"A BIG EARTHQUAKE--they could see the ground rolling toward them from the south - you realize this is 300 miles north of Anchorage and that the Alaska Range was/is between Nenana and Anchorage. Ohhh, it was real neat. It scrambled it. It twisted the rails. Bridges fell in. Whole sections of track moved sideways like several track widths and other parts raised above the corresponding parts of it. Of course, it was snowy so the black rails really stood out in pictures from the air and it looked like people had just cut pieces of the picture out and pasted them back randomly; patchwork. A whole train--engine and cars--was thrown completely off the tracks. It was bizarre. I saw pieces of track that were just twisted like a corkscrew (that summer). The railroad depot, Anchorage, moved up or down, I forget, it must have moved down, several stories, or else the ground around it rose up. Railroad cars were driven onto barges back then and there was a barge of railroad cars in the Gulf of Alaska and no ships were lost, but the railroad cars were washed off or tipped off or something. The fire in Seward, I think was the fuel tanks that belonged to the railroad."

Bob Coghill, Nenana, AK

"I was around in '64, but only seven years old. The one fact I can give you is that all kids my age were watching a cartoon called Fireball XL5. Except me, I was reading the book Black Beauty."

Scott Banks, Anchorage, AK

"Friday, March 27, 1964 was a school holiday and I was home. My family's house was located in an area of Anchorage called "Turnagain by the Sea."Our house was about six blocks from the ocean before the quake and after - about three blocks!

I had just sat down in front of the television to watch "Fireball XL5.'(Does anyone remember that TV show?)'. I remember hearing a distant rumble and then the first shocks started to hit. My mom and I ran to the doorway in-between the kitchen and the living room. But the jolts got stronger. We ran to the front door. I can remember struggling with the door to get it open. Finally we got out-of-doors and we were standing in the driveway holding on to each other to stand up. We kept falling. Snow covered the ground. I can remember watching black cracks in the earth snaking their way along the ground. A tree in our back yard was actually split in half (its roots were frozen in the ground).

As suddenly as the earthquake started it was over. Dead silence. Then a light snow began to fall. All the power was off - no radio - no TV - no communication with the outside world. We found out days later that three people died in Turnagain. Seventy-five homes were destroyed. The ground area was lowered an average of 35 feet.

My dad somehow managed to get home from where he worked in downtown Anchorage. Buildings collapsed or sunk into the ground. Dad told us about the front of the JC Penneys' building collapsing into the street. About 30 blocks of dwellings and commercial buildings were destroyed or severely damaged.

Later that evening we were told to evacuate the area because a Tsunami (tidal wave) was expected. We spent the night and the next day and night away from home at the shelter. After-shocks would send people running out of the shelter. That following Sunday, mom and I were air-lifted to Fairbanks, Alaska.

I often think about the courage my dad displayed by staying in Anchorage during this time. Before dad retired he was an executive of the pioneer department store, Northern Commercial Company. The Anchorage store was severely damaged as a result of the quake. Dad stayed in Anchorage to rebuild the store and rebuild our family home.

Rick, Turnagain by the Sea, AK

"I was going to Alaska Pacific University and working swing shift as a security guard at the eight story FAA Hill Building downtown Anchorage, when the shaker hit.   Never want to do it again.   It was 9.7 magnitude, the strongest ever recorded in North America.    At 4:57 on good friday the building only had 7 people in it, all the feds left at 4:30.    On the third, fourth and eighth floor every thing was in place with flower arrangements on the desk corner.  Ground floor and 5 and 6 were disasters with desks and file cabinets wrapped around each other.  The Elevator shaft foundation failed and it settled 6 feet.  It was all put back together, reinforced and today is City Hall.  When the shake started the suspended ceiling came down, and I headed to the front door to make sure they were unlocked.  By the time I got there the floor and ceiling were separating far enough that the glass door just fell out in the street when I pushed on them.  I walked across the street and stood on the sidewalk hanging onto a parking meter.  The meter was snapping back and forth like it was on a rubber pole.  I had just let three colored cleaning ladies into the building at 4:45 and as I looked up the side of the building on three separate floors all in the same line of windows, I saw these great big eyes looking down at me as the building shook.      Rule # 1 in a high rise, when it starts shaking make a beeline to the stairwell, get in a corner and hang on to the hand rail.  If the building falls down you can just ride it down and then have exits above or below.  I saw several buildings laying on the ground but the elevator shafts and stairwells were all in one piece.    There were only 18 people killed in Anchorage and 114 state wide.  There were 22 people killed in the resulting tidal wave that came ashore in California, City CA."

Patrick Durand, Eagle River, AK

When the Music Stopped Playing

I was 11-1/2 years old at the time the Great Alaskan Earthquake struck. We lived in the basement unit at 1505 East 15th Avenue in Anchorage. When the quake struck, Father was working, Mother was cooking dinner in the kitchen at the far end of the house, and the baby was in his high chair close to Mother. I was lying barefoot on Mother's bed, singing a popular song with the radio (I think it may have been "Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport". My brothers were outside playing. As usual, our parakeet, "Pretty Boy," flitted about his cage chattering incessantly.

Unlike the older of my younger brothers, who never realized a quake hit, the noise of the earth's rumbling and the crashing of dishes alerted me instantly that something was terribly awry. Seconds after the rumbling and violent shaking began, Mother screamed from the kitchen at one end of our basement unit, "Get Out! Get Outside!" The radio crashed to the floor, our dinner flew off the stove, chairs scooted and fell, books and crafts flew into our flight path. I can only imagine what "Pretty Boy" experienced in his cage suspended from a spring in the kitchen.

Spurred by the tone of Mother's voice, I scrambled off the bed and instantly lost my balance as my feet hit the heaving tiles. I tried to stand again, and fell after one or two steps. Mother came rushing through, clutching the baby, her face tight with tension, screaming even more hysterically, "Get Outside! Now! Run! Run!"

I scrambled and ran, but as the earth continued to pitch violently, I once again fell, landing directly in Mother's path. Mother hurtled over me with the baby in her arms, screaming in a voice raw with fear and despair, "Get Out! Get Out! Get Out!"

As I watched her disappear through the front doorway, suddenly a fierce emotion seized me, and I began to crawl furiously on all fours. By the time I reached the front doorway, the earth's shaking had stopped. Mother was outside at the top of the stairwell with my 2 younger brothers, looking towards the dark basement, paralyzed with fear and trepidation, her eyes searching. I'll never forget the look on her face when I finally appeared. If she could have, she would have flown down the stairwell to me, but since she had two other children to consider and one of them was in arms, she stood at the top of the stairs and called to me. Regaining my footing, I ran up the flight of stairs to her. Within an instant, mother was once again the stern mother hen, clucking orders, and instructing us to climb inside the Rambler and wait for her.

We obeyed. As we huddled together, cold and scared in the back of the Rambler, mother ran in search of my brother, Robert, screaming his name throughout the neighborhood as she quickly scoured the streets. Within a few minutes, Mother returned to the three of us, empty handed and dejected. Ordering us to stay, she ventured into the basement alone, and returned with our coats, the car keys, and her purse. When she noticed my bare feet, I recall her lecturing me on never going barefooted again and then she fell silent and put the Rambler into gear. As she drove to East Northern Lights Boulevard to fetch our father, dodging asphalt eruptions and asphalt cracks and valleys in the roadway, tears streamed down her face. We remained silent.

Gratefully, our basement unit was relatively undamaged and by nightfall, my brother Robert was returned home, unharmed. Our home became a refuge for three other families and a young man. From that point forward, life for the next several days took on a surrealistic feel.

Altogether, there were 25 of us in that basement refuge. Fortunately, one of the men staying with us worked at Fort Richardson, and through him, we had access to portable cooking equipment and military water in large cardboard boxes containing flexible plastic containers with spouts. We supplemented that water with boiled snow treated with Clorox. It was the children's job to collect snow in pots to melt so we would have water for washing and the toilet. I remember during the next few days that the radio ran day and night—playing only news—there was no time for music.

Early every morning for the next couple of weeks, my Father left together with the other men. I remember they would return long after dark, filthy and exhausted. They would sit down and eat voraciously while the womenfolk doted on them and then, one by one, they would turn into bed, murmuring about the sights they had seen that day. All I knew was that they were volunteering along with other men from the city to help clean up the mess, and to repair broken gas, water, and sewage lines throughout the city.

There were six women and it seems they never slept! If you wanted to find one, you could always find them gathered round the wooden picnic table in the kitchen, sleeping babies in their arms, murmuring together. When the women were not in the kitchen, they were caring for the children and men.

I was the oldest of all the children, so it was my responsibility to keep the younger ones out of the way of the adults, coordinate the many snow-gathering expeditions, and round up the kids for mealtime. By mid-week, our meals consisted of unremarkable government rations that I believe may have come from the military base.

All the children (there were nine of us not including the two babies) shared a full-sized bed set up in the parlor area. It was comforting to sleep with company, even though we were arranged like so many clothespins, lined up neatly, side by side, our heads at opposite ends of the bed. Most of the children slept well, but I could not for each time I felt a tremor, I would sit up, ready to run again.

Eventually, life began to return to normal. We were all shepherded to one of the undamaged schools in the area to receive our typhoid shots. I remember watching my brother, Robert, the older of my younger brothers, stagger over to the glass windows after receiving his typhoid shot and then fainting to the floor. I thought it was rather comical at the time. In fact, I'm still chuckling at this moment, as I recall how his eyes rolled up into his head and he sank to the floor with an unceremonious sigh.

Eventually, the schools reopened. I attended Fairview Elementary. Twelve blocks away, the Denali school had been rendered unusable, so we shared our school by attending in shifts. Fairview started the day with the early morning shift and Denali took the late shift. During those days, classes and playground times were shortened. Long after I had gone home, Denali students were just beginning their school day.

Permission to play on the school grounds came only after the Denali students had gone home late in the evening. I remember how much my brothers and I loved to ice skate. After the Good Friday earthquake, we rarely had the opportunity to skate at the school playground. Father's answer to our dilemma was to help us build our own ice rink in the backyard. Although crude, and full of bumps that could send you flying through the air, the rough rink generated many happy memories for the entire neighborhood until the Spring thaw.

Interestingly, after the 9.2 magnitude earthquake, "Pretty Boy" never flew again, choosing instead to walk about his cage walls and floor or on the floors and tables of our home. If "Pretty Boy" wanted to get down, he jumped, or used drapes for ladders, but he never flew again.

Of course, after school started, everyone began trickling back to their own homes. The radio started playing music once again. Although it was nice to have my own bed back again, I missed having everyone nearby. During a disaster, there is something inexplicably comforting about being able to share in the company of another human being. There is a yet an even more inexplicable comfort to experience when the music returns.

Georgiana (Jana) Llaneza