Earthquake: The Long Road Back : Selling the 6.6 : Amid the Rubble, Some Turn the Shaker Into a Moneymaker

Call it the Rubble Rush of 1994.

Like the Gold Rush that lured prospectors to California in 1849, fortune-hunters are hoping to strike it rich on the collapsed structures and frazzled emotions of the Northridge earthquake.

From T-shirt hawkers selling a sense of survival only blocks away from San Fernando Valley death traps to Hollywood collectors marketing “Genuine Celebrity Earthquake Ruins,” there seems to be no limit to these shaky entrepreneurial ventures--which also include earthquake menus, earthquake haircuts and even a “no quake cake.”

“They sell so good it’s sickening,” said Ricardo, who took the red-eye from Miami last Friday to peddle shirts in Granada Hills. With a map of the Valley and the slogan “I Survived the Great California Earthquake” printed on each shirt, the grizzled vendor was quickly raking in $10 a shirt. A veteran of the trade, his last lucky break was Hurricane Andrew.

How many people are rushing to profit from the disaster? There is no official count, but one shirt wholesaler alone--Shirtique of San Francisco--says it’s cranking out shirts for 40 vendors working the corners of Los Angeles. And vendors say there will soon be even more.

“When the Super Bowl ends, the vendors will be all over here,” said 70-year-old Bob of Garden Grove, working the same corner as Ricardo on Tuesday. “They’ll come from New York, Boston, Michigan, all over the place.”

Most of the vendors will not give their full names (since they do not carry the appropriate business licenses), but they freely admit their intentions: to make a quick buck.

Surprisingly, perhaps, many Southern Californians who have been affected by the quake seem to admire, rather than resent, their attitude.

“It puts some humor in the quake,” said Mike Madelon of Canoga Park, who has bought six shirts. “It’s like going to Magic Mountain and buying a T-shirt saying, ‘I Survived the Colossus.’ ”

Barber Mike Dimente agrees that humor--and a soothing haircut--is the best medicine for quake jitters.

In red lettering on a board that replaced a shattered barbershop window, he scrawled “Shake and Haircut, Two Bricks”--a play on the old jingle, “Shave and a haircut, two bits.”

“I just thought it would make a few people smile and forget their scary experience,” said Dimente, who works at Archie’s of Hollywood in Studio City. “Actually, we had somebody come in with two bricks. We honored it because he was one of our regular customers.”

Other companies have found that security sells better than humor, such as Russell/Packard Development Inc., which is taking orders for steel-framed houses in a 140-home tract in Fontana.

Although the company does not market the homes as earthquake-proof, the response to newspaper ads since the Northridge quake indicates that many people simply do not feel safe in their brick or wood-frame homes anymore.

“The phones have been ringing off the hook from people who want us to build the houses in Hawaii and people who want us to build the houses in Sherman Oaks,” said spokeswoman Irene James.

For those who find themselves trying to eat away their quake-caused anxieties, Pam Bono created an appropriate face-stuffer: the double chocolate “no quake cake” with a yellow circle and slash through the word earthquake .

“You need chocolate during times of trouble,” said Bono, a baker for Vons Pavilions in West Hills. She sold all two dozen of the $3.95 cakes in two days.

Although no more cakes are being made, Vons spokeswoman Julie Reynolds said it was not a matter of halting production because they were in bad taste.

“No, they taste great,” she said.

The cakes were not the only earthquake-themed munchies in the Valley.

At Il Tiramisu in Studio City, a new earthquake menu features “shake, rattle and roll” pasta, a traditional Italian dinner discounted to $7 for quake-rattled patrons.

To work off any extra pounds caused by quake-related overeating, personal trainer Michelle Hazlewood is offering 10 sessions at a special earthquake discount of 50%, or $275. Actually, she said, she does not have a choice.

“Right now, I’m out of work,” said the 29-year-old mother of two from West Hills. “I usually go to my clients’ homes, but my clients aren’t in their homes anymore because they’re condemned or they’re yellow-tagged and they don’t want to risk me coming over.”

Other enterprising efforts offer ways to contribute directly to earthquake victims.

Northridge Hospital Medical Center--located almost exactly atop the epicenter--is selling a $10 shirt that crosses out “Medical Center” with a seismic wave and replaces it with “EpiCenter.” All money from the sale goes to help the hospital.

Is there a limit to what these entrepreneurs can sell? At Baby Jane of Hollywood, a movie memorabilia shop in West Hollywood, owners Charles Moniz and Roy Windham used their Hollywood contacts to scrounge up quake rubble tossed from celebrity homes.

Prices--half going to the purchaser’s quake charity of choice--range from $10 for scraps of a wall from Jimmy Stewart’s house to $1,500 for a slightly damaged lamp from Barbra Streisand’s.

But Windham admits that there are some quake items that even a celebrity cannot sell.

“We have seen some rubble we decided to pass on,” said Windham. “I won’t say who it’s from, but it was a broken toilet. We’re not going to be that tacky.”