For this South Sound transplant, one quake is enough

I thought to myself, "Am I supposed to stand in the doorway, or is that an old wives' tale?"

PATRICK CONDON

OLYMPIA -- When the earthquake hit Wednesday morning, I was sitting in my office, which is in a wooden house on the state Capitol grounds. I was later told that a wooden house is the safest kind of structure to be in during an earthquake, but you could have fooled me at the time.

I honestly don't remember how it started -- if it was the noise or the shaking. All I know is that one minute I was typing an e-mail message, and then my office was shaking violently and there was a sound like a train rumbling right outside my window.

Books and papers flew off shelves. A plant toppled off a filing cabinet, its clay pot splintering and dirt scattering everywhere. I stood up, then sat down again. I thought to myself, "Am I supposed to stand in the doorway, or is that an old wives' tale?" I know that sounds weird, but that thought actually ran through my mind.

Then fellow Capitol reporter Brad Shannon -- his newsman instincts still intact -- started shouting, "Watch the dome! Watch the dome!" The State Capitol building is easily visible outside our office window, and it dawned on me what he meant: He thought the 73-year-old structure might start to crumble in the force of the quake. As it turned out, a column near the top of the dome did splinter off, hanging precariously.

The quake lasted less than a minute, but it felt much, much longer. I caught my breath. There was a weird silence for a second, then I looked out the window to see people streaming out of office buildings all over the Capitol Campus.

I went outside and started talking to other reporters. Everyone was nervous, almost giddy. We all milled around for a few minutes, not sure what to say. Someone was pretty sure we needed to stay outside, in case of aftershocks.

During the next hour or so, I gathered eyewitness accounts. Another reporter told me she was in a coffee shop in downtown Olympia, where the glass picture windows all exploded at once, like a bomb going off.

A state official related that the ceiling in the reception room of his office caved in, fluorescent lights shattering all over the desks and floor. A state representative said she was in a hallway that went dark, then filled with smoke and water from the sprinkler system.

The rest of the day was a blur. Around lunchtime I quickly drove home to check my own house. Amazingly, it seemed eerily untouched, other than a toppled candle and a few crooked pictures on the wall.

A friend of mine wasn't so lucky. He went home to find his apartment in shambles, the floor littered with broken glass.

Before I moved out here a few months ago from Fargo, N.D., I told my mom I was looking forward to experiencing an earthquake for the first time in my life.

OK, now I did. That's probably enough.

Patrick Condon covers state government and politics for the Olympian. He can be reached at 753-1688.

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