Some remarkable first-person observations jotted down during the 1906 San Francisco earthquake by a comrade-refugee of the Socialist Labor Party

‘In ‘Frisco’s Horror’ by Fred Silbert from The Weekly People. Vol. 16 No. 6. May 5, 1906.

AN S.L.P. SURVIVOR’S VIVID PICTURE OF THE EARTHQUAKE AND FIRE

Camped on Twin Peaks, Fred Sibert Notes the Earth’s Tremors and Describes the Awful Roar of the Flames As They Devour the City–Authorities Loose Their Heads, Dynamite Single Buildings, Instead of Blocks, and Allow Provisions to Burn that Could Be Saved; Sacrificing Thousands of Lives and Millions of Wealth to A Shortsighted Respect for Private Property–Dante’s Inferno Feeble In Comparison to the Grand and Inspiring, Yet Terrible Disaster.

The thrilling letter printed below, was sent from Fruitvale, Cal, under postmark of April 20. As appears on its face, it was written at various intervals, in San Francisco, during the earthquake and fire that overwhelmed the city by the Golden Gate. The writer, Fred Sibert, is a member of Section San Francisco, Socialist Labor Party.

Wednesday. San Francisco, Cai, or what’s left of it.

We are now camped on Twin Peaks, two hill tops overlooking San Francisco; we, Mr. A. Andrews and wife and myself, wife and two children, Dick and Harry, victims of the earthquake and fire. It is a grand and inspiring sight, yet so tragic in results. Words cannot express the pent-up feeling which is in the breast of those who have attained a safe place on the surrounding hills. South of Market street, in the proletarian districts, the fire is raging fiercely, eating without mercy the remaining shacks which have not already been devoured.

Panic and despair reign supreme. No one knows what to do. We now go into the fire center as far as possible. Houses, factories, all, are either torn down by earthquakes or are afire. A fierce west wind has started, but will it save the city? Fires have broken out in the Western Addition and North Beach, which means further destruction. This is awful. The roar of the flames can be heard for miles. It seems now that not a house will be left standing. Explosion follows explosion in rapid succession. St. Ignatus Church is on fire. The Call building is gutted; the City Hall wrecked.

From our place of observation we see the fire starting in the west. Thousands of people are homeless, with starvation staring them in the face. All our possessions are on our backs, except $5 and a watch. The vandals have already started their ghoulish work; it was reported that one was shot dead. A water famine threatens, as the mains have broken and flooded the sewers. The fire department is helpless. The authorities are helpless. I have met some merchant acquaintances who say that they are paupers, as all the banks and insurance companies cannot pay one cent of their liabilities. What will we do for water? 200,000 people homeless, without a cent. Well-to-do bourgeois yesterday; tramps today.

The congested part of the city is a maze of ruins. Another earthquake just shook the whole mountain-top where I am writing this. The over-lords of creation have vamoosed in their automobiles. One of them ran over a poor slave, and started again, as if nothing had happened. I stopped him and demanded his name. He pretended he could not hear. “Damn you, tell me your name or out you go!” His name is Dishner, No. 6. Cal. His victim is Brofst. They want to be on their guard. Riots are threatened, if they come look out for a hungry mob! Lotta’s fountain won’t be mark to it.

Another earthquake! The first started at 5.15 and continued for about 4 minutes; but it was the worst ever known in San Francisco. Not a building escaped. My tenement was 22 Summer street, and when the family were dressed we went to Howard, one-half block away, and took refuge on a vacant lot. Thousands of undressed women, children and men were congregated on the lot at Howard street. One old man had nothing on but an undershirt. That is a Jewish neighborhood and they sat around on the quilts and blankets, Persian fashion. One woman had a new born baby in her arms; another was leading a blind man. All were more or less hysterical.

When the gloom cleared up, it could be seen that the whole block between 6th and 7th, on the north side, was down. A fire broke out. We went back to 22 Summer street to gather extra clothes for our family. Another violent earthquake, which made us get a move on. We packed up what we could in a blanket, and started towards the hills; people meeting us, and, not knowing that 4 or 5 blocks were on fire, and the fire department helpless, laughed. But when the flames began to spread, their laugh was turned to hysteria.

What will become of ‘Frisco? At least 500 have met their doom, and the damage to property already reaches to at least $200,000,000 and ever increasing.

Mechanics Pavillion is on fire. It is a grand sight! It has a seating capacity of 15,000. Not a building left on Market street. I have been told that all the business blocks south of City Hall have gone. The explosions follow one another in rapid succession–the greatest disaster of modern times.

I am now writing, 8 p.m., by the light of the conflagration, in a kind lady’s house, on the hill side; the whole burning city is plainly visible from my window. The fire has spread from right to left and 300,000 people will be without shelter when the fire has exhausted itself. The women and children are asleep on the floor, and this is my watch. Where will these people of Frisco, so generous, when misfortune befalls others, get succor? This is surely a visitation from hell! Dante’s Inferno but feebly describes the horrors which are witnessed on every hand.

Women and children, some sick, others frantic, are about to make an attempt to sleep on the hill.

I met two men who were not drunk but were cracking jokes with as light a heart as if this terrible calamity was a barbecue. Mechanic’s Pavilion was being used as an emergency hospital when it caught fire. Over 1,000 wounded had to be bustled out to any old place. The authorities are crazy; they dynamite every building on fire instead of blowing up two or three blocks away from the fire line. This frantic way of doing things makes the fire fiercer.

We are still troubled with shocks, and a great many of them. There will be a famine tomorrow; while they have allowed enough provisions to burn to satisfy what is left of Frisco for a month. But the same as they refuse to blow up a few blocks which are sure to burn in the next hour or two, just so with the provisions. Private property must be respected; although thousands perish, along with this precious private property!

This is terrible a whole city wiped from the man!

How is this vast multitude to get transportation? Most all seem to be as near broke as myself.

Nob Hill is the only part that has not yet been touched. In some places the people would not leave until the police drove them out; they so hated to leave the place they called home, that it was heart-rending.

I can see, in spite of the smoke, the Call building and City Hall, over two miles away; that is, their skeletons. All kinds of wild rumors come from Oakland, San Jose and Los Angeles, but we can get no information that is reliable. I saw a leaflet printed on one side today, but it contained nothing new. Frisco is utterly doomed, and if it is ever rebuilt it will be years, stretching out into the 20’s or 30’s. In all history, never has such a conflagration been recorded; not even the burning of Rome by Nero. Nob Hill is now in flames, and the bourgeois are crazy.

We left our mountain top to make an attempt to reach Oakland. We tramped through the aristocratic quarter, but no one asked whether we had had coffee. They were standing at their doors, well groomed and laughed at our bedraggled appearance. We have made a circuit of the fire and reached the ferries. Thousands of people are coming and going, they know not where. Those who laughed at us the last laugh has turned to tears. The aristocratic part is on fire now.

At last we fought our way on board the ferry, and bonded in Oakland, where we met a kind friend and comrade, who offers to take two of us. We learn that the Berkley Relief Committee has disbursed thousands of cans of foods. Just met Comrade Anthony, at whose place we have found refuge. We have found shelter and are about to retire with the still burning city in front of our eyes. So, good by, dear old ‘Frisco.

New York Labor News Company was the publishing house of the Socialist Labor Party and their paper The People. The People was the official paper of the Socialist Labor Party of America (SLP), established in New York City in 1891 as a weekly. The New York SLP, and The People, were dominated Daniel De Leon and his supporters, the dominant ideological leader of the SLP from the 1890s until the time of his death. The People became a daily in 1900. It’s first editor was the French socialist Lucien Sanial who was quickly replaced by De Leon who held the position until his death in 1914. Morris Hillquit and Henry Slobodin, future leaders of the Socialist Party of America were writers before their split from the SLP in 1899. For a while there were two SLPs and two Peoples, requiring a legal case to determine ownership. Eventual the anti-De Leonist produced what would become the New York Call and became the Social Democratic, later Socialist, Party. The De Leonist The People continued publishing until 2008.

PDF of full issue: https://www.marxists.org/history/usa/pubs/the-people-slp/060505-weeklypeople-v16n06.pdf