Eulogy for Pacific Palisades –the Origins of Independence
Growing up in the Palisades, I was given the gift of independence from an early age. Whether it was roller skating down Bollinger Drive, organizing ‘camps’ for the younger kids on my block, or exploring the beaches and streets with my friends, I learned to trust myself and embrace freedom. That sense of autonomy planted the seeds for the independent woman I would later become—a woman confident enough to choose single motherhood. The foundation of love and self-reliance that the Palisades gave me has been a guiding light as I’ve navigated raising my son on my own. It reminds me that independence doesn’t mean going it alone; it means standing strong on your own terms while building a life full of connection and meaning.
I’ve been truly gutted by the devastation of Pacific Palisades and wrote this “eulogy” for my hometown. Basically everyone I know has lost their childhood homes (many people’s parents were still in the homes they grew up in). And many stayed and started their own families and lost their current home and childhood home, sister’s home etc. Reports of those who dies are trickling in. Thank you for letting me share about my hometown!
Eulogy for Pacific Palisades: My Childhood Hometown and Home
Last week, I bid farewell to Pacific Palisades, the place that shaped me, nurtured me, and gave me the foundation for who I am. It’s hard to comprehend that the town I once knew, the streets I once roamed, and the home that held my earliest memories are now gone—consumed by flames, leaving behind only ash and echoes of what was.
I was born in Pacific Palisades and spent the first 18 years of my life in a modest house on Bollinger Drive. To me, it wasn’t just a house; it was the heart of my childhood and the foundation of countless memories. From the time I was just six months old until I left for college, it was a constant in my life, a place where I always felt safe and loved. It was where I took my first steps, grew up alongside my sister, and experienced the simple joys of family life.
Our home was a labor of love. My father, ever resourceful and determined, remodeled it with his own hands, pouring his time and effort into making it special. My mother added her own creative touch, painting intricate stencils on the exposed wooden beams in the kitchen and around the countertops (it was the 80’s after all), which gave the space a warm and personal charm. Outside, nature flourished. Two orange trees stood proudly in our yard, offering fruit year-round. A sprawling strawberry patch and blackberry bushes lined our fence, providing us with fresh berries and endless summer snacks. Towering palm trees swayed in the breeze, while eucalyptus trees filled the air with their crisp, clean scent.
Many mistakenly thought Pacific Palisades was Palos Verdes, but to me, it was a hidden suburban oasis tucked between the mountains and the sea, between Santa Monica and Malibu.
Looking back, Bollinger Drive wasn’t just an address; it was a world of its own. It was where my family planted roots—both literally and figuratively—and where I learned to appreciate the beauty of simple things: a homemade meal, a tree ripe with oranges, or a quiet evening under the swaying palms. It’s where I developed my independent spirit, being allowed to roam free most of the time. Now, that house is gone—along with the entire block and even the little commercial district at the top of our street. The devastation is unimaginable.
I remember walking to the bus stop every morning, stopping halfway up the block to wait for Elizabeth. I had to leave my home at exactly 7:37am to make it on time. We’d walk together the rest of the way to the bus stop and wait for the Big Blue Bus #9. The bus rides to Corpus Christi School were as much a part of my childhood as the school itself. Corpus Christi wasn’t just a place of learning; it was a community, a family. For nine years, I wore plaid uniforms and shared classrooms with more or less the same 40 kids. Together, we grew up under the watchful eyes of Sister Maureen, St. Patricia, and teachers like Mrs. Loaf, whose lessons have stayed with me to this day. Now, Corpus Christi—the school and the church—is destroyed.
My days were filled with freedom and joy. I’d roller skate on my block in my pizzazium socks and disco-themed roller skates or head up to Marquez Elementary with the neighborhood kids to ride bikes and skate until sunset. Other times, I’d meet up with Hilary Ryan to play Barbies or dress up. Elizabeth Cook and I created “camps” for the younger kids on our block, playing little moms and caring for them with all the seriousness of childhood imagination. I dreamed of having 11 kids.
I remember the small joys—the LIKE or RC Cola sodas (what happened to Like soda brand and does anyone else remember it?) I’d buy for 25 cents at Pronto Market after school, painting windows for Halloween, and watching the little train at the hot dog station. One Halloween, dressed as John Belushi from the Blues Brothers, I fought against the relentless Santa Ana winds to make it to the bus stop.
Those damn winds. They came every year. One October we sat up, watching the hills burn. It was Oct 23rd, my sister’s birthday. Those winds were strong, but nothing compared to the ones that swept through last week and took everything.
As I grew older, my independence flourished. The Palisades gave me a safe haven to explore and thrive. I’d walk down to the Bel Air Bay Club to meet friends playing in the waves for hours. We’d go to Elizabeth B’s apartment, and hang out in the alley. I remember getting our hands on Bartle’s and James peach coolers and Corona beer that we stashed and drank hours later warm from the sun. That day didn’t well if I remember correctly.
My senior year at Pali was filled with beach days, Jack in the Box runs on Sunset, and parties that took us all over the Westside, lunch at Barrera’s Pizza for a slice–that sweet courtyard. I could sign myself out of school and had already been accepted to UC Berkeley so I had 53 absences–most of them spent at the beach a few blocks from Pali. My first job was at Jacopo’s as a cashier. I met boys from Samo and ventured out beyond Sation 15 and 17 to go to the beach. We partied at friend’s houses overlooking the ocean completely unaware of how lucky we were.
Life wasn’t without its tragedies—accidents and even murders shook our community—but we endured together. Our senior T-shirt read, “I survived Pali High and 20/20, 60 Minutes,” a nod to the media frenzy that descended upon us after a series of fatal car accidents.
Pacific Palisades wasn’t just my home; it was a unique place full of vibrant characters and moments that felt larger than life. I remember seeing O.J. Simpson driving through town in an old car. It was so exciting to spot him Walter Matthau strolling around in plaid shorts with his sheepdog (or was it?), and Arnold Schwarzenegger picking up KFC. Other kids having long absences so go film a movie. The list of famous people I grew up with is mind-boggling. As a kid, I thought we were poor because our house was modest compared to others in town. Little did I know that years later, Zillow would value a remodeled version of that house at $3.3 million.
The Palisades gave me freedom—a kind of freedom that feels almost impossible today. My friends and I roamed the streets, found adventures around every corner, and even snuck out at night when staying over at friends’ houses in Huntington Palisades. It was a safe town in a different era, one where independence wasn’t just allowed; it was encouraged.
When I graduated high school, my dad’s job took our family to Bakersfield. Though I moved away, Pacific Palisades remained a part of me. For years, I returned to visit friends and relive those carefree days. But over time, life moved on, and my visits became less frequent. Still, my heart never left.
As an adult, I’ve lived in many places—Oakland, Mexico, Denver—and now I’ve settled in Louisville, Colorado (also a town of 30K people). Perhaps unconsciously, I was searching for something like the Palisades—a small community where I could feel connected and safe amidst a larger city. Louisville will hopefully eventually give me that sense of belonging, but it will never replace what I had growing up.
Now that Pacific Palisades is gone—my childhood home reduced to rubble—I feel an ache that’s hard to put into words. My son has moved around so much that he doesn’t understand what it means to have roots like mine or why this loss feels so devastating. But those roots shaped me. They gave me a foundation of love, freedom, and connection that will always be a part of who I am.
To Pacific Palisades: You were more than a town; you were my sanctuary. You gave me my childhood—a time of innocence and independence that I will forever cherish. Though your streets are now silent and your homes are gone, you live on in my heart and in the hearts of everyone who grew up there. The devastation is beyond comprehension. Almost everyone I know has lost their childhood homes (many of whom were still lived in by their parents who have to start over in their 80’s) or multiple homes if they stayed and created their own families there.
Goodbye to Bollinger Drive, Corpus Christi, Pronto Market, Bel Air Bay Club, Marquez Elementary, and every corner of this special place that made me who I am. Thank you for everything you gave me—for the memories, the lessons, and the love. You will always be home to me.
Rest in peace, Pacific Palisades. You will never be forgotten.
Sarah Kowalski
