QUAKE DIARY : Halls of Learning Hold New Lessons for Visiting Grad

On a sunny day, Stanford’s Rodin sculpture garden always draws a crowd. Today, however, visitors are bumping past the statues, going instead to see the art museum that stands at the garden’s edge.

The 100-year-old museum, severely damaged by the Oct. 17 quake, is one of the most visible signs of destruction on campus. It sits like a wounded giant, surrounded by the trappings of disaster: a construction crane, yellow warning ribbons, piles of rubble.

Most of the people around me have stopped here on their way to somewhere else. A few admit that they have never been to the museum before; they feel a little awkward about coming now, as if they are intruding.

I’ve not been here since I was a student in the 1970s. I’ve returned to Stanford to observe the order, or perhaps it’s the disorder, of life after an earthquake.

A few people begin sifting the debris for souvenirs. Most of us, however, are content to stand and stare in silence.

Slowly, people begin to murmur about the museum’s fate and the after-effects of the quake. Then, talk turns to the business of the day: Lunch dates, new romances, shopping lists.

I’m struck by the ease with which the mood shifts from the somber to the mundane. I wonder if it’s like this all over the Bay Area. The shock is fading, the repairs have begun.

The will to move forward is a good thing. But are people really able to forget the past so easily?

And then I see a woman making her way toward the Rodins. She is small and gray and she is dwarfed by the gleaming, jet-black statues that surround her.

It’s clear that she has come here with a purpose. She navigates quickly around a row of orange safety cones and passes by many of the garden’s more spectacular pieces. She ends up before a simple kneeling figure. It seems to bend down to meet her.

At first, she hesitates. Then she smiles and raises her hand to caress the sculpture’s cheek. Obviously, this is an old friend.

I’m glad you’re all right, she seems to say.

Caught in that moment, between the gawking and the rubble and her awkward caress, I realize that people will move on but they can’t always forget.

On the plane ride up I tried to imagine what I’d find at Stanford nearly two weeks after the quake had struck. The early reports were discouraging. Stanford was the hardest hit among the Bay Area’s colleges. The university suffered an estimated $160 million in structural losses. Besides the museum, heavy damage was done to the business school, the Memorial Church, and parts of the Quad, the sandstone courtyard that sits at the heart of the campus.

The rest of the news was good: There were no serious injuries reported among the 23,000 students and staff. Despite the large number of research facilities, there were no explosions, fires or toxic leaks.

Officials told me that aggressive preparation helped to keep losses low. Two years ago, a major seismic-risk survey prompted the closure and reinforcement of several campus buildings, including the Roble Hall dormitory. Ironically, Roble reopened a few weeks before the quake. It survived unscathed.

Officials also credited quick, campuswide response with pushing Stanford back into shape once disaster struck.

The quake hit on a Tuesday, just three weeks into the school year. Initially, dozens of buildings were closed and 1,100 students were displaced. Classes resumed that Thursday. By week’s end nearly a million library books were reshelved, hundreds of offices were cleaned, all but 14 buildings were reopened and most of the displaced students were relocated.

Many students told me that the quake had few lasting effects on them. “It was scary,” said freshman Ronit Karpati of Woodland Hills. “But it’s not like anyone is saying, ‘I should’ve gone to Yale.’ ”

Others admit to smaller, nagging problems. They want to move out of their dorms because the floors shake too much. Some refuse to study in the libraries, haunted by stories of classmates who narrowly escaped cascading books and bookcases.

One concern shared among the students is the toll taken on their academic lives.

“The quake really scared me, but the real problem now is that we’ve lost almost two weeks out of a 10-week quarter,” said John Louie, a sophomore from Palos Verdes. “I don’t know how you can make that up.”

Senior Heidi Hillis, whose dorm has been closed indefinitely, said that even though her professors have adjusted her course loads, she fears that the quake may mean “academic death” for her because she has lost so much study time.

Worried that students were too obsessed with grades, even for Stanford, I went to the office of the Stanford Daily, the campus newspaper where I’d spent many long nights as an undergraduate. People at The Daily have never been known for over-studying.

Aren’t you all too concerned about academics? I asked one editor, expecting a contemptuous reply. Perhaps it’s a sign of changing times, but he just smiled and nodded knowingly.

“Of course we are,” he said. “But you have to understand that we came to Stanford to learn. We have only four years to do it. So it becomes a bigger part of our life.”

A former professor of mine had another answer. Some students are myopic, she said, but right now others might just be craving the comfort of even such uncomfortable routines as midterms and grades.

“The worst losses on campus are the church and the museum,” I begin to say, checking my notes.

The university spokesman interrupts me. “No,” he says. “Those buildings are badly damaged but the geology and language buildings are the bigger losses. The university can do without the church for now, but we need those classrooms.”

At first, his words make sense. And then they don’t.

“But the church is important,” I say to him. To myself, I think, “But why?”

I remember that when I told friends that I was going back to Stanford, many said that as long as the church and Hoover Tower were safe, things would be all right. The tower sustained only minor damage. The church did not fare as well. Its keystone arch has cracked.

I remember, too, that while I’ve never found the church’s heavyset architecture appealing, I’ve always thought it to be a beautiful building. That’s probably because I spent many mornings sitting in the empty Quad, watching the sun rise over the church’s red-tiled dome. I liked the Quad when no one was around. I could study for tests or think about life, the way you do only when you’re in college, with just the church to keep me company.

My odd attachment to a building I haven’t seen in years makes me think of the woman in the sculpture garden. I also think of the students worrying too much about their grades and the people gossipping by the art museum.

As we finish our conversation, the spokesman reviews the university’s impressive list of recovery efforts.

“So, Stanford is moving forward,” he says.

“Yes and no,” I reply, half to myself.

What does that mean, I’m sure he’s wondering.

I think that it means finding comfort in the face of a Rodin.