I was off work with a knee injury when the '89 Loma Prieta earthquake rocked the Bay Area. I'd dropped by the house of a co-worker living in South San Francisco, popped a beer, and was on the verge of advising him not to work too hard at our swingshift job when the earth began to rumble. It was a sustained rocking, followed by the inevitable, momentary hesitation that always precedes one's realization that an earthquake is in progress. My friend grabbed his daughter and moved to an interior doorway; I moved to the front doorway. Each of us were natives to the region; both of us knew what to do, and had done it. At that point, it was simply a matter of riding it out until the rolling tapered off, and then disappeared.

I'm a native San Franciscan, who grew up in the bordering Daly City, home of the world famous Cow Palace (as well as being an armpit unto itself). Our house was located within a mile or so of where the San Andreas fault leaves the sea and touches land. Consequently, I'd experienced dozens of tremors by the time Loma Prieta hit, in all the many variations that characterize earthquakes. They don't all feel alike. Some roll, some jolt, some whisper. Loma Prieta began as a jolt, and then began to shout. From my friend's front doorway, simply waiting for it to peter itself out, I was caught flat-footed. The rumble became a roar, and the piano in the front room became a blur of motion. I wondered if this was "the big one", the one that everyone knew was in the cards, and bound to hit sooner or later. It built in intensity of type I never imagined possible, and then quit. I had been impressed. The folks in that neighborhood began to drift outside, "hot damning" each other. My abiding thought was to get back to my apartment in San Francisco in order to watch the Giants-A's World Series.

Traffic lights were out- the freeway on-ramp was choked. But I knew every and all ways into the City, and within the hour was home. Every resident was outside the building we shared when I pulled up to my parking space. A neighbor from Boston, who lived on the top floor, met me as I walked toward the entrance. "How'd it you like, Bob?", I jovially asked. "Jim", he replied with the seriousness of a heart attack, "I thought I was going to die". Being amused, I laughed. But, not realizing the Series had been postponed, I wasn't amused that the electricity was out. Needing radio batteries to listen to the game, I walked one block to buy some, but the stores had all closed. I saw smoke from burning homes of the Marina district, but didn't gauge its true distance, and thought it but a small fire on the other side of Golden Gate Park.

Someone mentioned that the Bay Bridge had collapsed, and I scoffed (thinking they meant the entire structure) when, in fact, the cantilever section had indeed fallen. And then, an epiphany: I realized I was out of beer, and the stores were closed, or closing. I prevailed on a corner liquor store owner, whose children's college education I had helped finance for m