As his world burned, he stayed put
Survivor says he’s on an island in a sea of destruction, writes Simon Romero
As his neighbours fled, Kevin Jeys read. Then, as a mammoth wildfire moved in, he took a break from flipping through a New Yorker magazine and stepped outside to see what was happening.
“Propane tanks were exploding all over the place, people were screaming and the embers from the buildings on fire around me were crackling,” said Mr Jeys, 62, a paralegal who writes briefs for criminal defence lawyers. “But I knew then and there I wasn’t going anywhere. I thought, where the hell am I going to go with three cats?”
So, Mr Jeys — who does not own a cellphone or functioning vehicle but does, in addition to the three cats, have a cockatoo, a zebra finch, two tree frogs and a red translucent bearded dragon lizard — stayed put. Somehow the home he rents on Birch Street emerged unscathed from a firestorm that turned most of Paradise into charred ruins and killed dozens of area residents.
Just about the entire town of 27,000 people has evacuated to safe zones. But not Mr Jeys, who was outside his home on Tuesday. He still isn’t going anywhere, he said.
Mr Jeys’ remarkable decision to stay in a home that somehow survived the Camp Fire offers a glimpse into the unpredictable behaviour of both wildfires and those trapped in them.
Authorities made it clear from the start of the fire that Paradise had to be evacuated.
Saying he was concerned about continuing hazards in the devastated areas, Sheriff Kory L Honea of Butte County repeatedly warned residents that they were not allowed in the evacuation zones without a police escort. He also said he wanted to protect the evacuated homes and businesses from looters.
“I have warned people time and time again,” the sheriff said at a briefing last week. “If you’re in these evacuated areas where you shouldn’t be, and you are violating the law or taking advantage of these poor citizens who were displaced, we are going to stop you and take you to jail if we find that you are violating the law.”
Up and down suburban lanes, in one cul-de-sac after another in Paradise, some of the only structures that remain standing are the brick fireplaces of homes otherwise gutted by the firestorm. What remains of families’ personal effects are laid bare. There are also a number of homes and businesses intact, vacant of their owners and an inviting target for thieves.
Nearly every natural disaster includes people like Mr Jeys. Some refuse to leave during Category 5 hurricanes, arguing they are safer in their homes than in panic-ridden traffic jams. Others express fear of looting if they leave, opting to defend their property.
Mr Jeys acknowledged that the fact that his home was made largely of cinder block instead of wood or drywall may have made the structure more fire resistant. Still, he pointed at the dry pine needles in his yard — fuel for a fast-moving wildfire — and wondered why they didn’t burn.
A fire crew in Paradise also lent a hand, extinguishing a blaze that was ripping through an alleyway behind his dwelling. From his front porch, Mr Jeys said he could still see nearby structures going up in flames. He glimpsed squirrels and birds scurrying along the ground on an empty lot in front of his home, as if escaping the heat above.
“I woke up the next day and Paradise looked a little like Dresden,” said Mr Jeys, clad entirely in black from head (felt brimmed hat) to toe (those cowboy boots).
Surviving the Camp Fire was one challenge for Mr Jeys; enduring its aftermath is another.
Power and telephone services went off after the fire, on Nov 8. Three weeks later, they have yet to come back on. Mr Jeys, who relied on a landline to access the internet, does not have a way to keep in touch with people on social media.
Asked why he never got a cellphone, Mr Jeys stared shortly into the distance before responding. “My ex would say it’s because I’m a Leo who’s resistant to change,” he said. “That sounds about right.”
However, Mr Jeys, who explained he was a journalist in this part of California until economic upheaval in the newspaper industry forced him to change professions, said he stayed informed by listening to a local AM station on a battery-powered transistor radio. To keep warm at night, when temperatures in Paradise dip into the 40s, Mr Jeys said he used a wood stove. Water service in his home has been restored, but he does not have hot water, which means he has not bathed for a while.
“I’m too chicken for cold water,” Mr Jeys, bespectacled and generously whiskered, said.
Otherwise, Mr Jeys has largely relied on the kindness of strangers and friends to make it through this ordeal.
Since the fire hit, Mr Jeys said he found himself grappling with feelings of guilt and bewilderment. He said he had listened to radio reports on the staggering number of people who died in the fire, now at 84, as well as the hundreds listed as missing.
“I know people who escaped with only the clothes on their backs,” he said. “Others didn’t make it out at all, and here I am. I find myself asking how that can be sometimes.”
Mr Jeys said he was also pondering the apparent randomness of which structures were razed in the fire and which ones remain unscathed.
Mr Jeys said he did not venture far when he strolled around Paradise. He heard through the grapevine of workers sifting through the rubble that the town might have another person or two who similarly decided to stick it out. But if so, he said, he hasn’t run across them.
Gazing at the conifer and oak trees that still tower over his home, he said the tragedy reminded him how unpredictable life can be.
“Look at me,” Mr Jeys said. “I now live on an island in a sea of destruction.”