Small Businesses as First Responders

When the Eaton wildfires tore through Altadena and surrounding communities, people did not wait for official instructions or relief portals to open. They went where they always go in moments of uncertainty — to the places and people they trust.

They went to their barbers and stylists. Their corner stores and cafés. Their wellness spaces and neighborhood shops. Across Altadena, Pasadena, Sierra Madre, and Northeast Los Angeles, small businesses became the region's earliest and most reliable responders, embedded in the daily life of the community and already positioned to act.

Owners unlocked their doors as ash settled outside. They cleared space for neighbors who needed clean air, charging outlets, water, or simply a moment to breathe. One business owner shared, "We actually hosted several community events where we were handing out clothes, handing out things for the personal needs of the clients and the people who lived here" (Dardin Beauty). Another described the instinctive nature of the response: "We are the heartbeat of Altadena that brings everyone together. I felt it was our responsibility to respond… to uplift. That's how it was from the jump." (Rhythm of the Village).

This response emerged from proximity, familiarity, and relationships built over years of showing up for one another.

In Altadena and Pasadena, those relationships run deep. This is a community where people know one another across generations — where families have built, worked, and cared side by side for decades. "Black Pasadena is small," one resident explained. "Everybody knows somebody." That closeness shaped how the crisis unfolded. Business owners checked on neighbors. Churches opened their doors. Informal networks became lifelines. What emerged was not just aid, but continuity — a collective commitment to face loss together rather than alone.

But this immediate activation came at a profound personal cost.

"In the midst of being in pain and hurt I have to set up a booth and sell merchandise when all of our merchandise was burned in the fire." - Rhythm of the Village

Many of the same business owners serving as community anchors were simultaneously navigating their own displacement, insurance delays, revenue loss, and emotional strain. "It took me into a steep depression… just seeing this thing that you built… and feeling like I was abandoning my clients." (Threo Skin). Another recalled peers reaching out while evacuating themselves: "My peers reached out to me right away as they were fleeing their own homes. They drove by my store and saw it in ashes. They said it would be okay and we would come back stronger" (Rhythm of the Village).

Again and again, a pattern surfaced: people recovering while holding everyone else up.

Many owners did not wait for roads to reopen or distribution sites to be established. They built their own networks overnight, moving supplies through friends, neighbors, and rideshare drivers. Essential items were passed hand to hand until they reached those most in need. When communication lines were down or neighborhoods were inaccessible, the people already on the ground became the only reliable source of immediate help.

Across interviews, the truth is unmistakable. Small businesses provided stability, leadership, and care in the most volatile moments — filling gaps formal systems could not reach in real time. Their rapid response was driven by trust, cultural alignment, and deep community ties.

Yet despite functioning as first responders, these entrepreneurs received little to no support for the essential roles they played.