This is a short news report from this summer (2022), about the 20th anniversary of the horrific Rodeo-Chedeski forest fire. The massive fire, which devestated the White Mountains area of northwest Arizona, happened in the summer of 2002. I went there to help out for a while, and I volunteered with the Red Cross in the cities of Holbrook and Heber-Overgaard. This is a little chapter of my life I mentioned to a couple of people, but I've never told this full story to anyone in 20 years. Now seems like the right time.
We all have stories in our past that we keep to ourselves, for one reason or another. In many cases, it may be something really bad you did, like that one night you got wasted, hooked up with three transgender dwarves, a circus clown, a contortionist, and woke up the next morning by the 5 freeway, surrounded by mule hoof prints and chocolate sprinkles. OK, that's a bit excessive, and I"m biting a George Carlin joke there, but most people have had some wild nights they never talk about. There's usually a good reason to keep quiet. Word has it that dwarves never forget.
But a lot of people also have good stories, that for one reason or another, they have never shared. This is a story of a month of my life that I've never talked about. I'm reading Carmine Gallo's book, The Storyteller's Secret, right now. A chapter I read last night reminded me of this adventure in my life, and I realized this is the 20 year anniversary of that summer, so I might as well tell the story.
In June of 2002, I was coming up on my 36th birthday, and living in a tiny room in Garden Grove, that a Latino family had built on the side of their house. I was working at an adult book store, a porn shop, that I had worked at two or three times, since 1993. When I couldn't find another job, they would hire me for a while. As much fun as it may sound to work "in the porn industry," the reality is it was pretty depressing at that point. You just can't crack jokes with guys buying penis pumps or inflatable love dolls. I knew I needed a change.
A couple years earlier, my Datsun 280 ZX got towed for parking tickets, which really bummed me out. I was working as a taxi driver then, in 2000, and renting a room in inland Huntington Beach. Then, right before Christmas that year, my driver's license got suspended, apparently due to a clerical error at the DMV. A traffic fine I had paid months earlier suddenly flagged as having not been paid. I didn't have a receipt to prove I paid it, and I had paid it in cash. My license was suspended. No driver's license, no taxi driver job. So I lost my car and my job in 2000, and had to repay the fine, and some fees, to get my license back. With no income, I couldn't pay the fine. My life went into a downward spiral, without and drugs or drinking involved, just weird circumstances. I bounced around odd jobs, like telemarketing and restaurant work, and lived homeless for almost a year. After that, I wound up back working at the porn store.
As I pondered my miserable life at the time, I kept seeing stories on TV of these two huge forest fires in Arizona, the Rodeo Fire and the Chedeski Fire. Not long after making the news, the two fires burned together, creating a super forest fire. It was on the news every night. In my own life, in Garden Grove, more than anything, I just wanted to do something worthwhile in the world at that point. I wanted to make some kind of a difference, in some way. It didn't have to be anything amazing or earth shattering, I just wanted to do something where it was obvious, to myself, that I was making some part of the world a bit better, in some way.
One night, watching the news about what had become Arizona's biggest forest fire, I had an idea. What if I just hopped on a bus to Arizona, and helped out at that crazy fire? I could find the Red Cross place where many of the 30,000+ displaced people were staying, and help out for a few days, or maybe a couple of weeks. Then I could probably find paying work loading trucks or something for the fire crews. Something like that. It would be a change of pace, and it would definitely be worthwhile to help out at this huge fire.
So I paid up my rent for the next month, packed a few clothes in my little backpack, and took a city bus to the Greyhound Station. I had enough money to buy a ticket to somewhere in Arizona, I think it was like $110, something like that. I didn't know where people were evacuating to. I was totally winging it. I looked at a map, and picked Holbrook, Arizona to go to. That seemed like the most likely place people fleeing the fire would go, about 40 miles from Show Low, which was being evacuated. I bought a one way ticket, and I would have about $20 or so when I got there. I didn't have enough money to get back to California. But it just seemed like something I had to do.
So I hopped on the bus, and headed off to the small town of Holbrook, Arizona. I had no real plan. I didn't know how I would get back. I didn't know if that was even the right city to go to. It was one of the first times in my life that I really took a leap of faith, and just went for it. The bus ride took several hours, and I got off the bus in Holbrook around noon, in late June, 2002. I think it was about June 23rd or 24th, when I went there, I remember the two fires had just burned together. It was about 105 or 110 degrees out. I could see smoke way off in the distance, from the huge fire, but it was a bright, sunny day. I thought, "What the hell did I just do?"
The Rodeo-Chedeski fire was two huge forest/brush fires that combined, ultimately burning over 468,000 acres. That's a little over 732 square miles of burned area. To put that into perspective, that's quite a bit larger than the entire city of Los Angeles, at 501 sqare miles, but smaller than Orange County, California, which is 948 square miles. The Rodeo Fire was started on June 18, 2000, by an out of work man, hoping to earn some money on the fire crews. He was later charged. The Chedeski fire was started on June 20, by a woman who reportedly got lost while riding a quad. She was not charged, though years later, there was a civil case against her. The two huge fires, driven by dry conditions and high winds, burned together over June 21-22. 2000. The combined fire had a perimeter of over 200 miles at times, and the plume of smoke could be seen from space, driftng from Arizona all the way to Oklahoma. Around 40,000 people, mostly from the towns of Show Low and Heber-Overgaard, and surrounding areas, had to evacuate. Over 400 homes were burned in the fire, which was the largest fire in Arizona history, until 2011. You can read the technical details on the Wikipedia page.
I asked someone in the mini mart by the bus stop where the Red Cross evacuation site was, and they didn't know. I still wasn't sure I even had the right city. The fire was 40 miles or more away. One of the customers in the store heard me, and asked a couple of other people outside. Someone told me they were set up at the high school, and gave me directions how to get there. It was close to a two mile walk, in 105+ degrees. My backpack was a little day pack, and I was in pretty decent shape then, so I bought a bottle of Gatorade and a bottle of water, and headed to Holbrook High School, across the small city. When I got there, I saw dozens of cars in the parking lot, and campers on the grass areas and on the baseball field. I found the gym, walked in and told the first Red Cross volunteer I saw, "Hi, I'm Steve, I'm from California, I'd like to volunteer and help out." That confused her, since I wasn't an official Red Cross volunteer, she couldn't figure out why someone from California would come across two states to volunteer. I told her I was in between jobs, and just felt like doing some good somewhere. She told me to have a seat, and they'd find something for me to do.
I hung out for an hour or so, then a guy walked in, saying that a truck had just come from Red Cross, and they needed people to help unload it. So I walked out, got in a line of people, and helped unload a semi truck full of cases of water and other supplies. We did it bucket brigade style, passing boxes from person to person. That was how it started for me.
That night, they told me to sleep on the cots in the gym, which I learned are mostly just set up for the TV news cameras. Hardly anyone really sleeps on those during disasters. Most of the time, they can get people in to hotels, or something similar, in the area. But there were so many people displaced by the Rodeo Chedeski fire, around 40,000 total, and several thousand staying in Holbrook, that the cots were used for people for their first night or two.
The high school had many students that lived there, being part boarding school, during the school year, so there were 200 beds or more, as I recall, in the dorm building next door. I wound up staying there afterwards, along with a couple hundred people displaced form the fire. The next morning, I got up early, ate breakfast with many others in the high school cafeteria, where volunteers were cooking, then took a shower in the locker room, then went to the gym. I hung out and helped give out water and snacks, and began talking to people as they came in and applied for the help the Red Cross offered to fire victims.
Even though Holbrook is a relatively poor city, overall, every day people were coming from many miles around to donate items like clothes, toiletries, stuff animals and toys for kids, and even pet food for people's dogs and cats. Loosely led by the local Red Cross volunteers, I was amazed at how many people were showing up with trunk loads of items to help the people displaced. I helped unload a lot of cars and trucks that first day, as well as trucks with items that Red Cross was shipping in. When I got bored, I walked around the campus a bit. There were people in the dormitory, with women volunteering to cook there, with their own food, for all their families. There were cars and trucks in the parking lot, with a lot of people staying in their vehicles, despite the heat (they were hardcore Arizona desert people). There were also dozens of campers, of all kinds, parked on the baseball field and all the grass areas. There was even a closed down motel, a couple blocks away, that opened all its rooms, despite having no power, to let people stay there.
As I sat in the gym, by the snacks, I began to meet and talk to the people of the area, both volunteers and the victims of the fire. One thing people kept asking for was ice. Most people were buying their own food, or at least snacks, though the Red Cross had people preparing free meals. But in the summer heat, the local stores ran out of ice, and people didn't want to pay for bag after bag, day after day, not knowing how long they would be camped out, and if they'd even have homes to go back to.
On my 3rd of 4th day in Holbrook, my BMX guy/punk rock roots kicked in, and the DIY spirit that came with it. I found a big, green trash can, the kind with wheels, and washed it out really well. Then I went into the high school's snack bar, which local teen girls had turned into a nursery/play room where they watched small kids while their moms cooked or ran errands. There was an ice machine in there. With just a one hand ice scoop, I filled the huge trash can as much as I could, and wheeled it over to the cafeteria part of the dorm building. The ladies there, mostly Navajo women, thanked me profusely, and sent kids down all the hallways to tell people to bring their coolers, and fill them with ice. Those women told me to come back at lunch time, they were making "Navajo pizza," which I learned was homemade pizza on frybread. If anyone ever offers you some, take them up, it was delicious. I started eating lunch over there almost every day.
As I was taking the ice to the dorm, someone asked if I could bring some out to the parking lot later, for the people living in their cars. After checking back in at the gym, to see if they needed me anywhere else, I filled up the big garbage can again, and took ice out to the parking lot. People were thanking me left and right. Like the dorm, everyone brought their coolers to where I was, and filled them up. After taking a break, I filled the garbage can up again, and wheeled it out to the field where the campers were. After that first day, that became my morning routine, and people came to know me as "The Iceman." I made three trips with ice every morning, to those three locations, taking a little break in between, to let the ice machine fill back up. Often one or two of the teen kids helped fill the can with ice, which gave me a break.
When I wasn't doing that, I would usually head into the gym, and hang out and hand out the snacks. When trucks came in, I would go help unload them with 20 or 25 other people. That's what I did, day after day, in Holbrook. It never got old. The fire was still not contained, and those 5,000 or so people staying in, and around, the high school, didn't know if their homes had burned down or not. There was a huge feeling of uncertainty for all of them. Just not knowing what was going on back in their town or their area was the worst part for many of them.
Every evening, the head firefighters would come to the high school, and give a talk about where the fire had burned that day, how bad things were, the areas where homes may have burned, and the best infromation they had, to all who wanted to hear. This was an audio/visual talk, with a big screen and overhead projector. We wound up setting up about 30-40 chairs for people who wanted to watch. Being a former lighting tech in Hollywood a few years earlier, I took the initiative one day to find some duct tape, since no one in the high school had actual gaffer's tape. I ran the audio lines out to where the equipment was set up each night, and taped them down, the way we did for TV shows, or corporate events, in the entertainment industry. With that done, the fire fighters could just plug in real quick, and it saved 15 minutes or so of set-up time each night. That was another random skill that happened to come in handy in Holbrook.
As the days went on, I found that just sitting and talking to people, about anything but the fire, was also one of the most helpful things. People were tired, scared, worried, and full of uncertainty. Telling stories and jokes, and listening to their stories, helped everyone pass the time. Meanwhile the high school turned into a little, makeshift city of sorts. Tween and teen girls watched the young kids in the "play room" full of toys, and babysat babies and children in people's campers or area. The older teens worked to help in the makeshift kennel, a room where people's dogs, cats, rabbits, hamsters, and other pets were kept in cages. They helped feed, water, walk, and clean up after a few dozen pets. Some of the adults helped unload trucks, and move items to whomever needed them. Women throughout the whole area cooked in groups, and watched after each other's kids. Adults went shopping at local stores for whatever supplies they needed. Most people left their homes with very little warning, and had left most of their person stuff behind.
We got to know many of the different people who were there, on the high school grounds. One that gained everyone's respect was a woman named Minnie. She sat, all day long, in her pick-up truck, with a puppy she called Pup. She seemed completely unphased by the long days of the heat. That was true of many of the people there, but Minnie was 90-years-old. She lived alone in a small house in the mountains, and a neighbor man drove her to Holbrook in her truck, then caught a ride back to get his own. He kept an eye on Minnie, who had lived a long life of self-sufficiency. She became one of the best known people on the grounds, and an inspiration to all.
At one point, the smoke from the fire blew into Holbrook, and the daytime sky turned to a surreal orange. Most of us got smoke throat, where your throat gets sore and raspy for a few days. I got a good, double cannister facemask given to me, which helped as I took the ice out, and wandered around outside.
I think I was in Holbrook for about two weeks, when people from the Show Low area, and the smaller towns of Heber-Overgaard, and the surrounding areas, got the OK, to head back to their homes. Around 400 homes had burned down in a couple of weeks, The enormous fire was still raging, but contained. I still hadn't earned any money to get a bus back home, and I knew there was going to be another Red Cross station in Heber-Overgaard, as well as Show Low. I hitched a ride with a guy to Heber-Overgaard, a place I'd never been to, to continue volunteering there, and to eventually find some work, to earn money for the trip back to California. After the first day or two in Holbrook, I didn't question my decidion to go volunteer. I was definitely helping out, doing something worthwhile. It wasn't hard at all to work all day. Though nothing I was doing was anything exceptional, just doing normal, everyday things, for people in a really horrible situation, was its own reward. It was well worth it to make that trip to Holbrook, for me. And that felt really really cool. There was no, "Why do I do this every day?" like in so many of our normal job. The work was helpful and really fulfilling. It's great to work and be a part of something bigger than yourself. I didn't have a boss, just people who needed different things done at different times. When I saw something that needed done, that no one was doing, I could just take the initiative, and make it happen. With dozens of people doing the same thing, we came together, and helped a huge group of people get through a really tough time in their lives. I saw the best side of humanity there in Holbrook in those couple of weeks. That's why I'm finally sharing this story, 20 years later. With all the chaos in today's world, this post is just a little reminder of the good side of human beings, and what happens when a bunch of people work together for a good reason.
The Heber-Overgaard chapter of the story comes next, I'll continue that part of the story in part 2 of this post.
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