My bed shakes, jumps up and down, and I find myself in the middle of my floor, thrown from the bed. I pick myself up and peer out the window hoping that will tell me why I woke up on the floor. Bright lights are flashing in the distance, and I hear a rumbling, low roaring noise along with the sound of breaking glass. A feeling of panic consumes my entire body, my thoughts are a jumbled, confused mess. In all my 14 years I’ve never experienced anything like this.
“What’s going on?”, I yell.
I hear no reply, just the rumbling noise and sound of things falling. I conclude we are being bombed! Thoughts of the many bomb drills we have practiced at school flash through my mind. The Russians? Are the Russians bombing us?
I find my Mom, Dad, and sister, Sandy already in the hallway huddled together. If they are speaking, I cannot make out what they are saying over the deafening noise throughout the house. The sound of breaking glass is much louder in the hall.
“Hang on to Lady, Debbie”, my Mom tells me.
Lady, our German Shepherd, is scared and whining. I grab hold of her collar and bring her closer to me.
It is as if a giant has picked up the floor of our house and is shaking it out like a rug. I can see the floor rolling beneath us. Lady becomes anxious and digs her paws into my legs. I don’t feel it, my body is numb. It seems like hours have passed since I was thrown from the bed, but I don’t really know how long we’ve been huddled here. I have no idea what time it is. I know I had set my alarm for 6:15. I figure it’s sometime before 6.
As quickly and abruptly as the jolting started, it stopped. Silence fills the house, but I’m sure I hear our hearts beating, fast, strong, and frightened. My parents crawl down the hallway into the opening of the living room.
“Oh my God! Oh my God!, my Mother cries out hysterically.
Fear grips me anew. What is out there? What has she seen that is so terrifying? I have never seen my parents sound and act this scared.
Sandy and I are left in the hall with our thoughts and questions, all the while listening to my parents moan and groan and utter an occasional “Oh my God.”
Sandy, being four years younger looks to be for answers. I am unable to help, comfort, or answer any questions. I haven’t a clue as to what is happening.
I push Lady over to my sister and decided to have a look for myself. I stoop low, noticing that was what my parents had done, and inch my way along the wall until I reach the opening to the living room. I am shocked at what I see. I look back at Sandy wondering if she can tell how scared I am. Everything sitting on the floor is toppled over and nothing remains in its original place but looks as if it has been thrown around the room.
Our floral print couch and matching loveseat is across the room from where it usually sets. My Dad’s comfy, old recliner is tipped over and lying in the middle of the floor, with our floor lamp underneath it.
I don’t see my Mom or Dad but I notice the front door is open. Hearing voices, I walk over and see that my parents are in the front yard where many of our neighbors have converged. I hear much excited talk as everyone tells their own horrifying stories. They all seem to be talking at once, but I make out the word “earthquake”. We have just experienced an earthquake. My Mom catches a glimpse of me standing at the doorway.
“Do you have shoes on, Debbie? You can’t be walking around on that floor barefoot. There is broken glass everywhere! Get some shoes on!”
I feel my teenage agitation rear its ugly head. “Of course I don’t have shoes on. Gee, why didn’t I think of grabbing my shoes after being thrown from my bed and into this horrific nightmare!”
I walk away wondering where and how I would find my shoes amongst this mess. Walking back down the hallway, I open the bathroom door. Once again, I cannot believe what I see. The medicine cabinet has emptied its contents into the sink. The sink is filled with broken glass, pill bottles, capsules, and toothbrushes. Gross! Green, beige, and blue goo combine into a liquid, gooey mess.
I pass this mess and enter into another, which is my room. As a fourteen-year-old teenage girl, my room is generally in a state of chaos, but this is more than my bad housekeeping habits could conjure up. My bookcase is lying across my bed, with nothing remaining on its shelves. Every book and every knick knack are in the middle of my bedroom floor. Some are broken; some survive. My phone is resting on my pillow. Luckily, I had been thrown to the floor, that phone would have caused quite a headache, not to mention the bookcase that would have been on top of me. I go back over to my window and look out to see fires in the distance, flames sprouting up here and there, burning what, I did not know.
There is a quietness, a stillness that is thick in the air and hangs like an invisible curtain. I start looking for my shoes.
“Debbie, Dad says pack up some stuff, we are leaving”, my sister yells into me as she heads to her own room. “And he says we have five minutes”, she adds. I finally find a pair of tennis shoes, slip them on and head back down the hall. My sister, being the neater of us two, has already found her shoes, and who knows what she has packed in her suitcase. She is already out front with our parents.
Before I head out the front door to join my family, I made my way into the kitchen. No luck finding what time it is, as the kitchen clock no longer hangs on the wall. Every cupboard door is open, and amazingly there is not a single dish, not a single box of cereal or canned good in those cupboards. My feet crunch underneath layers of glass on the floor. Clear glass, white glass, milk glass, antique carnival glass, glass covered in mayonnaise, and glass covered in spaghetti sauce. Not only had the contents of the cupboards emptied out but the refrigerator which is tipped over and leaning against the cupboards is also empty of its contents. I take my eyes off the gross mess on the floor and look back up to the cupboards and notice an odd sight. One bottle of ketchup sits alone on the shelf, this is odd because that bottle of ketchup was originally in the fridge! The stove is scooted dangerously far from the wall and is filled with some of our dinnerware.
I know we are leaving but don’t know where we are headed. To my disappointment I find out we are going to my Father’s work. He is an employee at the Hollywood Burbank Airport, working security. In case of an emergency, he is required to check in at work. And this is an emergency! This decision doesn’t surprise me as my Dad is the overprotective type. He figures we will be safer if we come to work with him.
“What about Lady? What do we do with Lady?”, my sister asks.
“We are leaving her with the Bengston’s”, my Mom answers. “Hurry up and let’s go. DId you get everything you wanted?”
“Everything I wanted,” I cry out. No, I didn’t get everything I want! I can’t find anything; it’s all buried under stuff and more stuff. I didn’t get a shower this morning! Crap! I don’t want to go anywhere without a shower, what if someone sees me? What if the house isn’t here when we get home? What about our stuff?” I am feeling hysterical at this point, not to mention my teenage attitude is coming to the surface again. Agh! They just don’t understand!”
“Calm down, and get in the car”, my Dad says.
We pile into our Rambler station wagon and back out the driveway. As we head to town we see neighbors outside of their homes, some have dressed, some still wear their pajamas, but all look concerned, confused, and frightened. Each street we travel down has a tale of its own to tell. Fireplaces have fallen, driveways are cracked and buckled, and I can only imagine the shape of the inside of their homes!
We spend a long, boring day in our car, parked in the airport parking lot. My sister and I pass the day playing various card games. Snap, Fish, Crazy 8’s, and Slap Jack. Thank goodness she grabbed a deck of cards!
My Dad finally makes his way back to our car, he is looks tired and worn out. Worry lines mark his face and his mouth is set in a grim line.
The sun has gone down and a darkness envelopes the city, no house lights, no street lights, just darkness except for our headlights directing us home.
We get to the Sylmar city limits and are stopped by a roadblock.
“Do you live up here?” we are asked by one of the policemen that is blocking the road.
“Yes, we live on Brrussels, about five blocks up”, my Dad answers. As he shows him his driver’s license he asks, “why the roadblock”.
“Looters”, he replies. “Trying to keep the looters out. You can go on through”.
We could see nothing as we make our way slowly down the streets. Every once in a while, our headlights shine in a front yard and I can see people in their yards with mattresses, sleeping bags, and some with tents.
“I think it’s safe to assume that no one feels safe in their homes tonight. I think we will stay out in the camper.”
Instead of feeling annoyed that I will be spending the night in a camper, I feel grateful that my Dad is overprotective, he just wants us to be safe. We are fortunate to have that old camper.
We pull in the driveway, thankful the house is still standing. We are unsure of what the next day will bring but as for this day, we survived, and we’re together, that’s all that matters for now.
It will be six weeks before we have water and electricity. Months will pass before my sister can return to her school, which apparently wasn’t “earthquake proof”. Countless aftershocks will shake the city and send us terrified out of our home. Sleepless nights and endless, tiring days are spent sweeping, mopping, cleaning and trying to list all that we had lost.
The fear of earthquakes will forever be with us.
The Morning of February 9th, 1971
