Earthquake Memories : Teamwork Creates ‘Jolt’ of Happiness

T oday marks the last day of quake memories written by our readers. More than 400 readers contributed, sharing everything from one-liners to poems to essays thousands of words long. Some sent pages from their diaries, others copies of Christmas letters or letters to friends and relatives about the quake.

Some contributions have been edited for length or clarity. For our “Voices” section, we have plucked memorable lines from yet more of the letters.

Matthew Evan Lasar was born on a gurney with no brakes in a roomful of strangers on Jan. 17, 1994. His first year of milestones--first smiles, first steps and first laughs have been enjoyed and are now treasured memories. Every aftershock to me is like reliving his birth story.

I was the only labor and delivery patient at St. John’s Hospital in Santa Monica, having contractions about every five minutes on Jan. 16. Dr. Frumovitz, head of OBY/GYN at St. John’s and his partner, Dr. Cornelia Daly, had decided to wait until the morning to deliver my second child.

At 4:31 a.m., equipment lay shattered on the floor, terrifying sounds and smells abounded, and people scampered through the halls. My husband was at home with my son, Jason, and my father in Sherman Oaks. The nurses and I collected a flashlight and portable fetal monitor and relocated to the operating recovery room. I had reached my husband via cellular telephone and he was on his way.

By now, I was on an old-fashioned gurney--straight, board-like, no brakes. Every time I had a contraction or the earth moved, that gurney moved along with me! By 9 a.m. Doctors Frumovitz and Daly said it was too late for medication. My husband arrived, and was in charge of holding a leg, a nurse held the other; Dr. Frumovitz knelt on the gurney. At 9:56 a.m., a 5.6 aftershock shook us all; it was time to get this baby out.

“Jolt” (as he was called by Life magazine) was delivered at 10:22 a.m. at 6 pounds, 5 ounces--his hair was long and had “gray-like tips.”

We never stop thanking all of the doctors, nurses and special people who delivered him into this world on that most memorable morning of Jan. 17, 1994.

AMY BARKAN (Mom) ,JESSE LASAR (Dad),JASON LASAR (Big Brother),Sherman Oaks *

When the earth shook with tremendous force, I lost one of my most precious gifts, my daughter, Karen. The worst nightmare had become a reality.

Karen was not only beautiful on the outside, but even more beautiful on the inside. She was a loving, compassionate and unselfish young woman, a “caretaker” in every sense of the word. Her life had been cut short, but she had influenced and touched so many. She was my sunshine on a cloudy day and the gold at the end of my rainbow.

Will I ever be the same? Never! Will I survive? Absolutely! Survival for me meant finding meaning to my life. That meaning for me was the realization that I am needed by a loving husband, Allen, a wonderful daughter and son-in-law, Lisa and Pete, and supportive parents, Margaret and Max.

That little gray cloud will forever be looming over my head, but I am thankful for the 30 years that I had. I was fortunate that last June my company transferred me to Salt Lake City and I am residing in beautiful Park City. That makes things a little easier and I am leading a good life.

I look forward to seeing my daughter again, but for now, I am needed here.

EILEEN WALDROP, Park City, Utah, Mother of Karen Lynn Osterholt *

The earthquake changed life in this cookie-cutter suburban Valley. Gone were the everyday schedules, the rushing about, the selfish independence . . . for a few wonderful weeks community happened. Pleasant small talk did not exist after the earthquake. People opened up to others about their fears and thoughts. They shared themselves.

Neighbors who had only been waved to in passing became friends, and strangers became confidants while waiting in line for relief supplies. After the earthquake, we saw in the faces and stories of others a glimpse of ourselves. We were not alone.

A distinct quietness, likened to a time gone by, settled into the Valley that first evening. There were no televisions to distract us and the radio muttered news already heard. The street lights were not yet on and the brilliance of the night sky was not muffled by the light of the city.

The expanse of the stars was breathtaking, for in that darkness many stars not usually seen were visible. That image is a fitting tribute to the community of many individuals who came together to bring light to the darkness which followed the disaster.

JOAN D. FULLMER, Valencia *

Although it may sound strange, I am a much happier person since the earthquake. I owned a beautiful condo, had a respectable job, and was able to afford to do pretty much what I wanted.

Then one day at 4:31 a.m., I lost my home, my belongings and not long after, was laid off from work. I never thought of myself as a materialistic person. Yet one day, I found myself standing in line at the unemployment office, thinking, “I am now a homeless, unemployed person.”

It was a difficult time, but soon I came to realize that I wasn’t sad, I was just so ecstatic to be alive, to not have lost my life along with my condo. Being stripped of everything I had only made me realize how unimportant it all was.

It took me eight months to find a home and buy a bed again. But it was a big day for me. I appreciate simple things now. Material things mean nothing to me. The most important thing in my life is the time I spend with people that are dear to me. Because I realize how lucky I am to just be here, for whatever time that is.

And now I live for the moment. . . . I think I’ll go out to lunch with a friend today. That’s about as far ahead as I need to see.

HEDY POSEY, North Hollywood *

We bounced off walls, yelling unheard assurances to the kids that we were on our way. We ran full tilt, barefooted, through the pitch black and pitching family room, its floor-to-ceiling shelves being violently emptied of the Indian pots and pre-Columbian knickknacks and tribal tchotchkes they had once held.

We galloped through yards of shards, and after an eternity arrived at Claire’s and Charlie’s bedsides while the earthquake was still in full swing. Our fire walk, sans fire, had taken only seconds, I guess.

Charlie, who was only 7 months old, slept on like, well, a baby. Claire, 2-plus, was wide-eyed and very glad to have us around at last. We huddled under a doorway and rode out the first huge aftershock. Only then did we think of how scared we were, and secondarily, of our feet.

We looked down for telltale red stains on the beige carpet. There were none, so we were emboldened to look at the feet themselves.

There was not a nick on any of the four of them, even though the floor all across the route of our mad dash of love didn’t contain a square foot anywhere that didn’t hold some arch cutter or toe slicer of some kind.

What had happened? Did we fly to the bedrooms? Did love toughen our soles? Or did our feet, knowing that we cared far more about getting where we had to go than we did about their well-being, just take care of themselves?

All I know is that before that chaotic morning I had never felt so directly the powerful pull of parental instinct--something larger than self-interest, older than the ages (New and otherwise). We were picked up and carried along by love, and our poor feet just had to follow.

MICHAEL HEALY, Studio City *

In retrospect, the earthquake itself seems rather tame when compared to what followed.

Tame compared to the countless acts of heroism, from rescuers to store owners. Tame compared to the strength and good humor of neighbors offering support and comfort. Tame compared to the steady stream of selfless volunteers.

Tame compared to the dedication of those who brought us services we will never again take for granted: police officers, firefighters, those who restored our gas, water and electricity, the television reports and indispensable newspapers. Tame compared to the courage of our children and their teachers as they went back to damaged classrooms.

We can never forget the power of the quake. But more important, we can never forget the power of a determined community. Rebuilding is tough work. And we have a long way to go. But I, for one, am overwhelmed with pride over what we’ve accomplished so far.

ANNE KEMP HUMMEL, Northridge *

Thrown from my bed, Drea, my wife, and I grabbed our dog Fay and together we tumbled blindly toward the landing for what was to be a butt-thumping ride down the stairs--like toddlers discovering a new thrill skill, but without all the fun.

Once we crossed the threshold of our front door, we seemed to have passed into another universe. First, there was the silence. I folded my arms around my wife to offer some reassurance and warmth and we both stood there for perhaps half a minute in suspended animation.

“Drea, look up,” I finally said. At that moment, we both saw something that neither one of us had seen in all our nearly 10 years of living in Los Angeles. Stars! An infinite array of twinkling clusters stood out with such clarity and immensity that the emotion that had gripped and throttled us only moments before now held us in speechless awe.

It took only a second to realize that the earthquake had knocked out the Valley’s electricity. And in doing so, it gave us a breathtaking reminder that the pageantry of such serene and stellar beauty is always above. In that moment, we found the comfort and reassurance that not all of nature is destructive.

KEVIN GILLOGLY, Van Nuys