Chicago, I Would Like to Love You, But . . . .

Thursday I had a professional conference in Chicago, hopefully learning how to be a better General Counsel. After arriving Wednesday night I woke to a sunny, crystal clear, 68 degree day, which got me out and about at lunchtime.

I learned that Lake Michigan is big . . . like, really BIG.  I also learned that Chicagoans really seem to like the cold -- not outside, a perfect 68 degrees which was fine for me, but apparently it was reason for Northwestern University to absolutely crank the air conditioning in the auditorium where the conference was being held -- I think I have found Rick Bozzelli's people.  I had to wear a coat just for sitting inside.

Once the first day was over, I headed out into a spectacular Chicago evening.

Birthplace of the Skyscraper and home of Frank Lloyd Wright, it is a wonderful feast for the eyes just to walk around and see the architecture as the evening sets in.

Plus their street art is kind of cool.

I found a little sidewalk Italian cafe advertising the "best spaghetti and meatballs ever," and had to try it out.

They were right!  I thought, 'I could really like this town, the only thing missing is my beautiful wife.'  She is my forever travel buddy, and I can't go anywhere on my own without really missing her.

Lost in that thought, I wandered back towards my hotel, when suddenly I was jolted by this:

"Not Ostentatious" as Kate said sarcastically after I texted her a picture (as to that text -- who doesn't enjoy annoying their teenage daughter, right?).  It was definitely a scar on an otherwise beautiful city, and I am telling you, from the moment I saw it, everything changed.

The next morning, I woke up too late, to a pouring rain. Lunch at the conference left much to be desired, and what I ate gave me a stomach ache that I thought was going to turn out much worse than it ended up (thank you Tums).  I left the conference earlier than I wanted to because I was worried about getting to the airport through traffic for my 6:30 flight (and people in Chicago apparently believe that even conferences should go to the very end of the Friday workday).  I proceeded to sit in standstill traffic for at least an hour and a half, only to arrive at the airport and find out that my flight was delayed until 10:00 that evening.  Despite my best wandering around forever efforts I found only very mediocre food, and then settled in, having plenty of time to explore. The only positive was finding this F4F Wildcat.

Then it got worse.  I thought it was raining before, but I had no idea. "Rain" in Chicago also apparently means lightning every five seconds or less.  Kathleen later told me that 5 inches came down in an hour.  Of course, and appropriately, this meant flights being cancelled right and left.  Except mine. Delta kept telling me, "delayed by one hour," again and again. At 10:00 pm, the plane we were waiting for was just pushing back from the gate in Salt Lake City, and I asked the Chicago gate attendant, "are you sure that the plane will actually take off if it lands here at two in the morning?"  Just as I said that, Delta sent me a text saying my flight was rescheduled to 2:24 am.  So I sat, and waited in an uncomfortable blue chair. Meanwhile, this was going on all around the airport:

Thinking I would be leaving, I did not grab a cot when they started laying them out.  Silly me.  At 1:00 am I received a text from Delta saying "Your flight has been delayed until 9:00 a.m. Saturday September 28. Sorry for the inconvenience."  Really, it said exactly that.  WHY couldn't they have told me that at 9:00 pm, when I could have had a cot, or better yet, high-tailed it for a hotel and some decently long sleep?  AAARGHHH.   Staring at my blue chair, I just couldn't do it, so I called the downtown hotel where I had been staying, begged them to put me up for the next five hours, grabbed a cab, and proceeded to have the most expensive four hour sleep in all the history of my sleeping.  The plane didn't take off until 10:30 Saturday morning, leaving me dragging my poor tired butt back to my family at 3:00 pm, having wasted half the weekend.

Lessons learned:

1) O'Hare is purgatory, avoid it like the plague;

2) Delayed planes NEVER take off at 2:00 a.m., no matter what any idiot airline is telling you; and

3) Whenever you see the word "TRUMP, " avert your eyes like your life depends on it -- it will infect your life with chaos otherwise.

You have been warned.

Fire In the Hills

Away at a corporate retreat on Friday (August 30^th 2019), I woke at about 5:30 am and, looking at my phone, was greeted by these words from my wife:   “Wildfire on the hill. Boys and Pets at Kevin’s. Neighborhood has been evacuated. Nothing you can do.”  My heart sank and my mind raced. I headed home as quickly as I could get there. The story is really Kathleen’s, and all of my wonderful neighbors to tell, as I was about as useless as a man can be during the critical hours, sound asleep with my phone turned off.  Here is what they told me. 

Our ward members down the hill on Ninth East, Lisa and Luke Wait, had stayed up watching the Utah BYU Football game, the end of which had been significantly delayed by lightening striking in the area.  She recalls looking outside up the hill, in the direction of our home, at around 12:50, and not noticing anything out of the ordinary. 

Steve and Emily Swenson, who live just a few doors down from the Waits, had also been up late watching the game and were going to bed. Steve just happened to take one final look out of his bedroom window, up the hill towards our house, at 12:55, and saw a huge orange glow. They immediately jumped in their car,  and drove up the hill on Northern Hills and then Northridge Drive (our street).  What they saw scared them, and was hard to digest.  A huge grass fire was bearing down on the homes on the North side of Northridge drive (across the street from us) and no one was stirring – no dogs barking, no sirens wailing, nothing. 

The Swensons began furiously knocking on doors, starting with the Asays (house pictured above), just across the street from us and up one house, as that home looked to be most threatened.

Half way across the city to the south, on the other side of Millcreek, Kathleen’s brother Kevin was tired and in and out of sleep after watching a movie.  He happened to look out his bedroom window, and saw fire racing down hill towards the house where he grew up, and where Kathleen and I now live. At 1:02, he called Kathleen.  Somehow, completely out of routine, she had not put her phone on silent that evening, of all evenings.  And somehow, even harder to believe, in a deep sleep with earplugs in and a sleeping mask on, she heard the phone ringing.  Throwing on a skirt and going to look out the front door, she saw a wall of flame bearing down on the neighbors' houses across the street.  There were no sirens sounding,  and no officials on the road that she could see.  She thought, “we’re done for.”  She ran downstairs to wake the boys, telling them "we have to evacuate" and to get dressed and get the cats.

Alden, thinking very clearly, kept Toothless shut in his room and ran upstairs to get the cat carriers.  He remembers coming upstairs and seeing nothing but bright orange light coming in through all of the windows.  He grabbed the cat carriers, and with Keegan’s help loaded up Toothless, Skylar and Grace (who by no small miracle was inside that evening sleeping on the couch downstairs), found a makeshift box for Kronos (our much neglected Bearded Dragon, who was almost forgotten) and together with Keegan packed them up to the car – no small feat, given that it involved herding cats.

Meanwhile, Kathleen was upstairs,  first deciding what you should wear to a fire (definitely not a skirt), and then grabbing our important papers, toiletries, etc.  Loading up everyone in the suburban, and looking across the street at the approaching fire, she decided she had time to run back in and grab the external hard drives off my computer (where we keep all of our photos) and my recently purchased (and very expensive) camera.  While she did that, Alden took a video of the fire, on which cats are meowing like the end of the world (or a trip to the vet, whichever might be worse) and Keegan can be heard saying, “Oh great, Mom is going to get us killed for a camera.” In the video, you can see the wind blowing hard which explains how quickly the fire moved and spread.

From there, they fled to Kathleen’s father's house, just down the street (which was also in the evacuation zone), where Kevin met them and took the boys, pets and key things to his house.  Kathleen, being who she is, then went back into the neighborhood to help fight the fire.  Some firefighters were on the scene; one of them asked her if she had a garden hose. She ran back to the house, got it, went over to the Asays, (which was still under threat from fires right under its eaves on the east side), hooked it up and started pouring water into the flames. Clair Asay would later credit her (“all five foot one, ninety five pounds of her” in his words) with helping save his house. (She indignantly told him that she is at least 5'2"). 

At that point, the Pyper’s home, across the street and one down from our house (the second house down from the Asays), had started on fire.   

In between Asay’s and the Pypers was Mitri Muna’s house, which has a shake shingle roof and is mostly wood, with lots of wood decking and tall pine trees and scrub oaks around it. Mitri was out there with hoses, wetting down everything he could.  Roger Peck, a neighbor from down the street and around a bend or two, somehow was there helping.  Kent Whitehead, two doors down from Pyper’s, was video taping from his home while running the sprinklers, looking up hill past Bacons and to where Mitri and other homes were. His video shows the intensity of the flame at around 1:48, and it is a thing that looks to consume all in its path.  Mitri’s trees in back were beginning to catch fire, and further down the street from Kent, flames were approaching the Brownings' and  the Summers' homes, which looked to be right in the path of the approaching holocaust. 

Then, suddenly, the wind shifted, blowing the flames away from Northridge Drive. Mitri calls it an absolute miracle, as did the Brownings and the Asays. Kent Whitehead actually caught the windshift on video, at 1:50 a.m. It sends chills up my spine to see it – the fire practically goes out, as it is forced back onto burned out areas that are deprived of fuel. Here is Kent's video:

A long night was ahead, with Kathleen and others in the ward on our street continuing to spray water on embers and hotspots, but now with more firefighter help, some having arrived from as far away as Clinton.  The authorities remained highly concerned for two more days about potential windshifts and sparks re-igniting the flames or jumping fire lines.   We were not allowed back into our house officially until Saturday at around 9:00 am, after a lot of airdrops with fire retardant.  

In the left of the photo above, you can see the blackened patch that is next to the Asays, where it came down beside their home, which is just out of site to the left. They are dropping retardant close by.  When we got back in, it was clear how close it had come. 

Looking up hill from the Asay's back yard.

Looking at Muna's back yard and the Pyper's beyond.

All this caused by a simple, untended campfire, which we went to see a few days later.

I suppose that could make you very angry, and it kind of does, that people are so careless with things that can really harm others.

But then I think about all the early warnings, from people who just happened to be up at 12:55 a.m., and the sudden wind-shift -- things could have been soooo much worse.  Knowing the people in my ward, and neighborhood, how good they are, how hard they work to practice the real gospel of caring for and helping others, and the feeling of just how special this neighborhood is, I feel certain that the wind-shift was heavenly help.  My neighbors are also certain of that fact.  I know not everyone benefitted, and that some good people lost homes. That is one of the hard things about really believing in miracles -- why do some have them and some not?  I don't have all the answers -- all I can do is trust in God that in time, things will work out for those who lost homes, and that God will be there in the process for them. But I can't let the lack of answers change what I really feel deep in my heart -- that this was divine intervention, and rather than angry, I am simply grateful.

This past week, they found the two individuals, as yet unnamed, that had left the fire without putting it out.  The Taylors, one of the families that lost everything, immediately came out with a statement that they held no ill will.  It shows exactly what I mean when I say Bountiful, and this neighborhood, is just such a special place. We are so lucky to live where we do, despite these recent events.  But it is the character of the people, and not the things, that make it that way.