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 n October 14, the U.S. Geological Survey released a report citing a 70-percent chance that a “big one” would hit California’s Bay Area within the next 30 years. As if to fulfill (or perhaps mock) the prophecy, a 7.2 seismic monster materialized just two days after the warning – though it struck Southern California’s high desert, not San Francisco. The October 16 Hector Mine earthquake caused no casualties and little property damage, centered as it was in the remote Mojave Desert.
Even as Californians breathed collective sighs of relief, they nursed a secret dread – knowing that another time, in another place, another “big one” will hit. And that despite the best efforts of earth scientists, geologists and civil engineers, earthquake devastation cannot be averted.
Or can it? After the 1994 Northridge quake, which killed 67 people and caused $20 billion in damage to the Los Angeles area, earthquake preparedness became ubiquitous. Home-owners bolted down foundations, strapped down water heaters, installed safety glass and bought earthquake insurance. They stockpiled drinking water, emergency food, blankets and first-aid kits. But few have persisted with these commendable precautions or even replenished supplies as the food bars were sacrificed to late-night cravings and the water bottles sprung leaks.
“DEVELOPING countries frequently simply can’t afford to prepare for earthquakes,” says James Dolan, shown here with other SCEC mapping team members in Turkey. |
“The worst danger is complacency,” says Bill Regensburger, USC’s director of fire safety and emergency planning. Regens-burger has diligently combated complacency. He is confident that should a big one hit Los Angeles, the university will be well prepared.
From the lessons learned during the 1992 civil unrest and the Northridge quake, USC has fine-tuned its emergency response mechanisms to hum like a well-oiled machine. In a matter of minutes, several rooms in the Topping Student Center (and the Center for Health Professions on the Health Sciences Campus) can turn into USC’s Emergency Operations Center – a self-
powered, fully-equipped high-tech facility designed to coordinate rescue efforts, assess damage and triage information during a crisis. A mutual-aid agreement with Stanford University assures that if normal communication channels should break down in a disaster, Stanford will disseminate news on USC’s behalf.
For those haunted by nightmare-images of pancaked buildings, Regensburger maintains this is an irrational fear. USC buildings on both campuses are made to withstand severe shaking.“The university has done much more than is required by the building codes,” he says.
Since Northridge, USC has undertaken voluntary repairs and seismic mitigation to the tune of $52 million with support from FEMA, says executive director of planning, design and construction management Jon Soffa. Some 20 retrofit projects are now finished, and 25 more are scheduled or already underway.
In 1995, the university adopted a seismic safety policy that requires schools and administrative units to take precautionary measures by bolting bookcases to walls, installing restraining lips on storage shelves, strapping down gas cylinders and moving any heavy items to below shoulder-height. Ample emergency supplies are stockpiled in all campus dorms, and resident advisors have been trained how to respond in case of emergency.
What worries Regensburger more than a quake itself is how a panicky USC community might react once the shaking stops.
“The biggest problem with earthquakes is injuries, not fatalities,” he says. Many of those injuries are self-inflicted. During the Northridge quake, which left USC nearly unscathed, many students fled their dorms dressed only in pajamas. Some refused to return even after inspectors said it was safe to do so. They ended up with hypothermia from standing in 40-degree weather.
Another pressing concern, says Regensburger, is limited shelter. USC currently has emergency shelter sufficient for only 1,000 to 1,500 students.
Perhaps the biggest threat, however, is the long-term facilities impact of a major quake centered near USC. “What if we lost 20 percent of our available space for a year?” Regensburger frets.
The magnitude 6.8 Northridge earthquake left all of Cal State Northridge’s primary buildings uninhabitable. The university reopened after only a month, holding classes in portable bungalows. But Northridge students faced hardships – taking shuttles to UCLA every time they went to the library, for example – for much longer. Enrollments plummeted. Six years and more than $400 million later, the campus still bears scars from the quake.
“But,” notes Regensburger optimistically, “every crisis is an opportunity. We must be prepared to get creative.”
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