Fire refugees regularly arrive at checkpoints on the Pacific Coast Highway. They appeared alone and in pairs, lining up behind police cars and National Guard Humvees, pleading to return to their homes on the outskirts of the Palisades wildfire.

Of course, they want medicines and other necessities. But they also want to know: What impact did the Palisades fire have on their homes and lives?

When Steve LaBella arrived, his father, Len, had an urgent request. Lane hurriedly evacuated on Jan. 7, leaving behind a precious keepsake — a Purple Heart his father, Leonard LaBella Sr., had won near Germany. The end of World War II.

Like almost everyone else, Steve LaBella was turned away by the police. But then he spotted a sunburned civilian inside the checkpoint. He shouted to the stranger, whom he later learned to be Stephen Foster, who quickly agreed to take the keys to LaBella's home and search for the missing medal.

Twenty minutes later, Foster returned to PCH carrying not only the Purple Heart but also several family photos, carefully wrapped in tablecloths.

"I don't think he knew what gift he was giving us in that moment, to know that the house survived and received these things," said LaBella, who quickly handed the Purple Heart to his tearful father. "It's a gift of some level of humanity, connection, community and even love. And it comes from a complete stranger."

Foster is a rare exception during this deadly and tragic fire season. He was a Samaritan villain who served as a soldier in the almost completely vacant neighborhood next door to the Getty Villa.

Foster and his son Colton persevered through the worst of the wildfires and can say they helped save as many as 10 homes. They are now delivering food and other necessities to others fighting the fires, as well as providing delivery services to dozens of others living outside the fire zone. In the process, the Fosters create an island of civilization in a smoky wilderness.

Foster, 52, a real estate attorney in Century City, installed a generator to power the home where he grew up and the two-story homes of two neighbors, making his home livable. New Starlink satellite connections ensure communications with the outside world.

He and Colton, 21, delivered groceries, medicine and dog food to people who refused to leave their communities, including non-essentials like beer and a coveted bottle of scotch.

While the checkpoint prevented nearly all outsiders from entering the fire zone, police and sheriff's deputies let some supplies go, knowing the Fosters were providing relief to others. The Foster family picks up essentials during an emergency at PCH. Bigger improvements, such as generators, are already underway under escort from law enforcement cruisers.

Recipients of the family's generosity include a 75-year-old bachelor who fends for himself in the Sunset Mesa neighborhood, which has no electricity and only cold water.

"I call him St. Stephen, St. Stefano. St. Steven," Michael Geisel quipped,
One day this week. He is a retiree who received a bottle of scotch, a bag of dog food and several other donations from the Foster family.

"You can call me a good neighbor," Foster replied.

The Redondo Beach Fire Department captain initially ordered the Fosters to leave the area multiple times, and he credited them with helping save a series of homes. "It was pretty heroic given the circumstances," Capt. Kenny Campos said.

In a more remote Pacific Palisades community less than 10 minutes from their success, a sobering contrast emerged. Along Glen Haven Boulevard, a dynamic, retired engineer with a formidable work ethic was found dead.

Mark Shterenberg, 80, messaged his wife around 9:30 p.m. on Jan. 7 to say their home looked safe. He last spoke to his neighbor shortly before midnight. Four days later, investigators found human remains in the rubble of his home, along with Strenberg's glasses.

“In my heart,” his granddaughter told The Times, “I feel like he was trying to protect what he had built for his family.”

The California Emergency Services Act of 1970 gives police broad powers to arrest residents who disobey evacuation orders. The violation is a misdemeanor punishable by a fine of up to $1,000 and six months in jail.

Firefighters said they were too busy managing multiple other variables to spend critical time trying to uproot homeowners who ignored evacuation orders. Still, firefighters said they were frustrated when they had to turn their attention away from the flames and toward rescuing potential heroes.

"We told Steve maybe two or three times, 'You have to evacuate. It's going to be through here soon,'" Capt. Campos recalled. "He just said, 'No, I'm going to stay.'" I didn't have time to argue in a situation like this, so it was (like) 'do what you want.' "

Firefighters who spent several days working in the neighborhood near the Getty Villa also acknowledged that Foster's condition, while clearly threatening, was not dire. Their two-story home was recently renovated and has very few flammable materials. The house sits on relatively defensible ground, in part because there's a concrete basketball court in the backyard.

"As a fire chief, I have to say it's best to evacuate," Campos said. "But it's also your own prerogative to protect your own property."

Foster's wife, Erika, and disabled mother, Betty, fled on January 7, reportedly along with a caregiver, two dogs and a 16-year-old cat, Bailey. Bailey is the head of the Foster family. Daughter Cassidy, 18, had just left for Eugene to attend the University of Oregon.

Throughout the night, two of Foster's men guarded the house on Surfview Drive, lugging their own heavy-duty hoses from house to house and wielding shovels and picks to move earth and extinguish the flames when water pressure was low. .

Wearing ski goggles to protect themselves from the sweltering heat, they watched as a eucalyptus tree in their backyard caught fire. They extinguished the flames but had to repeat the process when the tree caught fire two more times.

"This is the end of the world," said Foster, still red-eyed after a week of struggle. "We're not going to do anything stupid. We're just going to stay and do the best we can until we know we can't control it."

Erica Foster called more than once. "She was scared to death. She said, 'If you die in that fire, I'm going to kill you again...'" Colton, a student at Santa Monica College, said with a laugh. "I love it. I love that she cares. She has every reason to be so concerned."

A friend also called Colton to tell him he was crazy not to evacuate. "But I didn't want to leave my dad alone," Colton later told reporters. "This is not a one-man job."

At noon on January 8, during a period of relative calm, Foster approached Campos and his three-man engine company to discuss strategy. They laughed and recounted what they had experienced. Foster provided drinks, snacks and bathrooms to exhausted firefighters. A society of mutual admiration began to arise.

One neighbor then texted six other neighbors: "You didn't hesitate," the message read. "You stopped at nothing to protect what we hold dear. ... I will never forget what you did for all of us."

Stories are emerging from Altadena and other areas of the Palisades and Malibu of others saving their homes. What sets the Fosters apart is their work supporting evacuees and neighbors. together with
Next-door neighbor Chad Martin returned shortly after the fire and they became an attorney for the refugees.

They regularly made sandwiches and hosted picnics for the few remaining neighbors and the occasional first responder. They cleared debris from streets and yards. When they spotted outsiders patrolling the neighborhood on bicycles and carrying empty backpacks, they alerted police to a possible robbery.

After learning about the Fosters' habitat, dozens of people asked them to pick up essential items from their homes.

An elderly couple's children ride an electric bike to the police checkpoint at PCH, located below the Getty Villa. They are desperate to retrieve their 87-year-old mother's wheelchair, hearing aids and some medications.

Foster quickly headed toward the house.

"We couldn't stop talking about his dedication in that moment," said Marie Effertz, who delivered the found items to her parents. "He seemed to spend all his time helping people."

Foster also took video of the house and gave it to Everts. She could see broken windows and muddy footprints left behind as firefighters struggled to save the home. “It made me feel like I had some kind of answer,” she said. “He’s really been a huge asset to us.”

Hundreds of other families clamoring to return were told they would have to wait. Officials say it is not yet safe to return. Crews are still clearing downed power lines, working to restore power and continue to search for survivors.

Foster admitted he thought more than once about how good it would feel to be on the perimeter. Maybe for a hot bath. Or a massage. Especially with his high school sweetheart, Erica.

But he realized that if he left the fire zone, he would not be allowed to return. Crews from the Redondo Beach Fire Department's Engine 62 stopped by more than once, and Foster treated them to a barbecue dinner.

Meanwhile, people seeking help continued to arrive at the PCH checkpoint, so Foster remained on duty with no immediate plans to leave. There is still much to do.

Times staff writer Corinne Purtill contributed to this report.