Page One

Early on Oct. 20, 1991, John Traugott was finishing up a morning run in the Berkeley hills. The UC Berkeley English professor was rounding a curve a few blocks from his house when he noticed the eastern sky turning orange.  

Traugott had seen that same orange sky in 1970, when a wildfire devastated the East Bay hills.  

“I immediately knew what it was,” Traugott said. “And I knew the whole place was going to go.” 

The firestorm he saw would eventually raze his home on Alvarado Road and more than 3,000 others in Oakland and Berkeley. The concrete of Traugott’s patio turned to dust. Heavy iron cooking pots melted into mush.  

But perhaps most painful to Traugott, he lost two manuscripts of unfinished books that he had spent years creating. He has spent the last 10 years trying to create them again.  

The firestorm of 1991 wrenched many things from its victims. Thousands lost their homes, dozens lost their lives. But for many of the artists, writers, photographers and academics who populated the hills of the East Bay, they say the loss that truly broke their hearts was their work.  

On that morning, Traugott felt paralyzed by the enormity of the fire and the impossible decisions it demanded.  

“I was wondering what to do,” he said. “I couldn’t think of what to take out. So I just sat there.” 

Traugott was alone – his wife Elizabeth was in Chicago. Unable to react, he sat in his kitchen for about a half-hour, munching toast and drinking coffee, watching the orange sky grow darker. Distraught and disoriented, he finally managed pull himself out of his funk enough to do something.  

“I decided I’d get a suitcase and put something in it,” he recalled. “Then I went downhill to the Claremont hotel, and I opened up the suitcase and there wasn’t anything in it. I forgot to put anything in it – I was totally confused.” 

Eventually, he thought to retrieve the computer he said contained the two manuscripts – a book of essays on Jonathan Swift and a book about 18th century writers Samuel Richardson and Pierre Choderlos de Laclos. He walked back through the bushes, grabbed the computer and put it in his car before the house burned.  

But the computer was full of smoke, which can destroy the data inside. He later took it to a specialist who tried to salvage it, but who actually did more damage to it, Traugott said. By then, there was nothing left of the manuscripts.  

“They’re both gone,” he said. “I couldn’t go back and redo the research – I just didn’t have the energy at that point. So these two books are being rewritten from the top of my head, totally.” 

But Traugott, age 70, said he wonders whether he will ever finish the work.  

“I’m trying to finish it, but it goes so slowly. There are times when I can’t work on the books, because, I don’t know, I’ve done it before. It’s so fatiguing to try and recover these things.” 

*** 

For others in the Berkeley Hills, remaking what was lost was never even an option.  

Nancy Pollack, a painter and sculptor, had been in Hawaii when the fire hit. She lost a life’s worth of work when her house on Gravatt Drive burned. Strangely, Pollack, a self-professed packrat, felt the loss as a sort of liberation.  

“I never cried,” she said. “And I’m so emotional – I cry at everything.” 

Since there was no way remake years of original art, Pollock said she took the opportunity to start anew.  

“I said, gee, I can be anything I want. I don’t have a past,” she said. “I thought, maybe I won’t even have some of the same challenges. Maybe I won’t have trouble with the right-hand corner of my paintings any more.” 

Among her first projects after the fire, Pollock took the few items still recognizable after the blaze and worked them into sculptures: a set of blackened silverware mounted on a bronze-colored base, shards of clay pots arranged around an odd deck of cards that miraculously survived.  

“I don’t take myself that seriously anymore, because hey, poof, it’s gone,” she said.  

*** 

Jeremy Larner, a novelist, poet and Oscar-winning screenwriter who lived on Grand View Drive, drove to safety with his computer. In the confusion of the moment, Larner had grabbed not just the hard disk containing eight years of work, but made several trips to get the heavy computer components.  

“It’s interesting what you take when you run out of your house,” he said. “It was ridiculous for me to carry out my computer printer.” 

What he did not think to grab were 30 years worth of notebooks and a filing cabinet containing two manuscripts, including an unpublished novel. But, like Pollock, he said he felt almost unburdened by the loss.  

“The funny thing is that I was relieved,” he said. “I never missed them. Whatever was in those notebooks belonged to somebody I no longer was.”  

Larner would later write about going back to where his house had stood, and finding the filing cabinet: 

“Inside, I see a miracle – a sheaf of papers. I see letters, print – the lost manuscripts! I strain against the metal till I can wedge my hand inside. And the pages turn to dust in my fingers.” 

In the last ten years, many fire victims have rebuilt their houses and their lost work. John Traugott’s once-verdant backyard had been reduced to cinders, but now it blooms again, complete with towering redwood trees that have grown entirely since the fire.  

“It all came back,” said Traugott. “That’s been the most satisfying thing about the recovery. Ashes are good for growing.”