SAVING A HOUSE
Kent points out where he climbed to save his house (Photo – Cheryl Cabot)
The evening of January 7 began ordinarily enough for Kent Kachigian, his wife Norma and their son Kent Jr. They were having dinner at Islands in Pasadena at about 7:00 pm; as they settled into their meal, a waiter informed them they would have to take their meals to go—the restaurant was closing early.
By Cheryl Cabot
Gathering their to-go boxes, they headed to their car and drove home, unaware of the terror to come.
Arriving home in the foothills of Altadena, and learning of the encroaching fire, Kent had Norma and Kent Jr. evacuate, but decided to stay behind. With Fred, his neighbor across the street, Kent drove up to Eaton Canyon to assess the fire’s location and its path. By then, one out of every eight houses in the area was already burning.
“No firetrucks or firemen were to be seen,” Kent said. They had all been dispatched to the Palisades fire.
Desperate to save his home, Kent began watering down piles of debris and leaves, eaves, gutters and window wells. He couldn’t reach the top roof, but he could reach the screened porch roof by putting a ladder on a table and pulling the hose up with a dog leash. Once on the lower roof, he began spraying upward, and nature helped him out; the wind swirling above his house caught the water and sprayed it all over his roof. He left the hose wedged into the corner of the roof continuously spraying water up to the roof.
He also nailed down windows as the strong winds pushed against them, not allowing the fire to get sucked into the house.
The fire was getting closer and closer.
At 4:45 am, Kent decided it was time to leave. He’d done all he could; houses were burning around him, and the heat was intense. But his two dogs, panicked by the flames, ran upstairs. Kent carried each dog down and placed them in their kennels in the back of his pickup truck. As he pulled out of the driveway, Fred’s truck across the street exploded.
At a hotel, watching the news, Kent saw footage of his own street. “I could kind of see the big tree in front of our house was green and I thought, the tree would have taken the house or the house would have taken the tree. They would both be standing or not.’”
On a chat line with neighbors Kent learned his house was the only one still standing on the street.
The next day, Kent and Kent Jr. went up to their house to see if it really was still standing. The house was still standing, the only one on the street, but the danger was far from over. Without water, they resorted to using cups and Super Soaker water guns filled from the pool to put out small fires. As they were working, they were getting burned by small embers flying around. A small fire along the wall of the garage kept reigniting. Kent finally grabbed a sledgehammer, tore open the wall, and extinguished the flames inside, likely saving the house from further damage.
But as soon as the garage fire was under control, Kent Jr. pointed out, “Hey, it’s burning over here now,” pointing to a compost pile and hedge along the neighbor’s yard.
While the house itself had escaped major damage, there was still clear evidence of the fire’s ferocity. Heat had bubbled the windows and doors on one side of the house. The shutters were blackened and warped, and the garage bore burn marks and big splashes of tar from melted power lines coated in heavy rubber—clear signs of extreme heat.
A small lending library left standing at a neighbor’s house (Photo – Cheryl Cabot)
The fire began on Tuesday. With the very real threat of looters and no water or power, Kent “camped out” at his house. Two weeks later, large SCE repair trucks rumbled past with the promise of eventually getting power back on.
The street was a war zone—rubble, burned-out cars, and homes reduced to ash. At the house next door, the only thing left standing was the mailbox and a small lending library. The children’s outdoor playset was twisted metal.
At another house, only a half-burned tree remained. Despite the devastation, small green sprouts had already begun to emerge from its branches.
Kent’s old neighbor, Olive, in her 80s, was with her family, looking through the rubble for memories. Except for the garage, the house where she had raised her family was gone. Only a lone fireplace was standing.
One thing may have helped save the Kachigian house: a large Deodar cedar tree in the front yard. Known for its drooping branches and feathery foliage, the tree also retains moisture, and Kent believes many of the embers that might have ignited the house were instead absorbed by the tree and extinguished there.
Standing in the front yard, people were stopping by to see Kent. There were hugs, but no tears; those had already been shed. The recurring theme was the closeness of the neighborhood. “We always looked after one another,” Kent said. “If someone was going on a trip, they’d give us a key to check on their house.”
The Kachigian house stood as a testament to what had been.
“I came here for a house, but it turned into a neighborhood,” Kent said. “Now it’s just a house.”
This article has been published in our 2025 February Print Edition.
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