After a deep and painful loss, Altadena and Pacific Palisades tennis communities try to go home again

The first part of this story provided an intimate look at the destruction, and heartbreak, caused by this January’s Southern California wildfires. Below is the second part, which explores the Altadena tennis community, and how the world looks now for Altadena and Pacific Palisades.

The Anti-Club: Altadena’s Diverse Mix

Tennis’ role in Altadena has long had its own distinct flavor. According to Craig Sloane, Altadena Town & Country Club manager, his club was probably its second-oldest running business. Beyond the tennis, it was also a significant communal gathering spot. For more than 50 years, the Altadena Rotary Club had met there every Thursday. Over the years, the club had hosted frequent Chamber of Commerce meetings, weddings, celebrations of life, fundraisers for local schools and much more. All of this makes the tragedy of its destruction incredibly widespread and painful.

“We call it kind of the anti-club,” said Fred Guerra, the facility’s tennis director. “It’s obviously a club, but in the sense that it has a very kind of neighborhood quality to it. There’s no air of pretentiousness from club members.”

Back in the 1920s, at a time when many California cities had laws that restricted who could buy property, Altadena welcomed Black homeowners.

“It’s a tight knit community,” said Esther Hendershott, a Pasadena resident who is the USTA Southern California director of community tennis and diversity, equity and inclusion. “Most families that have lived in the Altadena area have lived there for many years, generations of Black and brown families. It’s very diverse.”

Beyond the club, Altadena residents play tennis at a variety of venues, including Loma Alta Park, Charles S. Farnsworth Park and John Muir High School. For now, though, these courts are filled with debris—ash, dirt, leaves.

“People are in shock, walking around numb,” says Hendershott.

Selwyn Brereton, an Altadena resident and co-owner of Pasadena-based iTennis, noted that many Altadena-based players have made their way to Pasadena and the courts at Eaton Blanche Park.

“They’ve formed a nice little community and communicating on a regular basis,” he said. “It’s brought a lot of us back to together . . . with everybody trying to help each other.”

A Deep & Painful Loss

“I’m crushed to see so much loss,” said Ron Hightower, a former ATP pro who has taught tennis in the Palisades for more than 30 years, including a decade as the head pro at Riviera. “People who have lost their homes and love tennis have lost that ability, at least for now. It breaks my heart.”

Said former ATP pro Chuck Adams, “To literally lose your whole hometown in one night, it’s just stifling on the soul. I feel a dark spot in my heart over it, and that even bothers me more than losing my house.”

“It was just surreal to see the neighborhood and club completely wiped out,” said Guerra. “It’s still numbing.”

Sloane has estimated that of his club’s approximately 640 member units, more than 100 have lost their homes.

“It’s heartbreaking to talk to the members and hear their stories,” he said.

You Must Go Home Again

Watch the ball, bend your knees, and remember that there are people suffering. Danish tennis legend Torben Ulrich

The USTA Southern California section, Pasadena residents, and others are rallying to help Altadena. Among its many efforts to aid fire victims, the section is donating shoes and equipment. Nearby clubs are figuring out ways to provide court access for displaced members, as well as for local instructors and their students.

“Tennis has an opportunity right now to really support everyone affected by the fires,” said Hendershott.

Hall of Famer Gigi Fernandez, through her newly established non-profit, Tennis for Hope, has recently announced plans to provide support for the rebuilding of Palisades Tennis Center.

Chris Boyer, a former longstanding USTA Southern California board member, is also creating ways to generate sustained awareness. Throughout March, as his son plays the BNP Paribas Open and the Miami Open, he’ll donate $200 to the fire-affected, Altadena-based Badon Tennis Academy every time Tristan serves an ace. The donation will be matched (up to $5,000) by the Altadena-based 24 Hour Fitness center he works out at when back home.

“I hope people can try to help out as much as they can,” said Tristan, “and keep Altadena the way it was before this happened and keep the character of it as much as possible, so we can recover from what happened.”

“It’s going to take a little while before we can get back,” said Sloane. “I would assume months, and I can’t say specifically how many months. We have to get our utilities back. We have to clean up the facilities. We have to make sure it’s safe for us to come back, in terms of air quality, and the ability to provide services.”

Brereton is also a USTA official, working at many tournaments throughout Southern California. Recently, as Brereton prepared to drive to a junior tournament in Whittier, 27 miles south of Altadena, he realized he lacked the clothing necessary to play his role. Off Brereton went to buy a pair of khaki pants and a blue sweater.

In addition to running the Palisades Tennis Center, Mike Tomas runs public tennis facilities in the relatively nearby Los Angeles neighborhoods of Westwood and Cheviot Hills. Westwood Park, roughly seven miles east of Palisades Tennis Center, has become the new practice spot for the Pali High tennis team. Tomas has many plans to support the devastated Palisades community, including conducting a fundraiser at Cheviot Hills on April 26.

“We want to be givers,” he said. “That’s the spirit of the Palisades.”

And though Tomas is also aware that it will take at least several months for the tennis facility to reopen, he’s committed to making it happen.

“There’s always been a sense of magic in the air when it comes to tennis here,” he says.

“Palisades has to have a tennis center,” said Howard Sands, a former pro whose two sons play tennis at Palisades High. “I cannot imagine this community without it.”

On Sunday, February 2, just over three weeks after the fire had started, longtime Palisades resident Wally Marks and I resumed tennis as usual, meeting at 7:00 a.m. at Cheviot Hills Recreation Center. Since he always has items shipped to his office, Wally indeed brought the case of Wilson balls. Because his racquet needed to be restrung, he’d left it in his car that awful Tuesday. But Wally was also wearing new tennis clothes.

“There’s a sense of wanting to be normal again,” he said after our hitting session.

On a Friday afternoon just over three weeks after the fire, I went to Westwood Park, watched the Pali team practice, and spoke with coach Bud Kling.

“It was easier to resign myself that my house was going to burn down than have all this hope that it wasn’t,” he said. “Psychologically, though, people deal with it differently. To me, it’s like tennis: sometimes you just get the ball in. I know people don’t always agree with this, but I see the silver lining: we get to design our own house the way we want.”

Altadena, Palisades and its neighboring town, Malibu, have a combined population of 75,000. It’s estimated that among these three communities, more than 18,000 structures have been destroyed. Eleven players on Kling’s teams have lost their homes. All were evacuated. None are currently living in the Palisades. As I watched the players hit serves, drive their forehands and backhands, and run around the courts, Kling told me, “The parents say, ‘this is the highlight of their day.’ They’re very appreciative that we’re providing something that’s normal.”

In many cases, dread and anxiety are defined by anticipation of what might happen. In this instance, dread and anxiety are defined by what did happen. As residents of Altadena and Pacific Palisades attempt to absorb, assess, heal, rebuild and move forward, some can take comfort in past pictures gathered as they hurried to evacuate. Others were unable to salvage those beloved memory triggers. But all touched by this tragedy will persistently come face-to-face with an eternal principle: We may be through with the past, but the past is never through with us.

Joel Drucker feels grateful that, while living less than a mile from an evacuation line, it was not necessary for him to leave his home. He will be reporting more on these communities in the months to come.