Back in 2002 a very shady hotel in a very shady part of San Berdu caught fire. Actually it caught fire a couple of times, but the last time when a cigarette met a trash can four people died. On top of that nineteen people were hospitalized, and everyone who lived there was left with out a place to live. Sure it wasn't the Ritz, and they weren't all what most would consider upstanding citizens, but they were people nonetheless. Most of them were a bit mental and needed medication to be some where near "normal".
I was working at The San Bernardino Sun at the time, and only for about four months into what would ultimately be five years when this happened. I didn't see the blaze as it happened, so I never actually made a photo of the hotel on fire, but this is how I imagined how it looked. I never went inside of the building either after the fire. One of the other photographers Gabe did go inside however, and he said it was not only visually horrible but smelled worse that you would expect. There was a mix of burnt flesh, burnt building materials, that nauseating scent of an extinguished fire and of course the overpowering smell of urine. I believe he even had to change his clothes after he left the scene due to the smells attaching themselves to his garments.
I was asked to go back the next night to get photos of some of the people who were now basically homeless. I was ready and prepared to face what Gabe had told me about. I have a strong stomach so it wasn't going to be a problem. When the reporter and I got to the hotel we were told that the one time residents were being put up in a near by hotel. One of the same caliber as this one, only not burnt down. I was a little relieved to not have to go inside of the building, I won't lie. We met with a man whose name I believe was Emil but I could be wrong. After hearing his story and how hard his life had been, and how much he depended on medication to control his schizophrenia I began to wish I could have just photographed the crime scene.
Before this more often than not I would drive by this area of town and think about how these people need to do something with their lives. I grew up in the same city and I managed to make something of myself. Why couldn't they? Well we aren't all the same. I didn't have schizophrenia, or wasn't addicted to meth, or wasn't abused by my parents or a whole slew of other things that many of these people had to deal with. They were people too, like me and that night I felt for them. In fact every time since when I drive by that area I still think of Emil and how he made me feel more for humanity that night in a dark, dingy seedy hotel in one of the worse parts of San Berdu.
