As a boy growing up in Leningrad, Mark Strömberg developed a fascination with how things work—the challenge of taking them apart, and the responsibility of putting them back together.

When Sputnik launched in 1957, he had already determined that one day he would use his talents to put things into space. Once Strömberg decides on something, there is no way to change it.

An engineer, he immigrated in 1980 with his wife, Marina, and their young daughter, determined to give his family a life free from the anti-Semitism he saw in the Soviet Union. They moved first to Chicago and then to Los Angeles in the mid-1980s.

"He was very smart, very dedicated and had an amazing work ethic," said his granddaughter Tatiana Bedi, 29, of San Francisco. "I don't think he ever took a day off. He got up every day and went to work to make a living for his family."

Stromberg died at his home in the Palisades fire, his family said. He is 80 years old.

Strenberg worked as an engineer at NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory and Hughes Aerospace, his family said.

In 1993, he and Marina purchased a home in Pacific Palisades. A former college wrestler, Strömberg remained healthy and strong into his later years, dragging himself to the roof to make repairs despite his family's protests.

Every morning, until the last day of his life, he would get up at 5 a.m., run three miles, and then jump in their swimming pool, which was always unheated because Strömberg didn't believe in the stupidity of wasting money on pool heating, etc. on things.

On the outside, Bedi said, he may have been rough, bristle, and incredibly stubborn, but deep down, he was the softest, most loving person. He loved his wife, my grandmother, my mom, my brother and me very much. "

Bedi's grandmother had been ill in the days before the fire and lived with Bedi's mother, Maya Amans, at their home in Santa Monica.

When the Palisades fire broke out on Jan. 7, Strenberg texted his family shortly before noon that nearby streets were on fire, Bedi said. They frantically called and texted him asking him to evacuate, but no one answered.

At 9:30 p.m., he texted his wife that their home was safe. Bedi said about two hours later, neighbors received word from him that the fire was approaching. This is Strenberg's last known communication.

Over the next few days, his family made desperate calls to hospitals and evacuation centers in the hope that he would successfully escape. Bedi said they were notified on Jan. 11 that investigators found human remains in the rubble of his home, along with Strenberg's glasses.

"We really don't know why he didn't evacuate," Bedi said. "We'll never really get an answer to that question. But in the back of my mind, I feel like he was trying to protect what he had built here for his family."