Fire Ebbs After New Scare : Malibu Blaze’s Fiercest Front Called Contained : Inferno: More than 200 homes are lost and a screenwriter becomes the first fatality. But business district, Pepperdine and the Colony are spared.

The war to control the Malibu fire raged back and forth on Wednesday as firefighters established a containment line in a dramatic, pre-dawn land and air assault, only to see the flames break through and threaten more homes and property.

But as night fell, with breezes slackening and temperatures dropping, the blaze that had blackened 35,000 acres, destroyed more than 200 homes, killed one man and injured 150 others was finally declared contained along its fiercely contested eastern front.

“I feel great,” Assistant City Fire Chief Tom McMaster, commander of the city’s firefighting task force, said with a big grin Wednesday night as he scanned his battle maps. “I feel like I earned my money today.”

For all the losses, there had been some great victories. Malibu’s downtown business district, Pepperdine University and the Malibu Colony, home to scores of the nation’s rich and famous, had been saved. So had the rustic little cabins of the less affluent and unknown in the canyon community of Fernwood.

It was a bittersweet day for residents of the vast blackened area that now stretches from the ridge tops near Calabasas to the sands of Big Rock Beach. For some, it was the numbing realization that a comfortable home, and most of the treasured belongings in it, were lost. For others it was the joyous discovery that everything had been saved.

And for many more it was a day of supreme frustration. Because hots spots still burned within the fire’s perimeter, most of those who had fled were not yet permitted to return to what remained of their homes. Lodged in hotels, community centers and the homes of friends and relatives, they could only wait, fret and hope for the best.

President Clinton, in a locally televised speech, told Southern Californians to “have faith and take heart. Soon the tragedy will pass and the recovery will begin. . . . You are not facing these fires alone.”

He promised that the federal government will help communities ravaged by fire “shoulder their extraordinary expenses,” noting that natural disasters put “unbearable strains” on local and state budgets. He said the federal government will provide $15 million to help pay the cost of fighting the fires.

The only fatality in all of the fires that have broiled Southern California over the past two weeks occurred Wednesday night, when British screenwriter Duncan Gibbins, 41, succumbed to the terrible burns he had suffered Tuesday when flames engulfed him as he was attempting to save a cat at a home in the Calabasas area.

Gibbins died in the burn center at Sherman Oaks Community Hospital, where another fire victim, 40-year-old carpenter Ron Mass, remained in critical condition Wednesday night.

Meanwhile, arson investigators said they were concentrating on reports that the blaze may have been started by a pair of men in a pickup truck. The two reportedly were seen moments before the fire broke out at Old Topanga Canyon Road and Mulholland Highway in the Calabasas area.

A telling sign that most of the immediate danger from the Malibu blaze had passed came early in the evening. The night before, flames were bounding across Pacific Coast Highway and wind-bent palm trees were exploding like Roman candles. But by a little after 7 p.m. Wednesday, Deputy Chief Don Anthony, the man who had led the battle against one of the most destructive fires in Southern California history, walked out of the command center--and went home.

The Dawn Attack

The early morning stand by firefighters at Topanga Canyon Boulevard--on the west fringe of densely populated Sunset Mesa and Pacific Palisades--was not so much a high-stakes gamble as a sheer moment of high drama, pitting man and his technology against the implacable forces of destruction.

Fire officials had little choice but to exploit the highway as a natural firebreak. Not only were there scores of costly homes at risk if the fire should cross the boulevard, but firefighters also had spent nearly all of Tuesday learning that they could not stop the eastward-moving flames in the open chaparral.

The crucial showdown put firefighters on an emotional edge that continued through a roller-coaster afternoon marked by elation, heartbreak, restored hope and a battle-weary realization that nearly all efforts were tied to the capricious whims of nature.

Regrouping before dawn, firefighters unveiled a game plan to corral the blaze at two key points, the first at Old Malibu Road, a narrow dirt causeway of small bungalows and heavy, dry foliage, jutting north from Pacific Coast Highway. The second was at Topanga Canyon Boulevard and PCH, less than half a mile to the east.

“It’s going to get hot here,” said firefighter Ruben Torres, voicing the apprehension of fire crews who turned out at 4 a.m. near Old Malibu Road, where a wall of orange flame licked the night sky to heights of 50 feet.

That endeavor--and the larger effort to halt the fire at Topanga Canyon Boulevard--would become the first significant victories for fire crews, despite new hot points later in the day where the fire broke free of the blockade.

The 40 firefighters who met the blaze at Old Malibu Road came armed with a dozen pumper trucks and four-wheel-drive brush vehicles, ready to defend a cluster of residential bungalows and small businesses ensconced under a canopy of old-growth pines, eucalyptus and palm trees.

Working just ahead of the flames, fire crews were able to save every building by setting backfires, soaking the main fire’s flanks and blanketing buildings and vegetation with white, fire-retardant foam. The thick foam lay across roofs and windowsills like snow, turning the tiny village into an eerie winter wonderland even as a hail of glowing orange embers showered down.

After a Tuesday filled with desperate retreats and enormous property losses, the triumph heartened spirits.

“They have good hydrants here--a lot of pressure,” said grateful Los Angeles County Firefighter Ruben Torres, drawing a contrast to Tuesday, when shortages of water or water pressure hampered the battle on the hillsides.

Still, fire officials fretted that slackened overnight winds would kick up again. “This fire,” said Los Angeles County Fire Capt. Richard Tucker, “(is) going to stop when it wants to stop.”

Indeed, the blaze kept marching. Skirting the homes at Old Malibu Road, it surged eastward. By sunrise, fire officials had begun their second important stand, using half a dozen fixed-wing planes to lay a swatch of fire retardant--3,000 gallons at a time--on Topanga Canyon Boulevard.

The C-130 aircraft were backed up by water-dropping helicopters and fire trucks that lined the boulevard for 11 miles, creating a blockade that held the fire for much of the day. Then nature struck back in an ironic way, discarding the warm Santa Ana winds in favor of afternoon sea breezes.

Seemingly benign at first, the cooler ocean air began fanning the fire into an inferno that threatened dozens of homes in the community of Fernwood. That assault was rebuffed, but at 3:30 p.m. the winds blew the Fernwood flank of the fire onto the east side of Topanga Canyon Boulevard, creating new fears that Sunset Mesa and Pacific Palisades might be in jeopardy.

“We had a 180-degree wind shift,” explained Los Angeles County Fire Inspector Mario Defina. “We don’t know if those were fire-generated winds or a shift in the wind direction itself,” he added, noting that winds had been swirling erratically all afternoon in the region’s narrow canyons.

For a while, the blaze--which had been 40% contained--was considered virtually out of control again, exasperating dog-tired fire crews and forcing wary homeowners to re-examine painful questions about whether to evacuate.

But by nightfall, with winds dying again, embattled firefighters seemed to be regaining the upper hand, and a new feeling of self-assurance appeared along with the fatigue. At one fire command post, Los Angeles City Councilman Marvin Braude, who represents the Palisades, received a briefing from Deputy Chief Anthony.

Anthony explained that at least 70 fire engines were already stationed on Lachman Lane--the edge of Pacific Palisades closest to the blaze, near the Los Angeles city boundary. Like generals in a war room, the two men conversed near a giant map of the battle zone, outlined in green pen to mark the movement of troops.

Assistant Fire Chief McMaster interjected, “We are not going to lose any houses in the city of Los Angeles.”

Refugees From the Fires

As Wednesday unfolded, three sets of dramas were being played out on the Pacific Coast.

At Malibu, those who had gone through a night of wondering if their homes would be standing in the morning returned to either great elation or agony.

Farther up the coast, as the flames began moving once again, residents of communities such as Fernwood and Palisades Highlands experienced a roller-coaster of emotion as their sense of safety was shattered when the fire began moving toward them in the late afternoon.

And still others, most of them elderly, went through the day not knowing what had become of their homes because of the difficulties of getting there.

By late afternoon, when the fire jumped the line established early Wednesday morning by thousands of firefighters, the major danger spots became Fernwood and Palisades Heights.

Earlier in the morning, fire officials had given an all clear for the area and Karen Berman, 37, had returned to her home in the heights. She and her husband, Joel, had been evacuated during the night and they had carried with them the valuables they would need--the pictures, the insurance papers, the favorite stuffed animals of the children.

She had put everything away and her husband had gone to work when the order to evacuate again was issued. She frantically searched for the valuables, putting them in her car.

“I’m prepared to let this house go up,” she said. “I’m not going to jeopardize my life to save this house.”

At 4:45 p.m., her husband arrived after walking for miles. He had been stopped from driving farther at a police barricade.

“I came home to unpack because they said we were in the clear,” she said. “And then it jumped the canyon.”

On a large hill that overlooks the highlands and the valley below, a number of residents, perhaps 20 in all, gathered in the late afternoon to watch the progress of the fire. Lynn Nelson was standing on the hill looking at the red sky.

“I had a false sense of security this afternoon that this was all over,” she said. “If it comes over the hill, we’re all cooked. It’s frightening, really frightening.”

Another woman, Katterina Keith, was wandering around the street asking if anyone had seen her black and white cat. Her parked car was filled with clothes.

“I’m not worried yet,” she said, “But that could change very soon.”

With that in mind, Elliot Zorensky and his wife put their 18-piece Ming rose Wedgewood china collection into laundry baskets and slowly lowered it into the pool for protection. “We figured the pool would be the one thing left when we came back,” Eliot said.

By early evening, however, the danger had passed and residents like Eliot allowed themselves to enjoy a relative measure of relaxation.

As many fled their homes Wednesday, others returned for a first look at the devastation the fire had wrought the night before.

Ed Stalcup, 62, a retired teacher, hiked five miles to find his Malibu home. He walked with a sinking pit in his stomach and he had already warned his wife that he did not believe the home still stood. Stalcup had stayed, trying to defend his house on Rambla Pacifico until the air was thick with smoke.

When he left, he had time only to take his insurance papers and some photo albums. He wrapped himself in a blanket as flames raced along both sides of the road.

He reached his home again Wednesday to find only the smoking remains. All of the folk art that he and his wife collected over 30 years had been destroyed. The concrete roof had crumbled. The refrigerator and stove were smoldering. Books that once stood on shelves had become heaps of white ash.

“Well, it was a chance we took living here,” he said, his eyes wet with tears. “I thought I could save it, but I finally decided that I just couldn’t.”

But there was the joy of survival as well.

On Wednesday morning, actor Charles Bronson spent part of the morning driving up and down Malibu Road, thanking firefighters who were guarding against flare-ups. The night before, both of Bronson’s Malibu homes had been spared from the flames.

At the oceanfront home of make-up artist Bron Roy Lance, fire fighter Edward Dick was relaxing Wednesday morning in a director’s chair normally reserved for the stars. Other firefighters were nearby.

“Whatever you guys need. Breakfast, lunch, I’ll fix it,” Lance said. “I am your best friend. You guys have earned it.”

Still for others, there was no certainty about what had happened to their homes. Some were simply too old to make their way alone from the shelters where they spent the night. Others had no car. Sandor Karl Balassa, 73, sat on a cardboard box with a radio in his lap as he hunched forward watching a black and white television at the Malibu Community Center. Balassa, a retired neurosurgeon, had evacuated from his Malibu home on Pacific Coast Highway the night before. And he sat by the radio and TV, craning for some word or a glimpse of his neighborhood.

The bank and fast food chain near his home had burned down. But he still hadn’t spotted his house.

“I was in Vietnam. I’m used to this kind of problem,” he said. “But I’ll tell you, it’s beautiful around here, which gives the victims a little bit of hope.” Aurora Rodriguez, a live-in housekeeper in Malibu Colony, was among several evacuees who had spent the night at the Malibu Community Center. All she had escaped with were her immigration papers in a big black satchel.

“You know, immigration, they’ll take you, whether you’re legal or not,” she said.

Alone in her employer’s house when the evacuation began, Rodriguez had been stranded without a car. When the police told her to flee, she walked out into the street to hitch a ride with some of the other Colonyites. But several cars were too full to accommodate her, jampacked as they were with treasured belongings.

Finally, another housekeeper stopped and picked her up.

“It was a nightmare,” Rodriguez said. “And I’m a very strong person.”

In mountain hamlets such as Monte Nido, Cold Canyon and West Saddle Peak, where the region’s natural beauty unites folk of wildly different backgrounds, neighbors banded together to face the flames, helping to save all but a few homes.

Dozens of residents refused to leave their property, dousing their roofs with water, clearing thick brush and quickly helping anyone in need haul out whatever they could--horses, photographs, furniture.

Cold Canyon resident Don Wallace, a deputy to County Supervisor Ed Edelman and a former firefighter, said he ran into his wood-frame house Tuesday morning to find a diminutive woman in his living room, stuffing family slides into a pillowcase.

“I said, ‘Hi,’ and she said, ‘Hi, I’m a neighbor,’ ” Wallace recounted. “And that was it.”

Just below the summit of Saddle Peak, Michael Leigh arrived home from a business meeting to find fire licking at his doorstep. Windows popped from the intense heat and his porch was alight. He grabbed a hose and battled the flames until a fire truck doused his home.

Earlier in the morning, a neighbor had grabbed Leigh’s dogs and put them in a kennel. That same neighbor’s home burned to the ground. Leigh offered him a room until a new house could be built.

The Other Fronts

In Riverside County, the 8,000-acre blaze that began near Repplier Road in Banning at about 10 a.m. Tuesday, was 50% contained by Wednesday afternoon, but residents of the exclusive area of Cherry Valley were still worried by the large plume of smoke that loomed above their homes.

Fire officials said that by Wednesday afternoon, the fire had destroyed four homes and 11 outbuildings, all in the Cherry Valley area.

“It was sheer pandemonium when it (seemed) apparent that everything was going up,” resident Cindy Downs said. “People being evacuated here and in Beaumont and Banning were running around like crazy. It was like a nuclear bomb had gone off.”

The officials said they evacuated more than 500 people in the Banning-Beaumont-Cherry Valley areas and allowed only a few residents to return to their homes by late Wednesday. Schools in the area also were evacuated.

By midday Wednesday, four residents had been seriously burned and six firefighters had suffered minor burns and smoke inhalation as the fire roared through the San Gorgonio Pass, past Banning and Beaumont and into Cherry Valley.

The four civilians injured were all from the same family--burned when they tried in vain to keep the fire from engulfing their garage and a sprawling patio deck that overlooks Cherry Valley.

The fire also destroyed the home of John and Barbara Birdsall on Tuesday night.

‘It seemed so far away (Tuesday morning),” John Birdsall said later. “Everybody was breathing a sigh of relief, and then it was on us in no time. There was no time to get anything out when they told us to leave. . . .

“All our clothes are gone,” he said. “We had to go buy toothbrushes this morning. I’m even wearing my brother-in-law’s underwear because mine burned up.”

Twelve planes loaded with fire retardant and three helicopters carrying water bags were brought in to battle the blaze.

More Fire Coverage

* STAYING PUT--Despite the continuing danger, victims of earlier wildfires rebuild burned homes in the same hazardous places. A4

* SKETCHBOOK--Times reporters, editors and photographers share personal glimpses of the Southland’s firestorms. B1

* CONFUSED MARKET--Dozens of pending home sales in the fire-ravaged Malibu area were thrown into limbo. D1

* OTHER STORIES, PICTURES: A4-A11, B2, D4