Sometimes it's hard to know

My Father Bob Blackburn (Documentary Photo #d3458)

I must have been at work.  I don't remember, really, that day.   Everything was sketchy at the bank, and everyday was busy.   I was probably buried in work.

As far as I can determine, nothing of any significance happened on the site during the earthquake. The nearest residence was over a mile and half down the hill, and the resident, a portly guy named Phil who still lives there, reported a mild shaking but nothing special.  If anything did happen to the ground, the excavation obliterated the evidence.  The only real disturbance, apart from frantic news broadcasts, occurred near the epicenter.

I can remember that day like it is encased in a snowglobe. We were living in Idaho Falls at 626 Dickson. Mom was getting ready to take me to school at Ethel Boys Elementary, and I was lying on the couch in the living room when the house started to bounce.  Not shake. Bounce. Mom stumbled in and I said, "it’s an earthquake, grab something."

She raced across the floor and grabbed a lamp.

Evidence at the site: none.


State Geologist Ernest Housel (Documentary Photo #ss332)

That quake shouldn't have happened.  Literally.  None of the usual warnings, pre-tremors and the like, occurred.  Surface signs were all nominal.   It should have been a nice day.