(This week we will feature a "guest blogger" from the past, J.J. Conlon. In 1982, J.J. Conlon, whose 46 1/2 year career started with started with the Wells-Fargo Nevada National Bank and ended with the Wells Fargo Bank, wrote his recollection of the 1906 earthquake. He seven years old when the disaster occurred. His father, a fire battalion chief with the San Francisco Fire Department, figures prominently in his account.)

His story, so rich in detail, belies the saying "children should be seen and not heard."

To General Doolittle’s brave flyers, it is the anniversary of their 1942 Tokyo Raid; to Bostonians, it is the date of Paul Revere’s famous ride; but to a generation of San Franciscans, April 18th is the date of an earthquake at 5:13 on a Wednesday morning in 1906; one era in the city’s history came to an end and another started.

Thereafter, events were referred to as “before” or “after” the Fire. The earthquake, responsible for the fire, was a secondary matter. As a seven-year-old boy, free of parental control for three days, I enjoyed the excitement of the disastrous events around me without comprehending their consequences.

I belong to that group of sons whose fathers were called on that morning for a prodigious effort in their respective fields of activity. Father was a Battalion Chief in the San Francisco Fire Department. Like most sons, proud of their fathers, I would have questioned mine at an older age concerning his personal actions and experiences during that trying period. Unfortunately, this was not to be. Death does not respect rank in the Fire Service. Only a few years later, as First Assistant Chief of Department, he was killed at a fire.

There was never any question in my mind as to the severity of the earthquake at 5:13 on that Wednesday morning. I was awakened from a sound sleep by the shaking of my bed and the house. Father herded Flossie, my brother and me into a doorway for protection in the event the house collapsed; actually it was only slightly damaged. Within moments, during this period of the city’s greatest emergency, the unusual silence of the alarm bell told its own story. The system was destroyed as was the functioning of the city’s 30,000 telephones. For once, and tragically so, the cries of trapped victims for help, generally referred to the Fire Department for attention, could not instantly activate rescue crews.

About 7:30 that Wednesday morning, I heard 30 Engine leave their quarters with bells ringing and that was the last we were to see of them until late on the following Friday night. At almost the same moment, Father stopped his buggy in front of our house, got out and took Flossie, my brother and me across the street to a Mr. Levy. He told this fine gentleman that he had been ordered downtown with the remainder of his Battalion to help battle the flames now raging because of the destruction of the water mains, and asked if he could leave his family in Mr. Levy’s care, which, of course, he could. The Battalion deployed in the South of Market area where its companies, with others, were able to save the Southern Pacific Railroad Depot, subsequently important in getting supplies into the city. A channel from the Bay made this victory possible; the remaining fire battle was a slow, three-day retreat to the heart of the Mission District where the flames in that part of the city were finally controlled.

The morale of the 1906 firemen was severely strained because they were on duty at the moment of the earthquake and so continued until the flames were controlled. Few lived in the immediate vicinity of their firehouses, particularly those downtown. Minutes after the earthquake, most were in action and immediately aware of the magnitude of the disaster as they went about the grim task of rescuing victims from collapsed buildings and attempting to quell flames without water. Few knew the fate of their own families and for three days and nights they were to fight on with this gnawing concern on their minds. Two were killed. It is agreed they did their duty magnificently. The residences of 300 of the 600 firemen were destroyed and their fellow firemen throughout the nation sent $18,000 in relief funds, the New York City firemen being particularly generous.