Dear Readers,
On April 18, 1906 an earth-shaking event took place in California - the San Francisco earthquake. Thousands were affected by the 7.8 magnitude of the “Great Quake” and subsequent fires that raged for three days, across nearly 500 city blocks.
Among the Italian Americans affected were Antonio Compania, an employee of the J.R. Ingulia Fish Market, Fortunato “Moro” Campi, horse and wagon teamster from Lucca, and the famous Naples born tenor, Enrico Caruso, the first recording star to be recognized worldwide by just one name, Caruso, after he made his first recordings for the Gramophone and Typewriter Company in Milan in 1902.
In 1904 he signed an exclusive contract with the Victor Talking Machine Company and all of his subsequent recordings were made either in New York City or Camden, New Jersey. Hence it came to pass, that in 1906 Caruso was in San Francisco on a national tour and had performed in “Carmen” just a few hours before the earthquake hit. Caruso left town, never to return, but he did write an article about his earthquake experience for a London magazine, which I will share in part with you.
“There have been many accounts of my so-called adventures published in the American papers, and most of them have not been quite correct. Some of the papers said that I was terribly frightened, that I went half-crazy with fear, that I dragged my valise out of the hotel into the square and sat upon it and wept; but all this is untrue. I was frightened, as many others were, but I did not lose my head.
I was stopping at the (Palace) Hotel, where many of my fellow artists were staying, and very comfortable it was. I had a room on the fifth floor, and on Tuesday evening, the night before the great catastrophe, I went to bed feeling very contented. I had sung in “Carmen” that night, and the opera had gone over very well. But what an awakening!
You must know that I am not a very heavy sleeper - I always wake early, and when I feel restless I get up and go for a walk. So on the Wednesday morning early I wake up about 5 o’clock, feeling my bed rocking as though I am in a ship on the ocean, and for a moment I think I am dreaming that I am crossing the water on my way to my beautiful country.
Then, as the rocking continues, I get up and go to the window, raise the shade and look out. And what I see makes me tremble with fear. I see the buildings toppling over, big pieces of masonry falling, and from the street below I hear the cries and screams of men and women and children. I remain speechless, thinking I am in some dreadful nightmare, and for something like forty seconds I stand there, while the buildings fall and my room still rocks like a boat on the sea. And during that forty seconds I think of forty thousand different things.
All that I have ever done in my life passes before me, and I remember trivial things and important things. I think of my first appearance in grand opera, and I feel nervous as to my reception, and again I think I am going through last night’s “Carmen.” And then I gather my faculties together and call for my valet. He comes rushing in quite cool, and, without any tremor in his voice, says: “It is nothing.”
But all the same he advises me to dress quickly and go into the open, lest the hotel fall and crush us to powder. My valet gives me some clothes; I know not what the garments are but I get into a pair of trousers and into a coat and draw some socks on and my shoes, and every now and again the room trembles, so that I jump and feel very nervous. I do not deny that I feel nervous, for I still think the building will fall to the ground and crush us.
And all the time we hear the sound of crashing masonry and the cries of frightened people. We run down the stairs and into the street, and my valet, brave fellow that he is, goes back and bundles all my things into trunks and drags them down six flights of stairs.
Then I make my way to Union Square, where I see some of my friends, and they tell me to come to a house that is still standing; but I say nothing is safe but the open square, and I prefer to remain in a place where there is no fear of being buried by falling buildings. So I lie down in the square for a little rest, and soon I begin to see the flames and all The City seems to be on fire.
All the day I wander about, and I tell my valet we must try and get away, but the soldiers will not let us pass. We can find no vehicle to find our luggage, and this night we are forced to sleep on the hard ground in the open. Then my valet succeeds in getting a man with a cart, who says he will take us to the Oakland Ferry for a certain sum. We pile the luggage into the cart and climb in after it, the man whips up his horse and we start. We pass terrible scenes on the way; buildings in ruins, and everywhere there seems to be smoke and dust.
The driver seems in no hurry; which makes me impatient at times, for I am longing to return to New York, where I know I shall find a ship to take me to my beautiful Italy and my wife and my little boys.
When we arrive at Oakland we find a train there which is just about to start, and the officials take charge of my luggage and tell me to get on board, which I am very glad to do. On the trip to New York I sleep very little, for I can still feel the terrible rocking which made me sick. Even now I can only sleep an hour at a time, for the experience was a terrible one...” (Caruso died in 1921 and, by choice, he never set foot again in San Francisco.)
***
Antonio Compania lived in an old refrigerator without food, water, or the company of a valet for eight days and nights, after the S.F. earthquake hit. Antonio Compania was employed in the fish market of J.R. Ingulia, 516 Clay St. Several other Italians were with him when the earthquake came. Most of the men were terrified and knelt in prayer while the building crumbled about them.
Compania rushed into a large refrigerator and slammed the door after him, which locked him in. For days the fire raged on all sides. The Ingulia building was dynamited, but the refrigerator still stood. After the fire had devastated the district, marines came and soldiers looked for the bodies of the unfortunates who lost their lives in the catastrophe. No one thought of looking into the large refrigerator, and the fisherman was held a prisoner.
On the eight day after the earthquake, some of Compania’s comrades remembered that he had gone in the safe just before the fire. They returned to the ruins and after much difficulty broke open the door. The unfortunate prisoner was found lying on the floor and was dragged into the street, where he died a few moments later. Compania’s brother took charge of the remains and they were later buried in Laurel Hill Cemetery in San Francisco.
***
Fortunato “Moro” Campi, from the environs of Lucca, and his “paesano” Julio Gemignani, had jumped ship when the Archimede docked in San Francisco, and had worked their way up from stable boys to horse and wagon teamsters by the time the “Big Quake” hit in 1906. From author and longtime reader, Roland R. Bianchi’s book “The Migration of Moro” (my other grandfather’s story), Fithian Press, Santa Barbara, 1997, comes this quake related excerpt: “The floor of the barn began to heave.
The subsequent rumble, added to the noise of creaking timbers, panicked the other horses and announced the worst earthquake in San Francisco’s history. To Moro and Julio the magnitude of the quake became obvious when the men drove the horses through the debris in the streets. Barking dogs were everywhere, making it hard to control the horses. Fire alarm bells disturbed the quiet dawn.
People rushed out of their houses in their nightclothes, frightened and confused. In front of their Chestnut Street flat they wondered whether to stay there or leave for safer grounds. They pointed out the damage to their flats and to the collapsed foundations of the house. “We’ll be better off near the wharf,” said Moro, “in case of fire.” Nobody had a better idea, and so the wagon was directed north on Columbus Avenue toward Bay Street. It wasn’t long before they encountered a patrol of cavalry soldiers from Fort Mason galloping toward them.
“They’re going to declare martial law,” said a lieutenant. “We need your wagon at the Presidio. Follow us.” For the next few days, while San Francisco’s bayside and eastern sections burned out of control, Moro and Julio taxied shovels, picks, dynamite, and other supplies to Van Ness Avenue, which was to become the backfire line. Van Ness was the widest north-south street, and it could prevent the relentless fire from jumping west into the residential district.
Quake victims were hauled back to hospital tents in the Presidio and a steady stream of refugees headed through the Presidio on to encampments in Golden Gate Park.
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