Category: California

On this day, 50 years ago, I and millions of others experienced what was the strongest earthquake to hit a California urban area for nearly 40 years. The San Fernando Earthquake, also referred to as the Sylmar Earthquake, hit the Los Angeles area at a little after 6 am.

It was the first earthquake for me, and it was a big one. I remember being awakened by the swaying of the building in which I had been sleeping. I, however, was among the fortunate. The earthquake, measured as magnitude 6.6 and centered in the San Fernando Valley east of LA, led to the deaths of 64 people and more than $500 million in damages.

I was in Los Angeles because a friend had come west on business and I took a short leave to spend some time with him. He was a staff member of the federal Equal Employment Opportunity Commission and was attending a conference. I had something of a guest pass to attend as well.

The quake was, of course, a topic of conversation at the conference, but, media being the way it was 50 years ago, most of us were unaware of the terrible impact it had.

Forty-nine people were killed at the San Fernando Veterans Administration Hospital, where two buildings were completely destroyed. Others died at Olive View Hospital, under collapsed freeway overpasses, and at other locations. At Olive View, four five-story wings pulled away from the main building and three of them collapsed. Here is a gallery if images showing earthquake damage. Click on the image to see larger images and to advance the slideshow.

Eighty thousand people were evacuated from the area of the Lower Van Norman Dam, above the San Fernando Valley, which was in danger of collapse.

The Doobie Brothers chose an image from the earthquake damage for the cover of an album.

The earthquake helped result in state and federal legislation setting stricter standards for buildings to withstand shaking, etc.

Personally, I experienced several more earthquakes when I returned to live in California 1984-1996 and have since moving in Southern California at the beginning of 2012. Personal record is the 1989 Loma Prieta Earthquake. Rated at 6.9, it struck the California coast south of the Bay Area at 5:04 pm on October 17. I was in my office at UC Berkeley, about to head home to watch the third game of the World Series matching the Oakland Athletics and San Francisco Giants (the series was postponed for several days). Suddenly, I heard a loud, weird noise far away to the southeast, like a freight train rushing toward me. Then it hit. Again, the building swayed and I held onto my conference table until it subsided.

Again, too, I was fortunate. No one in my family was harmed. We lost only the chimney on our early-20th-century home in Berkeley. More unusual to me was an aftershock a couple of days later. I was in my car, waiting on a light on San Pablo Avenue in Albany, a town just north of Berkeley. The rear of the car suddenly started bouncing up and down. I looked up at my rear view mirror to see who was jumping on my rear bumper. There was no one there. It was just the road bouncing up and down.

I grew up in Western Massachusetts, but the first time I ever snow-skied was in California, in 1970-71. It was not a pleasant experience.

Sometime likely in January 1971, but it could well have been February, a bunch of guys at Naval Special Warfare Group, Pacific decided to take a ski excursion. I figured it would be a great time to try it. We were going to go to Mammoth Mountain for a two-day, two-night outing. I volunteered to drive.

Even today, with an interstate highway now in place from San Diego to north of LA, the route is 400+ miles each way, 7+ hours on the road. We left, I believe, on a Friday afternoon. We were going to go directly to a lodge at Mammoth, sleep that night, ski on Saturday and Sunday, and head back Sunday afternoon.

I remember driving through the San Bernardino Valley east of LA. Suddenly, as we drove higher in elevation, I was startled to see a clear sky. Looking in my rear and side mirrors, I saw a dingy brown cloud hovering over the valley behind us. 

We got to Mammoth late, time just to check in and get to sleep. The next morning, I got to see Mammoth for the first time. It was big. The mountain summit is just over 11,000 feet in elevation. The base is at 9,000 feet elevation. This was now a new personal record for highest elevation.

Back in those days, the manner in which to select the length of your rental skis, I was told, was to raise your hand above your head. The tip of the skis standing parallel to your body should match the top of your fingertips. Big mistake by me. 

Mammoth had its normal huge amount of snow. During the previ0us night, however, there had been a warm spell and rain. By morning, the surface of the snow had turned to ice. Rather thick ice. When I put on my skis and attempted really to do anything on them, I slipped and slid. I tried to use my poles, but had to pound the “snow” surface several times to get through the ice.

Aiming just to use the “bunny slope” for my first efforts, I tried to go on the ski lift there, which I believe was a T-lift. After several embarrassing falls within a couple of feet, I decided not to prevent others from getting on the slope. I tried then just to sidestep a few yards up the bunny slope and attempt to “ski” down. I fell to my left sometimes and to my right sometimes, but I always fell, landing most prominently on the ice on either of my hips.

I likely tried that for a couple of hours before a lunch break and probably a beer. I think I was the only person in our group in my predicament. The others were more advanced than me in their ability to ski, a status easily achieved. A few more hours of the same in the afternoon brought my first day of “skiing” to a close.

If we partied that night in the lodge, I don’t recall. I may well have been too tired and sore. If I tried to ski on Sunday, I also don’t recall. I do remember feeling very sore. I believe that after driving us home and getting up Monday morning, I saw that each of my hips featured a dinner plate-sized purple bruise.

So yes, I skied California 50 years ago and I still remember the pain. I’ve skied California since, in the 1980s, when we lived in the Bay Area. With two granddaughters born in New Hampshire living in SoCal with me now, who say they miss the snow, maybe I’ll try again. With shorter skis.