Fires, destruction, hope: One year later for JJ Redick, the Lakers and L.A.

ONE YEAR LATER, it all seemed so familiar for JJ Redick. A Los Angeles Lakers road loss in Texas in January. Images on his cell phone he couldn't shake. A flight back home, arriving in the dead of the night.

On Jan. 8, 2025, Redick and the Lakers had returned from Dallas to find parts of Southern California engulfed in flames. Wildfires had destroyed nearly 60,000 acres of land, incinerating countless houses and businesses, decimating neighborhoods in Altadena, Malibu and the Pacific Palisades, where the new Lakers coach and his family had called home.

On Jan. 8, 2026, Redick and the Lakers returned from San Antonio to find Southern California still recovering from the ruin. "When I got back that night, it was literally 365 days later," Redick told ESPN. "I'm going up the 405 [Freeway], and when we lived in the Palisades, I banged that left going on 10-W and go to the Palisades.

"And as I'm driving past the 10, I'm like, 'F---, dude.' It just kind of hit me."

His emotions had bubbled to the surface in San Antonio, where he received texts from friends and well-wishers checking in on the anniversary of when his rental home by the Via Del Paz bluffs had burned to the ground.

Redick's wife, Chelsea, had posted about the ordeal on Instagram, and so many friends had referenced her post in texts to him that the Lakers coach, who has sworn off social media to help him focus on the job, redownloaded the app and logged into his dormant account just to see what his wife had shared.

He was in the middle of his coaches' meeting when he read her message.

"I cried," he said, before apologizing for the interruption.

Along with so many others, he has spent a year gathering his thoughts about his family and what they lost, as well as the areas and people around them. The devastation has been unrelenting.

"It was as emotional as I've ever been in my life, and I was trying to reflect on why I was so emotional," Redick said. "There's obviously the loss of the home, which is obvious. There's the loss of community. There's the worry, the concern that this place, even if they rebuild it, it's not going to be the same. There's that worry.

"So, that was all part of my [thought process]. ... But I was like, 'There's got to be more. There's got to be more.' And I actually realized -- this is going to sound weird -- where a lot of my anger was. My anger was that my family and I only got to live there for five months.

"And it was like, I wish we could have experienced that, and I wish my kids could have experienced that, and Chelsea could have experienced that for a lifetime."

Redick has harnessed those emotions into purpose, collaborating with other Los Angeles leaders to create his charity, LA Sports Strong, and partnering with the nonprofit Steadfast L.A. to help rebuild the Palisades Recreation Center. He has met with builders, funders and civic partners. They have reimagined the rec center, with plans for fire-resilient buildings and 50,000-square feet of rehabilitated green and community space, protected by fire-resistant landscaping.

On Jan. 8, Redick joined a fundraiser for the rec center, hosted at a home in the Palisades.

Judd Apatow performed stand-up. Jennifer Garner addressed the dinner guests. Ryan Tedder from OneRepublic belted out a set. And Adam Sandler introduced Redick and L.A. Dodgers manager Dave Roberts before the decision-makers for the city's two marquee pro sports franchises had an intimate "coach's corner" conversation.

The event raised millions of dollars, sources told ESPN. "Way more than we expected," Redick said. "More than double what the target was."

It mirrored the abundance of generosity his family experienced last spring when the NBA community rallied around Redick's two boys, 11-year-old Knox and 9-year-old Kai, to replenish the lost prized possessions of the two sports-obsessed kids with a new memorabilia collection beyond their wildest dreams.

EVEN FROM THOUSANDS of feet in the air, Redick could feel the devastation.

As the team plane descended toward LAX after that Mavericks game last January, he saw the orange, burning wreckage. The players and coaches could smell it.

"You could see the embers, the fire, the smoke," Redick said. "We kind of flew through a dark patch of smoke. It just ... it ... it was overwhelming."

Chelsea and the boys had already evacuated. Redick met them at their hotel, arriving at 3 a.m., still wearing his coach's uniform from the night before.

He slept for a few hours and then, equipped with a list from Chelsea, drove to the Palisades to see if he could salvage anything from the house.

The list spanned from the sentimental -- Chelsea's original engagement ring -- to the practical -- iPads for the kids and a week's worth of clothes for all of them after they reported to the hotel with just overnight bags.

When he arrived, after navigating blocked-off streets, simmering flames and first responder vehicles along the way, what he found was unrecognizable.

"Just a pile of ash and rubble, just like our neighborhood ... and most of the Palisades," Redick said. "It was probably the most devastating thing I've ever seen in my life."

He got out of his car and stood on the sidewalk in front of where his home used to be. He could feel the heat from the smoldering ruins on his skin.

"I mean, everything had just come down," he said. "The framing and the stairs -- the metal is still there -- but everything just came down to the basement in the garage. It was just a pile of ash."

He looked down at the list. Checking it off would be impossible.

"There was nothing in there," Redick said.

He called his wife and drove back to his family.

"By the time I got back to the hotel, Chelsea had already told the kids," Redick said. "And, you know, I ... I don't know what those first five minutes were like because I wasn't in the hotel room, but ... I know that they were highly emotional."

With Redick and the city coping with unimaginable loss, the league postponed the Lakers' games Jan. 9 against Charlotte and Jan. 11 against San Antonio, but the team returned to practice before resuming game play Jan. 13 against the Spurs.

Redick said his players and coaches "loved on" him, wrapping him in their support.

He responded with a message. "'If you guys want to play, I want to coach,'" Redick said. "'I'm ready to go.' I wanted to make that very clear to them, like, 'Don't think I'm not going to give you my best.'"

He also recognized the role the team could occupy in service to the community. Redick had an LAFD patch sewn onto the arm of the sweaters he wore to coach on the sidelines, honoring the fire department. The Lakers set up collections at the arena and their practice facility for fans to donate food items and other essentials. The team hosted a first responders night at Crypto.com Arena -- complete with a chance to play on the Lakers' court and participate in a clinic run by Robert Horry.

Redick became a public face for the tragedy. He took the position seriously, but he was also well aware of how fortunate his family was, with them having the means to cover the costs of being displaced. He vowed action, not just representation.

Meanwhile, at their first practice, Austin Reaves had a message for his coach, too.

"He came over to me and was like, 'Hey, I left something in my locker for Knox and Kai.' And it was personalized, signed jerseys for them."

Reaves, whom Redick's children call "Uncle A," knew about Knox and Kai's memorabilia collection and how much they cherished it.

"I get to rebound for him before games, and he always lets me shoot a 3 when he's done," Knox said of Reaves. "He is someone I look up to."

The lost memorabilia was full of what collectors refer to as "grails." There was a Luka Doncic Mavs jersey personally autographed to Knox that Doncic -- at that point, his dad's former teammate -- presented him at a Dallas-Brooklyn Nets game when they lived in New York and Redick was beginning his media career.

There was a Stephen Curry jersey personally autographed to Kai that Redick had Curry sign after a podcast taping. In all, Redick estimates his boys had eight to 10 jerseys apiece, plus countless basketball cards that they had bought with money saved up from birthday gifts and earned from chores. All of it was gone.

What Reaves started, a couple of Spurs -- Chris Paul and Victor Wembanyama -- continued.

When the Lakers' season resumed Jan. 13, the pair presented Knox and Kai their game-worn jerseys on the court after the final buzzer.

"Chris just gets it," Redick said of his former L.A. Clippers backcourt mate. "We had a weird relationship in college and early on in the NBA. We didn't like each other. Then, we became teammates. And we realized we had a ton in common. And I love that guy. And it meant a lot. And I'm not surprised that Vic participated in that gift, as well, because he's one of the best human beings I've met."

With Paul and Wembanyama's gesture making the rounds on social media, others joined in to boost Knox's and Kai's collection.

Curry sent two autographed jerseys, one to replace Kai's and another one for Knox. Three-time MVP Nikola Jokic also sent two.

The boys received authentic LeBron James and Kobe Bryant jerseys.

Hall of Famers David Robinson, whose son, Justin, is a Lakers player development coach, and Michael Cooper sent autographed jerseys, too. As did more current players, including Franz Wagner and Paolo Banchero from the Orlando Magic, and Cooper Flagg, who was starring at Duke University at the time. (Duke, Redick's alma mater, also sent a Redick No. 4 Blue Devils jersey for good measure). UCLA's basketball program sent jerseys, too.

Topps and Panini sent basketball and football cards to restock their cardboard collectibles.

Each item provided some temporary joy and pride of ownership, while the boys had been surrounded by so much sorrow and upheaval, with 37 other families in their school also losing their homes.

"The awareness they have for their loss and everyone else's loss, it's something we talk about all the time as parents," Redick said. "They understand the magnitude of this natural disaster and that it doesn't just affect them."

How did it make them feel?

"Excited and thankful," Kai said.

"Happy and shocked," Knox said.

TURN OFF THE Pacific Coast Highway and up Temescal Canyon toward Pacific Palisades today, and signs of the fires are everywhere.

On the north side of the street, there is a park bench with the slogan "PALI STRONG" printed in block letters -- a rallying cry for the community during its rebuild.

On the south side, spaced out every 50 yards or so as the road winds up the hill, are hazard signs:

SEVERE FIRE DANGERS

-- No Smoking

-- No Fires

-- No Barbeques

-- No Portable Stoves

As the hill reaches a crest, Palisades High, where Golden State Warriors coach Steve Kerr attended, appears unscathed, with bright aqua letters announcing "Pali High -- Home of the Dolphins" on the side of the building.

Across the street from the school, there are empty lots where houses once stood, some with construction equipment parked on the property. A precious few have wooden studs erected. Some are still filled with debris and will never be rebuilt.

On Redick's old street, there are constant reminders of how much work is still needed.

The sign in front of Palisades Charter Elementary School reads: "Returning August."

And on the line below: "2028."

Placards from the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers are placed near the curb, sometimes as the only marker of the address of a house that once stood there.

Charred tree branches stand out like ink stains against the expansive blue sky and ocean views.

On Swarthmore Avenue, a statue has been erected that features two metallic human-like figures holding hands, with each figure missing parts of its body. Half an arm here, a chunk out of its side there. Its title is "Broken But Together." A sign next to it reads, "This statue was the only thing that miraculously survived the fire at our home."

Redick hopes that the community, slowly but surely, can rebuild -- together.

"We found this amazing thing, this amazing place with amazing people," Redick said. "And that's really the hope for the [new] rec center, to be honest with you. And whether it's a church, a school, a rec center, like these public spaces being open -- Rick [Caruso's] Palisades Village, honestly -- it gives a reason for people to come back."

Redick recognizes the "logistical nightmare" many Palisades residents face -- even if their homes survived the fires.

Redick has concentrated his efforts at a place that he and his family found to be the heartbeat of his Palisades experience.

"If we were in town and it wasn't a game day, I was at the rec center," Redick said.

He wasn't the only one. His LA Strong Sports foundation estimates the center served more than 750 kids daily, hosted more than 70 programs ranging from basketball and baseball for kids, to tennis and bocce ball for adults.

It provided a chance for connection, conversation and growth for children. It was an oasis.

The gymnasium where Knox and Kai played their basketball games has been torn down. It survived the fires, but the heat, combined with the sprinkler system, caused the court to warp and buckle so badly that the wooden planks looked like rolling waves -- some several feet tall.

Redick invited the kids from the displaced rec league to come to the UCLA Health and Training Center to play last March. With a new rec season underway, the Redicks still return for rec practices in the Palisades auxiliary gym, a brick building that survived the tragedy, and are reminded of what was lost.

"It's crazy to see all the things that used to be there are gone now," Knox said. "It makes me feel sad."

Redick anticipates the city will approve building permits for the rec center by the end of the month, if not early February, and he has helped secure nearly $25 million of the $47 million the reconstruction calls for, with the goal of reopening as early as the first half of 2027, sources told ESPN.

Knox picked their home by the bluffs, falling in love with it out of all the spots the family toured.

"We told him he could pick because we were moving him," Redick said. "He was so excited to be in fourth grade and have his electives and go to the big school."

Redick says his family has lived in 19 different homes during his NBA career and post-playing days.

The Palisades was their Camelot.

"We get to L.A., and it's like within days, we're like, 'Oh, this place is magical. We're happy,'" Redick said. "And Chelsea made comments to me early in the season, 'This is the happiest I've seen you since you played.'"

That home might be gone now, but it's not forgotten. After 10 months shuttling between hotels, temporary units and spending the offseason out East, the Redicks have settled into a new place they purchased, and they hope it will be permanent.