It is funny how it is only after I return from a visit to San Francisco that I start to ponder, even worry, about the prospect of a major earthquake hitting the city.
I have recently been reading A Crack In the Edge of the World: America and the Great California Earthquake of 1906 by British born but recently naturalised American, Simon Winchester, a magnificent exploration of the origins, development and aftermath of the magnitude 8.25 Earthquake and ensuing Fire that hit the city on 18th April of that year, and it set me to thinking what is increasingly fascinating me from afar.
Aside from his narrative skill, Winchester, as befits a masters graduate in geology from Oxford, is perfectly placed to explain the scientific basis for earthquakes. Irrespective of how imperfectly I understand that science, his voice is authoritative, and this paragraph in particular sends a chilling message to all those living on the San Andreas Fault, and especially in the city by the bay:
It is not a question of whether a big earthquake will occur, nor even a question of precisely where it will hit. There will be a quake, it will be considerable, it will be somewhere in the vicinity of San Francisco, it will more than likely affect the San Andreas Fault or one of its cadet branches – and it will take place, most probably before 2032. The only true unknown is the precise year, month, day and time.
The U.S. Geological Society actually issued a formal forecast in 2003. Sometime before 2032 , along one of the seven fault systems that belong to the San Andreas cluster, and which cut their way through the Bay Area, there is a machine-computed probability of 62 per cent that an earthquake with a magnitude of 6.7 or greater will strike. There will be damage and casualties “on an impressive scale”.
All those communities, not least the major city in the area, have comprehensive plans for dealing with every type of disaster, as well as providing detailed guidelines for those “authorized to know what their duties and responsibilities are in the event of the most statistically likely major disaster that is anticipated in the region – and that is a very, very large earthquake”.
And, of course, since the Loma Prieta earthquake of 1989 that, amongst its other effects, caused part of the upper deck of the Bay Bridge to collapse onto the lower and much of the Marina district to be destroyed, many buildings have been checked and reinforced to enable them to stand a chance when the next “big one” arrives.
That is all reassuring I’m sure. But I wonder how far the citizens of San Francisco are truly geared up to cope when it comes. I suppose if the authorities kept hammering on about it it would instill a pervading sense of paranoia that would do nobody any good. But I have rarely seen or heard any references to the subject during my trips to the city. Having said that, it has not even crossed my mind whilst staying there – though I am becoming increasingly fascinated both by the historical context and the future potential for calamity.
So does it concern me that my beloved city could be seriously damaged any moment? Of course.
Does it deter me from visiting it often, and, hopefully, more than before, in the future? Not at all.
Is there just a small part of me that hopes I am there when it happens? I think there might be (many witnesses of the 1906 quake recorded their excitement at being part of a major historical catastrophe, and more still posed for photographs amid the ruins even as their homes disintegrated).
But do I wish it? Of course not.
I know that I have a number of readers who would be directly affected by an earthquake. Do they think about it at all? Do they worry about it? Are they confident that they would know what to do if such a disaster struck?
It would be interesting to know. Answers at the bottom of this post please.
Tony Quarrington 
Do they think about it at all?
Do they worry about it?
Are they confident that they would know what to do if such a disaster struck?
Well, as a long time SF resident, I don’t think about earthquakes much, or at least not consciously. It is true that I notice unusual movements of the building I am in as well as the length of the movement. Was that a heavy wind gust hitting the building or the start of the big one? A truck going by or the start of the big one? The mind is on alert sub-consciously at least. I joke with visitors from North Carolina (who are fearless in the teeth of tornados) as they cower during a minor tremor. But I instinctively, casually, move to a doorway to wait it out.
Having been in Berkeley for the 1989 quake, I know the feeling: My office mates have left work early to watch the world series game at Candlestick Park. I am alone working in the file room. The lights fail, the building starts a quiet, rolling movement. The emergency lights come on so I can see the file cabinets start to open silently, the metal drawers slowly rolling out to their maximum. The rolling continues far too long but there is nothing to do but wait for it to stop. I know not to run out into the street so I wait, alone in the empty office, for the end – one way or another.
After it stops I check the factory floor below to make sure everyone is safe then head for my car to get home. The most remarkable thing is the silence. Only a few sirens – although it is rush hour, the streets seem mostly clear of traffic. Maybe everyone has stopped driving? Of course the traffic lights do not work but I am in no hurry, still in a kind of shock. A flume of smoke or two is already rising (we learn later that these were the cars burning that were crushed by the collapsing freeway in Oakland – people also burning, trapped inside their metal prisons). Our home is only two miles away in Emeryville, an old industrial city that has changed into an artist’s colony with former manufacturing facilities converted into loft spaces. There, I find everyone out in the parking lot talking about the quake. The power is off so there is nothing more to do. We are certainly not going back inside. Maybe someone turned on a car radio but early reports are spotty.
A small miracle: Victor tells how he ran out of the building after holding on for dear life to the beams in the upper part of the loft, watching the metal building deform and reform as the quake threw the ground up and down. The bird cage had fallen and the canary escaped out the window but there was really not much damage. In the parking lot, talking to Susan, an artist living next door, he heard ‘Burt’ the bird, shrieking in the air above. Victor started screaming back at the bird and it slowly circled lower until it flew into his chest, safe at last from the horrors outside his cage.
Later we drive a few blocks to a brew pub where we find the brick façade partly on the ground but the bar otherwise intact and, more importantly, open for business. We take turns running into the pub to buy beers then coming back into the parking lot to talk with other ‘survivors’ and share our stories.
Another artist friend, Ron, arrives dirty and tired to tell us about the real calamity of the collapsed freeway and about his climbing the smoking structure with others to find and rescue the real survivors.
So we know what to do when the big one comes: We look out for our mates, our friends and our loved ones. We gather to share and compare and help as we can. If we still have one we return to our homes and, when the power comes back on, we sit up into the night watching TV, learning what happened. Then we sleep in each other’s arms and return to work in the morning to assess the damage.
David,
I actually thought of you when I posted this. I am so grateful that you felt able to share your own experience of the 1989 quake. Very moving and thought-provoking. Thanks again.
Tony
Surprisingly, moving to Southern California was once thought as a safe haven for my parents! Although they insist they’ve always been aware of the catastrophic disaster which awaits our state, I clearly remember how they always communicated their fears of encountering this disaster if we continued living in our beloved San Francisco…I still insist our move was based on this fear rather than relocating closer to family.
Having shared this, I’ve had my share of experiencing earthquakes, one which was the 6.7 1994 Northridge lasting up to 20 seconds.
Was I traumatized, yes! Am I prepared for the big one, no.
We tend to amazingly adapt to these tremors, even after they may traumatize us for a short period of time, until the next time our tranquility is shaken!!
I do share exactly your same thoughts about our beloved City, which by knowing there is a Fault running right through it, almost feels like when a loved one has been diagnosed with cancer!
I don’t know and don’t want to think about all the destruction this earthquake catastrophe will cause, I just pray I continue to get the opportunity to revisit every inch of my City again, especially places I’ve never been-before God calls me back home, which I’m absolutely sure will be a replica of my earthly beloved San Francisco! !!!!!!!!♡♡
Yes, you can’t live your life in constant fear, Carmen, or else you’d drive yourself crazy. And you’re right about how well humans generally cope with catastrophe. Although the world was a much different place then, the example of how the City rebuilt itself after 1906 is testimony to that.