AFTER THE FIRE COMES A HAPPY ENDING

Everything about our lives changed after we moved into the house my father built for us. The picture The Greenspan Company created of my loss for the Insurance Company, forced them to pay me the full value of what it was worth.  I moved back into my home feeling like a Queen and never looked back.

Georgia and I were once again happy and had a bright future to look forward to.  For me it was going back to College and finishing my Bachelors Degree in Psychology and writing my book.  For Georgia it was going to college, finding a husband and someday being a Bride.  We both made those dreams a reality.  Georgia and I graduated from college within the same week in 2001 and she married the following year.  My book was published in September of 2010 and I am at last a published author thinking of writing my second book.

My father's beautiful Art Deco, Mediterranean design.   Here is the entry and stairs leading to the living area.

The window seat at the top of the stairs with an Ocean view.

The Living room, dining room, kitchen and TV room behind the kitchen.  Stairs lead to my Master Suite.

The Master Bathroom with a fireplace, 
double sinks,Jacuzzi tub and Ocean view. 

 I never dreamed this beautiful home was in the deck of cards representing the events in my life, but by the Grace of God I was blessed beyond measure.

                                 THE END.

Thank You for following the Vintage Maybelline Docu-Blog.  Stay tuned for more Fabulous Posts next week.

AFTER THE LAGUNA BEACH FIRE THE REBUILDING PROCESS BEGINS.

The excitement, frustration, anticipation, fear and finally.....the joy of building my house from the ground up.

A year and a half after the fire my lot was cleared and prepared for building process to begin.

My dad Bill Williams, ( here with his wife Gloria,) worked with Architect Bruce Spielbuehler, to design our new Mediterranean, Art Deco home.

Georgia stands on the cleared lot.  The view is spectacular, but our neighbor's Mark and Barbara's house will eventually be rebuilt across the street. 

My dad visits the site everyday.  Acting as Boss he makes sure every detail in the blueprints are properly addressed and fires subcontractors he doesn't think are doing their job.  I could never have done this alone.

The hill had to be pushed back five feet and major retaining walls built before the first floor could go up.

Gloria directs traffic as nonstop trucks go up and down the hill. The narrow street made It nearly impossible to squeeze enough space for trucks to stop and deliver wood, dirt etc.

My dad and Gloria see the vision of his imagination

unfolding like magic before their eyes.

My full time job as owner/Builder was being at the site everyday working with the Builder, Architect and my Dad..... I put in eight hour days answering questions, picking out tile, paint, appliances  and writing checks from the insurance money. 

The garage walls go up and I can't help think the safe that was in the floor holding my Baby diamond ring.  How could it have survived the firestorm? 

My Architect Bruce Spielbuehler and Builder Randy Smith, check the blueprints after the house was framed.

Even my brother Preston, helped a great deal, doing all the wiring for the stereo and surround sound.   

Finally the most exciting moment came when my dad and I climbed the stairs to the second story and stood in my new bedroom overlooking the ocean.  Maybe I wasn't able to write my book yet, but the dream of having a second story on my home came true for me.

To be continued tomorrow.

To see the whole series I did on the Laguna Beach Fire please check under archives. 

AFTER THE FIRE, "I DANCE WITH MY FATHER."

For eighteen months we watched our home spring out of the ground into a structure that would usher in one of the happiest periods of our lives.  Who would have dreamed I'd have to lose everything to gain it back ten fold

I think the most exciting part about building a house is seeing it framed..... and that first time you turn on the electricity.....  The thrill of seeing what was only a blueprint turn into a real home is awe inspiring. 

The biggest cost of building my home was the foundation and retaining walls.  Normally a fire wouldn't cause so much damage that you'd have to rip out the old foundation, but a firestorm that melts cars to the ground is a different story.

Another thrill in the building process is seeing the roof go on.  At that point you know the job is someday going to end.  Which up to that point doesn't seem possible.

What's really hard is spending the whole day with contractors and having no place to sit.  Gloria made a chair out of a cement block while my dad inspected the work being done on the floor.

The windows arrived and my dad checked them out to make sure they are all accounted for.  He'd built homes  before and knew the importance of checking and double checking every detail on the spot.

At last the structure takes on the appearance of a real home, but we are still months away from moving in.

My dad was fanatical about the paint job being done right.  He fired the first crew of painters because they didn't have an eye for perfection.  He wanted the walls so smooth that when you ran your hand over them, they would feel like glass.  That's what 1930's Art Deco was all about as far as he was concerned.

Getting close to finishing the job, we gained a new respect for working together as a team.  I'm not saying it was ideal, there were times we wanted to kill each other, but in the end I have to say, my dad was the wind beneath my wings.  He showed me I could start and finish anything with the right state of mind.

When the landscapers added the tropical plants to the outside of the house the whole thing popped with color and became a beautiful little Mediterranean Villa.  It was More than I ever dreamed I would have.

When the house was finally done and the contractors pulled away, my dad continued to come over everyday and add the magical details that made the inside of the house look like a movie set..... Here he is with the 1977 Series 1, Clenet, # 13, I've talked about so much on my blog.  We now enter it in Concours de' Elegance shows.

It was my dad who put the blue glass Cross on the fireplace to give the feeling of a sanctuary and the light from all the windows made the room an artist's dream.

DANCE WITH MY FATHER, BY CELINE DION.

Check back tomorrow to see the finished product as Georgia and I show you around our home.

MIRACLE AFTER THE LAGUNA BEACH FIRESTORM.

My great uncle Tom Lyle Williams had given me a Baby diamond ring in an Art Deco setting when I was born. It remained in a Floor Safe under an oriental rug in our garage, along with other valuable items and important papers.

After the remains of our house had been cleared off the lot, the safe was excavated and taken to a locksmith to be blow-torched open.  Hoping for a miracle, Georgia and I held our breath as a gush of black mucky slush... a combination of important documents mixed with rain water...poured out of the safe.  We almost lost hope when all of a sudden Georgia yelled, "wait Mom, look!"  

There in the middle of the muddy black ash sparkled the tiny diamond ring, like a beam of light in a dark scary night.  It reminded me of the saying, "It's always darkest before the dawn." and "Don't give up five minutes before the miracle." 

How that tiny ring survived the crematorium of that firestorm is a mystery.  I took it as meaning no matter how small and insignificant we think we are - the bright spirit inside us will endure even on the brink of hopelessness. 

Tears rolled down my cheeks as I realized that maybe the glory day's were gone... along with my precious heirlooms..... but my memories were still in tact and I can at least pass them on to Georgia. Nothing can take them away from her and she can pass them on to her kids someday.

That night in deep meditation a flash of light appeared in my mind and my great uncle, Tom Lyle, came to me.  He looked the same as he did in a dream I'd had about him the night he died.  I got the distinct feeling he was trying to tell me something.  

As I slowed my mind down I felt him saying..... "if you tell my story, I don't want to be remembered as the man who invented make-up, I want to be remembered as
                    "THE KING OF ADVERTISING." 

Now I knew I couldn't have a professional writer tell my story like William Morris wanted.  I had to write the book myself... with my dad's help..... so that the heart and soul of the family would remain in tact through my voice.  My story would be about an era gone with the wind, a company that remains a giant in its field today and a family whose love endured the triumphs and tragedies of success, while remaining as strong and resilient as a Baby diamond ring.

The Maybelline Story took another 17 years to finally be published, by Bettie Youngs Books in September of 2010.  My dad helped me write a 968 page manuscript that had to be edited a dozen times, but in the end it was my voice telling my story.  My dad didn't live to see The Maybelline Story in print.  However, the last thing he said to me two weeks before he died in 2006, was,

 "don't give up...It will happen."

My dad and I rebuilt a beautiful home together and Georgia and I finally began our new lives two and a half years after the firestorm.....But that's a new chapter!!!!

 Stay tuned tomorrow and the rest of the week as I post pictures of the house being built from the ground up.

EPIPHANY AFTER THE LAGUNA BEACH FIRE.

I yearned to finish my book someday and eventually live in my new home as a published authorof TheMaybellineStory. 

My 16 year old daughter, Georgia and I received fire-survivors counseling through FEMA and she began working through the post-trauma that had thrown her into a deep depression.  I tried to make the apartment and her room as luxurious as possible, but was so distracted with the rebuilding process, I seemed emotionally unavailable. She yearned for a boyfriend and within a year of the fire she found him and fell in love.  

My life however, had become a nightmare of red tape and paperwork... trying to give the Insurance company an idea of what I lost.  Georgia told me I cared more about money than anything else and was mad I wasn't more sympathetic about her feelings for her boyfriend.  I didn't approve of him and soon became the enemy.

The stress was killing me and the only place I felt safe was at the beach looking out at the rocks on the coastline.  I yearned for the past and cried for my mother, who's mental health prevented her from being emotionally available for years...... 

so I sought comfort and love from Mother Nature.....as I peacefully sat and watched the rocks being bathed by the crashing foamy waves.  With my life twisting and turning in chaos, the rocks with their sense of permanency gave me soul peace and soothed my broken spirit.

The busy people scurrying by on the boardwalk seemed so out of balance with the undisturbed rocks and It struck me how temporary life was and how material things come and go.  You just have to enjoy the stuff while you have it and then let it go. 

I reflected on my relationships as well, realizing they too are only temporary and could be washed away with the tide at any time. 

I'd close me eyes and think about America as far back as

possible and felt compassion and empathy for those who had lost everything in the Civil War, the holocaust, the Titanic, WWI, and WWII and cried for all the lost lives..... the lost dreams.  I pictured Abraham Lincoln delivering the Gettysburg address and thought about how freedom is really the greatest loss to endure and how fortunate I really was to only have lost my material things.

Suddenly it occurred to me that the rocks were here since the beginning of time and would probably remain until the end.  I reflected on how my family fit into the scheme of history..... like a deck of cards..... and began placing my family pictures into the stack.  I saw my grandparents, parents, siblings, Gene, Georgia and even my future grandchildren flowing through the deck and slowly my mind slowed down enough to filter through the lost boxes of pictures in the garage that had been destroyed by the fire.

Eva, Frances, Tom Lyle, Bennie, Preston Williams

 

Mabel Williams,

All of a sudden my imagination came back to life and I was able to see my great uncle Tom Lyle, smiling as he posed with his family in 1916, right after he renamed his little company Lash-Brow-Ine, Maybelline, in honor of his sister Mabel.

Day after day I looked forward to my quiet times at the beach listening to the hypnotic rhythm of the waves lulling me into deeper and deeper meditation.  I had discovered another world inside myself and as the birds called to each other from the rocks, my imagination turned their sounds into words.  My family's history came to life as tears poured onto my lap and quickly dried as if they never existed.

A deep sense of loss for my grandfather, Preston,... my dad's father, whom I'd never known, came over me and I felt the passion and romance of his spirit.  Stories of him unfolded as the waves misted my face..... and I knew he'd live forever in my heart.

Week after week, I put the puzzle of my past together and the clearer the picture became, the more I realized it was impossible to put a number on my loss without telling The Maybelline story. 

I called my agent at the Greenspan Co. and told them what I'd discovered and they agreed with me. My loss wasn't just a slam dunk situation, it was very unusual, almost on the level of a celebrity.  

"Where do I begin," I asked.

"From the beginning," my agent said, "we'll tell them the whole story as you remember it."

Stay tuned tomorrow, as the picture of my loss finally unfolds......

LAGUNA BEACH FIRESTORM... 
THE END IS ONLY THE BEGINNING.

Seeing my sixteen year old daughter so sad broke my heart.  I had to find a place to live, but everything in Laguna Beach  had already been scooped up. 

It had never occurred to me to find a place the day after the fire.  I'd waited too long wallowing in my feelings and let Georgia down.  A friend of mine suggested I rent an apartment in her complex right outside of town in the Canyon, but when I took Georgia to see it she was upset.

"It's nice Mom," she said, "but I refuse to take the bus to

school."

"If I promise to get up and take you everyday will it be

okay?"

"I can't be late anymore this year,"

"I know, so I'll have to force myself to get up."

She hated leaving town and becoming an "in-lander," even though it was only about two miles out of town. 
I had to make my first executive decision, so decided to rent the penthouse. It had vaulted ceilings, an electric fireplace, two master suites, access to a gym pool and Jacuzzi, activities room and was clean, functional and very comfortable. All I wanted after the nightmare of smoke and ash was luxury, serenity and peace.  The apartment was close enough to town, so that when the building process began, I'd be close to the site.

Georgia was not happy about it, but she moved in after I decorated the place with beautiful contemporary furniture, lush green plants and filled the kitchen with everything we'd ever need. 

The city of Laguna Beach, put up a fire relief outlet and

offered fire victims designer clothes from department stores and every conceivable item you could possibly need to replace what was lost. People donated tons of clothes, shoes, etc, etc. etc. until soon we had a charming, warm, elegant environment meeting our every need.  Our apartment was sensational, but sterile. There was nothing visible to remind us of our past.

The Insurance company gave me a Builder who told me I was under insured and wasn't going to be able to build my house near the craftsmen quality of my post WWII charm house. He refused to return my calls and soon I realized he was in cahoots with the insurance company.

I  hired an attorney who intimidated the insurance company and the builder into canceling the contract I'd signed, without getting advice first.

I met with the Architect, a nice Born Again Christian named Bruce and we clicked immediately. He told me the builder was a crook and helped me get rid of him and find one I could trust.  Bruce, met my dad at  the Lido Isle condo, because my dad wanted to show him how he'd designed and remodeled it into an Art Deco masterpiece. They clicked and immediately sat right down at the table and began drawing the plans for my new house. 

My dad's ideas were original, spectacular and expensive. I didn't want to stop his creative flow, but was afraid the insurance company would fight me every inch of the way and want to settle for a ridiculous amount, since I still couldn't give them a fiscal number representing my loss.

Mark and Barbara, my neighbors who had lived across the street, suggested I hire a professional who could help me present a picture of who I was and what I actually lost. I took their advice and hired the Greenspan  Company,  who represented me for 6% of my settlement.  The Greenspan Company adjuster met with me every week to formulate a picture of my background so they could place a value on my manuscripts, family pictures and all the relics I lost from M.G.M. and the Villa Valentino.

They portrayed me as an heiress and finally my financial loss began to take on weight.  My dad stood by me and Gloria, in her Rolls Royce, met me at the lot to collect checks from Mr. Anderson, my insurance adjuster, when he brought them by.  He stopped treating me like a stupid middle aged divorced single parent and began treating me like a member of a well respected family.

As the process moved along, I'd go over to my lot and spend hours digging through the ash searching for anything that might remind me of my life before the fire. Slowly but surely items from my past were unearthed and each time I pulled up a treasure buried

under dirt, ash, and broken charred pieces of stucco, I'd sit in the dirt and cry.   Memories flooded me as I dug out a broken piece of wedding china, Georgia's baby soap dish that had been in our bathroom since we moved to Laguna 12 years ago. 

 I was addicted to returning to the lot every morning after I dropped Georgia off at school and excavate more stuff.  When I found a broken cup with the word "Lawyer" printed on it, I fell apart.  I'd given it to Gene after he passed the bar, right after we were engaged and had so much to look forward to. Then I pulled out the broken stem of my Wedding crystal wine goblet and just shook my head in disbelief.  Things I'd taken for granted, were now as precious as ancient treasures from King Tut's tomb.

One day I found the broken China head of My mother's china doll, given to her father in 1929.  It had been used in a movie made at M.G.M. where he was the construction boss for 55 years. I dug deeper and actually found a China cup from my Wedding china still in perfect condition even though a house caved in on it.
I cried over the vintage costumes I'd collected and worn since the 1970's.  I cried and cried and cried, but when I was done crying all my treasures fit nicely into a little red shoe box.  It was all that was left of my old life.

My friends comforted me and though none of them

lost their homes, they all helped replace pictures, clothes and household goods.  Georgia too, was the only one in her group who had lost her home and she, like me, found it hard to relate to people who hadn't gone through the ordeal.

I began going to Saint Catherine's Catholic Church everyday after dropping Georgia off at school at 7:00 AM.  Than I'd head to the beach and just sit on a bench and meditate on the rocks.  People I knew walked by and talked about their fire experience and some who didn't lose their homes talked about Survivor's Guilt and how terrible it was living in a fire zone.  I'd listen to them and wish I still had my old house, my old routine, my old neighborhood, my old life.

The insurance settlement became a full time job and I worked with lawyers, interviewed builders, drew plans with the Architect, and continued gathering household items for the apartment.  My entire focus was getting my house back so Georgia and I could go home and she could finish high-school with her friends.

Gene was of no help and if anything became an adversary, wanting Georgia to come and live with him, so he didn't have to pay me child support.  I refused to let her go live with him and his girl friend.  Instead I kept moving a forward like a Tiger one step at a time.  

David, my partner, was still my right hand and carried the book while I worked with the writer that The William Morris Agency contracted for me.  Things got weird between us though, when he insisted on interviewing me before we'd finished negotiations on the movie rights.  I felt like he was taking advantage of my vulnerability... to get what he wanted.  When David held tough on the percentages, Michael, the writer, whined and complained and we began to get cold feet.  We figured he was only in the deal to make big money fast and just wanted to concentrate on my great uncle Tom Lyle, founder of the Maybelline Company's... Gay lifestyle.  

I told my dad what was going on and went off the deep end.  Dad said, he would never hurt Uncle Lyle, by making his personal life the entire crux of the Maybelline Story after all he had done for us.   Dad insisted I get out of the contract with William Morris and Michael..... forget writing the book.....and get my life back..... So once again I had to put the Maybelline Story on the back burner.

Continued next week.....

AFTERMATH OF THE LAGUNA BEACH FIRESTORM.

The Santa Ana winds stopped...It was a beautiful sunny Fall day..... the kind of day I'd seen hundreds of times before... but today instead of lounging all morning and writing all afternoon, I had to start rebuilding my life from ground zero. 

My sister Donna, continued screening
calls, gathering information about relief stations in town providing food vouchers, basic staples and cash.  She made notes about churches providing clothes, food and money for the fire-victims and found out that the recreation department had already set up booths for insurance, FEMA-grants and more money for those who qualified.  Even the local banks gave cash to those who had accounts with them.  Laguna was determined to take care of it's own and get the town back to normal as soon as possible.


I didn't sleep at all, I couldn't eat or think straight.  Donna gave me some of her clothes and bought me a futon to sleep on while I lived with her for a while.  I was reduced to a helpless child following her around taking direction.  She told me when to eat, get dressed and meet my responsibilities.  She became a Drill Sargent  moving me forward...not letting me give up. 

It took three day's for the city of Laguna Beach to let it's residents view the remains of their homes.  They said the fires had to be completely put out and Governor Pete Wilson and President Clinton had to declare Laguna Beach a disaster before the State and federal relief money could be approved.  

Finally Donna was able to drive me back to town and face the devastation.  We stopped at the Police Station to get a pass to be able to enter the the fire-zone and while we stood in line we were bombarded with news people slamming microphones up in my face asking... how it felt to lose everything.

"I've lost my lifestyle and my identity... but my bulldossers will be the first to roll up Skyline Drive and rebuild." I said with determination.

As we left the station we couldn't believe the crowds of people who had lost their homes as well... 366 homes in all.  When I scanned the town I was stunned to see Fema, The Red Cross, OC fire trucks on alert, News helicopters overhead and news vans capturing images of people crying.  Frightened children clung to their parents, homeless millionaires in Mercedes were reduced to standing in line for passes to see their property, confused retirees needed toiletries, and devastated High School kids wondered if  Laguna Beach High School was shut down.

 Laguna had been famous for it's beautiful beaches, charming village, and relaxed lifestyle.  Now it looked like a melted nightmare of ash, soot and people wondering where to begin.

Some of the locals who didn't lose their homes were out as usual walking or riding their bikes... trying to resume some kind of normal existence while watching all the drama from the sidelines.  I was so angry I wanted to spit on them... even though I knew they'd gone through a traumatic evacuation process, suffered survivor's guilt and now will have to live in charred smoke filled neighborhoods... but dammit they got to go home to their little cozy nests tonight while I was shattered to the brink of insanity.  My entire state of mind was blank as if everything had been erased.  I had to think in terms of survival just to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

Donna and I met with the insurance adjuster at my property to view the disaster and collect the $10,000 check.  We slowly snaked our way around the turns to Skyline Drive and were amazed that so many houses in the lower section were perfectly in tact.  For a second I thought maybe my house was still there.  I'd heard the fire skipped houses as it scorched it's path through Mystic Hills... perhaps mine was one of the lucky ones it jumped over.  When we got to the yellow caution-taped area we were told we had to park the car and walk up the hill. 

My adjuster, Mr. Anderson, was dressed in khaki pants and a polo shirt.  He was a tall middle aged balding man with glasses and a nervous laugh.  He shook my hand and said he had my $10,000 check in the car.  I must have appeared upset and vulnerable as we walked up the hill, because he mumbled something about how much compassion he had for me, because he'd worked the Oakland fires a few years earlier and saw what people had gone through.  Half listening while taking in my first impressions I held my breath... everything looked normal not a house was gone... then went around the bend and I quacked and put my hand over my mouth. 

All that was left was naked fireplaces, charred black skeletons of cars melted into the ground and piles of ash that once resembled beach homes.  Everything was cremated beyond recognition!  It reminded me of pictures of the Civil War.


Gene was at the site when we arrived with several news people camera ready hoping I'd fall apart as my loss was about to go public.  My legs almost gave out and tears ran down my face when I realized my house was indeed gone.  Camera's clicked as Gene grabbed me and held me tight.  I buried my face in his chest and knew his sorrow was as deep as mine. I wished he would help me go through this process being a Lawyer and all, but the truth was we were divorced six weeks ago and he had another woman in his life. 

The Adjuster asked him about the claim and he let me go saying, "it's not my house" and walked away.  My heart sunk as I turned to face the powerful insurance company who wanted to give me as little as possible for my loss.


My sister caught my body language as I transformed right before her eyes.  She said I went from a clinging vine to a strictly business... soon to be an owner-builder, take no prisoners kind of Woman.

The adjuster too, after realizing I was a single woman, transformed into a condescending Villain ready to take advantage of a poor little victim.  He immediately took his attention off of Gene and asked me to walk with him up the old red-brick stair case that once led into our very private world.

 "Now Sharrie,"  he said in a calm voice, "I'd like you to close your eyes and imagine what your house looked like the day before the fire."

What an idiot...asking me to imagine what my living room looked like three days ago.  "Well," I said,  "you walk through the front door and you see my whole life there before your eyes."


"Of course I understand this is a very sensitive time for you," he said, "but I really need an idea of what the inside of your house looked like so I can start your claim." 

"Of course you do Mr. Anderson," I snarled.

"Do you have any pictures... oh excuse me... of course not... you weren't home when the fire came...  Does anyone else in your family have pictures."

I stopped him in mid-sentence... "I'll need some time to put a picture of my life together for you." I said, sounding very irritated about having to deal with an uncaring, red tape workaholic,  "Because my loss entails more than just a few sticks of furniture."


"I understand," he said, condescendingly, "but we need a list of everything in the house so we can put a number down as to your financial loss."


"Again, Mr. Anderson, I lost more than just material things, I lost priceless relics as well as manuscripts and documentation for a book about my family... that William Morris was just about to pay me $250,000 advance for. how am I going to be reimbursed for that?"


"That is unfortunate," he said with his hands folded like a mortician,  "but we can only pay for what you were insured for."


"I've lost my lifestyle." I said, "That can't be computed on a calculator, a lifestyle forged out of blood sweat and tears.  It took Generations of my family's hard work getting me here. Can you put a number on that Mr Anderson?"


He didn't get it and said he'd contact me when I was able to think clearly.


"That might take a while," I said.


"I know you're emotionally spent," he kindly drawled. "The most important thing right now is finding you a place to live... please try and list your belongings within the next couple of weeks and I'll have one of our builders and an Architect meet with you in a couple of days."


We walked down the hill together...he opened his trunk and pulled out a check for $10,000 and said "this should be enough to get started, go find a place to live for you and your daughter."


All I wanted to do was go to Fashion Island and buy some skin products so I could at least wash my face. Donna and I drove through the canyon and videoed the charred black rolling hills and scary remains of one hundred year old oak and Eucalyptus trees.  It was Halloween eve and the smoke reeked of dead brush and cremated animals that had roamed through Laguna Canyon since the beginning of time.  We got on the freeway and headed to Gene's house so I could give Georgia some money for necessities.  When we got there she came out and said she didn't want to stay there much longer.

"Mom, it's a pit," she said, "and I have no privacy... I have to sleep on the couch... all my bags of clothes and stuff smell like smoke and are spread all over the floor."
She was expressionless except for tears in her eyes, and said, "I just want to go home." 




Stay tuned as the Aftermath of the Firestorm continues.