You can’t have a book coming out of San Francisco without a section dedicated to the unfortunate natural disaster that occurred here in 1989. The Loma Prieta earthquake. Or any other shaker, for that matter. Luckily, I was more fortunate than others. My home was on solid rock. A lot of SF is. And a lot of SF isn’t. Half the city is built on sand. Half of downtown is landfill. The majority of the damage was on landfill, but of a different type. The financial district was built on landfill with stringent architectural requirements in place, and different materials. It was assumed in the event of a major earthquake, all the glass from the highrises would immediately break and fall. It didn’t happen. Thanks to code. Unfortunately, the landfill along the northern side of SF (Marina), wasn’t built for permanent use. Unlike downtown who’s pillars went 100 feet down into actual rock, the Marina was filled in with trash as a temporary deal, for the 1939 World Expo. After, it was decided to be used for housing. Big mistake. Then again, it was 1939. It was still water back in 1906. Nothing to go by as far as research. Back to 1989. Liquefaction. Landfill turned to quicksand. Homes costing millions because of the bay views, reduced to mush. Like my bowl of oatmeal.
I was working at the SFJCC at the time. Even though I’m born & raised here, and never tripped on earthquakes, usually riding them like a wave, this time I ducked under the table. Not because it’s what you’re supposed to do in this type of situation, but because the light fixtures hanging by chains, were swaying back and forth. It was 5:04pm. And off from work. I ran home immediately (five blocks away). Luckily, there was no damage. Even the beer bottles that I had lined the tier that ran the perimeter of my living room, had survived, sans five. Out of 50. Not bad for a shaker and no bottles falling off a ledge measuring four inches. I was stunned. My day was not over, though. Part Two was just beginning.
I was scheduled for a shift at KRQR that night. Midnight to 5am. But it wasn’t your normal shift. I don’t know why and who knows why, but the Music Director was the scheduled DJ in that timeslot…on the record. She also had the obvious responsibilities as the Music Director that required her presence during the workday. I think it was a money-saving deal. It worked. Up until the earthquake. Since the music list was printed two days in advance, by her, she would take the list for her day and shift time, and record voice tracks between the music; adding in promo spots and public service announcements. I suppose the station could have simply used someone like me to run pre-recorded ID’s and promos throughout the shift, but I guess if they could have, they would have. My guess is, it wasn’t allowed, per FCC regulations. Being a union shop may have been a factor. But, then again, I did the overnight board operations as a silent DJ Monday through Friday at KOIT. Maybe KOIT was non-union. Being a major market station, I seriously doubt it.
Anyway, my job was to silent DJ this overnight shift, playing the music, and running her pre-recorded voice tracks where indicated. I realized immediately, her DJ skills suffered in the wake of her other duties as Music Director. There were regular inconsistencies with her voice tracks. Back-announcing music that hadn’t played yet, listing songs out of order from the music list, etc. From that point, I started screening the whole reel against the list, before starting the shift. I juggled the songs to match her back-announcing, splicing out certain sections that didn’t match the format altogether. I made it work. After all, I was the best. Most-requested by all the on-air talent. My shit was tight. But this time, the recordings were rendered moot. You can’t run recordings that sound as if nothing happened seven hours earlier. This was major news.
After securing the home front, I still had seven hours before my shift. I saw the news about the devastation in the Marina district. My district was secure. I wanted to help. Even if it was for only a few hours. I hopped on my bike and crossed the hill down to the Marina. Fires raged. Power was out. I had my flashlight with me. I secured my position at a major intersection, and directed traffic for five hours. I knew it would die down later on, enabling me to move on to my midnight shift at KRQR. I wouldn’t find out until years later, after taking the N.E.R.T. (Neighborhood Emergency Response Team) course provided by the SF Fire Department, that it basically came about because of the huge support provided by civilians on that fateful day.
With power lines down, and water mains broken, fire hoses had to run many blocks farther from where the fires were. Civilian bystanders jumped in and assisted with running the hoses and maintaining the lines. The SF Fire Department, realizing the staff shortage, created the N.E.R.T. program. It’s sole purpose: to act as a backup to neighborhoods in the event of a disaster, and in situations where Fire Department access would not be timely. For the record, LaFever is officially a San Francisco Fire Department-certified N.E.R.T. member. And CPR-certified, as well, through a company program.
On to KRQR. Already in progress, KRQR was broadcasting their sister station, KCBS, from down the hall, on their channel. Ah, the benefit of synergy. I took over the board from the previous DJ. Didn’t have to do anything. An hour later, the Program Director calls on the hotline. No biggie. How could I do anything wrong when we were running another station. It would be my shining moment. All 15 seconds of it. KRQR was a union shop. AFTRA. I was non-union. He told, “I doubt we’ll have to broadcast KCBS the entire night. If they go to interviews with the general public like they’re doing on television as we speak, switch back to KRQR, go on-air, explain if there are any further developments, we’ll inform you, do a station ID, and go into music. And run pre-recorded ID’s for the remainder of the shift.” Whoaaa. Cable and college radio was easy. This was a 50,000-watt station, heard from Sacramento to San Jose. I had to write down what I was going to say. Hey, I’m not proud. The last thing I wanted to do was screw up a 15-second spot. My only spot.
Pulled it off. Within a couple days, two buddies told me they heard me on the radio. Mom did, too. But didn’t know it was me. She said she was listening to my station, broadcasting news, some guy came on, said something, and went back to music. I said, “Mom, that was me.” Evidently, due to high-grade equipment, processors, equalizers, and compressors, my voice came out a little different.
“The best place to be in an earthquake is a stationary store.”