THE SOUTHLAND FIRESTORM: A SPECIAL REPORT : EYEWITNESS : JOHN McDANNEL: Airline pilot : ‘I Put My Keys in My Pocket and Began to Run’

Decades of running stood airline Capt. John McDannel, 52, in good stead as the Altadena fire roared toward his Eaton Canyon home . The flames were like a giant freight train during his run up the hill, the run of his life, as he raced to help save his family home of 23 years. The day had started at 6 a.m., when a neighbor called , s aying the fire looked as though the sun was rising in the west. After he released the horses from the barn and shooed the chickens--to no avail, they were too dumb--he , his wife , Mary, and daughter, Deborah, checked into a Pasadena hotel.

Then he tried to make his way home. *

I was driving back, and I got to the barricade, and I said, “I’ve got to get back to my horses.” And the policeman said, “No one’s going in there.” So I turned the car around the corner and parked. I put my keys in my pocket and began to run. I ran past the policeman. He didn’t attempt to stop me. I turned the corner on New York Drive. There was quite a bit of smoke. I ran up the hill and saw charred remains.

I went around the hairpin turn, wondering if our house was standing. It was an interesting feeling, one you really don’t ever anticipate. I came around the corner and the Edwards house was standing, and the King house was standing. I came up and saw the Hamilton house completely engulfed.

It was an effortless run. I was so engulfed in emotions. It was a remarkable, great run, a great workout.

I ran into the garage and for some reason I grabbed a shovel and hoe, thinking I could beat down the fire on the ground. I don’t know why I didn’t grab a hose. I began to realize I was standing in flames, my feet were getting hot. It was really crisis management then, going to the hot spots. Just then the fire engines began to roar by. I caught one’s attention and said, “The flames are licking the houses down here.” The firemen responded, drove the truck onto my lawn. The fireman grabbed a hose and ran down to the side of the house and began to spray.

I ran down to the barn. A cinder had ignited it. Hot embers were burning the lawn and starting isolated fires. I climbed up the ladder to the roof and grabbed the hose and turned it on. The water was there and then disappeared. There was a spot about the size of a chair’s bottom burning. I jumped off the roof, looked back, and the fire had doubled in size.

Another engine came up, a fireman peeled off a hose and ran. I said, “We can still save the barn.” It was my first concern. I figured that if the barn went, the house would be next. At this point, the fireman said, “I only have 250 gallons of water left. I’m not sure we can save your house.” That’s when my heart went soft. He said that the hydrants weren’t working. I said, “What about the pools next door?”

I didn’t feel comfortable about the house until I saw Mary and our neighbor Ken chugging up the hill. That was at about 1 p.m. I knew inside the anticipation they must feel. I stuck up my right thumb and then my left thumb. Then it was almost like a Coke commercial. Ken leaped in the air, one arm going up, then the second arm, one foot up, then the next, going, “Yeah!”