‘This Is a Test--This Is <i> Only</i> a Test!’ : Public safety: The San Onofre power plant’s emergency warning system will undergo its annual trial next week, and officials hope to preclude any panic.

The eerie wail of the siren spread through the San Clemente neighborhood shortly before midnight, triggering some residents’ worst fear: There had been a disaster at the San Onofre Nuclear Generating Station.

Within seconds, the switchboard at the San Clemente City Hall dispatch center lit up as hundreds of panic-stricken residents called to inquire why the alarm had sounded. Others didn’t wait to hear. Dressed in pajamas and nightgowns, some left their houses, jumped into their cars and frantically sped away on the freeway.

From miles away, they joined hundreds of residents who were desperately calling the Police and Fire departments and even San Clemente Mayor Candace Haggard’s home to find out what had happened.

The scene, which went virtually unnoticed by the media, unfolded last Jan. 16 when high winds and heavy rains accidentally tripped the alarm. But it left many wondering exactly how South County residents would react if there really were an emergency.

On Sept. 26, 50 sirens in the federally mandated nuclear emergency zone will sound through southern Orange County and northern San Diego County as the warning system undergoes its annual test. This time, Southern California Edison Co.--the utility that operates the plant--and the cities’ emergency planners are trying to ensure that residents do not panic.

In preparation for the event, Edison plans to mail 81,000 post cards to area residents informing them that the sirens will be sounded for two to five minutes between 10 a.m. and noon. The notices advise residents to turn on their radios and television sets for “emergency instructions.”

The panic triggered by the accidental sounding of the San Clemente siren last January caused planners to revise the emergency directions. Since the old procedures contained no provisions for false alarms, residents were puzzled when they turned on their radios and television sets only to hear and see regular programming.

Edison spokesman David Barron says emergency planners have since agreed to make a media announcement if a similar situation occurs. The revised edition of the emergency directions will be mailed next month to South County residents.

But some are still skeptical about their overall safety. Carolyn Kester, a longtime resident and former mayor of San Clemente, says she is not impressed, because the emergency plans are “impractical.”

“The truth of the matter is that there’s no way out of here other than (Interstate 5),” Kester says. “When you have the whole populace going one way or another, these plans are not going to be a whole lot of help for us.”

The current officeholder disagrees. “I can understand some people being fearful of the unknown,” Haggard says. “But if I am given the choice of living next to offshore oil drilling or a nuclear power plant, I’ll pick the nuclear plant any day.”

Since its inception, the plant has been a source of concern. Although they may accept living near the nuclear facility, many residents liken the plant to a “sleeping beast” and readily admit their paranoia.

For example, when unusually warm currents and strong surf washed hundreds of dead squid onshore last month, some residents’ first reaction was to point a finger at the nuclear facility.

“When I first saw the squid, my first thought was ‘Oh, no! What kind of creature has this nuclear plant produced?’ ” says Israel Paskowitz, 27, a champion surfer whose family runs a surfing school at San Onofre State Park. “(The nuclear plant) is one of the first things that comes to our minds around here.”

Jack Stubbs, who has served as San Clemente’s emergency planner for the past 10 years, devotes a major portion of his on-the-job time to trying to dispel “myths about nuclear power.” Stubbs, 57, and his counterparts say they take every opportunity to speak to schools, PTAs, service clubs and other civic groups on the subject of nuclear power.

He also disputes the contention that confusion would reign in the event of an emergency.

“Sociological studies show that people rely on authorities rather than rumor in such a situation,” Stubbs says.

Although he insists that most San Clemente residents are aware of the emergency plans, he says he is sometimes exasperated by the low level of awareness by others.

“We are investing in the children,” he says. “We have found that the children in the schools are receptive and interested in the plans. They go home and educate their parents . . . not the other way around. Probably, in case of an emergency, the children will lead them.”

On a shelf in Stubbs’ office sits a yellow telephone, a direct link to the plant’s technical support center in San Onofre.

Stubbs says he does not live in fear that someday he will pick up that phone and receive bad news. The last time it rang was Aug. 12, when a small fire broke out at a laundry room in the San Onofre compound.

The incident posed no danger to the public, but, Stubbs says, the fact that Edison officials notified the cities attests to the effectiveness of the emergency plans.

“The more I know about the plant, the less I fear,” Stubbs says. “The people who understand the plant live in less fear than those who have a dramatized version of what can go wrong.”

Although Edison officials say that most residents accept the nuclear facility “as part and parcel of the community,” they too acknowledge that the plant is responsible for some jittery nerves.

“We had people call us when a house alarm went off because they thought there was some problem at the plant,” says Richard Rosenblum, manager of Edison’s nuclear regulatory affairs.