Voice -- The Great Pier Fire

LOST BUT NOT FORGOTTEN

This picture gives me a glimpse into a world that I never knew but somehow miss. It introduces the Pacific Ocean Park to me while at the same time taking it away. It is common to not understand the importance of something until it is gone, and I believe that to be the case here. One day during the second week of its opening the park’s attendance number was greater than Disneyland’s. Families appreciated having to pay only an admission fee and still get to ride the fun ocean themed rides that were available to all ages. Similar to my experience with this photograph, the experience of this center for fun, entertainment, and a home for sea creatures came and then quickly disappeared.

I put myself on the Santa Monica beach where this picture was taken and I can imagine how my five senses would be burning along with the fire. My eyes damp with tears at the sight of the only tangible evidence for so many memories being destroyed. My ears hear the mixture of waves lapping calmly while the sirens frantically roar their way closer and closer. I can smell the wood burned smoke and it smells so good but makes me so sad at the same time. I can taste salt on my tongue from the ocean and its useless freshness; the water surrounds the scene yet does nothing. I feel the wind coldly blowing on my face and I can’t decide whether I have stared long enough and it is time to go, or if I need more time to process my nostalgic thoughts and release them to burn with the flames.

I’m sad that what was once a place of happiness for so many can be forgotten so quickly and there’s nothing to be done about it. The truth is that this fire brought closure to a park already lost. Despite it closing down a few years before, it was no longer serving its intended purpose. A big junkyard playground for the neighborhood kids to graffiti and litter on is what it had become. Fire can physically destroy but not mentally erase, and the memory of this park will forever hold its own importance to those who knew about it.
-- J, Garcia

A PARK IN FLAMES

The park was ablaze.

From miles away, the children, teenagers, and adults who once looked forward to spending their free time at the Pacific Ocean Park now watched their leisure melt like the popsicles sold on the boardwalk on a scorching California day. What caused the fire? Park operators are still unsure and rumors consuming the surrounding neighborhoods, those residents who capture views of the park every day, bounce back and forth between gang related debauchery and a simple mechanical error sparking a small flame that went unnoticed until consuming the majority of the pier.

The park looks beyond repair, as the flames last evening engulfed not only the amusement rides but also the vendor booths, games, and food stands leaving nothing but charred boardwalk, unsafe for anyone to even wander upon. Pacific Ocean Park had long been suffering from cases of bankruptcy. Families who visited the pier left shaking their heads as more and more amusement rides hosted “Closed Until Further Notice” signs. Perhaps the fire came from angry creditors, infuriated with the park’s attendance drop. Assembling and rioting that the “POP” executives were swindling them of their money and rushing the park after hours with matches in their hands and fury in their eyes. Did they not stop to think of the kids who still depended on that park for after school fun? For only 90 cents, kids treated themselves to a day at the park instead of a day on the streets.

Now, the streets are all they have, for Disneyland lies many bus rides away and suddenly rocks and sharp objects have caught their attention rather than mazes and roller coasters. The fire has not only demolished part of California’s history but it has also shattered many young Angelenos past and future memories of the pier.

-- Katie Mollica

PACIFIC OCEAN PARK FIRE

Tonight the lights from Pacific Ocean Park are void of joy and void of excitement; they bring with them a sense terror as we gaze at the jarring site. Sounds of carnival games are replaced by a cracking of wood. There are no couples huddled together for warmth as they watch the faint stars twinkle over the water. There is no laughter and no excitement. From here, the roof of the carousel is little more than a dark silhouette against the flames. The end of the pier is still visible, but the flames look as though the water is fueling them upward as the win pushes inland.



On the beach, officers prevent us from venturing closer, so we dig our into the cold sand - staring. Sirens blare, signaling the arrival of firemen. Thick smoke crawls up my nose the way ants pour out of an ant hill, but I can’t tear my eyes away. An elderly woman near by coughs, muttering about the incompetence of the park owners. She seems certain that teenagers “were up to no good”. I thought that was a nice way to put it; if that’s the case.



Fires seem to ravage nearby land constantly, but not on the Westside. Here, the concern of natural disasters holds little weight. With the exception of a few new high rises, any threats of fires or earthquakes seem distant. Living beside the beach, a stone throw from carnival rides and cinnamon covered churros, threats concern only neighbors and the vagrants passing through. The park burned once before, but not like this. The flames and smoke make any visuals of the rides impossible and even the carousel is gone. With an eerie image of the fire and the water burned into my mind, I walk home, tossing unredeemed tokens in the trash.


-- Sarah Kruberg

SNAP CRACKLE BURN

Help. I’m burning in my own contradiction. I thought technology, our own stuff, would be sufficient to enhance the grasp over nature. The juxtaposition is fitting. My fire, your water. Yin yang we are all dust. Let me burn, let me burn, this world mandates my demise. Construct on the face of adversity and prepare for the downfall. How many times must a toothpick splinter under nature’s footprint? Fall into disrepair to be attempted anew? Are you wholesome enough to withstand the test of ages? Try me.
I burn for the immigrants. Those people seen but not heard. Is there a noise beneath the surface? Would you notice my struggle if it didn’t light the sky with an ashy haze? Or would your saline womb lull you to passivity. I think you thrive on an image heard but not seen. Everyone tells you what to wear, how to act—but that’s not you. You aren’t a sideshow attraction to garner interest in outside lands and novel characters. You are the outside. Stop looking in for a minute and appreciate your position on the verge.

Burn. The wildfire wakeup. Impels my dream state. To burn. Under ancient stars. Around new stars. We are stars. And so we burn.

My smoke distorts what is real. You see wood (from Big Sur) under metal structures (from mines to mind) twisted in shapes of a reality less lived.

My ash covers what is not.

-- Weston Finfer


(photo via wikipedia commons)