Before the fire, Bakersfield was a frontier town in California's San Joaquin Valley. Most buildings were constructed of wood in a low-density configuration, set back from the sidewalks. The town had a network of fire hydrants fed by Scribner's Water Tower, an infrastructure that suggested progress and permanence. But frontier optimism had outpaced engineering reality. When the kitchen fire at the Kelesy residence grew beyond what a single hose could handle, the limitations of the water system became catastrophically clear. The pressure simply was not there. The fire jumped from building to building through wooden walls and across wooden roofs, moving faster than bucket brigades could respond.

By the time the flames died three hours later, fifteen city blocks lay in ruins. The destruction encompassed 147 businesses, 44 homes, and 5 hotels, a total of 196 buildings. One man died in the fire. Some 1,500 residents, most of the town's population, found themselves homeless. Property damage was estimated at an even $1 million, a staggering sum for a settlement of fewer than 3,000 people. In the central business district, only two structures survived: Scribner's Water Tower, the very infrastructure that had failed to deliver adequate pressure, and St. Paul's Episcopal Church. The irony of the water tower's survival while the town it was meant to protect burned around it was not lost on the survivors.

The Fresno Expositor predicted that Bakersfield's citizens would not rebuild. They would simply drift away to more promising locations. The prediction was reasonable. Bakersfield lacked direct rail access. The Southern Pacific Railroad had been constructed to the east, running through the neighboring town of Sumner (now East Bakersfield). With railroad access determining which settlements thrived in late 19th-century California, it seemed logical that Sumner would emerge as the dominant community in Kern County. A burned-out town without railroad connections appeared to have no future worth rebuilding.

Bakersfield's leaders chose a different path. Rather than accepting decline, they began planning a town three to four times larger than the one that had burned. In 1890, the population stood at 2,626, but the new town was designed to support 10,000 to 15,000 people. Buildings rose from the ashes larger and grander than their predecessors, constructed of brick rather than wood, with ornate and decorative styling that announced metropolitan ambitions. The finest example was the Southern Hotel, which cost $110,000 to construct, equivalent to over $3.25 million in 2023 dollars. The hotel stood three stories tall with 84 rooms, each equipped with hot and cold running water and gas. Designed for a city ten times Bakersfield's size, it was considered a rival to the finest hotels in San Francisco.

The fire of 1889 marked Bakersfield's transformation from frontier outpost to metropolitan city. The wooden buildings and dirt-street character of the old town gave way to brick facades and urban ambition. The disaster forced a complete reconstruction that allowed civic leaders to reimagine their community on a grander scale. Instead of rebuilding what they had lost, they built what they wanted to become. The Southern Pacific Railroad eventually connected Bakersfield directly, and the city grew to fulfill and exceed the optimistic projections of those who chose to rebuild. Today, Bakersfield is California's ninth-largest city, its Central Valley location now an asset for agriculture and energy industries. The Sunday dinner that Mrs. Kelesy never finished cooking ended one chapter and opened another.