”
A more violent shock has never been felt in this town, indeed,
it is likely to be known as one of the most violent that has ever
visited the coast
”
Gilroy Gazette, April 20, 1906
“A more violent shock has never been felt in this town, indeed, it is likely to be known as one of the most violent that has ever visited the coast” — Gilroy Gazette, April 20, 1906
A century ago, San Francisco and cities for miles around rocked and swayed with one of the most devastating earthquakes in recorded California history. April 18, 1906, a day which would change the way people lived and even constructed their buildings, was spoken of then, in the same hushed tones, as the date September 11, 2001 is referred to, today.
San Francisco was hardest hit by the wrenching, lurching temblor. Downtown, many buildings were leveled, while farther away, in the Western Addition and out toward the Presidio, some places still stood, with only books tossed to the floor and china spilled from cupboards. Without gas, water or electricity, and afraid to enter their homes for fear of structural collapse, residents took up camping out on the sidewalks and in empty lots, waiting for the Red Cross and other relief societies to arrive with emergency assistance.
Then, further disaster occurred in the form of a raging fire. As crews stood helplessly by, a wall of flames swept over large parts of the city. There was no water to fight the holocaust: the city’s 30-inch mains had cracked at a point where the supply crossed over the San Andreas Fault. For several days, the only weapon fire crews had in turning back the oncoming flames dynamite, as they hurried to blow up areas ahead of the fire’s approach.
Although the newspapers reported accounts of widespread catastrophic damage to the Bay Area, in Gilroy, early accounts of the earthquake’s effects were less than expected. “No lives were lost, schools were closed, and the depot was thronged by relatives awaiting news of family members in the city,” the April 21, 1906 Gilroy Advocate reported. The paper’s rival, the Gilroy Gazette, reported that in Gilroy the temblor had caused locked doors to bang open so loudly residents were roused from their beds.
On Monterey Street, stone facings on the new City Hall building came crashing to the sidewalk, and the roof fell in at nearby Riley’s Store. Dr. Jonas Clark’s Private Hospital at Monterey and Fifth Sts. suffered cracked walls which pulled apart, causing an emergency evacuation of surgery patients. Walls fell away at the Gilroy Post Office, and at Johnson’s Drug Store, bottles of medicine fell off the shelves. Plaster at the Rebekah I.O.O.F, home was cracked and nearly all the ceiling fell down at the Methodist Episcopal Church, South, at Fourth and Church Streets.
At the Mason’s and Odd Fellow’s Cemetery, a number of large monuments and headstones were thrown down and broken. Two water mains were cracked at locations on Hanna Street, prompting city officials to order the gas line temporarily shut off to preclude a fire outbreak during repairs. Outside of town, railroad tracks upheaved from the lurching ground and had to be realigned before rail service could continue.
A few days later, after the dust had settled, the assessment seemed even more serious than first thought. The Advocate reported, “In Gilroy, nearly every windmill is gone, the school house and several restaurants are damaged. Losses are estimated at $50,000 in town. Nearly every chimney is down, plaster fallen, fire walls are down, plate glass store windows are shattered, groceries have fallen down from shelves.” After a week, losses in town were revised time down to about $20,000. Most major downtown buildings survived the quake and were open once again following building inspections.
One of the areas least hit was the nearby Monterey Peninsula, where despite a crack in the Pt. Pinos Lighthouse in Pacific Grove, Monterey stores and homes only suffered cracked window glass, and thrown shelves. The areas’ sole fatalities occurred at the posh Del Monte Hotel, where nearly all the chimneys toppled. One of them crashed through a bedroom window and onto the bed, killing a sleeping honeymoon couple.
Closer to home, Salinas suffered the collapse of several large stores. Main Street was littered with fallen glass and brick. The Salinas River Bridge was shaken off its abutment, and part of the west wall of the brick Spreckels Sugar Refinery fell down. Farther south, at King City, the Salinas River sank six feet.
To the north, the Stanford University Memorial Church and the college Library were severely damaged. San Jose reported littered streets and collapsed roofs.
In surrounding counties radiating out from San Francisco, roads everywhere became impassable. Fearing vigilantism, Police Chiefs in cities and towns issued orders for citizens to remain indoors at night and guard their premises against roving gangs of thieves.
In Gilroy, as with most local communities, citizens hurriedly set up relief funds to feed and shelter the crowds beginning to stream out of the San Francisco area. Disease was a major concern, prompting the April 27, 1906 Advocate to report that a quarantine was in force at the train depot. There, incoming passengers were met by doctors and inspected for signs of smallpox and typhoid before being allowed to leave the station area. Once admitted within the city limits, the newcomers were given staples and a clean change of outfit, prepared by a legion of quickly appointed committee members who had gone door-to-door on food and clothing drives.
By mid-May, in Gilroy life was nearly normal again. As local repairs neared completion, teams of workers from the Gilroy area headed for San Francisco, joining the throngs of outsiders who arrived to help with the massive rubble removal. Before long, plans were afoot to begin rebuilding the city anew, virtually on top of her still-warm ashes.
For many, the big shaker left a permanent trauma. After April 18, 1906, some individuals made a lifetime habit of lining up the their shoes and clothing next to the bed, ready to grab if another Big One hit in the dark of night. It was a relief for everyone, a month after the tremor, when the local Editor observed that the worst of the earthquake’s aftermath had been dealt with and that he was “glad Gilroy wasn’t harder hit.”
