On Sunday, January 16, 1994 it was what some call
“earthquake weather.” When hot, dry Santa Ana winds scorch the Los Angeles area
with temperatures reaching into the 80s by day and plummeting into the 40s at
night. Earthquake weather is apocryphal, but those who have lived here believe
in it, even vaguely, as there is no other explanation for why the quakes occur.
I was a single mother with a home based business; doing
advertising and marketing for regional shopping centers and local businesses.
The next day was Martin Luther King Day and my 12 year old daughter would have
the day off from school. We had just come home from a mini road trip to
Solvang, so she decided to spend the night in my bedroom.
At about 4:31 am (04:30:51 to be exact), I woke up to the
sound of my daughter screaming, “Mommy, mommy we are going to die!’ I opened my
eyes with a start to see a 32” old school CRT TV (which weighed close to 100
pounds) fly up in the air and crash on to the facing wall. I reached for my
glasses, while yelling to my daughter to roll off the bed and stay as close to
the bed as possible (a highly debated safety technique called “
triangle of life”).
On my way to the floor, outside the window, I saw a pole
mounted electric transformer sway at least 3 times at a 40 degree angle until
it loudly exploded. I told my daughter not to move and tried to reassure her it
would be over in a minute — I while I blindly clawed the floor for my glasses.
There was a loud rumbling, as if a train was tunneling
beneath us and the house came alive with sounds of its’ own. The wood frame
groaned, pictures and mirrors were falling to the floors and breaking. Crashing
of heavy objects could be heard from other rooms.
We held tight, shouting phrases of faith to each other that
it will be over soon (for the full 30 seconds or so) until the shaking stopped.
What we didn’t know then, was that our home was at the epicenter of the 6.7
magnitude Northridge earthquake. In a panic, we both tried to find our glasses in
the pitch black of pre sunrise to no avail. After a few minutes we decided to
make a dash into the backyard.
Then, at 4:39 am, a 4.5 aftershock struck. Aftershock is the
term used by seismologists to describe the smaller earthquakes that follow the
initial one. This was the first of 2,929 aftershocks within the following three
weeks through February 6, 1994. It felt like there was one every few minutes. The exact data from CalTech can be seen
here and
here
We froze on either side of the bed. The noises seemed to be
dying down but we were paralyzed with fear. 4:40 am; another aftershock. This
time a 4.8 and one minute later, a 4.0. I can only give true magnitudes from
the CalTech data, because when you are on top of the quake you experience
something you never thought possible. The earth was moving, this isn’t supposed
to happen. Combine that with terror and you have a life changing experience.
There was a sliding glass door in my bedroom, leading to the
back yard. I guess I didn’t lock it that night because our neighbors, three
strapping Cal State Northridge University students, opened the door and yelled
to see if we were all right. We weren’t. Neither of us could focus properly, as
our glasses became part of the rubble that occupied my bedroom floor. They
grabbed us both and pulled us up to run out of the house and on to the street.
