The City will be all aflutter this month while celebrating its greatest natural disaster, the 1906 Earthquake and Fire. This was the Big One, it even garnered the name, The Great San Francisco Earthquake, a world-famous event. That's because the epicenter of the temblor was so close to the City itself, though it also caused massive damage to places as far away as Santa Rosa and Palo Alto.
In London, many years ago, I even encountered a pub called The Great San Francisco Earthquake. The tavern was bedecked with photos and memorabilia of the catastrophe that still holds a universal fascination. Those in San Francisco who survived the initial 48-second drubbing while the ground shifted so violently -- the collapsing buildings, the raining shards of glass, the chandeliers crashing to the floors -- later witnessed their City be consumed by a fire of biblical proportion. It devoured the town, neighborhood by neighborhood, like a demonic behemoth. There was little water to fight the huge fire. The Army began to blow up buildings with dynamite in hopes of starving the flames.
Today, there is no 6th Army at The Presidio to help restore order, and most of the National Guard is probably in Iraq. We might want to stock up on water pistols in the event the Big One hits. I don't recommend stockpiling dynamite. Homeland Security will give you a hard time for
that. Oh, did I say "in the event"? Silly me. Yes, another Big One is inevitable.
Back in the 1970s, the BBC produced a documentary about San Francisco called "The City That Waits To Die." I'm sure the Chamber of Commerce did not like that title and would have preferred "The City That Will Survive Again," though it does quite have the same ring to it.
Years ago, I interviewed George Will for a radio show. After the program, he got up and looked down at the sidewalk, 32 stories below Embarcadero One. Looking a little pale, he said, "I heard that if a big quake hit, this conference table could slide across the floor and pitch me right through these windows. Is that true?"
"Yes, I suppose that could happen, yes."
"Well," Mr. Will cried, "how could you possibly live here, knowing that?"
I replied, " I guess it's still better than living in Kansas and dying from ennui."
He mulled over this smart-ass remark for a moment and finally said, "You have a point there."
Living with nonchalance in an earthquake zone is part of the what gives San Francisco its reckless and wanton reputation for flaunting our lives with impunity before the Almighty. Some liken it to gambling.
Some consider it a test of faith. Many more probably don't think about it at all. It fades from the memory until the next shaker shakes.
When the Great San Francisco Earthquake hit, Ambrose Bierce, the great cynical writer had already quit this City and had moved to New York.
True to his unforgiving self, he snarled when he was asked about San Francisco's future following the catastrophe, "What San Francisco needs in another quake, another whiff of fire, a steady tradewind of grapeshot."
I have moved to higher ground during the past few years. But even on Nob Hill, I'll not be immune from a steady tradewind of grapeshot, nor the blustery gusts along Clay Street, nor the rising rent that presses against the front door. But the house is built on bedrock, probably
high enough to escape the tsunami, and close enough to set up a temporary shelter at the bar of the Big 4.
Of course, if we're hit with another Big One, an 8.1 on the Richter Scale for example, all bets are off. The widening gap between rich and poor will be reduced to a more level playing field in a matter of seconds. For those of us who have come to San Francisco in order to reinvent ourselves, an earthquake as powerful as the one that struck 100 years ago will teach us what that really means.
Good night and good luck.
