Handa ka ba? When the ‘Big One’ hits?
By Rex Catubig
FOLLOWING the 7.4 Taiwan temblor, Phivolcs issued an advisory citing the imminent danger arising from a strong earthquake up to magnitude 8.2. Responding to the possible scenario, Mayor Belen Fernandez held an urgent conference to discuss Disaster Preparedness. Actually, in January, the City already held a symposium to alert the community on the natural calamities that could beset Dagupan and planned strategies to alleviate destruction of life and property.
This is apropos since the catastrophe can come without warning—the havoc that hit Dagupan in July,1990 that no one thought could happen is a case in point.
But it could happen again. And here’s the scenario of how it was when a big one hit Dagupan years ago—culled from the vivid recollections of those who lived its horror.
It was just another Monday. As the sultry afternoon was winding down, clock watchers in offices were fidgety and kept glancing at the wall clock, waiting impatiently for 5 o’clock to strike. The lady employees had begun retouching their makeup, and under their table, nudging off the house slippers they were wearing and slipping on the shoes they came to work with.
In schools, the students were listless in their toasty classrooms, poised to dump their class materials in their bags and backpacks, ready to heave their sigh of relief: In a matter of minutes, Monday was over.
Downtown AB Fernandez teemed with locals and out-of-towners. Some window shopped leisurely, while others had sought refuge and were ensconced comfortably in aircond Vilmand and other movie houses, watching the second feature of a double bill to kill time before heading home.
On Galvan and Zamora streets, carts and baskets of seafood and produce had begun their invasion of the sidewalks and homemakers had begun swarming in to hunt for dinner fare or baon the next day.
Suddenly, at 4:26 pm, the ground rumbled and growled! And everything began shaking! The crowd was stunned and then splintered like a shattered mirror.
As if on cue, the belfry of the old St John Cathedral on Zamora St crumbled into a torrent of bricks. The glass walls of the 4th floor revolving restaurant of the McAdore hotel smashed into a rain of smithereens. Buildings downtown shook, tilted and sank waist-deep as the concrete road cracked open spewing putrid and pungent gunky liquid. Parked vehicles were gulped down by the gaping ground. In Perez Boulevard, the Magsaysay bridge split in half as if struck by a Karate chop.
It lasted for a horrifying 45 seconds. During which, it seemed the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse had come galloping down, leaving bedlam, chaos and destruction in their wake.
The dazed crowd dashed all over like headless chickens, their hearts pounding off their chests, at a loss where to run for shelter. Some cried hysterically as they hopscotched their way home:: “Kasian mo kami, Katawan!”, their threnodic chorus billowed amid the havoc.
Then, a pall of eerie silence muffled the deafening din as the descending darkness engulfed the damaged surroundings. As night fell upon the ruined city, fear, helplessness and uncertainty dangled like Damocles’ sword.
On July 16, 1990, a 7.7 temblor struck Dagupan: “90 buildings were damaged, and about 20 collapsed.” “The city suffered 64 casualties, 47 survived and 17 died. Most injuries were sustained during stampedes.”
34 years ago, Dagupan fell on its knees. Mercifully, it did not collapse and had valiantly propped herself up.
But having risen, the struggle today is how to keep standing despite being rocked by the tremors of political rock n’ roll.
True: “More things are wrought by prayer, than this world dreams of”
But it is wise to heed the words of the Mayor: “Let us pray but let us prepare as well”.
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