Baring Their Souls and More

I was naked, but that was the least of my concerns. When the earthquake hit, modesty wasn’t an issue. Instantly I knew several things: I was going to die and, thank God, my wife was not home. She was off in Ojai and I presumed safe. That the epicenter might not be right under my bed never occurred to me. Getting the hell out of the house was the only thing on what was left of my mind.

I was out the bedroom door, down the hall, down the stairs, out the front door and into our cul-de-sac. I did all this without my feet touching the ground and with a speed that would have put a young Carl Lewis to shame.

Standing in the cold dark morning, still quaking myself, I remembered my nakedness. OK. I wasn’t completely naked. I was wearing a T-shirt. On the bed stand were my glasses. At the bedside were my shoes. In the closet, doing me no good at all, were my pants and sweaters. And there was no way that I was going to go back into that house--ever!

Cleverly, I thought at the time, I took my T-shirt off, turned it upside down, and put my legs through the armholes. I cinched the bottom around my waist, and at some 210 pounds, I’m sure I looked like Gandhi on steroids.

This experience has taught me a lesson: Now I always, but always, keep my pants by the bed.

Jonathan Dobrer

Encino

*

Even though I was sound asleep, I knew the second my feet hit the floor that this was a bad one, much worse than I had ever felt before.

I put my sneakers on as fast as I could to run outside, but then sleepily realized I probably should put on some pants too. I tried to hurriedly pull my jeans over the shoes, but they got stuck.

By the time the second aftershock was over, I was still sitting on the floor with my jeans halfway on, trying to get them back off over my shoes.

Hal Harris

Dallas, Texas

formerly of Sherman Oaks

*

Rodney ventured down the hallway to investigate. He called back to me that there was glass and stuff everywhere and that I should be sure to put on some shoes.

I opened my closet and just stood there trying to decide what to wear. I didn’t even consider my hiking boots or my work boots, however. I finally settled on a pair of heels. I figured the heels would put me above the glass.

So there I was, in my robe and heels, going about the neighborhood checking on neighbors.

Seraphine Geismar Segal

Studio City

*

As we usually did in the past when it would start to rumble, my husband and I would run to the bathroom door and stand in the frame.

We both slept in the nude at that time. My clothes closet was in the bathroom, so I tried to grab something to put on. The door was jammed and would only open 3 inches.

I slipped my hand through and the only thing I could get hold of was a black sequined gown I had worn the night before to a dress-up ball at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

Needless to say, we now sleep fully bedtime-clothed, with jacket and shoes at our beck and call on the floor beside us!

Marilyn Horowitz

Sherman Oaks

*

I awoke to breaking of glass, the tearing of wood, the prolonged helpless bouncing of body and a flashing animation of thoughts. I was experiencing the “big one.”

“Grab your boots” was the unlikely interruption to my mental picture show. We crawled out the door, down the stairs and out of the house, feeling our way along crumbling walls--our passage seemed interminable. We arrived on our buckling front lawn and laughed. The hiking boots were OK, but sweatshirts and no pants?

There is little pretense among neighbors when they are wrapped in sheets without glasses or teeth.

People who had little in common but location began to count numbers, check on the handicapped, pool tools, turn off gas lines, hug, cry and pray.

Our camper became the center of neighborhood activity.

Water, food and bathrooms became priorities. Dawn was truly welcomed and experienced in community. . . .

This earthquake was a peak experience for me. Insights that I suspected, I now knew.

I must “hold life loosely as a white garment,” touch my possessions with a healthy lightness, appreciate each day as a gift. I know joy does not shatter, but is steadfast, firm and embedded.

Mary K. Hubbard

Sylmar

*

Before the Northridge earthquake, I used to laugh at my wife, Kathy, as she would carefully arrange her running shoes next to our bed and click her flashlight on and off a few times before finally turning in for the night.

I don’t laugh anymore.

Louis Mahinay Jr.

Tujunga