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Los Angeles Times
3 days ago
- Entertainment
- Los Angeles Times
Their dream kitchens burned in the Eaton fire. What got them cooking again
Two cooks talk about loss and recovery. Plus, our summer cook-along with 'Chef That!' Also, advice on cooking for dogs and eating with dogs, taquito comfort and fan-service restaurants (or what Day 1 was like at the Tesla Diner). I'm Laurie Ochoa, general manager of L.A. Times Food, with this week's Tasting Notes. The most beautiful kitchen I ever cooked in was far from perfect. It was built into one of six Pasadena apartments that in the 1920s had been carved out of a Victorian mansion designed by Frederick Roehrig, the architect behind Old Town Pasadena's Hotel Green and its surviving annex, Castle Green. The dining room and kitchen had once been a grand parlor room with a fireplace at one end and most of the original wood details still on the walls and ceiling. The kitchen's counter curved with the arc of several windows set into the bend of one wall, with soft sunlight filtering in through the greenery planted outside. But the stove, relocated and updated since the days Jonathan Gold and I occupied that apartment, was a finicky old thing. And the counter, so attractively placed, was too low for serious cooking. Our backs would often ache if there were too many vegetables to chop or dishes to wash. It was a dreamy kitchen, but it wasn't a dream kitchen. And yet, we made some of our happiest meals there. There are cooks I know who have had dream kitchens, spaces that were designed just for them and functioned according to their specific cooking needs. Ruth Reichl, author and former restaurant critic and editor, says she designed her U-shaped kitchen to fit her body and the open floor plan of the home she and her husband, Michael Singer, share in New York's Columbia County. With expansive views of the upper Hudson Valley, it's inviting but also intimate in its footprint; no more than two or three steps are required to reach most of her appliances and tools. During parties, Reichl is easily able to roll out pie dough while catching up with early-arriving guests and there is lots of counter space around the U for setting out platters of food that always tempt some hungry person before it's officially time to eat. Closer to home, I was lucky enough to be invited many times to the Altadena home of Michelle Huneven, novelist and food writer (often for this paper), and Jim Potter, an attorney specializing in environmental law and an accomplished bread baker. From big, crowded Seders at Passover to weekday soup meals, always with something wonderfully sweet at the end, I watched their modest cooking space expand and evolve into a beautiful, functional and comfortable modern space with a dining table at the center of the room that allowed guests to watch the interplay of two excellent cooks at work. 'I had a little 1,000-square-foot house, and when Jim and I married, that was fine for a while,' Huneven said recently in the Times Test Kitchen. 'Then he began to bake bread. And very shortly, everything in my little kitchen was covered with bread glue. I was like, 'We need a bigger kitchen.' Before we knew it, we'd designed a great big freestanding kitchen. I'm short, so in the place of overhead cabinets, we had windows out to our garden. He had his breadmaking area; I had my cooking area. We each had a sink. He had his own oven. And he had his own dishwasher. Praise the Lord.' Cookbook author Molly Baz's dream kitchen in Altadena was one I never saw in person but I interacted with it virtually through her 'Hit the Kitch' video series and Instagram feed. 'My home kitchen was also my place of work,' Baz said, sitting alongside Huneven in the Times Test Kitchen. 'My husband, [Ben Willett], designed the space as the heart of the home. It was an expansive space that was a hanging-out living room, lounge, bar, kitchen, all in this one large room. We designed the kitchen very intentionally to be the anchor of like everything I do, the place where I would shoot my cookbooks and all of my content, where I would develop all of my recipes. So we decided to do it all butter-colored, and it was just this beautiful monochromatic, creamy butter-yellow-colored dream.' As you've undoubtedly surmised by now, both Huneven and Baz lost their Altadena homes — and their dream kitchens — in the Eaton fire. 'We evacuated to a friend's house about 4:30 in the morning with another couple who lived much closer to Eaton Canyon,' Huneven said. 'When they learned that their house had burned, I found that so shocking that I just sat there with my hands over my mouth for about, I don't know, 15 minutes. I just couldn't absorb it. Then, at about 8 o'clock, Jim decided to drive up to our house. He later told me he'd known even before he drove up because he controlled the sprinklers and the solar panels from his phone, and nothing was responding. When he called me to say it was gone, he sent a picture of the house on the corner still burning with flames coming out of the windows, not a fire truck in sight. I was preconditioned for the loss, because I'd already reacted to one home burning down. I didn't cry until 48 hours later.' Baz's story is similar. 'I evacuated earlier, at 7:30 p.m., because some friends and neighbors had seen the fire, and it was creeping closer and closer,' she said. 'We never got a notice, but we decided, let's get out of here. Throughout the night, we were refreshing our phones, watching the map get populated with new homes that had burned. But the whole night, I was under the impression that my house had somehow by the grace of God gotten skipped because of this map. In the morning, my husband wanted to go to the house just to triple check and so, he got in the car and drove nervously up there. I got a call about 30 minutes later and he was just in tears. He was like, 'There's nothing left.' ' Huneven, whose newest, highly praised novel, 'Bug Hollow,' is anchored in Altadena, her longtime home, and Baz, who came to Altadena from Brooklyn in 2020 and started the mayo/sando sauce brand Ayoh! last year, are both terrific cooks with very different styles. When Baz came into Te Times to record a video demonstration of the highly craveable pistachio halva chocolate chunk cookie recipe she created for her second cook book 'More Is More,' I thought Huneven and Baz might want to meet each other. During their conversation about their experiences of loss and recovery, recorded by video producer Mark E. Potts, they immediately found things in common. 'One of the things that I wanted in the kitchen was a sofa,' Huneven said, 'so we had this beautiful, long window seat with big welted cushions. Every morning we would wake up and drink our tea and coffee there with the dog and look out into the garden and get ready for the day.' 'We also had a sitting area where we would start the day,' Baz said. 'We had a built-in couch that my husband designed, the first coffee table he ever made, and a chaise longue, which didn't really have a use until I had my son 10 months ago. It became the perfect place to nurse. I would have my coffee and nurse him on the chaise longue every morning. It was just kind of a perfect place.' After the fire, neither Huneven nor Baz felt much like cooking. 'I rebelled,' Huneven said. 'I didn't cook for two months. Or, rather, I cooked like two dinners, and it was the same dinner where I stuck a bunch of cherry tomatoes on a sheet pan, boiled some pasta and that was it, with maybe some burrata. I don't even remember how we ate. I mean, I say I wasn't traumatized, but it really was a blur.' 'I didn't cook for a while either,' Baz said. 'I got back into the kitchen to finish a recipe I was working on the day of the fire. It was a savory egg quiche, but treated like a burnt Basque cheesecake, cooked at a really high heat, a crustless quiche. I thought about taking it with me when we evacuated, but I expected I'd be back the next day. One of the the last things I said before I left was, 'Damn, I just wish the quiche was a little more burnt.' Because I had this vision of a really burnished exterior. And so later the quiche got burnt. Once I pulled myself together enough to think about food, that's the next thing I made. It was really comforting and cathartic. I made everyone leave the kitchen and was like, 'I'm cooking. I need to be alone.' So it was a bit of a therapy session for myself. And yeah, the quiche was delicious.' Both Baz and Huneven are living in different rental homes in Echo Park while they figure out the logistics of rebuilding. 'So much of cooking is a graceful dance,' Baz said, 'and I felt so ungraceful for the first three weeks that it made me not want to cook. I've gotten over that hump, and I think I'm regaining my muscle memory in this new space now. I feel like I can cook and not fumble around.' 'We moved into a completely empty house, nothing in the drawers. We had a couple of camping pans that had been in the trunk of our our truck. But one of the things that was so amazing is that we landed in a sea of generosity. I'm not wearing any clothes that I bought. They're all gifts. And people furnished our kitchen with a house-warming party, but it was really a kitchen warming. 'The incredible kindness and generosity of people, that's a gift I never anticipated,' Huneven continued. 'It's also really lessened the trauma. Because, you know, it's stuff, and it can be replaced. Houses can be rebuilt. Somebody said to me, 'This is the worst thing that's ever happened to you.' And I'm like, 'No, it's not.' You know, the loss of people that I've loved, some bad breakups in my youth. Now those were bad. This was bad too, but it's not the worst thing.' 'We lost all of the physical things,' Baz said, agreeing with Huneven. 'But it highlights what you do have, which is your relationships and your community. And that becomes the most important thing in the world. My friends and my family, the people who are holding me together in all of this, are everything to me right now. All of the bulls— just washes away. You learn and understand like that living is actually about humanity and people. The rest can burn down, and you're going to be OK.' Baz is just one of the cooks and chefs who have been to the Times Test Kitchen in recent weeks to meet our 'Chef That!' challenge: Come up with a recipe that demonstrates chef skills and creativity but is still simple enough for an average home cook to make. Our 'Chef That!' video series is ongoing, but this Sunday we're publishing a special cook-along recipe section full of summer recipes from the chef series plus a few from cookbook authors in our 'Book to Cook' video series. Among the recipes to look for, home-oven-cooked beef ribs with outdoor smoker flavor from Andrew and Michelle Muñoz of Moo's Craft Barbecue, spicy cold mung bean noodles from 88 Club's Mei Lin, Hailee Catalano's 'mean, green' turkey sandwich, the egg salad sando that Father's Office founder Sang Yoon serves at his Helm's Bakery complex in Culver City and an incredible grapefruit cream pie from Quarter Sheets' dessert guru Hannah Ziskin. Los Angeles, says senior Food editor Danielle Dorsey, is ranked the nation's most popular city to own a dog. It's also a very good city for eating out with a dog. Dorsey put together a guide to the best dog-friendly patios to take your pup as part of our 'Dog Days of Summer' collaboration with our features team. Regular contributor Carolynn Carreño explored the evolution toward human-grade dog food over the last 15 years and provides a recipe for Rufus hash, a raw dog food blend she used to make for her late dog, Rufus. It's made with ground beef, turkey or chicken, organ meat, bone meal, steamed broccoli and steamed sweet potato. Novelist Michelle Huneven (see above) also shares her recipe for the homemade hash she feeds her rescue dog, Tatty Jane. Like Carreño, she uses ground meat and broccoli (or spinach) but also includes peas, brown or white rice, fish oil or sardines, finely ground baked eggshells for bone health and, for the antioxidants, frozen-fresh cranberries. Chef Wes Avila's father, Jose Luis Avila, is a legal resident of the U.S. But he felt so fearful of being caught up in the ICE raids happening all over California that after more than 50 years in this country he recently moved to Mexico. Avila told Food reporter Stephanie Breijo that when he's missing his father he makes a version of the Durango-style caldillo, or stew, that his father used to cook. 'It connects me to him,' said Avila, who leads the kitchens at MXO and Ka'teen. 'I talk to him every other day. We have a very close relationship.' And when he's missing his mother, who died in 1995, he makes beef taquitos, which he thinks was her favorite dish — or at least, he says, 'our favorite dish for her to make when my brother, my sister and I were kids.' He shared recipes for both dishes. And Dee-Ann Durbin reports on Coca-Cola's decision to 'add a cane-sugar version of its trademark cola to its U.S. lineup this fall, confirming a recent announcement by President Trump. ... Coke currently sells Mexican Coke, which is made with cane sugar, in the U.S.'
USA Today
5 days ago
- Politics
- USA Today
Trump wins again: Columbia's $200 million fine will reshape higher education
Liberals have howled for months over President Trump's targeting of Ivy League universities. I doubt they'll view the Columbia agreement as a win for students and for our nation as whole. But it is. In an agreement ripped from the pages of President Donald Trump's "The Art of the Deal," Columbia University has agreed to pay $200 million fine to the federal government to settle accusations that the school failed to protect Jewish students from antisemitism on campus. The move is a capitulation to Trump's harsh rebuke of elite universities because of the rampant antisemitism unleashed on campuses after the Hamas terrorist attack against Israel on Oct. 7, 2023. This is a win for Trump, a scathing reprimand of higher education and a message of hope for American Jews. Jewish students were told to flee campus Columbia agreed to pay the $200 million fine to resolve multiple civil rights investigations centering on its failure to stop antisemitic protests on campus. The threats were so severe that a rabbi warned Jewish students to flee campus a day before the start of Passover in April 2024. Columbia also has agreed to appoint an independent monitor to update the federal government on its compliance with civil rights laws and to pay an additional $21 million fine to the U.S. Equal Employment Opportunity Commission. These are mind-boggling agreements by one of the country's most elite universities. Opinion: Liberals claimed Trump would end democracy. They were wrong again. In March, Trump cut off $400 million in federal funding to Columbia and launched investigations into 59 other colleges and universities because of their admissions policies and the antisemitic protests on their campuses. If you had told me then that Columbia would bow the knee to Trump just four months later, I'd have laughed. Trump is reshaping higher education Columbia's agreement to pay a $200 million fine is a strong indication that Trump was right about widespread antisemitism on campus. Even so, liberals have howled for months over Trump's targeting of Ivy League universities, and I doubt they'll view the Columbia agreement as a win for students and for our nation as whole. It is, though, and they should. Trump also froze Harvard University's funding over hiring policies that elevated diversity, equity and inclusion ideology over merit-based appointments. Progressives called Trump a "despot in the making" and an enemy of free speech. But Trump was in reality standing against a culture on university campuses that promoted progressive values to the exclusion of dissenting opinions. Conservative students were shunned. And Jewish students were targeted because of Israel's defense of its citizens. Columbia is now paying the price for that intolerance. Opinion: In-N-Out owner places order to go − out of California I hope the Columbia settlement helps reshape higher education in the Ivy League and beyond. Institutions that accept taxpayer dollars must be held accountable for antisemitism and other forms of discrimination. Because Trump took a stand − and took the heat from progressives and the news media − things may finally change for the better at Columbia. Ball to you, Harvard. You next? Nicole Russell is a columnist at USA TODAY and a mother of four who lives in Texas. Contact her at nrussell@ and follow her on X, formerly Twitter: @russell_nm. Sign up for her weekly newsletter, The Right Track, here.
Time Business News
14-07-2025
- Entertainment
- Time Business News
Ron Yeffet's Jewish Heritage and Its Influence on His Music
For Ron Yeffet, music has always been more than a skill or a profession — it's a powerful means of expressing who he is and where he comes from. As a professional guitarist and teacher based in New York City, Ron's Jewish heritage is a central part of his identity, shaping not just his values but the way he approaches music itself. Far from being a separate aspect of his life, his cultural background weaves through his playing, teaching, and personal philosophy, inspiring him to share music as a way to connect with others. In this article, we'll explore how Ron Yeffet's Jewish roots have influenced his musical journey, from childhood memories of traditional songs to the sense of resilience and community that guides his work today. His story offers a meaningful reminder that our heritage can enrich our creativity and deepen our connections with people from all walks of life. Ron Yeffet was born and raised in New York City, where his home life was steeped in the warmth of Jewish traditions. His parents, proud of their heritage, created an environment that balanced love for music with respect for cultural values. Shabbat dinners were a weekly highlight, bringing extended family together around the table to share stories, laughter, and sometimes songs that had been passed down for generations. Jewish holidays like Hanukkah and Passover were celebrated with lively gatherings, filled with rituals, food, and melodies that left a lasting impression on Ron. His mother, a piano teacher, and his father, an avid music lover, encouraged him not only to practice but to appreciate the emotional depth in music — an approach that aligned beautifully with the Jewish tradition of storytelling through song. These experiences taught Ron that music wasn't just for entertainment; it was a way of expressing identity, sharing joy, and honoring one's roots. This upbringing gave him a strong foundation of community and a deep sense of belonging, qualities that would later shine through in his playing and his dedication to his students. Some of Ron Yeffet's earliest musical memories are tied to the songs he heard during family celebrations and community events. While he gravitated toward rock and blues as he grew older, traditional Jewish melodies — from festive Hanukkah songs to soulful Passover tunes — helped train his ear to recognize subtle shifts in mood, timing, and dynamics. He remembers listening to relatives sing songs in Hebrew or Yiddish, their voices rising and falling with a unique sense of phrasing and ornamentation that captivated him. Even though Ron didn't set out to become a player of traditional Jewish music, these early sounds influenced the way he approached the guitar later on. He learned that emotion could be communicated through tiny variations in note bends, timing, and vibrato — lessons that would become crucial when interpreting the expressive solos of classic rock or teaching students how to make songs their own. According to Ron in conversations with students during lessons, 'The songs I heard growing up taught me that music is about telling a story with feeling, not just hitting the right notes.' These cultural rhythms instilled in him a deep appreciation for music's ability to move people, a lesson he continues to share with students today. Beyond melodies and songs, Ron Yeffet's Jewish upbringing instilled in him values that have become cornerstones of his approach to music and teaching. Central among these is a sense of community: growing up, Ron saw firsthand how gatherings during Shabbat or holidays brought people together, creating bonds that extended far beyond family. This sense of belonging taught him that music, too, can build bridges — whether between teacher and student, performer and audience, or people from different backgrounds. Another value Ron absorbed was resilience. Stories shared by older relatives about overcoming hardship, along with cultural traditions emphasizing perseverance, shaped Ron's mindset as both a musician and a teacher. He believes that setbacks are part of every journey, and that true growth comes from the determination to keep moving forward. According to Ron during a 2025 student Q&A, 'Music reflects life — you'll hit wrong notes, but what matters is how you keep playing.' Finally, Ron's heritage taught him the importance of joy. In Jewish celebrations, music often expresses happiness even during difficult times, reminding him of music's power to uplift. This perspective influences how he encourages students to find moments of fun in every practice session, helping them stay positive and connected to the reasons they started learning guitar in the first place. Although classic rock and traditional Jewish music might seem worlds apart at first glance, Ron Yeffet sees striking similarities that have inspired his own style. Traditional Jewish melodies, especially klezmer music, often feature expressive bends, slides, and ornamentation designed to mimic the human voice — qualities that also define the soulful guitar solos of artists like Hendrix or Clapton. Ron points out that both genres prioritize emotion over perfection, valuing the ability to move listeners over technical flashiness alone. By studying the phrasing and improvisational spirit of Jewish songs, he developed skills that translated naturally into his interpretations of classic rock. This connection has also shaped his teaching: when students struggle with making their solos sound alive, Ron sometimes introduces them to short klezmer-inspired phrases to demonstrate how subtle pitch bends and dynamic shifts can make a big difference. According to students who learned these techniques with Ron in 2024, 'He shows you how emotion in music isn't tied to one genre — it's a universal skill you can apply anywhere.' This unique approach gives Ron's students a broader, more creative toolkit, and highlights how cultural traditions can enrich modern musical styles. Being open about his Jewish heritage in the diverse and often competitive world of music hasn't always been easy, but Ron Yeffet believes it's important. Over the years, he's encountered occasional misunderstandings or stereotypes, but he's learned to handle them with calm and openness, viewing these moments as opportunities to educate others and share his perspective. Ron feels strongly that musicians should never feel pressured to hide or downplay their backgrounds. Instead, he sees authenticity as a strength — something that can set an artist apart and deepen their connection with audiences. He also understands that embracing one's heritage can inspire others to do the same, creating a ripple effect of acceptance and curiosity. According to Ron in a 2024 reflection shared with advanced students, 'When you're honest about who you are, people connect with your music on a deeper level. It's not about labels — it's about sharing what makes you unique.' By standing proudly in his identity, Ron has built a reputation as a musician who brings not just skill, but heart and integrity to every performance and lesson. Ron Yeffet's heritage isn't something he keeps separate from his role as a teacher; instead, it shapes how he approaches each lesson and interacts with every student. He draws on cultural values like empathy, patience, and storytelling to create an environment where students feel understood and supported. For Ron, teaching guitar is as much about building character as it is about building musical skill. He often encourages students to think about the stories behind the songs they play, helping them connect emotionally with the music and understand that every note can tell a story — a concept deeply rooted in Jewish traditions of narrative and meaning. By sharing his own experiences growing up in a culturally rich household, he shows students that music isn't just a technical pursuit, but a powerful way to express identity and connect with others. According to testimonials from adult students in 2025, 'Ron makes you feel like your background matters, and he teaches in a way that respects who you are. It's more than just guitar — it's personal.' By weaving these principles into his teaching, Ron helps students not only become better musicians, but also more confident, thoughtful individuals. Ron Yeffet believes music is one of the most universal ways to celebrate and share one's culture with the world. He sees his performances and lessons as opportunities to highlight the positive aspects of his Jewish heritage, breaking down barriers and inspiring curiosity among audiences and students who may be unfamiliar with Jewish traditions. Whether through subtle melodic choices influenced by Jewish music or by simply sharing stories from his upbringing, Ron uses his platform to promote understanding and appreciation of cultural diversity. He encourages others to look into their own backgrounds for inspiration, believing that exploring one's roots can lead to richer artistic expression and a deeper sense of identity. According to Ron's comments during a 2024 community event, 'Our traditions give us unique stories to tell. When we bring those stories into our music, we create something authentic that can touch anyone, no matter where they're from.'This belief in music's power to unite and celebrate differences is a driving force behind Ron's continued dedication to his craft. Ron Yeffet's Jewish heritage has played a quiet but profound role in shaping the musician, teacher, and person he is today. From the melodies he heard during childhood celebrations to the values of resilience, community, and joy passed down through generations, these influences have helped him create a distinctive voice on the guitar and a compassionate presence in the classroom. His story is a testament to the idea that embracing one's roots doesn't limit artistic expression — it enriches it, offering depth, authenticity, and a powerful connection to the past. Through his playing and teaching, Ron continues to show that music can honor heritage, celebrate identity, and bring people together across cultures and generations. TIME BUSINESS NEWS
Washington Post
13-07-2025
- Health
- Washington Post
Living with dying: A breathtaking collapse in the writer's health
It happened so quickly. On June 1, I was still looking the picture of health and free to move around the city. A week later, I was gasping for breath and without the oxygen to walk from my sofa to my kitchen. We had always known the disease would catch up with me in some form or another, but the speed and suddenness still took me by surprise. It probably shouldn't have. For the past six months, my doctors had been looking at me with a quizzical eye, noting that I was in much better shape than a Stage 4 Ewing's sarcoma patient who had forgone systemic chemo treatment should normally be. 'It's kind of amazing,' one of them said. 'We have no real scientific data on this, but I can't help feeling your attitude is part of it. But whatever it is, keep doing it, we'll take it!' I, of course, began to feel as though I might indeed be charmed. Nobody who met me could believe I was really sick — and I began to believe this resilience might just go on and on. I knew the science said otherwise, but I was a bit self-satisfied and a bit smug about still being able to do a downward dog. Hubris! My anchor oncologist, Karim Boudadi, was also glad to see me doing well, but he never failed to offer a gentle reminder to do everything I wanted now rather than put it off. And I'm glad I took his advice. I undertook the 'wear more cashmere, go to Paris' treatment. I made sure to get to Seattle to celebrate Passover with my sister, brother-in-law, nephews and their expanded friend group — an important event on my calendar for more than four decades. When DOGE rode into D.C., I amused my radiation therapists with my 'radiation and demonstration' protocol, which took me directly from photon therapy to pickets at a wide number of federal agencies. And I visited many of my close friends, enjoying the rapport that comes from shared times and experiences, from a communal passion for justice and 'good trouble,' from a mutual love for the written word and for each other. I am so grateful for all of that. Because the transition from health to infirmity was brutally swift. That first week in June, I started to notice a slight shortness of breath, and my right arm bone, where the cancer had metastasized, was achier and feeling weaker. So on June 5, I went to Sibley Memorial Hospital for a scan to see what was going on. Afterward, when I returned via Metro, it took me at least half an hour and much gasping to get myself the five blocks home. That whole weekend, I gasped for air, which confirmed that I was unwilling to have that be a way of life. If that was my future, I wouldn't be buying into it. My brother, Gene, arrived on the following Monday. On Tuesday, the team at Sibley removed about five cups of fluid from my lung. And the next day, almost exactly eight months since the leading adult sarcoma expert at Johns Hopkins had met with me and laid out my options and my roughly year-long prognosis, I was approved for home oxygen — and a narrower road ahead. It's ironic that the publication of my first article about learning I was terminal appeared in The Washington Post that very week. In it, I observed that I was about eight months into my projected terminal year — still enjoying life and not yet a 'dead duck.' Now, here I was, a few days later, unable to easily breathe or move and feeling quite a bit closer to my final quack. I can't say this transition is edifying or comfortable, but I still seem to be of relatively sound mind, still not in serious pain, still loving my friends and family and engaged with the world. In the next month, I'll be tying up some loose ends, making the transition from Hopkins to hospice, and settling into my final months. I am still feeling good about my choices. Still interested in the philosophical landscape of how we categorize luck and loss and what makes life worth living. No telling what's down the road, but for now, I think I'm good for a few more quacks.
USA Today
09-07-2025
- General
- USA Today
'She saved my life:' Houston woman lost to Texas flooding was selfless to the end
Randy Schaffer met his wife Mollie in June 1967, just weeks after they graduated from high school. They'd been together ever since, with two sons and several grandchildren. In the end, the Houston criminal defense lawyer wrote in a moving post on social media, only the raging waters of the Guadalupe River could separate them. In the early morning hours of July 4, the river swelled to historic and deadly proportions as heavy rainfall doused central Texas, producing massive flooding that so far has claimed the lives of more than 100 people, with at least 161 still missing. The floodwaters tore through homes, riverside campgrounds and hotels and a beloved Christian girls camp in Kerr County, where 27 children and counselors perished. In Hunt, Texas, where the River Inn Resort and Conference Center advertises its waterfront location as a "serene escape from the outside world," the surging Guadalupe swept through the complex, taking vacationing travelers by surprise. Among them were Randy and Mollie Schaffer. Mollie would not survive. Kent Schaffer, who like brother Randy is also a criminal defense attorney in Houston, described his sister-in-law as 'an incredibly nice person' who never had a bad thing to say about anyone and always followed through if someone asked for help. A devotee of the theater, she was an ardent arts supporter, he said. The Schaffer brothers, while Jewish, were not practicing, but Mollie, who had converted to Judaism, would nonetheless cook elaborate Passover dinners. 'She became more Jewish than all of us,' Kent Schaffer told USA TODAY. 'Everything she made was pretty. She didn't serve food in tin pans. It looked like a work of art.' Still, being a good person was Mollie's specialty, he said, a beacon of warmth who all the kids rushed to hug at holiday gatherings. 'People would say, 'she's a saint' – mostly because she could put up with all of us,' he said. 'Especially in a family of lawyers. We're very contentious, passionate people.' The weather had seemed fine, Randy Schaffer wrote on Facebook, when the couple turned in for the night on July 3 at the River Inn Resort, where they were marking their 46th year visiting the riverfront area with an ever smaller group of law school friends. 'They'd meet there every summer for an extended weekend,' Kent Schaffer said. 'It was always the same hotel. They'd float around the river and have barbecues. That's the way they'd stay in touch with each other.' Around 3 a.m. Friday, the couple awoke to loud banging on their door, Randy Schaffer wrote. It was the manager, telling them they had to evacuate immediately 'because the river was about to overflow the banks.' 'I looked out the window and saw the river raging like Niagara Falls,' he wrote. At the manager's direction, he wrote, they got into Mollie's SUV and began driving toward a nearby hill. Instead, they saw cars ahead of them turning around to rush back the other way. They stopped on the shoulder of the road as the water quickly rose around the vehicle, sweeping it into the current. The car hit a tree, he wrote, then spun onto the road again. 'We knew that we had to get out of the car,' he said. 'However, the doors wouldn't open.' Mollie lowered the SUV's front windows and told him to dive out feet first, he said. It was difficult; the seat was too low, the window too high. He fell back onto the seat. 'You have to push harder,' Mollie told him. Those were the last words he ever heard her say, he wrote. He pushed as hard as he could and went out the window. The current pulled him underwater toward the river, propelling him into a pole. 'I wrapped my arms around the pole and climbed up until my head was above water,' he wrote. 'I looked for and called to Mollie but didn't see her or the car. She had been swept into the river.' He held onto the pole for an hour until the water finally began to recede and his feet touched ground. His wife's body was recovered on July 6. 'Mollie died in a manner consistent with how she lived – selflessly taking care of someone else before she took care of herself,' Randy Schaffer wrote. 'She wouldn't leave the car until she was sure that I had done so. She saved my life.'
