San Francisco Earthquake 1906

 “Just Thinking"

One hundred and twenty years ago this week, on the morning of April 18, 1906, at 5:13 a.m., one of the most powerful earthquakes in American history struck San Francisco. It is estimated to be 8.0 on the Richter scale, the quake killed approximately 3,000 people and toppled countless buildings. The earthquake was caused by a massive rupture along the San Andreas Fault, it tore through a segment nearly 275 miles long, with shockwaves felt as far north as southern Oregon and as far south as Los Angeles.

San Francisco’s infrastructure proved especially vulnerable. Brick buildings crumbled, and the city’s iconic wooden Victorian homes were badly damaged. Almost immediately, fires erupted across the city. Broken water mains left firefighters powerless to contain the flames, and within hours, multiple firestorms merged into a citywide inferno.

By April 23, most of the fires had finally been extinguished, allowing authorities to begin the daunting task of rebuilding. Nearly 30,000 buildings were destroyed, including a large majority of the city’s homes and almost the entire central business district. San Francisco, once vibrant and bustling, had been reduced to rubble. Having grown up in San Francisco, I was blown away on my first trip to New Orleans, seeing buildings that were a couple of hundred years old, while it was rare to see houses or buildings that pre-dated 1906.

Many years ago, I read Seabiscuit: An American Legend by Laura Hillenbrand, a great read that connects history with a larger-than-life horse. One section focuses on Charles S. Howard, Seabiscuit’s owner, and his experience during the 1906 earthquake, highlighting not only what happened, but why it mattered and how it shaped the man he would become. Howard grew up poor and restless, eventually moving west in search of opportunity. By 1906, he was living in San Francisco, working in bicycle repair and sales that worked well with his natural mechanical aptitude.

Rather than fleeing or freezing after the earthquake, Howard moved into action. He immediately put his mechanical skills to use, repairing vehicles, helping transport people and supplies, and assisting with recovery efforts throughout the city. Working in constant danger and through extreme exhaustion, he became integral to the rescue and rebuilding process.

In the aftermath of the earthquake, San Francisco was inundated with damaged automobiles, and the demand for repair and transportation surged. Where others saw only devastation, Howard recognized opportunity. He shifted his focus from bicycles to automobiles, a relatively new and rapidly emerging industry. That pivot laid the foundation for his future wealth and success. Beyond being the owner of the legendary racehorse, Seabiscuit, Howard Street in San Francisco stands as a lasting namesake of Charles S. Howard.

Although I was not alive for the earthquake of 1906, I did live through the earthquake of 1989 and the aftermath. Like earlier generations who remember exactly where they were when President Kennedy was assassinated, or when humans first landed on the moon, we remember precisely where we were and what we were doing when the earth shook in 1989.

At the time, I was working at Viking Distributing and was one of the few people still in the shop. I stood in a doorway as the ground began to move. Unlike the earthquakes I had experienced before, this one did not stop right away, it seemed to go on and on. When the shaking finally stopped, we walked into the warehouse to find broken racks, tools and fasteners scattered across the floor.

As was my habit back then, I normally would leave work and run to the Olympic Club to meet Dad and to play handball. Heading up 7th Street, it became painfully clear how serious the situation was. Parapets had fallen onto parked cars, and ladders were jutting up through displaced manhole covers, an eerie sign of how violently the ground had shifted.

When I arrived at the Olympic Club, a group of people gathered around a small transistor television, watching footage of the Bay Bridge collapse and reports of widespread damage across the Bay Area.

Meanwhile, Tracy was at our home in San Rafael, and I was unable to get through to her by phone. I jumped into Dad’s truck, and we made our way back to the house on Talbert Street, where a large group of family and friends had gathered having made the short trek to Mom and Dad’s house from Candlestick Park. The BBQ was fired up, ice chests were cracked, and together we tried to make sense of what had just happened.

Because this World Series was a rare “Bay Bridge Series” between the Giants and the A’s, many workers had left work early or stayed home to watch the game. When a section of the Bay Bridge collapsed and a portion of Highway 880 in Oakland pancaked, crushing vehicles below, traffic was far lighter than a typical weekday commute, this circumstance is credited with significantly reducing the number of fatalities.

Let me know what you think.

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