I'm ok, I'm ok.
Hope everything is ok for my California readers...I never got the hang of earthquakes, even though I've lived on and off in California over the years. My favorite earthquake story ever belongs to my sister, but she reads this journal, so it's up to her to tell that one in the comments.
Mine is a little mundane. I was in college about 45 miles away during the Northridge quake in '94, and I slept through the whole thing. I woke up that morning with the books having fallen off my shelves and the morning DJs giving everyone emergency evacuation information. Everything in Claremont was more or less Ok, but that quake turned out to be quite a bad one.
Two days later, I was laying on a blanket on my stomach in one of the quads and an aftershock hit. It was the weirdest thing to have the ground I was laying on just move under me. It waved, as if someone were shaking out a giant sheet that I was on top of. I was probably as safe there as anywhere, as it was unlikely that in the middle of a big grassy field anything would fall on me, but I felt very vulnerable.
That was the last of many times my family worried a little about my well being after hearing a news report of some disaster or another in Southern California. I don't remember the order of things, but my mom called at various points to see if I survived rioting, wildfires, flash flooding/mudslides and the Northridge quake. By the time of the Northridge Quake, she didn't bother to call anymore. She figured the college would let her know if I was in some sort of mortal peril.
The rioting was probably the closest that I ever got to actually being in trouble, though nothing actually happened. As soon as the verdict came out, the do-gooders in my college got together to, er, do something. I blame our parents, many of whom were Vietnam and other protesters back in the 60s, and they regaled us with stories about their various causes. This was an injustice that we could protest, so we did. Some people made signs, other people made banners. Someone volunteered to organize the mob. Someone else said something silly about what would happen if we went to jail; I think she was actually hoping that she'd get arrested. I got the impression it was something that would make her mom happy.
The plan, if I recall correctly, was to march to Foothill Avenue, create a barrier on the busiest non-freeway street around, and, er, let them know that we were pisssed. In retrospect, it was sort of silly, but whatever. So we gathered in front of the furthest dorm away from Foothill, and started walking north, picking up more people as we went along. I'm sure that no one from Claremont McKenna joined the cause; maybe a few from Scripps. I'm pretty sure that no one from Harvey Mudd knew what was going on. But Pitzer was ready and raring to go. I'm almost certain that their entire campus showed up.
So we get to Foothill. Our leader (with a megaphone, of course) inspires us with the all too familiar "no justice, no peace" chant, and we step foot into the busy street. Enter Claremont's finest. In full riot gear. As far as I could tell, it was all of them. In formation. Against maybe 500 college students. They look at us. We look at them. Their megaphone is louder than our megaphone. They make it clear that they're not kidding about hauling our silly asses to jail if we put one toe in the street. We grumble. A good hunk of the less inspired people start heading back to campus. They don't budge. More people start talking about how the dining halls are opening soon. The police shields still are interlocked. More people turn away. The chanting was totally gone. And eventually everyone went home, figuring that tear gas was much more fun in theory than practice. Foothill was shut down for a little while, but that was mainly because the police blocked it off.
That night, we were all sort of surprised that the rioting got as out of control as it did. We figured that if the fucking Claremont police were fully prepared for a scirmish after the verdict came down that the LA PD had geared up for a full on war. My friends Don and Won borrowed my camera and took it in to Pomona that night, and they took some pictures of some of the minor rioting and looting that went on there. The rest of us sort of stayed glued to the dorm TVs and reassured our parents that we were OK.
A few days later, a bunch of us drove into LA to help with the clean up. The rioting wasn't quite contained yet at that point, but it was close. The clean up efforts weren't that organized, so we drove around, found crews thta found stuff to do, pitched in a little in mopping and gathering and otherwise getting some of the burnt out debris out of the streets. We also helped out at the A&E Baptist Church with organizing food and clothing distribution. At one point that day, some National Guardsmen pulled their rifles on us when we tried to go down a street they didn't want us to go down. It was an exhausting day, but I survived, and my mom didn't worry too much about me.
BTW, for those who felt that quake today in California, go to the USGS website and fill out their survey on this quake. It helps them gather data for earthquake preparedness in the future.
Mine is a little mundane. I was in college about 45 miles away during the Northridge quake in '94, and I slept through the whole thing. I woke up that morning with the books having fallen off my shelves and the morning DJs giving everyone emergency evacuation information. Everything in Claremont was more or less Ok, but that quake turned out to be quite a bad one.
Two days later, I was laying on a blanket on my stomach in one of the quads and an aftershock hit. It was the weirdest thing to have the ground I was laying on just move under me. It waved, as if someone were shaking out a giant sheet that I was on top of. I was probably as safe there as anywhere, as it was unlikely that in the middle of a big grassy field anything would fall on me, but I felt very vulnerable.
That was the last of many times my family worried a little about my well being after hearing a news report of some disaster or another in Southern California. I don't remember the order of things, but my mom called at various points to see if I survived rioting, wildfires, flash flooding/mudslides and the Northridge quake. By the time of the Northridge Quake, she didn't bother to call anymore. She figured the college would let her know if I was in some sort of mortal peril.
The rioting was probably the closest that I ever got to actually being in trouble, though nothing actually happened. As soon as the verdict came out, the do-gooders in my college got together to, er, do something. I blame our parents, many of whom were Vietnam and other protesters back in the 60s, and they regaled us with stories about their various causes. This was an injustice that we could protest, so we did. Some people made signs, other people made banners. Someone volunteered to organize the mob. Someone else said something silly about what would happen if we went to jail; I think she was actually hoping that she'd get arrested. I got the impression it was something that would make her mom happy.
The plan, if I recall correctly, was to march to Foothill Avenue, create a barrier on the busiest non-freeway street around, and, er, let them know that we were pisssed. In retrospect, it was sort of silly, but whatever. So we gathered in front of the furthest dorm away from Foothill, and started walking north, picking up more people as we went along. I'm sure that no one from Claremont McKenna joined the cause; maybe a few from Scripps. I'm pretty sure that no one from Harvey Mudd knew what was going on. But Pitzer was ready and raring to go. I'm almost certain that their entire campus showed up.
So we get to Foothill. Our leader (with a megaphone, of course) inspires us with the all too familiar "no justice, no peace" chant, and we step foot into the busy street. Enter Claremont's finest. In full riot gear. As far as I could tell, it was all of them. In formation. Against maybe 500 college students. They look at us. We look at them. Their megaphone is louder than our megaphone. They make it clear that they're not kidding about hauling our silly asses to jail if we put one toe in the street. We grumble. A good hunk of the less inspired people start heading back to campus. They don't budge. More people start talking about how the dining halls are opening soon. The police shields still are interlocked. More people turn away. The chanting was totally gone. And eventually everyone went home, figuring that tear gas was much more fun in theory than practice. Foothill was shut down for a little while, but that was mainly because the police blocked it off.
That night, we were all sort of surprised that the rioting got as out of control as it did. We figured that if the fucking Claremont police were fully prepared for a scirmish after the verdict came down that the LA PD had geared up for a full on war. My friends Don and Won borrowed my camera and took it in to Pomona that night, and they took some pictures of some of the minor rioting and looting that went on there. The rest of us sort of stayed glued to the dorm TVs and reassured our parents that we were OK.
A few days later, a bunch of us drove into LA to help with the clean up. The rioting wasn't quite contained yet at that point, but it was close. The clean up efforts weren't that organized, so we drove around, found crews thta found stuff to do, pitched in a little in mopping and gathering and otherwise getting some of the burnt out debris out of the streets. We also helped out at the A&E Baptist Church with organizing food and clothing distribution. At one point that day, some National Guardsmen pulled their rifles on us when we tried to go down a street they didn't want us to go down. It was an exhausting day, but I survived, and my mom didn't worry too much about me.
BTW, for those who felt that quake today in California, go to the USGS website and fill out their survey on this quake. It helps them gather data for earthquake preparedness in the future.