Thirty years ago this week – at 5:04 p.m. Oct. 17, 1989 – the Loma Prieta earthquake hit the Bay Area, killing 63 people and causing $6 billion of damage. It measured 6.9 on the Richter scale, making it one of the 13 biggest earthquakes in recorded state history. Tony Wade wrote two "Back in the Day" columns with local residents' remembrances and this is mine.
I was a young sports editor, covering Game 3 of the World Series between the San Francisco Giants and Oakland A's at Candlestick Park. I didn't feel the earthquake.
I was covering the game with Steve Trosky, another Daily Republic sports writer, and was walking down the stairs below the press box from our seats. I heard the rumble and smiled. "These fans are great. They're stomping their feet," I thought.
Steve saw me walking. He saw the televisions that were on plywood platforms above poles so the media could see replays. The TVs swayed over my head as I walked down the stairs like Mr. Magoo, thinking the fans were stomping their feet.
The fans, drunk on excitement for the first World Series game in San Francisco since 1962, cheered the earthquake. What more appropriate thing for a Bay Area World Series?
Before long, it was obvious that something was wrong. Radio stations came back online and reporters and fans began hearing early reports and rumors. The Bay Bridge collapsed. The Marina district was on fire. Buildings were in shambles. Santa Cruz was in ruins.
Some of the early reports were true. Most had some element of truth. Pretty soon it became apparent this was a disaster and bigger than baseball.
As a reporter, it was a free-for-all. Security broke down and reporters were allowed to roam.
I asked the baseball commissioner a question. I asked the head of the Baseball Writers Association of America about the history of such disasters (since there was no Internet yet). I talked to players who were huddled on the field with their families and who didn't want to talk to a small-town sports writer.
Steve was working, too, although he was concerned. His father commuted across the Bay Bridge every day. Was the bridge in the water? Ultimately, TV stations came back on and we saw images. The bridge was damaged, not collapsed. The Marina was indeed burning. The horror of the collapse of the Cypress structure in Oakland was obvious.
Steve and I headed south to my sister's house in South San Francisco, from where we filed our articles on cheap old-school Radio Shack TRS-80 computers (affectionately called "trash-80s"), then called the Daily Republic newsroom, somehow got through and made sure they received them.
We drove home the only way we could – through Golden Gate Park and across the Golden Gate Bridge, since the other bridges were closed and power was out. People were gracious and generous, some directing traffic with flashlights.
It took about three hours to get home, but ultimately we did.
We were really observers to history. We weren't hurt, we lived in Fairfield and Suisun City, so we suffered no damage. Steve and I really just had a chance to see a historic sporting event and then somehow manage to do our jobs and file our articles.
Ten days later, I was back at Candlestick when the series resumed and the A's quickly finished off a sweep. The Bay Bridge was still closed, so it was still a hassle to get there, but I wasn't going to miss it.
After all, it was still the first Giants World Series home game since 1962.
There you have it. I was at ground zero of the thing that most people around the nation associate the the Loma Prieta earthquake. And when it happened, I thought it was fans stomping their feet.
That's me, genius reporter.
Reach Brad Stanhope at bradstanhope@hotmail.com.
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