Valley Residents Find Patience a Virtue as Lines Form for Provisions : Aftermath: Shortages abound for goods both essential and comforting. Price gouging is reported in some places.

If there was ever a man prepared for an earthquake, it was James De Witt.

A camper sat in the driveway of his Northridge home, filled with camping gear, street maps, bottled water, cans of soup and a first-aid kit. In a box near his bed waited a cellular phone, a shortwave radio, two flashlights and extra batteries.

But in the end, it was all for naught. After Monday’s earthquake, a fire broke out in his neighbor’s house and his camper went up in flames, as did most of the house next door.

So on Tuesday, De Witt, his wife and 10-year-old son were no better off than the others who sat in idling cars at a Canoga Park gas station--one among dozens of long lines that sprouted throughout the San Fernando Valley as residents sought fuel, bottled water, plywood, baby formula and other items the day after a violent earthquake left many communities devastated, with contaminated tap water and only sporadic electricity.

Shortages abounded. The watchword for the day was patience, especially for James De Witt.

“I was kind of kicking myself after it happened,” he said. “But I guess I just didn’t plan well enough, so I have to start over . . . and be patient.”

At a nearby hardware store, people waited in a line that stretched across the parking lot for a particularly hot item: 18-inch pieces of flexible copper tubing used for hot water heaters. The rattling of the 6.6 quake caused many pipes to break loose, rendering heaters useless.

“I called around to 10 or 12 stores, and there’s probably only about four plumbing stores open in the whole Valley, and most of them are totally sold out of them,” said 46-year-old Don Wyatt of Chatsworth, who stood near the head of the line. “Today, these things are like gold.”

At some stores, customers waited for up to two hours.

“We’ve had to wait a long time,” said Maria Cisneros, a 25-year-old Northridge resident cradling her 2-year-old daughter outside a supermarket in North Hills. “But we really need diapers. All day yesterday, I had to use napkins because none of the stores were open. Napkins don’t work so well.”

“Yes, I know,” said Peggy Brister, who stood several places in line behind Cisneros holding a baby of her own. “I’m down to tissues.”

But the most sought-after items were also the hardest to find. The store had sold out of diapers, but the women agreed to look together using Brister’s car.

Along with stories of unselfishness and sharing came stories of greed and price gouging.

The son of Rose Castenada, an aide to Rep. Howard Berman (D-Panorama City), went out Tuesday to buy a copper tube for the family’s water heater. He was told that the item, which usually goes for $5.98 to $8.98, now cost $30.

When asked why the store was charging so much, a merchant replied: “Earthquake prices.”

By far the longest lines were at the gas pumps.

An Arco station at Winnetka Avenue and Roscoe Boulevard opened at 6 a.m. to a line of waiting cars. By 9 a.m., the line snaked out of the parking lot and spilled into Roscoe Boulevard.

The place was so busy that station manager Albino Cesar feared he would sell out of his 50,000 gallons of fuel before everyone could fill up.

Cesar’s customers wore looks of desperation, although they did their best to be polite.

“Everyplace I’ve been, they’ve been closed,” said Alfonso Longobardi, a 22-year-old Air Force mechanic who was being transferred from Point Mugu to San Diego. “When I ran out of gas back down the road, I hitchhiked up here to fill my can. Everyone’s been real nice. I just hope the guy is nice enough to give me a ride back, too.”

Across the street, things weren’t going so well at a Mobil station. Although electricity in the area had been restored, the computer system controlling the gas pumps was down, and people stared longingly at the dormant pumps.

So many people, in fact, that prospective customers turned Winnetka Avenue into a parking lot, mirroring the situation at the station across the street.

“We’ll be pumping any minute,” station manager Joe Barney promised a woman, ever mindful of the rival station.

But privately he conceded: “It may take a minute, it may take an hour. . . . I wish it would happen soon.”

Nodding to the traffic jam his enterprise had created, he added: “After all, this is my dream.”

Across the Valley in Sylmar, where a good deal of the quake damaged occurred, Sam Ajian expressed a similar sentiment. While his mini-mart was the only convenience store open within several miles, the lack of electricity to power his walk-in freezer left the place with a lot of tepid beer and the occasional impatient customer.

“What? Warm beer?” the man asked incredulously. “You’re nuts. You should just close.”

“Yes,” Ajian said quietly, surveying the shop’s tilting shelves and broken bottles. “I think I will, at least until things get back to normal.”

Times staff writer Alan C. Miller contributed to this story.