Earthquake

I have lived through three real earthquakes in my life - not the metaphorical kind journalists love to use. These were the real thing.

The first one hit on August 8, 1993 in Guam. I was performing at the Hilton Guam with Mark McCollum. We had just finished our show and were at the airport trying to fly back to Los Angeles when an 8.0 magnitude earthquake struck.

It was chaos. Chandeliers swung violently, windows shattered, people screamed. I was standing at the Continental Airlines counter when the floor literally rippled beneath my feet.

My immediate thought was to call home. I found a payphone, called my wife at 4 a.m. her time, and all she heard was screaming and sirens before she hung up in terror.

An hour later my father called her saying there had been a major earthquake in Guam. That’s when she realized it was me who had called.

The phones went dead. While we were trying to figure out what to do, we saw the pilot of our plane talking to the gate agents. He said, “I don’t care. I’m taking off with whoever’s on the plane.”

Mark and I didn’t hesitate. We grabbed our bags, followed the pilot through a “DO NOT ENTER” door onto the tarmac, and climbed aboard.

The pilot asked me to walk the runway with him in the pouring rain to check for cracks using a flashlight. I had no idea what I was looking for.

Somehow, we took off. As we climbed into the clouds, I looked down and saw flames coming from the upper floors of the Hilton where we had just performed.

Five months later, almost to the day, I experienced my second major earthquake.

My wife Marsia and I were living in Thousand Oaks, California with our two small children. On January 17, 1994, at 4:31 a.m., the Northridge earthquake (magnitude 6.7) hit.

I bolted upright in bed and yelled “EARTHQUAKE!” Marsia ran to get the kids while I met her on the stairs. The four of us huddled together under the archway between the living room and dining room as the house shook violently.

When it was over, Marsia looked at me and said, “Can we please move back to the East Coast?”

Thirty-two years later, this past June, (June 8, 2026) I was performing aboard the Margaritaville at Sea Islander when I felt my third earthquake.

The ship suddenly started shaking and jerking violently. My first thought was, “No way! Not again!”

The captain came on the intercom and confirmed we had just experienced an earthquake centered off the northwest coast of Cuba - exactly where our ship was located.

That night in the theater I updated my Jimmy Buffett parody:

“Living through an earthquake on the Islander… don’t need to shake my shaker of salt. Some people claim that it’s the ocean to blame, but I know… it’s San Andreas’ Fault!”

Thanks for reading and HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA!

Taylor

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