Amid the ash, warped metal and husks of cars, the chimneys appear eerily uniform, each like a tombstone for a burned-down house. In many cases, they are all that is left of the thousands of homes consumed by the Los Angeles wildfires.
Fred Van der Linde said his fireplace “was the only thing that was standing” after the Eaton fire incinerated his century-old home in Altadena in January. Remarkably, its patchwork of historic clay tiles depicting tulips, pomegranate blossoms and medieval knights in shining armor also remained intact.
“My first thought was: I want to try to salvage it,” he said.
Mr. Van der Linde’s fireplace is among several dozen that were left standing with their historic tiles more or less intact after the Eaton fire tore through Altadena, an unincorporated community in the foothills of the San Gabriel Mountains north of Los Angeles, on Jan. 7, killing 17 people and destroying more than 9,400 homes, businesses and other buildings.
Now, a group of neighbors, masons and other volunteers are racing to salvage the tiles — many of which are at least a century old, and can be worth thousands of dollars apiece — from burned-out homes before they are demolished or stolen.
The tiles, many of which were handmade locally in the early 1900s, tether Altadena to its history and are part of the rich cultural and architectural legacy of Los Angeles. For some residents, the effort to rescue them has also become symbolic of the battle to save the community from predatory investors who, in the aftermath of the Eaton fire, have pressured some homeowners in the bucolic enclave to sell their land.
“We’re in a battle for the soul of the place,” said Eric Garland, an Altadena resident and one of the people leading the salvaging effort, known as Save the Tiles.
Altadena’s founders, he said, were reacting to “a surging modernity, very much like the present moment.” They envisioned a future grounded in the past and revered harmony with nature, Mr. Garland said. “We know what built the place,” he said, “and therefore, we know how to rebuild.”
The clay tiles, many of which feature textured reliefs of mythic figures and nature motifs in muted, earthy tones, date from the Arts and Crafts movement. In 1910, Ernest A. Batchelder, an entrepreneur and pioneer of the movement, began firing tiles in his home kiln in Pasadena, which borders Altadena to the south. The tiles were often used to embellish fireplaces, which Mr. Batchelder viewed as the “center of the home.” A majority of the tiles being salvaged are Batchelder tiles, Mr. Garland said.
“He was a genius, he was an artist, he was a public servant and he embodied the best of the California spirit,” said Rusty Areias, a former California state legislator who has installed Batchelder tiles throughout his home in Sacramento County. Mr. Areias, who is not involved in the salvage effort in Altadena, added, “When you see that patchwork quilt of colors, you just go, ‘Wow.’”
Mr. Van der Linde, who was known among his neighbors for having one of the most well-tended homes on his block, said that when he and his wife returned to their property for the first time after the fire on Jan. 8, they placed their hands on the fireplace. “When I touched it, it was still warm,” he said.
Within days, looters began trying to chip off the Batchelder tiles. So Mr. Van der Linde called Eric Ramos, who owns an architectural salvage company in Los Angeles, to remove them.
“When we got there, he started crying,” Mr. Ramos said of Mr. Van der Linde. “At that moment, I realized that I couldn’t charge him anything.”
In the weeks since, Mr. Ramos and other salvage experts have removed the tiles from more than 70 fireplaces in Altadena, Mr. Garland said. He believes there are several dozen more to go.
The work is physically demanding. Though his back and hands ache, Mr. Ramos, who has continued to offer his services free, is racing to remove tiles from as many fireplaces as possible before cleanup crews bulldoze them. Each tile, Mr. Ramos said, can be worth anywhere from about $20 to thousands of dollars, depending on its origin and design.
“All that’s left are the fireplaces,” Mr. Ramos said. “I just felt like I had a calling.”
Last month, dozens of volunteers spent a weekend helping to map the surviving fireplaces, Mr. Garland said. Volunteers are working to match those fireplaces with the property owners, so they can contact them to offer to remove the tiles. They have written dozens of letters, sent text messages and emails, and made phone calls, Mr. Garland said, but they are struggling to find them all.
“We are trying to reach more homeowners every day,” he said, “but we are more urgently trying to beat those bulldozers.”
After the tiles are salvaged, they are either returned to the owners or stored temporarily in warehouse space arranged by a donor who is assisting the group, Mr. Garland said. Conservators are also helping to clean and repair damaged tiles.
The Los Angeles wildfires are now part of the story of these tiles, said Amy Green, one of the conservators. In some cases, the heat of the fire loosened mortar or burned off residue from tiles that were later salvaged, she said. Anytime she and her team glue a broken tile back together, they do so in a way that it can be disassembled.
The goal is conservation, not restoration, Ms. Green said.
“We’re never disguising the age of something, or hiding the patina of age,” she said. “We are stabilizing.”
The effort to salvage the tiles is a small part of a broader undertaking to rebuild in a way that honors the region’s architectural heritage, said Adrian Scott Fine, the president of the Los Angeles Conservancy.
“Altadena had a very rich, distinctive, unique sense of place,” Mr. Fine said. “How do you rebuild in a way that meets modern-day codes but still is representative of the look and feel, and the materiality and the scale, of what was there before?”
Generations of Black and Latino families have cherished Altadena as an emblem of middle-class prosperity; a place where Angelenos could afford a single-family home. But many residents, mired in complex insurance claims, are now considering whether to rebuild or move on. Dozens of burned properties have been listed for sale, and homeowners have been flooded with all-cash offers for their land. In response, yard signs throughout Altadena declare that it is “NOT FOR SALE!” There is a fear that an exodus would open the door to expensive new developments, forcing out longtime residents and forever changing the neighborhood’s character.
Felita Kealing, 61, has lived in the San Gabriel Valley her whole life. The wildfire burned down her home of 25 years in Altadena, but she said there was no doubt that she would rebuild. Though the hardwood floors, molding and other elements of her 1925 Spanish-style home could be reconstructed, she said, they will never have the same character as the original materials.
Her tiles, though, were saved.
“Besides our family, or besides the lot,” she said, “that’s the only thing that really connects the old with the new.”
