From Magazine C / Spring 2025 / magazinec.com

Photography by KURT ISWARIENKO
Words by CHRISTINE LENNON

DALE FIELDER, 68

Composer, band leader, and multi-instrumentalist (he plays all four saxophones — soprano, alto, tenor, and baritone) who lost his home and studio in the Eaton fire

“I came out to L.A. from New York in 1988. I got into the scene here playing at 5th Street Dick’s and founded the Clarion Jazz label in 1993. I met my wife, who lived in Pasadena, and we decided to try living together nearby in Altadena. That was 16 years ago. Most Black folks know about Altadena, but I’ll never forget the first time I went out there. I couldn’t believe how much I liked it. We were sitting on the patio one night and my wife asked me, “Can you see yourself here in five years?” And I said, “You could bury me in that backyard.” We rented the house, but we treated it like our own. We grew tangerines, kumquats, and avocados. I turned the garage into my studio, and I would sit in the lush backyard and express my gratitude.

The night of the fire I was performing at The Baked Potato with one of the top five drummers in jazz, Marvin “Smitty” Smith. My wife and I were heading home at about 1 a.m. and from the 134 we could see all the hillside on fire. Both of us were so quiet.

“I could see the flames from the yard and I thought, ‘Maybe I should put my saxophones in the car?’ ”

At home, I could see the flames from the yard and I thought, “Maybe I should put my saxophones in the car?” I was so tired after this gig that I just wanted to rest. Then the phones went off telling us to evacuate.

We ended up at the convention center in Pasadena. I managed to sleep for about an hour. Then I went on Facebook and I saw a neighbor, Louis Van Taylor from Kool and the Gang, said his house was gone. So I went out to see it for myself. When I got to my block, it was gone. I sat in the car and bellowed.

Now everybody knows what we always knew about Altadena. It felt like the best-kept secret. Neighbors respected each other. Especially for African-Americans, that history went back to the 1930s. Even if they rebuild, it’s never going to be the same. “

People who don’t understand Los Angeles perceive it to be an isolating place. They grouse about a disconnected city linked by crowded but lonely freeways, and never quite manage to crack the surface to find its heart. True Angelenos, the people who love this flawed but beautiful place, see things differently. They recognize that there are close-knit, authentic communities to be found in every corner of the sprawl. These come in the form of physical neighborhoods, places like the Pacific Palisades and Altadena, charming hamlets where generations have cared for modest bungalows and architectural treasures hidden among the trees. They know that broader communities also exist among groups of like-minded people drawn together by common interests, like conservation, or a shared cultural heritage, or a love for the arts — especially a love for the arts.

Where else in the United States is there a higher concentration of working artists who are not just subsisting but thriving? An army of composers, painters, milliners, musicians, hair and makeup artists, ceramicists, graphic designers, production designers, interior designers, costume designers, floral designers, clothing designers, writers, furniture makers, healers, and performers of all kinds call this city home. Their work, and the sunshine, is what makes the whole place sparkle. Tragically, the fires hit the creative community extremely hard, and the stories of their loss are profound.

A spreadsheet of more than 100 working musicians who lost their homes, studios, and instruments — many of them teachers and performers for the Los Angeles Philharmonic — has circulated widely online. Many of them, like legendary saxophonist Dale Fielder, had a lifetime of sheet music and archives, as well as rare instruments, that vanished overnight.

When you ask residents of Altadena and the Palisades who had time to load their cars before they fled what they reached for first, they’ll tell you about their art. After family photos and important documents, they took rare drawings and prints off the walls, or grabbed armloads from a carefully curated vinyl collection. Second to the people and animals that perished, it’s the lost art that haunts people most.