The 1989 World Series: My Recollections

25 years ago, today. Earthquake, world series and a strange Oakland connection.Mandatory Credit: Bob Stanton-USA TODAY Sports

On October 17, 1989 I was ten days into my eighth year on Earth. My bedroom wall adorned by A’s pennants and two mounted tickets from the 1973 World Series, my bookshelf stacked with binders full of baseball cards and in my closet, one of many Athletics’ jackets that I would wear through my lifetime. I was young but I was an A’s fan.

It is hard to imagine now, in the midst of the playoffs, that October 17 would be the third game of the World Series but, back in those days, the post season was a lot shorter and games were broadcast on channels that you could get with bunny ears. I was home in Hayward with my mother and two of my sisters, none of whom were baseball fans at the time, watching an old movie in black and white (we weren’t about to watch pregame coverage) when the ground that laid under my house began to toss us into chaos and confusion. I had never experienced anything like it before and was too confused to be scared.

“Run to the doorway,” my mother said as she grabbed the youngest of my sisters. The doorway nearest to me was that of my own bedroom. For what felt like an eternity, I sat in that doorway and watched as my He-Man toys were thrown from their places on my shelf, breaking as they hit the floor until, as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

If you were born more than a few years after I was, you probably wouldn’t have survived the next few hours. Without cable, at least in our home, texting, internet or cell phones, we all had to sit idly by our television or radio and wait for news as it trickled in. Local broadcasters, gearing up to report on the World Series at Candlestick, were frantic in their coverage. Reports came in, over the course of hours, of complete devastation. There were fires, and building collapsed and the Bay Bridge had fallen into the water. We were warned about aftershocks and to check the gas lines and to stay away from windows and to stay off the phone lines. It was a panic.

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Of course, as bad as it was, things weren’t as bad as they first appeared. 63 people died but, because of the game taking people out of their homes and off the roads, many lives were saved. The bridge was damaged but not beyond repair and the fires were eventually extinguished. What should have been a great night of baseball shared with an entire region of baseball fans, regardless of their team affiliation, was diverted into fear and chaos in 15 seconds. The games were put on hold as the area regained balance.

My attention, for that evening, was not on baseball because I knew my father, who worked on the peninsula, had to take a bridge to get home and, since I was seven, I didn’t know that the one which had collapsed was not his. Eventually, my attention would shift back to baseball and the great Battle of the Bay poster would soon grace my walls alongside the World Series Champion pennant and an autographed baseball from every player on that team but, out of respect for their community, the Athletics never received the celebration they deserved. I would have liked to have attended a parade in Oakland that year, an experience I’m sure I would have shared with my father and grandmother (who worked at the Coliseum in concessions) but, as an adult, I understand.

Many of the men on that field were my heroes at the time and I still think fondly of them when I watch old clips from the past but that Earthquake, the first to be caught on national TV, overshadowed the entire affair. When I see the players talk about winning the games they remember it as a player, I as a spectator but when they talk about the quake, as they do in the recent ESPN special, they remember it exactly as I do. We share a singular experience from the same perspective and, since those guys meant so much to me growing up, it brings me a strange connection as an adult that nobody outside of the bay area can claim.