TOD
One actual evacuation, or forced move:
In 1981 I moved into a single (studio, for you east coasters) apartment in Palms, next door to Culver City. My ultimate goal was a particular apartment complex in Redondo Beach, but that involved a waiting list and this would be in a convenient enough neighborhood until I got into the place I wanted.
I was on the second of two stories, and about six months in, I was awakened in the middle of a Sunday night by yelling and commotion, and when I got outside I found that the downstairs neighbor's place had had a Molotov Cocktail or some such thrown into it and their place was on fire. Another neighbor and I ended up taking refuge crouched behind the laundry machines near the rear of the building while hearing gunshots out front. That's the one time I've had to feel scared like that, but we were safe (I believe no one actually got hurt) and the police arrived and the bad people (apparently someone carrying a huge grudge against the downstairs neighbor) were gone. The fire, which had been contained to their apartment, was out, and that was that until morning.
In the morning there was considerable smoke damage in my place, and there was no question I'd have to vacate. The management company around the corner on Motor Ave. was in charge of a lot of apartments in the neighborhood (they still are, I see), and were able to get me into another unit right down the block. I moved that day, and took a great deal of my clothing to the dry cleaners. I was able to clean up most of the other items fairly well myself, a couple of which were framed lobby cards, one being my Hitchcock-signed Rear Window which fortunately survived beautifully.
The second place was okay, same type of unit and all, but it had a lousy a/c unit that they never did properly fix, and the first apartment would have remained more desirable to me for other reasons as well, including the nice neighbors (not the ones with the fire). Anyhoo, after a year or so my name finally came up on the waiting list and I had a VERY happy move into The Village at Redondo Beach. The apartment management's insurance company refused to honor the big dry cleaning bill, and I hadn't yet discovered renter's insurance, so I was out a few hundred bucks for that. The clothing came out beautifully, though.
