When I lived in Montana, it was great sport to make fun of Californians. It was easy sport, too, because there were so many stereotypes to choose from. From the vacuum-brained surfer dude to the clueless Valley girl to the white-wine sipping, uber goofy liberal, the list seemed endless.

Montanans haven't cornered the market in making fun of Californians; it is great sport in many states. It's human nature, I guess, and we all like to have that sense of superiority. In Montana, the sense of superiority is built around the notion that, because its residents have to deal constantly with the whims of Mother Nature, that somehow makes them tougher than everyone else, especially Californians.

Californians, they figure, can't be tough because they live their lives either in their cars or in their city offices or in packed neighborhoods surrounded by shopping malls. And, of course, the weather is always nice in California and life is easy.

When the Santa Anas blew and the fires raged throughout the Southland last month, there were TV and radio commentators who were actually smirking at California's plight, offering facetious and sarcastic concerns about people who were losing their "palatial" homes and other property. What they missed, and something that is lost on a majority of people in the country, is that, in the face of adversity, Californians are a tough breed.

When it comes to tough, California firefighters take a back seat to no one. This assessment is not some knee-jerk, blind support for firefighters, but one based on area firefighters' long history of battling nearly uncontrollable wildfires. Santa Ana-driven wildfires are deadly beyond description, and it takes a special kind of courage to battle them.

When wildfires rage and threaten homes and property, the first advice from firefighters is that homes and property can be replaced but lives cannot. Yet, after giving this advice, firefighters ignore it. They risk their lives in valiant efforts to save property that isn't even theirs. By any definition, that's tough.

Just as tough are Californians in general. It is hard to imagine another part of the country where more than 500,000 people could be evacuated from their homes with such efficiency and calmness. It is equally hard to imagine where such a massive evacuation could take place and not create havoc on services, supplies and lines of communication. Yet, in California, there was no widespread panic, no begging for outside help, and no wailing and despairing about the cruelty of fate.

What emerged most often was a general expression of self-reliance and resilience.

Although evacuation shelters were opened and well-stocked with supplies to serve such a huge number of displaced people, few really used them. For the most part, the displaced provided their own shelter by staying in hotels and motels or by moving in with friends and relatives. They took care of themselves and waited for the fires to subside and the dangers to pass.

And when they were able to return home, the ones who found their homes and property had survived were relieved and immediately set about the task of resuming their lives. The majority understood that wildfires are a part of life in California and not something that will cause them to uproot their families and move somewhere "safer."

More impressive were the ones who suffered losses in the wildfires, particularly those who lost their homes. Sure, there was grief and sorrow over the losses, both material and emotional, but there was no quitting.

Some talked about pulling up stakes, but most talked about rebuilding. In the face of utter despair, there was a quiet acceptance. It was the spirit of California, where perception is not reality and, when tested, there is a whole lot of there there.

California is a special place and Californians are special people. There is a wonderful, goofy nature that exists among the people who live here. Because of that, it is an easy place for people to make fun of and feel superior about. But when the chips are down, Californians have proved time and time again they do not come up short.

It may take four Californians to change a light bulb: one to hold the light bulb and three to turn the ladder. But when trapped alone in the dark, trust a Californian to pull out a cell phone with a light, dig up some crackers, cheese and a nice chardonnay and, dude, make the best of things.

— Joe R. Howry is editor of The Star. He can be reached by phone at 437-0200 or by e-mail at jhowry@VenturaCountyStar.com.