Terror in Los Angeles

THE dawn promised a placid day: the first rays of a sun that would warm the Los Angeles basin to a summery 82DEG glimmered in the east. Then, at 41 seconds past 6, the earth rocked, jolting 10 million Southern Californians awake--and into instant wonderment or terror.

Oceanside residents rushed to seaward windows, fearing a tidal wave; they heard only distant foghorns. Hill dwellers peered down at the San Fernando Valley and were shocked at the sight of fiery blue arcs rising from electrical explosions and plumes of water erupting from broken mains. On the valley floor, Jack Speyer dashed from his second-floor bedroom in Glendale brandishing a baseball bat, certain that a burglar was ransacking the rooms below. Twelve days overdue in her pregnancy, a woman near the quake's center knew only that labor had finally begun. At a 24-hour supermarket in the town of San Fernando, Clerk Marty Federico clung to a metal rail until the awful vibrations stopped, then reeled as two gas pipes exploded. Federico thought at first that a jet aircraft had set off a sonic boom directly overhead, then that Los Angeles was absorbing the ultimate nuclear attack.

Lucky Timing. It was not even the ultimate earthquake that scientists have long predicted for California (see SCIENCE). But it registered 6.5 on the Richter Scale (highest ever recorded: 8.9), making it the most severe shock to strike the quake-prone area in nearly 40 years. Felt over 30,000 square miles from Fresno south to San Diego and east to Las Vegas, the earthquake caused at least $350 million worth of property damage. It killed 62 persons, the greatest number of U.S. earthquake casualties since Long Beach suffered 120 deaths in 1933. Only the fortunate timing prevented a fatality list many times greater. A few hours later, the freeways, shopping centers and schools would have been filled with victims.

No one could be certain whether he was safer indoors or outside. At the Midnight Mission along downtown Los Angeles' Skid Row, Nicolo Difilipantonio, 70, fled into the street--and was killed by chunks of roofing that fell from the aged building. The mission's 200 other occupants were unhurt; they remained inside. In Sylmar, near the quake's epicenter in the San Gabriel Mountains, Linda Daniheux, 25, remained in bed --and died when the ceiling of her room collapsed. En route to install new equipment at a microwave relay station in the mountains, Arthur Mikkelsen, 46, and Milton Gonne, 45, were crushed when a concrete overpass of the Golden State Freeway dropped squarely on the roof of their pickup truck.

Falling Hospitals. The upheaval ripped three wings away from the core building of Sylmar's new $23 million Olive View Medical Center, which had been considered quake-resistant. Surprisingly, only three persons were killed: an ambulance driver and two respiratory patients, who were not seriously injured but died because they were separated from their breathing equipment. At the nearby Veterans Administration Hospital in San Fernando, by contrast, a patient survived only because his iron lung protected him from being crushed by a fallen ceiling.

It was the 47-year-old Veterans Hospital, a Spanish-style stucco complex, that was most devastated. Three of the buildings were either demolished or toppled, burying patients--many of them elderly men--in the rubble. Although confined to a wheelchair with a back injury, Bob Dutton said he instantly "learned to walk" as his third-floor room began to sway. "I jumped for the door, and when I reached the hall and turned to look back, there was nothing there --just wide-open space." There were at least 44 dead. But the round-the-clock work of emergency crews paid off, as they delicately carved the wreckage into small chunks to avoid further injury to trapped survivors. Following the moans and screams coming from the debris, they rescued 36 victims.

A Live One. Even some 15 hours after the cries had turned to an ominous silence, one patient was pulled free and had only a simple request: Would someone please find his glasses and false teeth? Frank Carbonara, 68, a staff baker, had spent 58 hours under a concrete slab, listening helplessly as rescuers worked above him. "We've found a live one!" shouted a workman and Carbonara was dragged out in surprisingly good condition. "I thought I was dead," he recalled later.

Beyond the human agony, the quake spread vast physical destruction. In almost every one of the residential blocks of Sylmar and San Fernando, at least one house was either leveled or tilted. On the inside, thousands of homes were a jumble of overturned refrigerators, shards of glass, cracked furniture. The legs of baby grand pianos gave way. Severely damaged was the San Fernando Mission, founded in 1797, which had been rebuilt in 1818 after an earthquake destroyed it. In most cases, there was no insurance coverage.

The valley's intricate freeway system was blocked by the rupture or collapse of 20 overpasses. Jagged pieces of roadway raised barriers up to five feet tall. Immense traffic jams developed during the holiday weekend. Although the California highway patrol had pleaded with motorists to stay home, Officer J.D. Tripodo conceded: "It's part of the nature of Californians to travel. We realize that no one will pay attention to us."

The quake at first knocked out all utilities--power, gas, telephones and water --in much of the valley. Gas repairmen laboriously turned off lines in 20,000 homes to avoid explosions, then faced what an official called a "monumental undertaking" to restore service. At Sylmar, telephone equipment was described as "just a jumbled mess." A major artery linking power circuits between the Pacific Northwest and Southern California will take 18 months to repair.

Urgent Pills. Long after the quake, Angelenos still trembled. Aftershocks continued to roll through the metropolitan area, each stirring concern that another major upheaval might be imminent. At least 60,000 valley residents whose homes lie below Van Norman Reservoir were ordered to stay away from their neighborhoods. Much of the restraining clam's concrete facing had slipped beneath the water, and its earthen backing had developed fissures. With each new shock--one reached a magnitude of 5.7--residents feared that 6 billion gallons of water might burst into the valley. The slow task of emptying the 100-ft.-deep reservoir into the normally dry Los Angeles River began so that the dam could be repaired and the lakes refilled--a task that will take an estimated three years. Residents were allowed to return to their homes after the water level was dropped to 87 ft., easing pressure on the dam.

Meanwhile, the displaced stayed with friends or spent long, dreary days at school buildings, where they slept on cots or mattresses. Others begged to be allowed to go home, but only an emergency reason would do. One housewife convinced a patrolman that retrieving her birth control pills was a matter of sufficient urgency.

The quake renewed controversy over building codes in California. Until 13 years ago, no structure over 13 stories high was permitted in Los Angeles because of the earthquake danger. Since then, buildings as high as 43 stories have been erected--and they all withstood the strain last week. There were new warnings from some scientists, however, that skyscrapers should not be allowed. Mostly it was older buildings that suffered heavy damage (including the oldest residence in Los Angeles, the downtown Avila Adobe, which had withstood quakes for 150 years). A further worry was the fact that 20 schools suffered severe structural damage.

Southern Californians have grown almost blase about their recurrent forest and brush fires, flash floods and mud slides. Indeed, some were able to grasp their Bloody Marys on the morning after last week's disaster and joke about their survival. Yet there is something singularly shattering to the serenity of nearly all humans when the ground moves; the earth is, after all, everyone's womb and tomb. So the forecast of worse quakes to come troubled even calamity-conditioned Californians as they slowly cleared the debris and tried to forget the terror that had started at dawn.

This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so reader's discretion is required.