If another Free Lance reporter would’ve interviewed me last
Tuesday at about 2:30 p.m., the quote would’ve looked something
like this:
If another Free Lance reporter would’ve interviewed me last Tuesday at about 2:30 p.m. after the earthquake in Hollister, the quote would’ve looked something like this:
“I nearly wet my pants,” said Kollin Kosmicki, who recently moved to Hollister from Wisconsin. “I thought the Jolly Green Giant was trying to rip the building off the ground.”
Of course, everyone else in Hollister is well-accustomed to periodic ground-shaking and most have the instinct to immediately scurry away from windows.
Not me, folks. I just sat in my desk next to a large thunder-rumbling window for about four seconds. That was before I finally realized there was no Green Giant in Hollister – at least not that day – and I was experiencing my first earthquake.
In reality, I didn’t know what to think at first. My brain just kind of froze. I had no logical explanation – other than, perhaps, that an organized swarm of crazed drunks were one-by-one attempting head-first dives through the window. (Try not to picture that.)
I stood up and looked over at earthquake veteran and City Editor Dave Moseley, who was standing still – yet still moving. Reality finally clicked. And I wobbled away from the window.
The shaking finally stopped after almost 10 seconds and my heart started beating again. Publisher Michael Eastman looked over and said, “Welcome to California.”
That day I learned a newsroom isn’t the most comforting place for the aftermath of someone’s first earthquake. Moseley – driven by the significance of the breaking news story – ordered everyone, “Let’s get to work, people!”
“Work? Are you nuts?” I thought. The frantic pace that followed – people scurrying, phones ringing – doesn’t exactly cater to an earthquake rookie like myself calming down. I was tempted to ask Eastman to temporarily change the company’s “no drinking on the job” policy.
I then glanced over to the dry-erase board on the wall, where members of our staff had started writing magnitude predictions – a Free Lance tradition. I thought, why not? And I made my own.
When famed movie critic Jed Logan said officials called it a 4.3, I cringed inside because I had written the highest prediction of anybody – 5.9.
I considered sneaking over to the board to replace the 5 with a 4, or perhaps a 3. But after weighing the potential outcomes, I realized the amount of humiliation – if someone had caught me – would far outweigh leaving the laughable prediction on the board and accepting my due ribbing.
For the rest of the day I heard sarcastic comment after comment such as, “Have you recovered yet?” and “Are you going to be OK?”
My Midwestern perspective should not be dismissed. I felt as out of touch as a Central Californian would feel trudging through a snow-piling blizzard during a tornado warning. It was like having never ridden a roller coaster and suddenly, for no particular reason, finding myself in a 75-mile-per-hour loop on ride at Great America.
I called my mother that night to tell her about the earthquake.
“Huhhhh! Why’d you tell me that?” she responded.
“OK,” I calmly said. “I won’t tell you from now on.” She quickly interjected, “No, no, tell me, I want to know.”
I realize she’s a mom and it’s her nature to worry. When I took this job five months ago, she immediately started fretting over the possibility of an earthquake splitting a street in half and me falling through the crack.
I think I’ll be OK, Mom. But if I ever do fall through a hole in the street, don’t worry. I’ll have my cell phone with me and you’ll be the first person I call from beneath the ground.
Then I’ll call my friend Brian. Then I’ll call 911.
