The Great San Francisco Earthquake was one of the costliest—in both lives and money—natural disasters to hit the United States in the 20th century. Here’s the story.
Most of San Francisco’s 450,000 people were asleep at 5:13 a.m. on Tuesday, April 18, 1906. Firefighters lay exhausted in their beds after fighting a fire at the California Cannery Company the night before. The Daily News was about to go to press with an article noting that San Franciscans had collected $10,000 for the victims of the recent earthquake in Formosa. It mentioned that committees had been meeting in town to discuss how to handle such a disaster should it ever happen in San Francisco.
Then it happened. The jolt from the earthquake was felt from Los Angeles to Coos Bay, Oregon, a distance of 730 miles. San Francisco stood at the epicenter. It’s not known how high on the Richter scale the quake was—some estimates say more than 8.5—but when the earth shook, electric lines came down, trolley tracks twisted, water pipes shattered, bridges collapsed, and buildings crumpled. In some areas, the ground moved 20 feet. It was over in 48 seconds.
All services—including communication, transportation, and medical—were either completely gone or heavily damaged. The city lay in ruins, and the casualties mounted. The situation was bad…and it was about to get worse.
Smaller earthquakes had hit the town in 1857, 1865, 1868, and 1890. As the city was reconstructed over the years, people built their homes out of wood, knowing it withstood shaking better than brick. But there was a problem with wood: it burned. So anywhere a gas line was ruptured, a stove was upset, or a lantern was overturned, there was enough ready fuel to start a serious fire…and that’s exactly what happened.
People reported more than 50 fires within the first half hour following the quake, but because the city’s alarm system was out, San Francisco’s 585 firefighters had no way of pinpointing the locations. And even if they could, there was little they could do because most of the water mains were broken. Worse yet, Fire Chief Dennis Sullivan lay dying of injuries suffered in the quake. The fires quickly began to consume San Francisco.
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Brigadier General Frederick Funston, stationed at the Presidio, an army outpost on the northern edge of San Francisco, was flung from his bed by the quake. He immediately sprang into action. Funston knew that army troops were needed to help with the disaster, but he also knew that federal law prevented soldiers from entering the city without first being invited by local authorities. So he headed to City Hall to find Mayor Eugene Schmitz. What he found instead was the building in ruins, fires in the distance, and no sign of the mayor. He decided that troops were needed—whether or not the proper channels were followed. He sent messengers to the Presidio and to Fort Mason, which was also at the north end of the city, and less than two hours after the quake the first of 500 soldiers were on their way into the stricken city. Later they would be joined by sailors, marines, and the National Guard.
Funston organized survivors, ordering some people to gather and distribute all the food that they could find. Others were sent to find wagons and go to neighboring towns for food and supplies. More were sent in search of any bakeries still standing with orders to help get them back in business. And still others were ordered to begin collecting and burying the dead. At 10:15 a.m., Funston sent a telegram to Washington, D.C., asking Secretary of War William Howard Taft for emergency assistance and tents for 20,000 people. It wasn’t long before he revised the request to 100,000. Even that wouldn’t be enough.
Mayor Schmitz finally arrived at City Hall at 7 a.m., as bodies were being pulled from the rubble. He immediately moved into the Hall of Justice and later moved his headquarters four more times as the fires grew and spread. His first order of business was to send out messengers—one to find a telegraph office that was still operating, one to Oakland to ask for fire engines, hoses, and dynamite, and one to the governor requesting that food and water be sent with all possible haste.
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Schmitz also ordered troops to shoot looters on sight, a rule that was so strictly enforced, it was claimed that people were shot while searching through the rubble of their own homes. Others claimed the troops did most of the looting.
Fires continued to pop up, grow, and join with other blazes to become huge walls of flame. By 9:00 a.m., a fire was moving across the city, devouring entire blocks at a time. In some areas, the flames advanced as fast as a human can run. By noon, 11 blocks had burned and Market Street had turned into a flaming tunnel.
Meanwhile, the streets became clogged with refugees, soldiers, firefighters, and police. Sightseers coming from outlaying areas to view the damage soon found themselves trapped by the crowds and confusion. And before long they were all trapped by the flames. The entire city of San Francisco and many of its citizens were in danger of being reduced to ashes.
Turn to page 251 to find out how the city was saved.
PROCLAMATION
BY THE MAYOR
The Federal Troops, the members of the Regular Police Force and all Special Police Officers have been authorized by me to KILL any and all persons found engaged in Looting or in the Commission of Any Other Crime.
I have directed all the Gas and Electric Lighting Co.’s not to turn on Gas and Electricity until I order them to do so. You may therefore expect the city to remain in darkness for an indefinite time.
I request all citizens to remain at home from darkness until daylight every night until order is restored.
I WARN all Citizens of the danger of fire from Damaged or Destroyed Chimneys, Broken or Leaking Gas Pipes or Fixtures, or any like cause.
E. E. SCHMITZ, Mayor
Dated April 18, 1906
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