The Little Big One
At 5:04pm on Tuesday, October 17, 1989 I was in the box office of San Francisco Opera. The weather was lovely. The World Series was about to start. The performance that night was “Idomeneo” – a work about a king who sacrifices his daughter to appease Neptune, the god of earthquakes and oceans. My first quake had been a few months before, dubbed “The Great Taco Bell Earthquake” as it took place while I was having lunch with a colleague from the Opera. It was a 2. something. I watched the street sign on Van Ness sway slightly. My co-worker shrugged. “Happens all the time.” I was thrilled. Now I was really a San Franciscan! The weeks before Loma Prieta, as those who were here may remember, were replete with small but noticeable tremblors – not unlike those of the past week: a 3.1 here, a 4.2 here – once, more than three in a row overnight. That morning, a lot of shaker refugees were huddled earlier-than-usual on the Castro Muni platform having given up any attempts at sleep ...