Sierra Madre’s 4th: A Plea for Quake Relief

Like a lot of folks in the homespun, all-American city of Sierra Madre, Bill Treder has been showing up for the annual Fourth of July parade for as long as he can remember. For 26 years, it’s been a strictly red, white and blue affair, a day for the Fire Department to show off its mint-condition 1944 truck, for everyone from the Boy Scouts to the local Republican club to wear a little community pride.

This year, for Treder, it was also a day for protest.

As local and state politicians rode by Thursday in their open antique cars, Treder--whose house suffered an estimated $70,000 in damage in last week’s 5.8 earthquake--held up a homemade sign. “Please Help Sierra Madre Rebuild,” it said. “Allow Disaster Assistance.”

The 45-year-old bank employee did not plead alone. Others, among them an Episcopal priest who also works as a volunteer firefighter, carried their own signs to remind officials that unless the quake-struck area is declared a disaster zone, residents will not be eligible for low-interest loans to rebuild.

“It’s the Fourth of July,” Treder explained, “and I would like our government to do something for us.”

The earthquake, already a fading memory in other parts of Los Angeles County, remains vivid in Sierra Madre, and not even the Fourth of July could do away with that.

Signs of the recent temblor were evident all along the 1 1/2-mile parade route, from the piles of bricks--remnants of chimneys--in front of charming Craftsman homes, to the sign on a church door reading “Dangerous Structure. Do Not Enter.”

Fledgling entrepreneurs, eager to make a buck, hawked T-shirts ranging from the usual “I survived . . .” variety to the whimsical “Seismic Surfers Association--Ride the Richter.” They did such a booming business that members of the volunteer parade committee, which sells its own T-shirts, complained that sales were hurting.

Even the Red Cross was there, handing out pamphlets on disaster preparedness, collecting donations and directing residents to their service centers, where volunteers are still gathering damage estimates. Spokeswoman Robin McCarthy said the organization hopes to persuade government officials to offer disaster aid. City officials estimate the city suffered $12.5 million in damage in the quake.

“It’s really needed,” McCarthy said. “I met a family yesterday who had no earthquake insurance. Their house is probably worth $150,000. They moved in seven months ago and their home is totaled.”

At the Sierra Madre Women’s Club, where 84-year-old pianist Alden Webster cranked out patriotic show tunes, the shaker was a constant topic of discussion during the pre-parade party.

The club holds a coffee-and-doughnut open house each year on Independence Day. But this year, it was almost canceled because the club building, which sits at the head of the parade route on the corner of Sunnyside Avenue and Sierra Madre Boulevard, sustained minor damage in the quake.

“We didn’t know we could do it (the open house) for sure until Tuesday at noon, when the city inspectors gave us clearance,” said Martha Van De Verg, who chairs the event. “We had to really get busy when we got the word, but the ladies are always most willing to help on the spur of the moment.”

People who live in Sierra Madre say that kind of neighborliness is a hallmark of their tiny city, population 10,762. In many ways, Sierra Madre is a throwback, a slice of Middle America that exists, virtually untainted, on the edge of gritty, urban Los Angeles.

“Can’t explain it,” said 38-year-old Tom Gage, who has lived in Sierra Madre for 15 years. “It’s just like one of the last good old small towns, and that’s what this parade is all about. It’s just red, white and blue America.”

Thursday’s parade was testimony to that. In time-honored tradition, people on floats and horses and in cars tossed candy to the children gathered along the sidelines--and nobody seemed to worry that their kids were taking candy from strangers.

The procession had a quirky side as well. Music was provided by the Sierra Madre City College marching band. Never mind that there is no college in Sierra Madre; the band is composed of more than 100 locals with good imaginations. The fictional Sierra Madre Harbor Patrol manned an ersatz Coast Guard cutter that rolled down the parade route on a flatbed truck. Crew members pledged to “protect all boaters” in the landlocked city.

Thousands turned out for the event, many of them finding shade under the oaks, magnolias and willows that line Sierra Madre Boulevard. But the size of the crowd was apparently a mystery to police. “Just a lot of happy people having a good time,” said one officer when asked to give a crowd estimate.

Yet woven into that happiness was an undeniable thread of sadness.

“There’s a little apprehension,” said parade watcher Ray Fox as he bought a $12 Seismic Surfers shirt. “People aren’t quite as loose as they usually are. A lot of people suffered.”

Among them was 79-year-old John Hahn, who has lived in Sierra Madre for three decades. “I usually march in the parade, but not this year,” Hahn said. “My knees are too shaky, so I’ll leave that for the younger generation. Earthquake left my place a shambles. Broken glass in every room.”

The temblor also left its mark on the bell tower at the Sierra Madre Congregational Church along the route. The tower suffered two large cracks, according to church historian Genelle Nicholson, who said it will have to be torn down and rebuilt. And by leaving its mark on the bell tower, the quake left its mark on the parade.

“Usually,” Nicholson explained, “we ring the bell on this day. But today, we can’t.”

Times staff writers Donnette Dunbar and Lisa Omphroy contributed to this story.

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