State workers still reeling from quake

SARAH SCOTT

Originally published Mar. 11

The Nisqually quake isn't without irony. The state's symbol of endurance, the domed Legislative Building, was among the most rattled.

We have no idea when we'll be able to work there again.

Those with offices in the Legislative Building are crammed into O'Brien and Cherberg, the House and Senate office buildings. Floor votes are taken in crammed hearing rooms instead of the soaring grandeur of the House and Senate chambers. The House's makeshift rostrum sits on a bare plywood foundation.

Many of us are still trying to regain our balance.

When the quake hit, I was in the Legislative Building, headed down the rotunda's marble stairs.

Do you know the sound of sheet metal waved as a sound effect for thunder? Imagine an orchestra of 100 sheet-metal strips. A representative and I asked each other who could be making such a rude racket.

In a few seconds, another 400 sheet-metal musicians chimed in. The Tiffany chandeliers started to jingle and sway. Then the entire building -- and this is one massive structure -- began to rock. We grabbed hold of pillars, planted our feet and assessed our odds.

Above my head and on all sides were marble slabs. If I could make it down the last long flight of stairs, under one of the swinging chandeliers, out the doors and under the portico's chandeliers and sandstone, I'd be in the clear. As for the earthquake advice about not running outside, it wasn't written on those rotunda steps.

We weren't allowed to go back to our offices, so I genuflected to my hide-a-key and headed into the streets jammed with frightened drivers. Because there was no damage at home, a sense of balance returned by the weekend. This was my third quake, and although previous ones couldn't begin to compare, it was over. I felt thankful and relieved that those I love had made it through with no more than a few toppled chimney bricks or broken light fixtures.

Back to work

Then came Monday. We returned to miles of yellow "Do Not Enter" tape and, when that ran out, crime scene tape. I was allowed in the Capitol only briefly, and that was with a hard hat and escort.

In the House office building across from the Legislative Building, I scanned walls. No matter which way I turned, somewhere in my field of vision I could spot jagged lines drawn by the shift 33 miles deep. Pick up any object and a layer of plaster dust covered it. Chunks of fallen marble lay in a hallway pile. In the restrooms of both the House and Senate office buildings, wood braces fortified supports. Some of those walls have deep holes.

When we came back on Monday, we knew the quake's effects would be with us for a long time, reminders of our collective terror. That night, I spent three hours in a hot bath crying.

Stability returned by Tuesday, helped in part by on-campus counselors there for the day. It disappeared again Wednesday after seeing a massive light fixture that missed killing a Senate friend by a matter of seconds.

Comfort food is in every office in quantities only Christmas can match. We snack, make jokes and stick Band-Aids on the plaster cracks, but we also swap stories. We hear that many of us are having emotional aftershocks such as insomnia, anxiety, tearfulness or edginess. Even the most quake-seasoned ex-Californians report jumping at the sound of metal clanging or feeling vibration from some harmless but unexpected source.

Certainly, the devastation from recent quakes in India and El Salvador makes our experience seem like little more than a bumpy carnival ride. Nonetheless, when the rumbling and shuddering began, a lot of people in Capitol Campus buildings and elsewhere thought they were going to die. That's not something you get over with a couple of chocolate chip cookies.

A reminder

The soaring grandeur of the Legislative building stands as a symbol of what is best about the civilization we've created. It inspires each of us who works there.

Only a couple of weeks ago a colleague and I looked up as we left work. The day's last light had turned the dome golden, casting it in alpen glow. We walked in dim light below and admired its beauty. I said something about how it was there long before us and would be there long after us. We knew we were fortunate temps.

But this quake is a jolting lesson that nothing on this earth endures forever.

What will be the effect of this quake on my community and on each of us? What might have shaken loose in our psyches?

I've learned my reactions and those of my colleagues are normal and can be expected to pass. What will linger? I hope for all of us something of deeper significance was jarred awake.

Sarah Scott manages the video dept. for the House of Representatives. She has worked for the House since 1990.

The Olympian Copyright 2000

back to main Earthquake Stories index