Transparency Item: This is a personal essay written by a current student who was a member of various communities affected by both the Woolsey Fire and the Borderline Shooting. This is the personal experience, opinion and perspective of the writer.
I am going to try to explain what happened that night 6 years ago in the way only a 15-year-old teenager, lounging on a couch next to his father, could. That is where I was when I first heard the sirens on Nov. 7.
At that point in 2018, my father had worked at Pepperdine for 13 years and my family had lived in Newbury Park for 8.
The next morning, when I woke up, my parents were standing above me. They told me there had been a shooting at the nearby Borderline Bar and Grill.
Visible from the 101 highway, I had unknowingly passed Borderline thousands of times. It stood no more than 5 miles from my house.
Thirteen people died that night.
One of those who had passed away was a first-year student at Pepperdine, Alaina Housley. Her loss sent our university into spiraling despair and confusion — it wasn’t something one could make any sense of.
Alaina was not alone that night — 16 Pepperdine students were there, according to an emergency report. I need to continue to pray for them since I could never understand the pain they suffered that day.
My parents went to campus for the remembrance ceremonies. That semester, as well, my brother was a fourth-year and a Spiritual Life Advisor in Fifield.
But I stayed behind, having gone to a procession earlier for Sergeant Ron Helus, a police officer who had lost his life trying to save the Borderline patrons the night before.
In the middle of the day, I stepped into our kitchen and noticed, at once, the orange glow cast from the window. I recognized its source immediately since sunlight turns sickly when the beams passed through a cloud of smoke.
I went to the backyard and stared into the distance. A mile from my home, the hills were on fire.
To this day, I can vividly see myself standing there, confused, too shocked to be afraid.
Before dawn, my family was evacuated. We made it to safety and watched on the news as the two fires — both the Hill and the Woolsey fires — fought their way to the coast.
My parents and I watched as the Woolsey fire surrounded Pepperdine’s campus, where my brother was. We knew they were safe, but the newsfeed of black clouds slowly engulfing the hills above Drescher cannot be forgotten.
Very well, they shouldn’t be.
A 15-year-old just learning about heartbreak had no way to express anger or confusion at a God who failed to control what happened to so many innocent people.
This campus will always bear deep scars from 2018. The weight of tragedies defines those who hold it. We see the world in light of what Borderline and Woolsey burned away.
I tell the story, again, of Borderline and Woolsey not to dig into wounds that never really healed, but, rather, to say that even though I can’t give reasons for what happened — there are none — I can tell what I know to be the true story.
The true story is about students, who in the middle of hell, did everything they could to help get their peers to safety.
The true story is a community lining up on the side of a street and honoring a man who gave his life for others.
The true story is students singing “Don’t Stop Believin’” in the cafeteria as Malibu burned around them.
Pepperdine, pressed from every side, was unbroken.
We didn’t have the luxury of giving up. It wasn’t and it isn’t an option, because hope and bravery and love are all we have in the darkest moments.
As we remember the pain, or try to understand the pain of others, we need also to remember that we’re here because people fought and cared for us.
___________________
Follow the Graphic on X: @PeppGraphic
Contact Eliot Cox via email: eliot.cox@pepperdine.edu
