Valley of Angels
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"Quite a little shake we had," I remarked to Eli when I encountered him in the kitchen. He looked somber,
"Its a bad one Nick, the valley was hit." Shock must have registered as he went on to tell me the awful news.
We had no power at all. A transistor radio was clamped to Eli's ear as he spoke. "Its devastating man, there's a lot of damage
out there". "Shit Eli!" was all I could say. Blythe appeared and announced she was off to her mother's house in West Hills to help them clear up.
I didn't know where West Hills was in relation to the valley. We breakfasted in almost total silence. Blythe and Eli's friends decided to head for an airport to
get out of the area. They were clearly shaken by the night's experience, as was I, now the full impact was becoming clear. They all left at the same time, whilst I
looked after the house. The tiny transistor radio having been transferred from Eli's ear to mine. For the next four hours, I listened as sketchy reports
from excited reporters filtered through from different areas. Eventually Eli and Blythe returned with the news of what they'd seen. West Hills was about ten miles from the epicentre,
yet Blythe's parents had apparently sustained quite a lot of damage to their property.
In the afternoon, I returned with them to help as much as I could. The journey of about five miles was strange.
Normally teeming with traffic, the 101 Freeway was almost deserted, yet nothing looked untoward. We returned home three hours later,
having cleared up broken glass, replaced doors which had been jerked off their tracks, moved furniture back into position and tidied the general area.
Power was restored by about seven o'clock. On went the television to reveal the first pictures of the devastation.
Bridges downed, slipways removed, buildings collapsed,
spontaneous fires and total panic seemed to be the general order. I decided I had to try and help. Given my circumstances, I had little doubt there would
be a job for me. It wasn't what I would have chosen as a kick start to my financial situation, but as they say, beggars can't be choosers.
Do You need Any Plumbers?
Tuesday the 18th January dawned. We returned to Blythe's parents to finish up. By lunchtime, we were back home and I was on the phone.
Choosing a number at random, I called a plumbing company in Encino. A lady named Jane answered the telephone. On discovering I was a plumber looking for work she gasped,
"When can you start?" I began work the next morning, having arranged to borrow one of Eli's vehicles and hurriedly bought some tools.
Disgust
For the next two months I worked seven days a week sixteen hours a day. To begin with, navigating was difficult. I had to learn the layout of the vast maze of streets in the San Fernando Valley as
I rushed from one place to another. The valley was an odd mixture of devastated buildings, impromptu campsites in parks and seemingly undamaged property.
The National Guard was everywhere. Aftershocks occurred regularly, causing further anxiety and panic,
as frail buildings shook once more. Some erupting into a fireball,
as fractured gas lines ignited. Emergency vehicle sirens became almost unnoticed, such was their regularity.
Everywhere I went to reinstate water supplies, I would encounter new scenes of trauma. The first, in particular, was in the showpiece Warner Center in Canoga Park.
Its apartment complex had been struck, with a thousand people living there. The water supply had been completely cut off. I began work to establish how and where the
leaks were. As I worked, disoriented people would come and ask me what was happening.
They could get no answer from the management, or owners, of the complex. There was general disorder, which turned into anger,
as assistance failed to materialise. It took me a week to get the water restored to the complex.
Not because it couldn't have been done faster, but I couldn't get an instruction to do it from a responsible person for three days.
The day before I got water flowing again, I happened on a meeting in the complex office. There the owner sat with lawyers. Many people had already given up and shipped out in hired car, vans and trucks.
The theme of the meeting was that nothing was going to be done. They told me to stop work immediately.
Only after I begged them to allow me to restore the water supply for those who remained, did they relent.
My co-worker and I worked all night in an effort to get it done. This was a dangerous thing to do, because there were looters around and there had been gunfire in the complex
two nights previous. We weren't comforted by the presence of guards, sitting by the gates. After all, looters don't normally enter by the front door so to speak. At about two o'clock in the morning,
I crept up to where the guard sat slumbering in his car. I just stood in front of his window. After about a minute, he started, waking suddenly, as though a sixth sense told him there was a problem.
After I explained the danger we felt, the guards decided to walk round the complex every half hour or so.
We completed our work that night feeling safer.
Eventually, after another week, the complex was condemned. Safety officers decided it was too dangerous for occupation.
The scenes of total annihilation and unpreparedness will stay with me until I die. So much happened in such a short space of time.
Individual stories of absolute import to those experiencing them, yet insignificant amongst so many affected. My problems paled beside them,
although I had to deal with one looming large.