911 logs show more than a dozen calls from burning west Altadena before evacuations ordered

Long before the evacuation order came, law enforcement officers knew fire was spreading in west Altadena.

At 12:55 a.m. Jan. 8, a sheriff’s official reported a flaming structure on the corner of Las Flores Drive, a few doors down from the home of a 71-year-old who would later die in the fire.

At 2:33 a.m., a Pasadena police officer told 911 dispatchers that flames had consumed Monterosa Drive, where a man would die on his walkway, clutching a garden hose. Ten minutes later, a sheriff’s official warned that fire was encroaching on Wapello Street, not far from where a 94-year-old Korean war veteran perished in his home.

And yet, the first evacuation order for west Altadena did not come until 3:25 a.m., after dispatchers had received at least 14 reports of fire in the area, according to 911 logs from the Los Angeles County Fire Department obtained by The Times.

“I could just hear it in [the 911 operator’s] voice: ‘You’re out of luck,’” said Erin Foley, who called at 2:34 a.m. as she watched tumbleweed-like balls of fire land in her west Altadena yard. “I just felt so utterly abandoned.”

The logs depict a deadly disconnect between dispatchers receiving reports of flaming homes and officials deciding which neighborhoods to evacuate. All but one of the 18 Eaton fire deaths occurred in west Altadena, which got its first alert eight hours after the other side of town.

The 911 logs provide the clearest picture yet of when fire was first reported on the blocks where people died. The county coroner’s office has not released a time of death for any of the victims.

Hundreds of “supplemental reports” — brief, time-stamped summaries of information that dispatchers gleaned from 911 callers, law enforcement and firefighters — are included in the logs. For this story, The Times reviewed the nearly 400 reports created during the fire’s first 12 hours.

Both the county fire department and Sheriff’s Department, who share responsibility for ordering evacuations, have said that first responders were overwhelmed battling flames and helping residents flee as the foothill town morphed into a chaotic hellscape. Hurricane-force winds sprayed embers in unpredictable patterns and almost immediately grounded helicopters, leaving firefighters without aerial support during a nighttime firefight.

The logs underscore the night’s sheer chaos, with calls for help crescendoing around 4 a.m. as residents of west Altadena desperately tried to escape a fire now at their doorsteps.

Here’s how the 911 calls for the first 12 hours of the Eaton fire unfolded.

That night, some nervous families on East Calaveras Street slept in shifts. Others went to bed, convinced there was no chance the wind would shove embers in their direction.

“Very explicitly, my husband and I had this conversation, if the fire were to reach us, all of Altadena would have had to burn,” said Rukmani Jones, who awoke at 1 a.m. to the smell of acrid smoke and rushed her groggy family into the car.

Over the next three and a half hours, dispatchers get dozens of calls from residents reporting flaming palm trees and incinerated yards. People who have already fled keep calling to see if firefighters can salvage homes they’re watching burn through their Ring cameras.

Most of the calls are from Kinneloa Mesa and eastern Altadena. But it’s becoming clear — the fire is posing a real threat to neighborhoods west of Lake Avenue.

Matthew Elgart, a musician, has spent the evening cooking himself a pork chop at his home on East Las Flores Drive. As he gets ready to eat, he sees fire crackling about a dozen blocks away.

He ditches dinner.

“I sat down. I said, ‘What, are you crazy? The flames are going to be here any minute?’” he recalled. “I knew that if I stayed, I would be killed. There’s really no doubt.”

He notices the streets are empty as he flees. He assumes everyone else is already gone.

Soon, the fire will be roaring in western Altadena.

Over the next hour and a half, reports start coming in nearly every minute of newly singed streets, homes and garages. Many of these blazes are reported on the blocks where residents will die.

For most victims, there was no record of a 911 call. Some family members have said they believe their loved ones were likely sleeping by the time the fire arrived.

But others, like 83-year-old Erliene Kelley, call 911 for help.

Erliene Kelley, 83, center, with her daughter Lisa and her son Trevor.

(Briana Navarro)

Her son, Trevor Kelley, 59, last saw his mother at her home around 11 p.m. Jan. 7 — his birthday. The power had gone out, and she was sitting in the dark, clad in all white, holding two flashlights. She looked almost angelic, he recalled.

Blackouts didn’t scare her. Fires, sure, but the blaze was still so far away. She would wait for an evacuation order.

“I know my mother was not prepared to die in that house,” he said. “My mother was a young 83, still drove a new Mercedes.”

He offers to clear the tree branches from the front of her garage, so she has an easy path out. She says it can wait until tomorrow.

By now, dispatchers are flooded with calls from people who are trapped, all in west Altadena.

Disabled residents are stuck in their wheelchairs. Some are bedridden and tell dispatchers they need a gurney.

Those who can escape on their own are finding their driveways blocked by fallen trees.

After being displaced by the Eaton fire, Jonathan Mitchell is staying at a friend’s home in Huntington Beach.

(Carlin Stiehl/For The Times)

On El Prieto Road, Jonathan Mitchell, 59, runs to his neighbor to borrow an electric saw, but the blade snaps. He calls his friends to pick him up, but they say the route is too dangerous.

He calls 911 at 4:17 a.m., and again at 4:43 a.m. as an orange sky rains ash and embers.

“Same response. ‘Stay put. We’re gonna send you firefighters. We’re low in manpower,’” he said. “It was very clear — the cavalry was not coming.”

He gets in his car and prays. That’s when he decides to use his Toyota as a battering ram.

The frantic calls will continue long after the sun rises. Soon, worried family members start dialing in as well, desperate for the location of loved ones they haven’t heard from since the middle of the night.

A few don’t bother with 911.

Kelley, who evacuated to an Ontario hotel after leaving his mother’s home, wakes up and learns the fire has spread to her neighborhood. He and his wife race back around 6 a.m., winding their way through streets rendered unrecognizable by thick black smoke. He finds his mother’s block obliterated, the only identifiable landmark a Cadillac Coupe DeVille parked in front of her house.

He stares at the last place he saw his mother sitting and drives away. The heat is so intense he’s worried it’ll bust the car windows.

He checks his phone and notices for the first time the text his mother sent at 3:30 a.m. — five minutes after the evacuation order for her neighborhood went out.

She told her son she was preparing to leave.

But by then, no one was left to help her.