It was Sunday afternoon and the Arco gas station was bustling.
Four lowriders, parked next to gas pumps, gleamed in the afternoon sun in Altadena. Carne asada was sizzling on a grill at a pop-up taco stand in the corner. A group of old friends sat in camp chairs and passed around a freshly rolled blunt, making jokes and showing each other photos on their phones. Hip-hop played on a wireless speaker.
This is not what a disaster scene should look like.
Yet somehow this gas station, perched across the street from one of the most destructive wildfires in California history, had suddenly become the vibrant center of a traumatized neighborhood , a port for locals desperate for food, clothing, and, above all, community.
The Arco station, otherwise known for its cheap fuel, could no longer serve its primary purpose once the Santa Ana winds slammed into the neighborhood on Jan. 7 and knocked out its power. What it did have was the proximity to the fire zone and the ingenuity of the residents.
Just steps from the taco stand were a dozen tables filled with meticulously organized shirts, blankets, and toiletries. A moving truck loaded with cases of water, boxes of chips and cases of diapers backed up to the gas station.
And at the center of it all was Jorge Trujillo, who had helped put a real relief operation in place overnight.
“Nothing was planned,” Mr. Trujillo, 37, said as he watched the scene. “Everyone was drawn here.”
Arco Station quickly became, in many ways, a microcosm of Altadena itself. An unincorporated slice of Los Angeles County with more than 42,000 residents, the city has no mayor or city council. It is also one of the most economically and racially diverse places in the region, where Black and Latino families have lived, worked and played together for decades.
Since the fires began in Eaton and Palisades more than a week ago, dozens of donation centers and aid stations have sprung up across Los Angeles County.
Some, like the one at Santa Anita Park, a thoroughbred racetrack, gathered far more toiletries and other supplies but were located miles from the neighborhood. Other official sites were more organized, but seemed cold and, to the area’s undocumented population, fearful of having to interact with government officials.
In times of disaster, makeshift aid stations can appear where you least expect them. After the deadly wildfire in Maui’s Lahaina neighborhood in 2023, residents set up their own distribution point under a canopy in Napili Park with canned goods, diapers and pallets of water.
At Arco d’Altadena, it was easy to see a familiar face and share a hug. The gas station was so close to the evacuation zone – the house across the street now lay in a charred heap – that neighbors living in the houses that had survived could stock up on supplies. Those who no longer had a home could collect blankets to stay warm.
“We’re just here to help everyone,” Rafael Rodríguez said as he handed out plates of tacos. “We just wanted to give back.”
It all started with a post on Instagram. Mr. Trujillo was scrolling through his phone after spending all day on the streets of Altadena trying to beat back the flames that were inexorably consuming the homes of his friends and loved ones. Exhausted and defeated, he did not want to be alone.
“Stop and relax at Arco,” a friend wrote on Instagram.
Mr. Trujillo, an auto mechanic, landscaper and occasional jack-of-all-trades, soon found himself handing out water to firefighters outside the dark gas station, sharing videos of the effort on social media and encouraging the others to come and help. .
Around the same time, Mr. Rodríguez, who everyone calls Fluff, received some bad news. The fire had ravaged many homes and businesses along his FedEx Ground delivery route in Altadena, and there was no more work for him. At 42, with eight children and a monthly rent of more than $4,000, Mr. Rodríguez was momentarily distraught.
He did, however, have a side hustle, a small catering business called Fluff’s Tacos, and he decided he wanted to donate food to first responders. The only question was where.
Mr. Trujillo and Mr. Rodríguez knew each other in the largely working-class neighborhood west of Lake Avenue in Altadena, where discriminatory housing practices existed decades ago in the neighboring predominantly white cities of Pasadena and Los Angeles. channeled black and Latino families looking to purchase modest homes.
Mr. Trujillo knew the owner of the gas station and obtained permission to use it as a makeshift donation site. As long as there was no power, the owner said, no problem. Mr. Trujillo even received the key to the toilet.
Mr. Trujillo immediately took charge of donations and trafficking, while Mr. Rodríguez helped out in a typically Los Angeles way. Although his catering business does not normally serve in public, he set up a portable kitchen under a tent and began cooking the meat he had been given — a common culinary sight on the streets of the Los Angeles area.
As the sun began to set Friday evening, others felt compelled to volunteer. Dwain Sibrie-Smith, who is tall with long dreadlocks, helped direct cars between gas pumps in the parking lot as people stopped to drop off goods.
Hundreds of people came that day. Abuelas with his grandchildren, who were happily looking at a pile of board games. Mr. Trujillo’s “homies.” The firefighters, their faces stained, seek respite.
Each day brought more offerings to complement Fluff’s signature carne asada. World Central Kitchen, the nonprofit founded by chef José Andrés that provides meals in war zones and disaster areas, heard about Arco and sent a food truck to serve arepas. On Saturday, a gleaming trailer squeezed into a corner of the parking lot offering pastries, hot coffee and champurrado, a sweet Mexican corn drink.
Molly Sharp, a web designer who lives a few blocks from the Arco, was evacuated last week to a friend’s house across town with her teenage son as the storm deafening wind fell on the neighborhood. But as soon as she was able to return, she was back in the neighborhood where she had lived for 11 years, sorting donated clothes into tidy piles.
“Probably 50 percent of the people I know here have lost their homes,” Ms. Sharp said.
Mr. Trujillo stood nearby, surrounded by friends handing out cold cans of Modelo beer. For those in need of something stronger, he offered sips of Hennessy cognac from a bottle he kept in the front pocket of his hoodie.
“Do you want another photo?” Mr. Trujillo asked for a volunteer.
At night, a worn red SUV with four people, including an elderly woman and a little girl, stopped at the Arco. In Spanish, they quietly asked for warm clothes, explaining that their house had burned down and the four of them were sleeping in the car. The child, shivering as the temperature dropped below 50 degrees, wanted a sweater.
Watching as Mickelia Smith-McDonald, who had spent the day helping Mr. Rodríguez prepare tacos, began to shake and turned away from the stage. Michelle Middleton, who had been volunteering every day at the Arco station, walked up and hugged Ms Smith-McDonald.
“It’s so real,” Ms. Middleton said, her eyes shining.
Middleton had noticed, she said, that the people who needed it most tended to come after dark. “They are embarrassed,” she added.
Many residents living beyond the evacuation zone still lack electricity or gas. Older neighbors walk to Arco several times a day. Some visitors bring camping chairs and sit for hours, rolling joints and swapping stories.
But not everyone in the community was able to reach the gas station, especially those who remained at home in the fire zone.
Israel Magdaleno and his son Miguel, who live a mile and a half away, ignored the evacuation order when the fire broke out, then tamed the raining embers with a garden hose during an inferno so intense that it incinerated a nearby elementary school. Once the flames were extinguished, they decided to stay to ward off possible looters.
Like others inside the evacuation zone, the Magdalenos knew that if they left their home to get supplies, they would not be able to return through checkpoints. On Monday, a small Arco delegation, led by a volunteer firefighter from Pasadena, was allowed through the perimeter, bringing cases of juice, tampons and Doritos to the Magdalenos, who said they would distribute the goods to the hundred recalcitrants. they felt they were in the neighborhood.
Tuesday evening, a week after the fire started, power came back to Arco. Mr. Trujillo said the owner agreed to let the volunteers stay at the gas station, as long as they stayed away from the pumps that were scheduled to serve customers again.
Mr. Rodríguez moved his taco business further down the street to a larger lot, leaving Mr. Trujillo with the rest of the space.
“The work is not finished,” Mr. Trujillo said.
Nicolas Bogel-Burroughs contributed reporting from Altadena.
