Ali MacGraw, Whose Malibu Home Burned Down in 1993, on Devastation of Loss and Best Ways Forward

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Following her breakout role in Arthur Hiller’s 1970 hit film Love Story alongside Ryan O’Neal, Ali MacGraw settled comfortably in Malibu. She adored a compact home near the water, appreciating the invigorating sea breeze and convenience to Pacific Coast Highway. For much of the 70s, MacGraw shared a beautiful beachfront property with screen legend Steve McQueen during their marriage. However, even after their separation, she remained coastal-bound and had no intentions of leaving. This all changed when a catastrophic fire swept through Malibu in 1993, reducing her modest rental in the Rambla Pacifico neighborhood to ashes, along with all her possessions, except for two dogs and a cat saved by a friend of her son, Josh Evans, from his marriage to legendary producer Robert Evans. This devastating event eventually led MacGraw to find a permanent home in Santa Fe, New Mexico, where she shared with The Hollywood Reporter about the destruction caused by fires, the lessons learned from losing everything, and her aspirations for how Los Angeles recovers: “The more people behave with kindness and generosity, the better off we will be.

Each morning at 7 a.m., I’d accompany my two pets for a walk with a friend and her pair of dogs. Afterward, I’d head to Santa Monica, approximately a 12-minute journey, for a yoga session. During our stroll, I exclaimed, “Oh my, I can smell smoke!” We glanced skyward, spotting a thick, dark plume of smoke to the south, not in Malibu. Assuming it was just a minor incident, I decided to attend my class, return home, and drive my cats and dogs up to Oxnard, keeping them safe from whatever fire was raging. Naturally, I neglected to pack anything for this unexpected journey.

Exiting my classroom near 20th Street on Montana Avenue, I glanced skyward and spotted an enormous, level, ominous corkscrew-shaped cloud of smoke. It was startling. My journey home, usually swift, became prolonged as I encountered what appeared to be countless firetrucks whizzing past, while the center lanes were jam-packed with assorted large trucks. People with pets, children, and belongings were streaming down the right side of PCH, attempting to escape a massive blaze that I later understood was raging.

The traffic was crawling at a snail’s pace. Assuming I could cover the distance quicker on foot than we were advancing, I decided to park by the roadside to avoid causing any hindrance to approaching fire engines. As I set off walking, a man in a large truck called out my name, although I didn’t recognize him. It appears he resided nearby and queried, “Do you think they would allow us inside?” Once I got close enough, he requested, “Jump in, I’ll give you a lift.” He was visibly emotional and I asked if he was trying to rescue someone or his pets, and he replied, “No, it’s my chairs.” Perhaps they were valuable. I can’t say for sure.

32 years back, he possessed an antique-looking phone resembling a mini briefcase. I utilized it to contact my answering service, receiving a message from a friend of Joshua Evans, who said, “I’m nearby. I anticipated the fire would spread, so I’ve taken the two dogs and a cat.” Naturally, I was eager to retrieve the other cat. I wasn’t weeping, I wasn’t terrified. I was stunned.

Upon reaching the foot of the hill, I spotted the ridge where my home and many others stood. Mostly, these weren’t modern, high-end properties; instead, they resembled older residences. This wasn’t a neighborhood filled with multi-million dollar mansions. Instead, it seemed to be populated by regular homes, unfortunately engulfed in flames.

It was extremely clear that I couldn’t venture out to search for my cat on the property. In a rather unwise move, I decided to wear an African textile wrap with my yoga clothes and walk in flip-flops towards the ocean, standing at a distance as the fire raged down the hill. A police officer stopped me, warning, “Leave this place immediately. There’s a gas station nearby that could explode.” I hitchhiked with the next driver I found and got off in Brentwood. I called my friend, Robert Evans, who was also the father of my son, asking him to switch on his television to see the news from my neighborhood. He offered me shelter for as long as needed. I explained about my cat and two dogs that I had to keep with me. Though he wasn’t particularly fond of animals, he graciously agreed to let them stay. I went over to his place.

The fire was absolutely astounding. It destroyed approximately 350 homes, including every single house on our street due to the narrow road that the large fire trucks couldn’t maneuver. I’ve been traveling this road for years and it appears they’ve rebuilt the same way, which is hard to believe given how often Rambla Pacifico burns. During the ’70s when I was married to [Steve McQueen] and resided in Trancas, I frequently pondered about what would happen if a fire broke out. With only one road, it seemed we’d be trapped, especially if the fire originated on top of the hill amidst all that lush vegetation.

When the unfortunate incident occurred, I found myself stripped of everything. The rather unassuming attire I wore for yoga was essentially my entire worldly possessions following the fire. I had recently moved into a new home and all my belongings were kept within its walls. As I was about to embark on a journey to Thailand for work, I had carefully arranged everything in the house just as I desired, discarding anything that didn’t fit in its space. I took meticulous care to know precisely where every item was located, including each book.

Growing up, we didn’t have much money, and my career didn’t provide the kind of income it does today. Yet, I understood that life wasn’t just about material possessions. But when those possessions are lost, what’s left? My parents were artists, but their work disappeared. A treasure trove of remarkable items I owned – gone. Books from my childhood, now expensive collector’s items for people who seldom read – gone. The books I crafted for my adolescent child – also vanished.

The day after, wearing someone else’s clothes, I took my son for a look around the charred remains outlined by concrete blocks – once my home. All that remained was a peculiar plot with an ocean view, adorned with weather-beaten outdoor furniture belonging to the previous house owner. Gazing upon the restless ocean under a sky filled with dread and haze, it felt like a scene straight out of a movie.

I recall asking in a composed manner, “What on earth am I meant to be gaining from this situation?” – a more refined form of “why is this happening to me?” However, it wasn’t a question of ‘why me.’ What transpired was so unusual and vast, the Malibu coastline was devastated. It was at that moment I received this message: “It’s high time for you to leave Los Angeles.” This prompted a hearty laugh from me, thinking, isn’t there a more subtle way to express that advice?

Despite the terrible event, I remained unusually composed and didn’t shed a tear. I didn’t break down or lose control, even though it was a traumatic situation. This isn’t about boasting or self-praise, but rather an observation of my own emotional state in the face of such horror. It was a significant fire in Malibu, but nothing that has happened before can compare to the turmoil I am experiencing now.

I possessed an almost photographic recall of the layout of items within my home. Being skilled in drawing, I created a detailed sketchbook, meticulously illustrating every item in each of my few house rooms. I presented this to the insurance adjuster, who was astounded, saying, “I’ve never seen anything like this.” I replied, “This is my savings and this is what I need,” as I did it to avoid emotional turmoil by recalling details vividly, which was crucial for me to maintain a clear focus and calmness during the process.

Instead of going on a grand shopping spree, I opted for a simple trip to The GAP. A lavish shopping experience was the last thing on my mind. I picked up some jeans, t-shirts, a jacket, a belt, and a handbag from another store, along with a pair of ballet slippers. Upon arranging these items in my room, I realized that they were all I truly needed. The space was cozy with a small bathroom, shower, and towels. I acquired six of my most beloved books, filled a vase with fresh flowers shared among my friends, and that was essentially it.

I’m deeply empathetic towards individuals who are parents at any stage or those with ailing family members. Speaking from the perspective of someone fortunate enough to be healthy and graced by the kindness of another, I had a temporary shelter where I could rest, clean myself, and store my belongings. It wasn’t permanent, but it provided me with stability. As a solitary, health-conscious woman, and one who has maintained sobriety for an extended period, I have cultivated the skills to remain focused and composed, which has been a profound source of strength for me.

My original plan was to remain in Malibu, a place I held great affection for, having lived there since 1971. However, what I truly desired was a cozy abode that would be secure for my pets and not expose them to the busy traffic on Pacific Coast Highway. Unfortunately, such a property didn’t exist. After exhaustive searches without success, I opted to return to Santa Fe, New Mexico, where I owned a cottage nestled in the hills. Coincidentally, I had planned to put that very house up for sale within the week as I recognized my discomfort in owning two properties. Managing them was becoming a challenge with items like books and shoes mysteriously disappearing. It simply didn’t make sense.

It happened during the same week while strolling with my buddy through the devastated core of Palisades, where we were searching for a home suitable for me. Unfortunately, we found none. My friend and I were carrying our Starbucks cups and walking our dogs, traversing every single street. I remember crying because I had been doing this every day for months. A stranger seemed to have noticed my tears and asked, in a rough tone, “Why are you crying?” To which I responded, “I can’t find a place to live.” He then inquired, “But didn’t I hear that you own a house near Santa Fe?” I clarified that it was up for sale, to which he suggested, “If it hasn’t been sold yet, why don’t you just go there?

Initially, I had doubts about my preference towards it. Deserts or arid regions have never appealed to me, as I’ve always cherished the proximity of the ocean and thrived in greenery and flower-filled surroundings. Remarkably, a simple yet life-altering statement was made: “If you don’t like it, leave.” Astonishingly, I took this advice for a brief period – 32 years have passed since then.

It’s crucial to recognize that any one of us could find ourselves in need, even those with numerous large, impressive homes. The more we show compassion and generosity, the better our collective situation will be. I can only wish that anyone with an unoccupied dwelling would consider offering it as temporary housing for those less fortunate, at a rent they could easily afford, not as a profitable investment. We are living in a time where many possess wealth beyond the means of entire nations, and assisting a few families in need could make a significant difference to them.

At the heart of this narrative lies a fundamental question: How should we interact with one another? Regrettably, it appears that responses are often driven by wrath, resentment, and self-interest. To me, this is a non-negotiable boundary. Instead, I advocate for empathy, benevolence, and unselfishness in every interaction. If we remember the old saying, “There, but for the grace of God, go I,” and treat others as we wish to be treated, we may find ourselves transitioning into a more positive state over time, with calmness and kindness guiding our actions.

What scares me most is that a series of devastating fires have plagued that passageway for many years. I’ve experienced three of them personally, and unfortunately, the last one destroyed my home. I can only hope that innovative, forward-thinking architects will collaborate to educate us on constructing safer dwellings and daring design choices for future generations. These fires seem unavoidable since I don’t believe anyone can prevent them from occurring again completely.

Before I conclude, let me emphasize something crucial: this is a fantastic opportunity for everyone to connect. It doesn’t have to be grand, even a little kindness can make a significant impact. Let’s strive to change the tone and emotional atmosphere that currently surrounds us, which feels tense, angry, and judgmental. I’m exhausted by it all. There’s a gentler, more compassionate approach available.

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2025-01-14 22:55