Monday, January 17, 2011

The Adventure of a Moment: The Northridge Earthquake, 1994

            "Pray for peace in the City."  The voice spoke deep in my spirit.
I jolted awake.  Taking a moment, I laid there thinking.  The weekend had been perfect.  Our friends, the Rosanders, spent the weekend with us.  We started the LA exploration with the IMAX film, The Blue Planet, The story of our big, blue marble as fragile as it is beautiful was its message.  Computer animation explored the San Andreas Fault and what an earthquake looked like.  It was similar to what happened when a marble is dropped into a bucket of water.  The impact creates waves that move along until the surface reestablishes equilibrium. Greg, Lori and Scott and I finished our Saturday with sight seeing, dinner, laughter and warm friendship. 
Sunday we churched together.  Jack Hayford, pastor of Church on The Way, spoke about our responsibility in creating peace around us.  The Rodney King riots, only months before, impacted everyone.  We all felt grieved at the social prejudices that still existed.  Pastor Jack referred to Nehemiah 2 for his inspiration.  Nehemiah was a cupbearer for King Artaxerxes.  The King noticed that Nehemiah did not look his usual self and asked what was wrong.  Nehemiah politely told the king he was distressed because Jerusalem was in the process of rebuilding, yet lacked a city wall.  Jerusalem was defenseless.  Only when the wall was rebuilt, would there be true peace.  The King gave Nehemiah permission to go and rebuild the wall.  The challenge for us, Jack presented, was we were to build a wall of peace through prayer and actions if grace.  It was our responsibility as followers of Jesus to lead, like Nehemiah, in restoring peace, tolerance and goodwill to those around us.  At lunch we all discussed the beauty of this message and after, said goodbye.  Scott and I set about our preperations for the coming work week that evening.  Monday was Martin Luther King Day, January 17, 1994.  Scott had the holiday off, but I did not. 
"Pray for peace in the city." The voice spoke in my conscience again.
I rolled over and looked at the clock. The last thing I wanted to do was get up at 4 o'clock in the morning.  I grabbed my Bible and snuck out of the bedroom, guided by ambient light outside our Woodland Hills Tennis Club apartment.  One of our cats, Annie, followed me. 
Sitting in the short corner of our L shaped couch, I looked out the sliding glass window. Only a few stars fought through the Los Angeles night sky. Annie began to pet herself with my feet and I turned on the light. I opened to Nehemiah and re-read chapter 2.  I began to pray for forgiveness, renewed trust and friendship between ethnicities. 
"Pray for peace in the city."
I paused.  Read, and then began again to pray for peace between people in the city. 
"Pray for peace in the city."
All right, I thought, I began to pray that a peace would flow over the city.  People would help each other and feel a calm within them.  I meditated on a sense of tranquility blanketing the whole Los Angeles area when I heard it.
A childhood memory flooded my mind.  When I was a child, my Dad was in the Air Force.  On one of the bases, our house was near the end of the airstrip.  The rattle and hum of jets and helicopters' effect on my bedroom window was normal.  I would feel the sound, long before I would hear them roar over to land. 
I held my breath, as the rumble grew louder. 
A flash of The Blue Planet's explanation and I knew it was an earthquake.  I looked at the clock, 4:30.  I stood, took two steps and reached the corner of the couch.   The wave slammed into our building with a low, loud thunderclap. The room around me went pitch black.  I felt myself land across the room.  I began to crawl and somehow made it to the bathroom door.  I clung to the jam as it rolled and pitched like a mechanical bull.  I felt the building crumbling beneath me and I knew I was going to die.    I prepared myself for the inevitable and thanked Jesus that I was allowed to live this long. 
The ride slowed and then stopped.  I sat, in shock, realizing the building was still in tact and I was alive.  I heard Scott in our bedroom at the end of the hall, throwing things away from the door. The door flung open and in two steps he was on the floor next to me holding onto the jam as an aftershock hit.  We rode the grocery store rocking horse until it was still. 
"I need shoes." Scott mechanically reached over to the junk closet.
"Why do you need shoes?"
"To protect my feet from the glass."  He said.
"What glass?  We are no where near the windows and I didn't hear anything fall." I queried.  We rode another aftershock.
He put on his shoes, "I need to find a flashlight."
I stayed put.  Wondering why my back was cold.  I touched it with my hand.  Wet?  How did it get wet?  It was only an earthquake. Did a pipe burst?  I don't hear water.
A light flashed in my peripheral.  I looked over at Scott in the kitchen standing in a foot of rubbish.  Dishes, plastic, pans, spices, food, everything that had been in the cabinets was now all over our small kitchen floor. 
"We have to get the cats and get out of here."  I spoke.  We surfed another aftershock.  I grabbed a pair of shoes.  Scott found buckets from under the sink and began filling them with water.  I grabbed a flashlight and the cat carrier.
"Scott!  We have to get out of here.  Help me with the cats."  My emergency mode was kicking in. 
"We need water.  I am filling up buckets." He quipped.
With my beam of light, I surveyed the living room.  The twenty-gallon fishtank that stood at the end of our couch was a paile of small glass marbles and gravel. How did I miss that?  It fell right where I stood.  I marveled.  I walked through the swamp of carpet to see if I could find any surviving fish.  I found one of the ten and put it in the untouched tank on the opposite side of the room.
Our entertainment center was a Lego construction of cinderblock and compressed sawdust boards.  An old 27-inch television rested on top and a stereo rested underneath.  The last place I saw was walking behind the center.  I pushed aside the television and planks of sawdust to reveal Annie cuddled inside one of the square holes of the cinderblock.  The skittish cat, who hated to be held, climbed into my arms with relief.  I put her into the carrier and went to look for our other cat.
"Scott!!!  Help me get Bill.  He is in the bedroom under the bed.  I can't lift the mattress alone.  We have to get out of here." I ordered as I walked by him, still filling a bucket with water.
"NO!  We need water first." He switched buckets and began to fill a second.
Walking into our bedroom, I waded through my deconstructed crafting hovel.  Crunching paper, I knelt down to look under the bed.  Large glowing green eyes looked at me.
"Bill, it's alright.  Come here."  I cooed. 
My friendly, cuddly cat looked at me as if to say, "Like Hell!  Come and get me."
Standing up, I pushed the mattress off the bed.  Picking up the box spring revealed Bill plastered next to a cinderblock that kept the bed from sagging.  I coaxed him again.  He looked at me and I heard the whistle.  I was in the showdown at the O.K. corral.  Pushing the box spring free, I grabbed Bill.  He lunged as I held him to my chest.  Convinced of escape, he dug a back claw down the center of my chest.  I squeezed him and with the passion pain brings; shoved him into the carrier.
Cats safely contained, I grabbed a jacket and looked at Scott.  Holding buckets full of water fresh from the tap he looked up at me.  Our  toes clenched the floor as another aftershock rolled the wooden structure of our building. 
"Can we go now?  I have the cats."  I stated.
Scott looked into the bucket with his flashlight.  A rust color glimmered back. "Yes.  This is a lost cause."
We paused in front of the door.  We had no idea what we were to find in the hallway.  Like a band-aid, Scott threw the door open.  We walked to the stairs and he flung the door open.  We looked into the liquid dark and began our decent with a small, concentrated beam of light.  A few small aftershocks juggled the building as we navigated the stairs.  
Opening the door to the outside world, we paused.  The city was silent. No traffic. No sirens. The  night sky was breathtaking.  Scott and I placed the cats were into the saftey of the truck and sat on its bed. The sound of twinkling stars inspired us to sing in awe of the clearly exposed Milky Way.  Those milling around us voiced astonishment at the glittering heavens.
We visited and helped neighbors as we could for the next hour.  The sunrise washed away the blind fears of night.  Reluctantly, we all left to climb the flights back to our apartments and assess the damage.  The one bedroom apartment we called home for three years looked unwelcoming.  Bookcase contents were slathered all over the dining room.  The refrigerator and dishwasher walked to the middle of the kitchen stood frozen.  The only surviving dishes was the china we inherited from Scott's Aunt Dorothy. It sat proudly stacked in the top most cabinet dangling a half inch of the edge.
We worked for about an hour cleaning with no water or power.  The phones worked suprisingly quickly.  I called my boss and told him I would not be in. 
"Scary as Hell, wasn't it?!  That's fine, you can be off today, but you need to be in tomorrow." Bernie's voice soothed.
"Really?  My house is a wreck, we have no water or power." I responded in shock.
"I know, but as Disney employees, unless it is completely impossible, you need to be there.  Company orders." He dictated.
I told Scott and we both shook our heads.  Typical of the industry, career first, personal life second.  We decided to get out of the house and go for a drive.  We meandered along Oxnard Street, across the Valley.  The streets were dead, certain buildings were intact, and others were crumpled debris. 
"Let's go check on the Kliewers." Scott suggested. 
We drove in silence for the 20 minutes it took us to get to Studio City. Crossing a vacant Ventura Boulevard was eerie.  We pulled up to their 1920s Spanish style house and breathed a sigh of relief.  It was intact.  We walked into the house and Julie began to tell us about their adventure. 
"There is a gas main ruptured on Ventura.  We walked by it to the grocery store. The air rippled while tiptoed and whispered.  Gas trucks were everwhere!  Jay pinched his cheeks afraid he would add to the problem." Julie said
"You know, I am pretty potent." Jay pontificated. "I didn't want to cause an explosion."
We all laughed.  It felt good. 
"You wouldn't believe the grocery store!  They set up a register at the door and allowed no one in.  The line was through the parking lot!  We waited, how long, Jay?" Julie looked up at Jay.
"Maybe thirty minutes."
"They were asking everyone to only get what they needed.  The people in front of us made the wait worth it.  When it was their turn, they asked for bread.  A clerk went into the store and brought out hot dog buns." she began to giggle. "The man began to yell, 'I don't want hot dog bun!  I want bread!'  The poor cashier tried to explain it was the same thing, but the guy just wouldn't let it go."  Julie in tears, finished in fits of giggles.  All of our sides began to hurt with laughter as we related.  Stress inspires inane arguments.
We spent the afternoon with them.  They had power, but no gas.  Jay turned it off and had to wait for the gas company to come turn it on.   We helped them clean and took a nap on their couch.  Mid afternoon we decided we needed to brave our own home. 
We filled garbage bags full and dragged them down the hallway.  The manager came by to inform us of the lack of power and water.  The management didn't know when it would be back on.  We called the Kliewers and began to pack.  Scott emptied the defrosted freezer into an ice chest and we left.
The Cats, sleeping bags and luggage arranged in their office, we stepped outside to watch the sunset.  Scott pulled out the camping stove and set a wok on it.  He dumped everything from our freezer in it.  As we watched the first stars peak through the blue sky, a monster stir-fry was cooking.  Steaming vegetables and meat flavored the air.  The four of us stood in the lush back yard, we began to talk about gratitude.  Laughing again about hot dog buns and trying to save brown water, things that seemed to be important turned actually futile.  We savored the best stir-fry of our life and were encouraged.  These things were important:  friends who make the best of everything.  Living in the midst of an adventure with no end in sight.  Looking at a beautiful starry sky, the purpose of spreading peace and grace and the ability to live another day. 

6 comments:

wolfqueen927 said...

Enjoyed reading about your experience during the earthquake. Funny the things you remember when you think about days like that. I liked the fact that the stir-fry you had that night was the best you'd ever had.

MrsLoomis said...

what memories...of the little details....

Scott Erwin, MBA, CPA, CFE said...

I have never had a stir fry before or since that was as good at that night. It was one of the most thankful meals of my life.

Unknown said...

Just think if we had stayed overnight like we considered. I will never forget that day either. We were over 100 miles away and the quake shook us out of bed in Bakersfield.

josephinemarch said...

Nicely written. Neat to hear your story. What did you do for Disney?

froginparis said...

I was part of the team that opened their employee child care center in Burbank. It was a great experience to work for "The Company."