocean to refill—again and again. The fire was dangerously close.

Choosing What to Save

I was hoping that my son could help retrieve silver settings, more black pottery, or anything he wanted to save. I grabbed his All-American trophies, left the wooden spy ship propeller from my late husband Kurt’s military days, and left the large stuffed Pike son Curt had caught in Outer Mongolia. I took a framed picture of Kurt from the hallway and a smaller framed photo of eight-year-old Curt with his dad. In my haste, I forgot my computer and a photo of my twin Commanche airplane from a transatlantic journey.

I left behind the iguana, the puffer fish, Swedish Dala horses from our nanny, and Orrefors crystal bowls from another nanny. My mind kept insisting, “Don’t get greedy, just go,” while another part argued, “It’s too much trouble to move everything back when you return tomorrow.”

Ultimately, I decided I was finished. I took one last look through the house, missed seeing my computer, and stepped outside to join my tenants and neighbors in the cul-de-sac. Everyone seemed emotionally paralyzed, making small talk and unable to act. I urged them to pack and leave, not to stay behind.

We hugged and said goodbye. It felt final, though my rational mind refused to accept that. I drove away never to see my house again. The sky was shrouded in thick smoke, and the smell of fire was overwhelming.

Escape from the Fire

At 11:30 a.m., as I reached the bottom of Jacon Way, the first emergency reverse 311 call announced for residents to prepare to evacuate.  Streets were already clogged with escaping cars and the sky covered with billowing smoke.

 Traffic at Marquez Ave. was jammed. I managed to escape via Lachman Lane and Akron to Bienveneda. The phone rang—Curt and his wife Nicole had made it only as far as Gelson’s before the roads were closed, but they had a clear view of the hills. Curt shouted, “Mom, get out! The hills are on fire and heading right towards you!”

 When I reached Sunset, eastbound traffic was at a standstill, and LAPD directed me westbound—straight toward the fire. My instincts protested, but I complied. Soon, westbound traffic stopped at Arno Way and Sunset, embedded in the jam were two firetrucks – the first I had seen all day.

The yellow Superscoopers continued water drops just 200 feet ahead, while my car was engulfed in thick, black, deadly smoke. Up until then, I had remained eerily calm, but suddenly the terrifying images of burning cars in Lahaina flashed through my mind.

A new reverse 311 call interrupted my thoughts: “evacuate, evacuate!” the voice over the car speaker urged.  My son, still on the phone, urged, “Mom, where are you? There’s a fire tornado above Sunset. Get out!”  Remembering that Arno Way would lead out to PCH via the private Belair Bay Club, I maneuvered through the oncoming lane towards the Club and finally reached clear sky and a way out of the inferno.

Throughout the ordeal, I never saw another fire truck besides the two stuck on Sunset and Arno Way. Later news stories described how many cars had been abandoned on that stretch of Sunset towards Palisades Drive and had to be bulldozed away.

Aftermath and Reflection

By 1 p.m. I arrived on PCH. Traffic was slow but moving. I headed to Curt’s house in Playa Del Rey, while Curt and Nicole spent an extra hour in the traffic jam in the Palisades center before escaping via Chautauqua. (We learned later that this section of town also burned that night, against all odds.)

At 5 p.m., a neighbor, George, sent a video of my garage burning, and I assumed the house was lost. In reality, the house survived until the next afternoon, when a shift in winds drove embers back into the neighborhood.

 Over 6,000 homes had burned.  Standing homes in the fire zone were seriously contaminated and uninhabitable.  30,000 people were displaced, families with kids, newborns, the elderly and infirm, professionals and healthcare workers, all needed shelter.

Curt and his wife Nicole were caring and loving, but two weeks of Mother-in-Law seemed more than I could let them endure. Sandy and I moved to two more apartments before luckily settling in the wonderful place I call home for now.

I am grateful to live in a wonderful apartment in the Marina, and I am in the process of rebuilding a beautiful contemporary house. It will be the same size as the original, though with a different style. The new home will once again feature an expansive living room, a large bookshelf, and a massive fireplace.

It will still have a breathtaking view, but most importantly, I will have a home. I know that Kurt would appreciate it, perhaps write a poem about it, or make lighthearted jokes about the rebuilding process.

Unfortunately, the many changes were more than my sweet 17-year-old Dachsie could bear. She became ill, her hind legs paralyzed and she had seizures. She is resting on the hillside of our beautiful property with the other pets we had over the years, Strolchie and Sabinchen, Princess and Kiwi. It is home for all of us.  I am looking forward to the new house.  Let’s celebrate housewarming on 8/27/27!  Please mark your calendar.

This was all that remained of Haldis Toppel home, which she shared with her late husband Kurt and where they raised their son Curt.