I used to like to get to school early. Actually, I like to get to everything early still, be it work or an event. There are simple reasons for this, at least simple to me. When I was in the working world, I would get to work an hour early so that I could enjoy some peace and quiet time before the noisy throng of workers arrived. When it comes to events, I don’t like to fret about where to park. So I get there at the beginning of the event so I can have a place to park.
I’m not sure why I went to elementary school early, except perhaps to get away from my brothers who would begin their daily rituals of hazing me as soon as the sun peeked through the trees on SE 96th St. in Renton.
I do know for a fact that I was to school early on April 25, 1965. I can remember it like it was yesterday. I had just arrived at Kennydale Elementary, using the doors at the farthest corner of the building, near the 3rd grade rooms. This was back in the day when you could trudge off to school on your own, without having to worry about a sex predator pulling you into the woods and killing you. Yes, the good old days.
I’m not quite sure why I was walking towards the office and gym on this particular day. My class, Mrs. Williams, was to the immediate left. I am quite sure, however, what came next.
The ground began to rumble, then shake. It was the 1965 earthquake. I can still see the hallway in the school, first rolling to the left, then the right, then the left again. I was rolling right along with it, being thrust to the left wall, then the right, then the left. Being a kid, I thought this quite fun.
I had never been through an earthquake before and this one was of historic proportions. I have learned since that it was a 6.5 magnitude. All I know is I couldn’t stop myself from hitting the walls, all the while still walking down the hall.
It was then that I saw Mr. Ogden, braced in a doorway. He was yelling at me. At first I didn’t know what he was saying. Then I got the message loud and clear. I was to go through a door and hide because the skylights in the hall could come crashing down any moment.
I did as I was told. I fought my way through the door of the nearest classroom and hid. When the shaking stopped, I stayed in place. No one had told me to come out. Eventually they found me. Still hiding in the closet at the back of the room.
Over the years there were more quakes. Little ones, of course, nothing as big as the one I experienced in first grade. None did as much damage either. I still remember coming home to a mess in the house. My mother had all these beautiful bottles in the window sill in the playroom, each filled with colored water. She had to watch, helpless, as each one crashed down in turn to the floor as she held on for dear life in the hallway opening. She was still cleaning up when I got home, which wasn’t long, because they sent us all home that day.
I have always been very sensitive to earthquakes. I think it’s an inner ear thing, the same reason I don’t really like motion rides. My friends and family used to make fun of me because moments before anyone else could feel the earth move, I had already jumped out of the chair or sofa and yelled, “Earthquake!!” Sometimes they were hardly noticeable to anyone else, but I could feel them.
No one ever believed me, but thankfully the Internet came along and I could confirm them with the U.S. Geological Survey. I would excitedly pull up the screen and show everyone that yes, there had been an earthquake, albeit a small one.
I never had to look up the one on Feb. 28, 2001. Yes, the Nisqually quake. Again, I can remember it clearly, as I’m sure most of my fellow Washingtonians can. It was just before 11 a.m. and CommuniCreations was in our house in Port Orchard. We were all hard at work – Sharon, Darcy and I.
First I heard the rumble. Then felt the shake. I had never been underground in an earthquake before. It is a very different experience, let me tell you. I could feel the shockwaves rolling through the floor. Upstairs, stuff was crashing off the shelves.
Me, I did what any other concerned employer would do as my coworkers grappled for what to do in the midst of a 6.8 quake. I yelled for them all to grab onto their computers and hold onto them for dear life.
Yes, it seemed that in the heat of a natural disaster of historic proportions, my mind was razor sharp. While I couldn’t easily find a new wife and business partner, Darcy was expendable and our hard drives weren’t. I guess we could have jumped under our desks as we had rehearsed, but frankly, who really does that?
By the time we realized what was really going on it was already 15 seconds into the earthquake. In another 30, it was over.
Thankfully, there was no great damage to the office or the house. We lost a few knickknacks but the dishes all stayed in their cabinets and the house came through it just fine, except for the chimney. The capstone had turned 45 degrees on the top and we had to have the landlord get someone over to move it back.
I guess earthquakes are just part of the scenery of the Northwest. Like hurricanes in Florida, it’s the price we pay to live in paradise.
Now, can someone explain to me the magic of living in Tornado Alley?
Out on the Treasure Coast (well, not really) with no need to reason with hurricane season, which is still 3 1/2 months away.
— Robb