Town With True Grit : Loyalty of Merchants and Residents, Determination to Rebuild Business District Keep Fillmore Hanging On

FILLMORE-In the nervous days following the Northridge earthquake, when this tiny agricultural town was mistakenly overlooked by President Clinton as a site for widespread federal disaster funds, frazzled retailers here gazed up at the 20-foot-tall “F” that for generations has been etched into a nearby hillside.

And they scoffed.

Hell’s bells, they said, that big letter no longer signifies only the spirit of our beloved Fillmore. Now it stands for “forgotten.” Fillmore--among the locales farthest from the quake’s epicenter to sustain major damage, more than $250 million in damage to business and residential areas--soon got its federal funding, after city fathers cried foul to Washington. And now, nearly eight months after the temblor tore a hole through the heart of this east Ventura County burg of 12,000, that large letter “F” could well symbolize something else entirely:

Fierce loyalty.

At a time when quake-rattled residents are pulling up stakes in record numbers in other communities throughout Southern California--a place where one-way truck rentals are almost impossible to come by--businesses in Fillmore are staying put.

“We’ve seen fires and floods and earthquakes and more natural disasters than you could shake a stick at here in Fillmore,” said Hank Carillo, director of the Fillmore Chamber of Commerce. “Still, all over town, people are busy rebuilding this place. They’re proud of it. It’s a feeling that’s hard to describe, how you could become so attached to a town.

“But for most people, this is the place their parents and grandparents grew up. They’re pioneers. And they’ve all endured hardships. So most folks feel that they’re not gonna let any little ole earthquake make them tuck their tails between their legs and run.”

Indeed, for many Fillmore merchants, months of perseverance are paying off. Most have survived despite the difficult conditions, and some are actually seeing sales increase beyond pre-quake levels.

Take Manuel Victoria. The quake destroyed the building where he spent 37 years repairing shoes. Now his Vic’s shoe service business is housed in a temporary structure in a nearby city park. But Victoria says business is up: “I love this place,” he said of his new home. “A year ago, I never would have believed I’d still be in business after such a quake. But I am.”

For a small town like Fillmore, the quake toll was high: In all, 65 businesses were damaged. Two dozen of those were forced to relocate from their haunts along the four-block downtown business district. In addition, between 500 and 700 residences--houses and mobile homes--were damaged or destroyed.

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Recovery has been painful. A handful of downtown businesses didn’t make it. The two thrift stores on either end of the downtown drag are gone now. People near retirement decided not to rebuild. And Frieda Garcia lost her flower shop; now she works for a competitor.

The survivors, meanwhile, continue to scratch out an existence. Like the homeless populations in other cities, many now huddle under the swaying trees in the city park, operating from makeshift domed structures that resemble large onions, or Hershey’s kisses. The area is known as Central Park Plaza.

In Fillmore, the beat goes on.

They’re rebuilding the shell-shocked retail drag so punched with vacant lots it resembles the checkered smile of some luckless boxer. As scores of downtown retailers operate from trailers and temporary shelters in the park, as homeowners sift through both the physical and financial rubble of the temblor’s wake, residents look around, and they’re just glad to be living in Fillmore, despite the hardship.

In April, state and federal leaders gathered to celebrate what they called the city’s quick recovery from the January quake. Now the marching bands are gone, but the hammering and buzz saws, the drilling and soldering go on--most within sight of the marquee on the severely damaged old movie theater, the sign that reads: “The Best Town Ever.”

Twenty-five miles east of Ventura, this former movie town--where Charlie Chaplin once swung his cane--and present center of the local citrus packing industry, a place where orange and lemon fields stretch to the horizon, is being held up statewide as an example of how a community can rebound from disaster.

When friends have a little help from their friends.

Fillmore is getting back to business with neighborly gestures of time and money, as well as an influx of nearly $8 million in state and federal funding, and private donations.

There were the 40 computers donated to City Hall by IBM Corp. Also, A. C. Green Youth Foundation and G. E. Modular Space have underwritten the cost of trailers to house displaced merchants. And there’s Mano a Mano, a nonprofit community group headed by local church and civic leaders that is spearheading efforts to rebuild damaged homes and businesses.

Amid the rebuilding, a sign erected near downtown points passersby toward the business district, proclaiming: “Downtown is open for business.”

Dale Crockett, who owns a photography studio, says local consumers aren’t put off by the temporary shelters and have made an effort to see that merchants rebound.

“Believe it or not, my business is better here than on the downtown drag,” said the 44-year-old Fillmore native. “These domes have the same effect as a shopping mall--all the merchants work off each other.

“For example, customers don’t just park in front of my store, do their thing and then leave. Like the guy who came in with his family for a recent portrait. As he left, he saw a tool he wanted in the hardware store across the hall. His wife saw a dress in that store over there. Three businesses gained through one visit. Nobody lost.”

Manuel Victoria lost something: all the shoe repair collectibles he had gathered in 37 years of business in the ground floor of the Masonic Building, which was lost in the quake. “For some reason, all the things that were important to me ended up in my shop and not at home,” he recalled as he resoled a pair of cowboy boots in his new shop in the domes, humming along to jazz music that played on a small portable radio.

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“The saddest thing was to watch them tear down what was left of that Masonic Building. I just stood there crying. I had so many memories there.”

Janet Foy was one of the luckier ones: Her flower business survived at its original downtown location on the Central Avenue business drag. She doesn’t have to endure doing business in the sweaty domes, she says, where the humidity soars on hot days.

And unlike other businesses, her store didn’t sustain major damage. There ware no Small Business Administration loans to fiddle with. And sales are up almost 10% over last year--thanks to the fact that she has less competition now.

But there are the aesthetics of doing business in a place that resembles a war zone, with its temporary walkways and vacant lots. “We’re gonna have those lots around here for awhile,” she sighed. “Bouncing back from an earthquake is not an easy thing.”

Chappy Morris Sr. agrees.

He sells new cars in town at the Chevrolet dealership with the most years of continuous service in the United States. But the quake nearly changed all that.

His business was one of hundreds of structures red-tagged as uninhabitable by city engineers after the earthquake. But even though he suffered nearly $3 million in damage to several buildings, Morris said he could not wait for the city to get around to putting its safety stamp of approval on his business.

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He had cars to sell. So, circumventing the city’s building review process, he continued to work out of the buildings and hired his own engineers for structural assessments he said would have taken city experts months to make. Meanwhile, Morris has made repairs on some buildings and demolished at least one.

“If we had to wait for the city, it would have put us out of business entirely. More than 30 employees would have been laid off if we went through the city channels,” he said. “We had to move. We brought in our own experts and were back in business in six days.”

Indeed, in Fillmore the earthquake has shaken not only buildings but relationships. City officials would not comment on the tensions with the Morris dealership. Said one official: “He’s a sticky wicket. Period.”

Meanwhile, over at the local Catholic church, Beatrice Ascani counsels the families of low-income laborers who work in area packing plants. For many--transplants from Mexico and Central America--the quake has shaken their confidence in America.

“Many are leaving--going to other communities or back home,” she said. “They felt safe here. They believed that nothing could hurt them. Now they know that’s not true.”

For the most part, though, it is their fallen buildings--most of them in the very heart of Fillmore--that trouble locals the most:

The three-story, 75-year-old Masonic Building where Victoria and a dozen other merchants once shared the ground floor--gone;

Another seemingly ancient building across the street that gave the town its generations-old pride--gone, too;

And the Towne Theater, which in the months before the quake had been declared a historical monument--down but not gone.

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In a move to inspire public confidence, city officials purchased the old theater and are seeking grants and private donations to refurbish its former glory.

And so Fillmore looks to its future. Officials are excited about a new residential and commercial development--including shops, restaurants and 55 low- to middle-income residential units to be built along the central railroad right-of-way--a project to be co-financed with some of their earthquake relief funds.

“Things are looking up here,” said Allan Coates, assistant city manager and finance director. “People have pulled together. We’ve all showed what life in a small town like Fillmore is all about.”