San Francisco - October 1989
Computers, word processors and typewriters have just been carefully covered with vinyl blankets for a long night's rest after a hard day of being tapped punched and hit. This ritual occurs in offices throughout the city each week night by workers who are protective of the machines that have become extensions of their work selves, protecting these electronic brains from the elusive night soot and dust that invariably invade all empty offices. Men and women stand at elevator banks, waiting to be whisked down to the street.
The streets are already filled up with commuters pouring into the metro, boarding buses and driving cars. The stream of traffic moves from Montgomery fanning in all directions- towards the Bay Bridge for the Oakland Hills, towards the Golden Gate for the headlands of Marin, towards 101 for the bedroom communities of the peninsula.
The weather is warmer than usual; the traffic is lighter. The World Series, we realize, is the reason for the unclogged city arteries. 60,000 fans are squeezed into Candlestick Park on an unusually balmy evening. Thoughts wander to that stadium by the bay. The city has a chance to strut its stuff to the entire world tonight. All eyes will be on the town that Mark Twain referred to as "Heaven on the Half Shell".
The ground begins to roll. Skyscrapers rock. Shards of glass cascade down to the street from rattling buildings. The sidewalks buckle on the Embarcadero. The shaking becomes more violent. Bricks loosen from building facades and plaster cracks. The ground in the Marina turns into jello. Some people run to doorways and others fling themselves under tables. Drivers pull to the roadsides. Baseball players run to the center of the playing field searching the crowd for loved ones. The Ferry Building clock stops at 5:04.
The shaking has ceased and only fifteen seconds have passed. Nothing is the same. The world is inexorably changed. People dust themselves off and ask one another if they are all okay. Thoughts turn to friends and family. Are they well? Are they alive? People turn to strangers and extend caring hands. Colleagues embrace one another. We have come through an experience that will, forever, bind us together.
As we trudge home, the news trickles through. The collapse of a portion of the Bay Bridge, the disaster of the Nimitz Freeway, the destruction and the blazing of the Marina. Most people are still on edge from their private terrors, but as the extent of the destruction is realized we are amazed by its magnitude and are drawn together by its universality. Our city, our beloved Bay Area is the victim of a terrible tragedy. The community has heightened its self-awareness and its reliance on each other.
The smoke from the Marina fire shrouds the area and drifts towards the sun, which is quietly yielding to the encroaching dusk. As night falls, a city without electricty is consumed by darkness. A macabre atmosphere prevails in the city that is now draped in black, mourning its dead. Friends and neighbors share food and drink, gather on streets, huddle around transistor radios. We listen to reports of death and destruction, hoping to hear something comforting that might allow us to sleep on this night.
As time goes by, we hear of heroism and volunteers by the hundreds that enlist to help their neighbors. People have rushed to the aid of others- both strangers and friends. There are ordinary heroes by the thousands. The day after has reports that indicate very little crime or looting. Our people have not taken advantage of a scared and vulnerable city. On the contrary, they have shown the spirit and the compassion that lays the foundation for a strong and shining city.
San Francisco, the beautiful pearl on the Pacific Rim, has long attracted people to its Golden Gate- offering beauty and the opportunity for a good life. However, many of us have continued to define ourselves by whence we came- New Yorkers, Los Angelinos, Bostonians, Chicagoans and a host of others have traveled to this paradise. No longer. Our common experience and the pride we can take in our humanity weave their fabric tight around us. The world will notice and will be a little awestruck, as we sift through the rubble rebuilding our city and proudly proclaim that we are San Franciscans.
-Randy AllgaierOctober 1989