From Destruction to ‘Dena Strong’
The Eaton Fire of January 2025 inflicted pain and loss on members of the USC Chan community. Now, hope defines their respective futures.
By Daniel P. Smith
View/download this article in the USC Chan Magazine as a PDF document (2.92MB).
Amid the eerie, early-morning darkness on Wednesday, Jan. 8, 2025, Joshua Kotler stood before his Altadena, California, home clutching hope and a garden hose.
As the wildfire swept westward and smoke consumed the typically crisp foothill air, Kotler continued watering the roof of the three-bedroom ranch home he and his wife, Emily, had purchased, gutted and renovated just less than two years prior.
His phone binged with a text from Emily: “Leave now.”
His father-in-law called with a similarly succinct, urgent message: “My daughter and grandchildren need you.”
Kotler dropped the hose and his futile attempt to combat Mother Nature’s indiscriminate wrath. He stepped into his car and began driving away down the cul-de-sac. Peering into his rearview mirror, he saw flames and uncertainty.
The Eaton Fire of January 2025 devastated the foothill communities northeast of Los Angeles, particularly Altadena, a 42,000-resident unincorporated community sitting about 13 miles northeast of the USC Health Sciences Campus.
The wildfire torched more than 14,000 acres, destroyed nearly 9,500 structures and claimed the lives of 17 civilians, according to the California Department of Forestry and Fire Protection.
Numerous individuals affiliated with USC Chan — faculty members like Kotler, an assistant professor of clinical occupational therapy, as well as students and alumni — had their homes destroyed by the Eaton Fire. It was the largest disaster event to impact USC occupational therapy since damage from the 1987 Whittier Narrows earthquake forced the program’s relocation from the Rancho Los Amigos hospital campus in Downey, California, to the USC Health Sciences Campus.
The Eaton Fire delivered devastation, shock and loss. It also inspired acts of kindness and proof of human resiliency.
One of the last photos Kotler took as his family evacuated was of the scene looking back up at the hills behind his street (photo courtesy of Joshua Kotler)
“Reality set in.”
After more than a dozen years living in different spots around Los Angeles, Linsey Grunes ’05, MA ’08, OTD ’15, and her husband, Danny, purchased a home in Altadena in January 2023.
“We intentionally picked Altadena because it’s such a wonderful community,” says Grunes, an associate professor of clinical occupational therapy at USC Chan. “It’s where we wanted to put down roots.”
After a year of renovations, Grunes, her husband and their two young children moved into the home. On trips to local parks, they found a proud, welcoming community. During hikes into the mountains, they discovered nature’s serenity hovering high above urban commotion.
“It was the perfect place for our family,” Grunes says.
Throughout the evening hours of Jan. 7, Grunes tracked the wildfire surging in Eaton Canyon, fueled by 100 mph Santa Ana wind gusts. While nervous, she remained calm and measured for her two children, then four and one. She treated the wildfire-induced power outage as an adventure and honored the household’s nightly routines — dinner, bath and bedtime stories — by candlelight.
Soon after putting her two children to sleep around 8:00 p.m., Grunes’ mother sent a text encouraging her to download the Watch Duty app, a real-time wildfire tracking and alert platform. Grunes obliged. Three hours later, the app shared an evacuation order. They woke the children, grabbed blankets and assorted items and packed the car, bound for a friend’s house in the nearby San Fernando Valley.
“We were in fight-or-flight mode rushing to get out of the house with our kids,” Grunes recalls. “But I never thought we weren’t coming back.”
Once in the car, Grunes got her first clear look at Eaton Canyon. The view shocked her, dramatically raising her level of concern.
“It almost looked like lightning bolts coming down the canyon, and reality set in,” she says.
Throughout the night, Grunes tracked the fire’s steady progress on her phone. Her fear swelled. The next day, a neighbor contacted Grunes.
“It’s gone,” she said of Grunes’ house.
“My heart dropped,” Grunes says.
“Grief on top of grief.”
(Photo courtesy of Ariyana Griffin)
In December 2024, Ariyana Griffin OTD ’28, who earned a degree in health and human sciences from the USC Dornsife College of Letters, Arts and Sciences the previous May, learned USC Chan had accepted her into its occupational therapy graduate program. The achievement’s euphoria, however, proved short-lived.
Days later, her father, Toney Griffin, passed away.
And two weeks later, the Eaton Fire overpowered Altadena and consumed Griffin’s family home of the last dozen years.
“It felt like I was stacking grief on top of grief,” Griffin says.
Before the winds shifted and the Eaton Fire seriously threatened Altadena, Griffin and her mother left their home voluntarily, largely out of concern that the mushrooming smoke would complicate Griffin’s asthma. They packed a few essentials and traveled to Griffin’s grandmother’s home in Highland Park, California.
“It seemed purely precautionary,” Griffin says.
As flames continued consuming Altadena, however, Griffin’s cousin called with a report from the frontlines. Their neighbor’s house was gone, and Griffin’s fence was ablaze.
“I lost hope then,” Griffin says.
The following day, Griffin’s cousin phoned again. She confirmed that Griffin’s home, like all but one other house on their block, was destroyed.
Griffin’s heart pounded and her mind swirled as she considered all she had lost, and all that would never be recovered.
“I had a framed photo near my bed of my dad and I when I was little,” she says. “It was tough to think I’d never see that again.”
“What happened, happened.”
Small fires still smolder at what was left of Griffin’s family home (photo courtesy of Ariyana Griffin)
As sunlight drenched Los Angeles on the morning of Jan. 8, only hours after one of the darkest nights of his life, Kotler received a video on his phone. A neighbor recorded the devastation, panning from one heap of charred ruins to the next.
A day later, Kotler and his wife returned to their neighborhood. They parked their car at the cordon line at the base of the hill, and hiked two miles up the road to their property. Among a sea of black ash and debris, a few small fires still burned.
“We cried,” Kotler says. “It’s all we could do.”
Kotler asked a nearby firefighter if it was possible to look for anything.
“‘Pick one spot and I’ll help you,’” she said.
Kotler pointed to where their family room had stood. A day earlier, that space proudly displayed his young daughters’ holiday decorations; now, it was the scorched remains of furniture and memories. Kotler looked down to find one treasured family heirloom intact: his grandmother’s menorah.
“She was a Holocaust survivor, so that menorah was a symbol of faith, family and perseverance,” he says.
Kotler cradles his grandmother’s menorah, which he found among the charred remains (photo courtesy of Joshua Kotler)
When Kotler began dating Emily, a proud Altadena native, a decade prior in New York, she laid out clear plans for marriage and a family, including pointing to Altadena as their eventual home.
Truth be told, Kotler cringed at the thought. As a native New Yorker, swapping his Big Apple grit for Hollywood glam seemed a betrayal of sorts. Nevertheless, he moved west, admittedly with a void in his heart. It was Emily, his daughters and the dynamic energy of Altadena that made him feel whole again.
“I fell in love with Altadena, and it became home,” Kotler says.
The Eaton Fire, however, eviscerated the community — the Kotlers’ home and those of neighbors, their daughter’s school, beloved restaurants, parks and more. Kotler questioned his next steps.
“What happened, happened,” Kotler says. “You try to find the best way forward.”
“It’s what [we] needed.”
In the aftermath of the Eaton Fire, Altadena residents impacted by the wildfire scrambled to find safety and slivers of normalcy.
The Kotlers lived out of suitcases in San Diego before moving in with various family members across the L.A. area. By the end of January, the couple’s oldest daughter returned to school, albeit a temporary space in Pasadena. Kotler and Emily have focused on showing strength and composure in front of their daughters, who display an innate resiliency that seems to be naturally embedded in youth.
“My oldest daughter said to me the other day how awesome it’s been to be traveling and spending time with different family,” Kotler says. “It’s great that’s her perspective amid all the disarray.”
Grunes and her family first lived with her parents in Ojai, California, and then friends, before finding a short-term rental in Los Angeles, where leasing rates soared as demand (and capitalism) overwhelmed housing supply. More recently, Grunes and her family returned to Ojai — 80-plus miles from the USC campus — to be closer to her parents.
Being a pediatric occupational therapist, Grunes is attuned to the needs of children, especially in the aftermath of a traumatic incident. She leaned on her professional experience to support her own children, prioritizing family time, connection and keeping things simple.
“I’ve focused on how my kids are processing all the change and what I need to do for them,” Grunes says.
Griffin and her mother, meanwhile, moved in with her brother in Orange, California, for three months before securing a rental property near the USC campus.
“It felt too exhausting to look for a new place immediately,” she says. “We were stressed and overwhelmed.”
Amid the emotional upheaval, Griffin calls living with her brother “a blessing” and source of comfort. She appreciated coming home to family and his splashes of comedic relief.
“It’s what my mother and I needed,” Griffin says.
“So much love and support”
A scorched fireplace and chimney mark the remains of what was once the Kotlers’ Altadena home (photo courtesy of Joshua Kotler)
Much as failure prompts personal growth, tragedy often alters life perspectives.
With USC’s spring semester set to start five days after the wildfire ripped through Altadena, the USC Chan community quickly delivered support to Grunes. Colleagues covered her classes, and division leadership formulated a hybrid work schedule. One co-worker established a GoFundMe page, which attracted donations from Chan colleagues, alumni and current students alike.
“Students, who may be living on a tight budget, were making small donations to support our family,” Grunes says. “It was just so moving.”
Grief and gratitude make odd bedfellows. But that’s the pairing Grunes encounters today.
“Amidst all the difficult parts of this experience and trying to figure out next steps, there’s been so much love and support,” Grunes says. “Honestly, we’ve been overwhelmed with gratitude at all the support that’s come our way.”
Kotler appreciated the many USC colleagues who reached out with offers of support, as well as structured help from Care for the Caregiver (C4C), a Keck Medicine of USC program designed to support the well-being of health care staff. C4C led an essential items drive, raised money for fire victims and created an employee hotline offering emotional support as well as details on resources for housing, food, transportation and other needs.
Kotler also drew strength from his Altadena community. Neighbors called, shared important information and offered earnest support. Kotler says he’s never felt so close to his neighbors, an admittedly odd feeling for a native New Yorker who spent much of his life in multi-unit dwellings.
“We’re trauma-bonded for life,” he says.
While Griffin had yet to enroll in USC at the time of the Eaton Fire, she was surprised to hear from USC Chan faculty and staff, many of whom checked in on her well-being and forwarded resources available to fire victims.
“There was so much genuine concern about how I was doing,” she says. “I had experienced the Trojan Family before as an undergrad, but never like this.”
Griffin says losing her father and her home within a two-week span opened her eyes to the support around her. It also drew her closer to her mother.
“It’s easy to take that for granted when things are going well, but I see the care others have for me now, more than ever,” she says. “It’s why community and gratitude are a bigger part of my life now.”
“There’s hope.”
Emily and Joshua Kotler, and their children (photo courtesy of Joshua Kotler)
Days after the Eaton Fire, Adrienne Huffington OTD ’25, an Altadena resident whose home escaped the wildfire, began looking for ways to help fire victims in her hometown.
Huffington designed a “Dena Strong” T-shirt and found a company that could print on demand and ship directly. She then posted the tee and purchasing information on Instagram.
Hoping to collect $500, sales soared past that figure within hours. To date, Dena Strong T-shirt sales have eclipsed $14,000, with all proceeds directed to fire victims.
“People are coming together, and it’s so beautiful to be a part of the healing,” Huffington says.
To be certain, one year after the fire, there is healing, purpose and a renewed focus on the future among many fire victims.
While Griffin initially feared she would have to defer entering the professional program at USC Chan, she indeed enrolled this past fall, and thrived in her opening semester. The support she received after the Eaton Fire helped her realize the value of human connection, and she promises to bring that spirit to her professional work.
“As a future OT, I want to connect with people and unlock their potential,” Griffin says. “It’s hard to believe in a better future if no one else around you does, but I want to be that person who helps people discover opportunities and see the little wins.”
For Grunes and her husband, who once held a clear vision of the future, the Eaton Fire blurred the map forward. Forced to re-evaluate their goals, Grunes says the wildfire sharpened priorities, an ultimately positive, insight-driving development for their family.
“The fire has changed the trajectory of our lives forever, and we’re now focused on finding the path that is best for our family,” says Grunes, who calls rebuilding in Altadena a strong possibility.
While Kotler was initially “50-50” on rebuilding in Altadena, his wife never wavered. With nearly all damaged properties now cleaned, he sees movement, albeit slow, toward Altadena’s resurrection.
“We’ll be rebuilding there,” Kotler confirms.
He’s hopeful others will too. While concerned about the economics of new home construction and recreating Altadena’s artistic, family-friendly vibe, he is optimistic Altadena and other communities ravaged by the January 2025 wildfires will return better than ever.
“There’s hope,” Kotler says. “And hope is powerful.”
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