Doctor in the House : Structural Engineers Become the Most Sought After People in Town

Decked out in stone-washed denims, Hawaiian shirt and low-top Nikes, Leo Parker looks more like some goateed party boy on a three-day Vegas blowout than an expert counsel to countless Los Angeles property owners.

But as Parker can quickly tell you, looks can be deceiving--in people and in buildings rocked by a major earthquake. As he cruises up the long driveway of a Chatsworth mansion last week, its hand-wringing owners awaiting his attention, Parker is a steely-eyed consultant who can give the “good word” on worrisome temblor damage--or sound a residential death knell.

He is a house doctor, one of hundreds of local structural engineers who have been making home and condo calls 18 hours a day ever since Monday’s quake and the aftershocks rocked buildings and owners clean off their once rock-solid foundations.

As the city building inspectors clear out, thousands of property owners are looking for on-the-spot expertise from independent structural engineers such as Parker, who have gained a newly found professional status akin to that of brain surgeon or cardiologist: Their opinions are considered with the full weight of a medical diagnosis.

Since the quake hit, Parker has been tailed by anxious owners seeking his colorful, straightforward explanations on everything from bedroom cracks to fallen fireplaces.

As Irwin and Sherry Learhoff looked on in rapt concern, the 36-year-old Parker explained why most of the damage occurred to the upper floors of their 11,500-square-foot Chatsworth home.

“Much of the mayhem is upstairs because the house shook off the quake like it would a shiver that accelerated up its spine,” he said. “It built up force as it went along. It crested at the top, like a skyscraper rocking in a stiff breeze.”

The cracks, he explained, told the real story of the quake’s damage. Some internal fissures running up and down, or across a living room wall, simply followed the form of the reinforcing plywood sheets beneath them.

But the most disturbing cracks, Parker said, were the diagonal ones--signifying that one half of the support had twisted one way and the rest the opposite, such as when a chiropractor releases tension from a joint.

The couple nodded knowingly. Then Learhoff shook his head: “Geez.”

They were lucky to reach Parker.

“The demand has been so great my head is still spinning,” Parker said. “We have three structural engineers in our firm, far too few to handle the hundreds of requests we’ve had. We finally had to stop taking new business.”

Statewide, there are 3,000 certified structural engineers, a flock of strange scientific birds who outdistance most colleagues nationwide in one critical aspect: analyzing earthquake damage.

“California probably has the best-trained structural engineers in the world outside Japan,” said Robert Boyens, a Lawndale engineer and spokesman for the Structural Engineer’s Assn. of Southern California. “While other states have wind and water forces, we also have the distinction of having the ground convulse. Our job is to make sure buildings can withstand not only vertical loads but unpredictable seismic activity.

“For years, we have played an invisible role in the building process, working with builders and architects. But all that has changed after the quakes. Now we’re very, very visible. Suddenly, people know who we are.”

The Learhoffs know.

For a $250 fee, Parker visited their house in the north San Fernando Valley to hear their story: They were away when the quake hit, avoiding the light fixtures that came crashing down atop their bed.

Two days later, the couple walked about like funeral-goers, pointing at a crumbled second-story fireplace and kicking at the shards of brick, fallen helter-skelter.

“The aftershocks are killing us,” Learhoff said. “Every one of them keeps chinking the armor. It drives you crazy. But I’m no professional engineer who can read this stuff. We need help to figure out if our home is still livable.”

With the couple in tow, Parker circled the house, picking through rubble like an archeologist at a suburban excavation site, his flashlight beam pinpointing cracks as he jotted notes.

Parker had good news: Sure, the damage looks unsightly but none is structural.

Sherry Learhoff still was not sure she wanted to come home yet. The place just didn’t feel right anymore. “You have to ask: ‘What’s really safe when you have a 12-month-old?’ ” she asked. “My first impulse is to fix up the place and sell it.”

The next morning in Sherman Oaks, the house doctor was greeted by a dozen condominium owners. In the quake’s aftermath, many have moved in with relatives. Like unruly schoolchildren, each pushed to get a front position in a semicircle around Parker.

“Where are our lives going now? To the state of confusion forever?” asked Diana Harrison, an eight-year resident of the La Ventana condominiums. “My place looks like a bomb hit, like I live in Beirut. My possessions are mostly gone. But that’s OK, I’ve had them 70 years. But I still need a place to live. I need a place to live.”

The questions ranged from the deep to the practical: When would their fears go away? When could they hang their pictures again? When might they get a good night’s sleep without popping pills?

Walking slowly, saying little to the crowd in tow, Parker examined the foundation and moved through a few selected rooms. Behind him, the group murmured as he gave the structure a clean bill of health.

“From here, your building looks just fine,” he told one owner. “If you don’t live in the corner units where most of the stress occurred, I’d say you can move back in.”

The beaming woman turned to a friend and said: “That’s absolutely wonderful. C’mon, let’s go to Disneyland.”

But not everyone gets such good news. Some homeowners have been told they must stay away until further tests are done.

“That’s when it gets tough,” Parker said. “People hire you to give them good news. When they don’t get it, they want to shoot the messenger. They get angry. But I tell them: ‘Hey, I didn’t cause this earthquake.’ ”

Structural engineers have also disagreed with city inspectors on a building’s safety status.

“I had one 13-story place where the owner wanted his apartments filled as soon as possible,” Boyens said. “The city had given him the go-ahead, but I still had some problems. But I’m just an adviser. I told him what I thought. I don’t know what he did.”