The Big One: How They Know It’s Coming, and How We Can Prepare for It

I wrote this article for a science writing course I took in winter 2018, while I was still working for Oregon Sea Grant. 

The Big One: How They Know It’s Coming, and How We Can Prepare for It

A popular bumper sticker says, “If you’re not angry, you’re not paying attention.” There should be one that says, “If you’re not scared, you’re not paying attention.”

Because an earthquake is coming.

And it’s going to be big—maybe the biggest ever to strike the U.S.

And the earthquake and accompanying tsunami are going to devastate coastal and inland towns and cities and injure or kill a lot of people.

And it’s going to happen right here, in Oregon.

“Yeah, yeah,” you say. “People have been predicting for years that California will fall into the ocean, and that’s never happened. Why should we believe this is gonna happen? Because some scientist says so?”

Well, actually, yes. In fact, several dozen scientists say so, including one who predicted the massive quake that devastated Tohoku, Japan, in March 2011. His name is Yasutaka Ikeda, and in 2005 he told his fellow geologists at a conference in Hokudan, Japan, that the nation should expect a magnitude 9 earthquake in the near future. Ikeda’s presentation was “met with polite applause and thereafter largely ignored,” wrote Kathryn Schulz in her 2016 Pulitzer Prize-winning New Yorker article, “The Really Big One.”

Six years later, a magnitude 9 quake hit Tohoku, killing more than 18,000 people, devastating northeastern Japan, precipitating the meltdown of the Fukushima nuclear plant and causing an estimate $220 billion in damage, says Shulz.

How did Ikeda know such a big quake would strike Japan? And how do he and other scientists know another big one—perhaps an even bigger one—will eventually hit the Pacific Northwest?

An upended house is among the debris in Ofunato, Japan, following the magnitude 9.0 earthquake and subsequent tsunami on March 11, 2011. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Matthew M. Bradley [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons)

The answer lies in recent findings about something called the Cascadia Subduction Zone (CSZ), a fault line several hundred miles long off the Pacific Northwest coast. The term “subduction zone” describes a phenomenon where one tectonic plate—a slab of mantle and crust—is sliding underneath, or subducting, another. At a slow enough pace, the movement of the plates is virtually undetectable—and harmless. At a fast-enough pace, in just the right place, the movement can result in a “full-margin rupture,” triggering an earthquake of magnitude 8 to 9.2. In combination with the resulting tsunami, a magnitude 9.2 quake would result in an estimated death toll of 13,000, says the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA). Another 27,000 would be injured.

OK, so what are the chances of such a large quake happening? And when can we expect it? According to Chris Goldfinger, a professor of geology and geophysics at Oregon State University (OSU), the odds of such a large quake happening in the next 50 years are one in three. How does he know? Stories. Geological stories. Indigenous peoples’ stories. And Japanese stories. All of which point to a magnitude 9 earthquake and tsunami happening 318 years ago—9 p.m. on January 26, 1700, to be precise.

“Pffft,” you say. “Just because there was a big earthquake 318 years ago doesn’t mean there’s going to be another one.” True. But…there wasn’t just one earthquake. In fact, says, Goldfinger, core samples of the seafloor indicate that over the past 10,000 years there have been 41 CSZ earthquakes—a recurrence interval of 243 years. Based on that interval, there should’ve been an earthquake somewhere around the year 1943 (the sum of 1700 + 243). But there wasn’t. So, we’re about 75 years overdue.

Or are we? As Shulz writes, “Recurrence intervals are averages, and averages are tricky: 10 is the average of 9 and 11, but also of 18 and 2.” Thus, that 243-year figure could be way off; the interval could be, say, 500 years. Or it could be 100 years. No matter how one fudges the numbers, however, statistically speaking, with the current interval at 318 years (versus the average of 243 years), one could rationally assert that we’re already pushing our luck.

Having myself experienced only moderate tremors from a distant earthquake (which were scary enough, thank you very much), I am not qualified to describe what to expect of a big, local earthquake. My wife Jules, however, experienced a magnitude 6.7 quake in 1971 in greater Los Angeles, and she said the ground around her house became “fluid…like riding on a flying carpet,” accompanied by “an extremely loud noise, inside your body, not just in your ears.” Goldfinger, who was in Kashiwa, Japan—about 200 miles from Tohoku—when the 2011 earthquake struck, likened the feeling to “driving through rocky terrain in a vehicle with no shocks, if both the vehicle and the terrain were also on a raft in high seas.”

What might we expect from a magnitude 9 or greater CSZ quake in Oregon? Shulz’s article lays out perhaps the most graphic—and terrifying—scenario imaginable, including the failure of the power grid; the rupturing of gas and water lines; the demolition of homes; the collapse of buildings, schools, bridges, railways, airports, fire stations, and hospitals; landslides; fires; flooding; dam breaches; hazardous material spills; and so on.

Not a pleasant picture. But it’s just such graphic descriptions that get people’s attention and motivate them to take action. Over the past few years, articles such as Shulz’s, along with subsequent pieces in The Oregonian and Willamette Week and videos such as Oregon Public Broadcasting’s Unprepared, have provoked perhaps the greatest surge in earthquake preparedness efforts ever seen in Oregon. Homeowners are hiring contractors to bolt their houses to their foundations. Building owners are enlisting engineers to retrofit their buildings for an earthquake. Developers are incorporating earthquake resistance into their building designs, at no small cost. Extension agents are teaching residents of coastal towns where to run in the event of a tsunami. Coastal and rural communities are securing funding from county and federal agencies for emergency caches stocked with survival supplies and communication devices. Individuals and families are assembling or purchasing their own emergency supply kits, to help them survive for days or weeks. A Washington newspaper, The Bellingham Herald, published a fictionalized, novella-length account (serialized in 27 installments) of what life might be like following a magnitude 9 CSZ quake.

This emergency supply cache, located in the Coast Range community of Kings Valley (where I live), is stocked with food, water, water purifiers, sanitation supplies, tents, blankets, first-aid kits and even “ham” (amateur) radios, to help local residents survive and communicate with the outside world, says Jamon Ellingson, who helped secure funding for and coordinate placement of the cache (next to the Kings Valley Charter School). (Photo by Rick Cooper)

Sea Grant Extension Coastal Hazards Specialist Pat Corcoran (front left) joins colleagues for a tsunami evacuation walk up to Safe Haven Hill in Newport, Oregon. Planning and practicing on-foot evacuation is an important part of earthquake and tsunami preparedness. (Photo by Mark Farley, Oregon Sea Grant)

In short, people are starting to take the warnings seriously.

But is that enough? Shouldn’t somebody be working on, say, finding a way to accurately predict “The Big One”—or at least a way to predict how and where it’s likely to happen? Coastal residents, in particular, would benefit from the latter, since they’ll have to deal with both an earthquake and a tsunami.

Unfortunately, predicting with any accuracy when a quake will strike is virtually impossible at present, due to geology’s fickle nature. However, researchers think they may be able to predict not just where and how the quake will strike, but how an accompanying tsunami will impact the surrounding area. One project, funded by Oregon Sea Grant (full disclosure: my employer), is looking at historical evidence of tsunami inundation along the Oregon coast to help determine how inundation in various CSZ rupture scenarios might affect low-lying coastal areas. Principal investigator Andrew Meigs, a professor of geology and geophysics at OSU, says the resulting information could help inform next-generation tsunami inundation models and increase coastal community resilience.

Resilience will come in especially handy for coastal residents, since they’ll be on the front lines when a tsunami strikes, about 15 minutes after the quake begins. As Shulz points out, as natural disasters go, a tsunami may be the closest to being unsurvivable. Perhaps the only way to survive the tsunami resulting from a magnitude 9 quake is to outrun it.

A sign directs people to seek higher ground on Safe Haven Hill in Newport in the event of a tsunami. Notably, the logo and design for this and similar signs, which are used in inundation zones around the world, are the product of a collaboration between former Oregon Sea Grant Extension Specialist Jim Good and former OSU Extension Graphic Designer Tom Weeks. (Photo by Tiffany Woods, Oregon Sea Grant)

Another possible way to survive a tsunami is to take shelter in a so-called “vertical evacuation building,” which at this point is purely theoretical. We may get a chance to find out if it works, however, when OSU’s planned Marine Studies building is completed. The $58 million, 72,000 square-foot building, designed to survive a magnitude 9 quake and serve as a 48-foot high vertical evacuation shelter, will be built next to OSU’s Hatfield Marine Science Center in Newport—smack dab in the middle of a tsunami inundation (or flooding) zone. Despite objections from the state geologist and more than a dozen OSU faculty members, including Goldfinger and Sea Grant Extension Coastal Hazards Specialist Pat Corcoran, university leaders determined not only that the site was the best option for several practical reasons, but that the building could help save up to 900 lives in the event of a tsunami.

In response to an Oregon Sea Grant tweet I posted about the March 15, 2018 “construction launch” of the new building, Goldfinger tweeted, “Unfortunate that the corrupt politics of a donation and state funding led to building a school in a tsunami zone when better, cheaper and much safer alternatives were at hand. This was opposed by OSU Marine and Geoscience faculty, the State Geologist, OSSPAC [Oregon Seismic Safety Policy Advisory Commission] and many others.”

A decidedly more affirmative response to the same tweet came from OSU Distinguished Professor of Zoology and former NOAA Administrator Jane Lubchenco, who tweeted, “A wonderful change [sic] to celebrate the amazing ocean studies available @OregonState new building; new energy; new opportunities!”

Back on the circumspect side, Corcoran told me the building might, indeed, survive a magnitude 9 quake and tsunami, but what then? All the surrounding buildings and infrastructure will likely be demolished and the roads and bridges rendered impassable, leaving those who took shelter on the roof of the Marine Studies building essentially trapped. It might’ve been better, Corcoran suggested, to have retrofitted the existing buildings and infrastructure for an earthquake and tsunami first, so the entire complex might serve as an evacuation shelter—and as a model for other vulnerable coastal areas.

This is an architectural illustration of OSU’s planned Marine Studies building, which will be built in the tsunami inundation zone near OSU’s Hatfield Marine Science Center in Newport, Oregon. The building is expected to serve as both a lab and classroom space and a “vertical evacuation” shelter. OSU held a well-attended “construction launch” ceremony at the site on March 15, 2018. (Graphic courtesy of OSU)

Since most buildings are not vertical evacuation shelters, your best bet for surviving a big earthquake and tsunami—and the resulting collapse of essential services and infrastructure—is to prepare in every way you possibly can. But what does that mean, exactly?

First of all, says Corcoran, we should expect that a big quake will happen in our lifetime, but try not to be fatalistic. He suggests that instead of preparing for a magnitude 9 quake, we prepare for a smaller one, which is more likely. “Preparing for a 9 doesn’t ensure that the next one will be that extreme,” he says. “The odds are that the next one will be average sized. That is far less impactful. Prepare for a manageable 8 [which is ten times less powerful than a 9].”

For coastal residents, who could be isolated and without services for weeks following an earthquake and tsunami, Meigs says there are two immediate actions they can take to enhance their resilience. “First, prepare a two-week (or longer) cache of food, water and other supplies—sleeping bags, tents, propane for stoves, etc.—for use in the period immediately following the event. Second, identify where the tsunami inundation zone is with respect to places of employment, recreation and living.” Meigs adds that it’s a good idea to know your evacuation routes and congregation points, develop an action plan, and practice that plan enough so that, when the event occurs, you can act without having to think. For more ideas on how to prepare for the before, during and after of a big earthquake, check out the helpful tips provided in this article from The Oregonian.

Feeling overwhelmed? Me, too. It’s a lot to think about, preparing for something so big and so abstract, especially for those of us who’ve never experienced a large quake. Hoping to get it distilled down to something easier to grasp, I asked Corcoran what’s the one thing he recommends we do right now to prepare for The Big One. His response: “Assume that you will eventually emerge okay. What will you wish you had done, that you haven’t done yet? Do that now.”

References

Banse, Tom (2018). The big one, serialized. KNKX, March 6. http://knkx.org/post/big-one-serialized?utm_source=Sightline%20Institute&utm_medium=web-email&utm_campaign=Sightline%20News%20Selections [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Banse, Tom (2017). Oregon agency plans earthquake-proof buildings for government ‘continuity.’ Oregon Public Broadcasting, March 9. https://www.opb.org/news/article/oregon-earthquake-proof-buildings-plan-government-continuity/ [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Corcoran, Pat (2018). Personal communication (via email and phone), March 7 and 8.

Ellingson, Jamon (2018). Personal communication (via email), March 8.

Finkbeiner, Ann (2015). The great quake and the great drowning. Slate, September 15. http://www.slate.com/articles/health_and_science/science/2015/09/earthquakes_and_tsunamis_in_the_pacific_northwest_native_american_myths.html [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Goldfinger, Chris, Robert S. Yeats, and Yasutaka Ikeda (2013). Superquakes, supercycles, and global earthquake clustering: Recent research and recent quakes reveal surprises in major fault systems. Earth: The Science Behind the Headlines. https://www.earthmagazine.org/article/superquakes-supercycles-and-global-earthquake-clustering-recent-research-and-recent-quakes [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Herron, Elise (2018). Oregon still isn’t prepared for “the big one,” a new audit warns. Willamette Week, January 25. http://www.wweek.com/news/2018/01/25/oregon-still-isnt-prepared-for-the-big-one-a-new-audit-warns/ [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Lovett, Richard A. (2012). Photos: where will the next mega-tsunami hit? (Japan quake anniversary). National Geographic, March 10. https://news.nationalgeographic.com/news/2012/03/pictures/120309-japan-tsunami-earthquake-anniversary-world-science/ [last accessed 9 March 2018].

Ludwin, Ruth (ND). Earthquake prediction. Pacific Northwest Seismic Network. https://pnsn.org/outreach/faq/earthquake-prediction [last accessed 8 March 2018].

McDonald, Rachael (2017). New marine studies center in Newport will be Oregon coast’s first vertical evacuation building. KLCC, November 15. http://klcc.org/post/new-marine-studies-center-newport-will-be-oregon-coast-s-first-vertical-evacuation-building [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Meigs, Andrew (2018). Personal communication (via email), March 8.

Meigs, Andrew, et al. (2017). Retrodicting Cascadia subduction zone great earthquake source characteristics from tsunami inundation along the Oregon coast. The Geological Society of America. https://gsa.confex.com/gsa/2017AM/webprogram/Paper306455.html [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Murphy, Ken (2018). The “big one” in the Pacific Northwest: Taking conversation to action. https://www.fema.gov/blog/2015-07-15/big-one-pacific-northwest-taking-conversation-action [last accessed 8 March 2018].

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Oregon Public Broadcasting (2016). Unprepared: will we be ready for the megaquake in Oregon? https://www.opb.org/news/series/unprepared/ [last accessed 8 March 2018].

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Read, Richard (2015). Disaster preparedness kit: how to pack easily for earthquake, tsunami and more. The Oregonian, July 20. http://www.oregonlive.com/pacific-northwest-news/index.ssf/2015/07/disaster_preparedness_kit_how.html [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Science Daily (2003). 1700 Japan tsunami linked to massive North American quake. Science News, November 21. https://www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2003/11/031121071851.htm last accessed 8 March 2018].

Shulz, Kathryn (2015). The really big one. The New Yorker. July 20. https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2015/07/20/the-really-big-one [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Wikimedia Commons (2011). https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:US_Navy_110315-N-2653B-107_An_upended_house_is_among_debris_in_Ofunato,_Japan,_following_a_9.0_
magnitude_earthquake_and_subsequent_tsunami.jpg [last accessed 19 March 2018].

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Williams, Kale (2016). Risk of major quake on Cascadia Subduction Zone higher than previously thought. OregonLive. http://www.oregonlive.com/pacific-northwest-news/index.ssf/2016/08/risk_of_major_quake_on_cascadi.html [last accessed 8 March 2018].

Mel Blanc, Bugs Bunny, and me

My dad worked in television almost his entire life, and occasionally he would come home with an interesting story about some famous person who had stopped by the studio that day. One day when I was about eight years old, legendary voice actor Mel Blanc visited the TV studio, and Dad brought home slips of paper with a picture of Bugs Bunny and Mel Blanc's original inscription and autograph on them. Dad had one for all three of my siblings and me, personally inscribed to each of us (mine, shown here, says "Hi Ricky").

As a big fan of both Bugs Bunny and Mel Blanc, I was thrilled.

Flash forward to the year 1978. I'm on a weeklong visit to Los Angeles with my boss, Will Vinton, and during a short break in our hectic schedule I visit the studios of Hanna-Barbera to watch a live voice taping for The Flintstones. Mel Blanc is behind one of the mikes, doing the voice of Barney Rubble and a few of the prehistoric critters that power the Flintstones' household appliances. Three other actors are performing the voices of Fred, Wilma, and Betty. I am in awe. The actor performing Fred's voice sounded different than I remembered, but Blanc's Barney Rubble sounds just like it did when I was a kid.

When they're done recording, I exit the viewing room and start making my way to the front door to leave. Mel Blanc walks right in front of me, nods, and says "Hi."

I may have said "Hi" back. I'm not sure. I was too stunned.

Blanc died in 1989 at the age of 81. During the course of his more than 60-year career, he performed the voices for dozens of characters, including Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd, Barney Rubble, Dino, Daffy Duck, Porky Pig, Woody Woodpecker, Tweety Bird, Sylvester the Cat, Wile E. Coyote, Yosemite Sam, Speedy Gonzales, Pepé Le Pew, and Foghorn Leghorn. He is regarded as the most prolific voice actor in the history of the industry. Both he and Bugs Bunny have a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame.

Th-th-th-that's all, folks!

Rick Thew, Buddy Rich, and me

In the summer of my 14th year, I bought myself a drum set with money I had earned from picking strawberries and doing a paper route for several years. I'd made a deal with my parents that, in exchange for their allowing me to spend $250 of my own hard-earned money, I would sign up for summer school stageband—and maybe learn how to play my new toy.

There was another drummer in this stageband, a recent transplant from Northern California named Rick Thew. At first glance, he was just a normal 14-year-old kid with a very outgoing personality. But at first listen, he was an enormously gifted drummer, one with all the natural talent of a prodigy plus some professional training. He told me he had taken lessons from both Grateful Dead drummer Mickey Hart and Moby Grape drummer Don Stevenson.

Crap. Before signing up for this class, I had only played the snare drum in school band and dinked around a little on a friend's starter drum set. I was doomed. Not only would I never get to play on any songs, but this guy Rick would mock me mercilessly when I tried.

Surprisingly, this guy Rick, despite his prodigious talent, wasn't an arrogant jerk. He didn't make fun of me, he didn't criticize me, he didn't condescend in any way whatsoever. In fact, he took me under his wing, rather quickly becoming the mentor I didn't know I needed. And in a very short time, I had learned enough from him to almost sound like I knew what I was doing on the drums.

After stageband ended and school began, Rick and I remained friends and I continued under his tutelage, paying him $2.50 per lesson, once a week, at his house. Eventually I was OK enough on the drums to start playing with some friends in a (pretty awful) rock band.

During one of my drum lessons at Rick's house, he asked me if I'd ever heard of jazz drummer Buddy Rich. I hadn't, so Rick treated me to a few tunes on one of his Buddy Rich albums. Rich was incredible. I couldn't believe a drummer could do what he did.

Then Rick showed me the design he'd recently added to his bass drum head, which had his initials, RT, inside a kind of logo. He told me he'd copied it from the logo on Buddy Rich's bass drum, which looked like this:

Rick asked me if I'd like him to do an RC logo (for Rick Cooper) on my bass drum head, and I said yes. So the next time he was at my house, he did—using an El Marko pen. The beautiful new logo made me feel like I was part of a very exclusive club: Rick Thew, Buddy Rich, and me.

Rick didn't play in the junior high concert band with me and the other percussionists, because he was mainly interested in playing a drum set, not a snare, bass, or cymbals. But we still hung out together, mostly at his house during my weekly lessons. As the year progressed, however, we hung out less and less, probably because Rick was also interested in drama—and girls. By winter he had landed the role of Gandalf the Wizard in the school play, Lord of the Rings, as well as a girlfriend.

So, Rick was not only an immensely talented drummer, but a graphic designer and an actor, as well, and he had a girlfriend.

I hated him.

And I loved him. Especially when he announced that, for my 15th birthday, he had somehow talked his dad into taking us to see Buddy Rich's big band perform at a hotel in downtown Portland. 

I couldn't believe my ears. I was going to see the legendary Buddy Rich play, live in concert. Had I died and gone to drummer's heaven?

I remember exactly two things about the concert: that Buddy Rich and his band were absolutely phenomenal, as expected, and that, during the band's intermission, Rich walked by me, nodded, and said "Hello." 

I was blown away. I felt that he had personally anointed me as his...successor. Or something. 

As if.

Not even the venerable Rick Thew could succeed Buddy Rich (he admitted as much to me himself).

Here's a video of Rich doing a drum solo in 1970, the year Rick Thew and I saw his band in concert:

Flash forward two years, and Rick and I are back together in the high school stageband. At that time, you had to play in the concert band in order to qualify for stageband, so Rick also played with me and the other percussionists in the concert band. I noticed something funny, though, about the way he played in concert band: he would often—maybe even always—follow my lead on the snare drum parts, as if he was unsure about how it should be played. I didn't think much about it at the time, though, because I was so in awe of Rick's playing in stageband (where it was me following his lead most of the time).

At the beginning of our senior year, band director Dale Cleland decided to start treating his concert band percussionists the same as the rest of his musicians: he would audition us for chair assignments, e.g., first chair, second chair, etc. The player who scored the highest on the audition would win first chair—with all the rights, privileges, and responsibilities thereto appertaining (I'm still not sure what they were). 

Cleland gave us each a page of sheet music with about 30 seconds' worth of snare drum music notations on it. We were to take it home, practice, and come in the next day individually—and privately—for the test with Cleland. I had taken piano and guitar lessons when I was younger, so I could read music, no problem. And I practiced the hell out of that sheet music, just to make sure I didn't embarrass myself during the audition. Other than that, it didn't really matter to me, because I knew Rick Thew would beat me—and all the other percussionists.

We did our auditions, I played well enough to avoid total humiliation, and we waited. The next day, Cleland called us each into his office individually and gave us the results.

I had won first chair.

I was stunned. I simply couldn't believe that Rick Thew, the drummer everyone (including me) revered like a god, hadn't won. And I felt badly for him that he hadn't. I couldn't possibly deserve this.

Cleland, however, apparently begged to differ. He told me at the time that even though Rick Thew was the "most naturally gifted drummer I've ever seen," he couldn't give him first chair because Rick couldn't read music well enough.

Aha. That explained why Rick often appeared to be following my lead. Damn. I'd discovered Achilles' heel. And I wasn't happy about it.

Rick wasn't happy, either. He stuck it out with concert band till the end of the quarter, then quit, telling me that he just didn't have time for it in his schedule. He refocused his attention on drama—and girls.

So I finished out my senior year as the only drummer for stageband, except for an occasional "solo duet" with my friend Jaren Balzer*, who was a switch hitter between trombone and drums. (I had played guitar in a band with Jaren back in 7th grade, and he was the drummer.) Being the sole drummer in stageband was fun, but I missed Rick, his cheerful attitude, and his inspiring licks.

Here's an audio recording of me playing drums with the Lakeridge High School stage band, under the direction of Dale Cleland, in 1972. There are two pieces here: "The Gig Is a Gas" and "Swamp Rock Stomp." The latter contains my drum solo, which segued into a drum duet with Jaren Balzer about halfway through. I used a photo of a gold sparkle Gretsch drum set here because that's the set I played in stageband. I wish I had a recording of Rick Thew playing...

Fast forward another four years, and Rick Thew is married and has three kids. He and his wife Marie invite me over for dinner at their cozy little home in Oregon City. Rick tells me he's working at a lumber mill in town and playing drums only occasionally, and mostly on his own. It makes me sad to think he isn't pursuing a career with his musical gift, especially since I would give anything to make a living playing drums, but I also understand how hard it would be to raise a family on a musician's itinerant wages. Sometime during the evening, Rick mentions that he's writing a rock opera and wonders if I'd be interested in playing drums for it when it's finished. "Sure," I reply, knowing what a long shot such an ambitious project is—and also that in reality, Rick and I probably wouldn't see each other again. He had a family now, and chances were good that I'd be following suit in a few years. Our rock 'n roll fantasies were about to become just that—fantasies.

I was right that I wouldn't see Rick again, but I was only partly right about our rock 'n roll fantasies. I ended up playing with several bands through my 20s and 30s, from progressive rock to jazz, and so did Rick. I found out about Rick's drumming exploits in 2017, when we reconnected via Facebook followed by a long, happy phone conversation.

I learned that Rick and his family had lived in several different states while he worked in a variety of jobs, ultimately settling in Battleground, Washington. He told me about his closest brush with fame (playing in a rock band that opened for Blue Öyster Cult) and I told him about mine (playing with Neal Gladstone and Friends on a Portland TV show called 2 at 4, with a purported audience of around 250,000). The funniest thing we talked about was the Buddy Rich concert, which Rick remembered much more clearly than I did. It was funny because he remembered that we had each brought dates to the show (he even remembered their names)—and I didn't. I was there to see Buddy Rich, not pay attention to some girl who probably wasn't even interested in jazz, let alone the world's greatest jazz drummer! (My belated and heartfelt apologies to that poor girl.)

Near the end of our conversation, Rick mentioned that he had had some health issues and wasn't doing well, but that I was welcome to come up for a visit anytime. I told him I was still working full time and had a small homestead to help my wife run, but I would see what I could do. 

I never made it to Battleground.

Just over a year later, I started sensing that something was wrong with Rick. I called to see what was up. Marie answered the phone. She told me Rick had passed away almost a year earlier—not long after we talked. I was devastated that I hadn't made it up to see him.

Love, respect, and gratitude to you, my dear old friend. Your friendship, your expert drum lessons, and your steadfast belief in me helped turn a hopelessly mediocre drummer into one who, by dreaming of becoming Buddy Rich's successor, maybe could've played for a rock opera. I will never forget you, Rick Thew.

*It was Jaren Blazer whose drums I had dinked around on when we played together in that 7th grade band, and it was he who recommended that I buy my drum set from Don Wunn Music in Portland. The guy who sold me my set was a percussionist in the Oregon Symphony named Wayne Mercer (he moonlighted to support a big family). Five years later, Jaren would marry Mr. Mercer's daughter, Diane. I lost touch with Jaren after that, but Jaren, if you're out there: love, respect, and gratitude to you, too, my dear old friend.

Who wants to be on "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire"?

I never really wanted to be on the popular TV game show "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire?" but I confess that I did covet that $1 million top prize. In fact, in the year 2000 I made it through the second qualifying round to be a contestant four times—but my name was never drawn to appear on the show.

Here's how it worked: Potential contestants had to compete in a telephone contest in which they dialed a toll-free number and answered three questions by putting objects or events in order. Callers had ten seconds to enter the order on a keypad, with any incorrect answer ending the game/call. The 10,000 to 20,000 candidates who answered all three questions correctly were entered into a random drawing in which approximately 300 contestants competed for ten spots on the show, using the same phone quiz method.

The phone quizzes weren't easy. They required extremely careful listening, fast and accurate recall, and quick reflexes. For every four or five tries, I was lucky if I succeeded once.

One time, I was at work when I made it through the phone quiz round, and I needed to wait by the phone for a potential call back inviting me to participate in the next round. Unfortunately, a staff meeting was about to happen and my participation was expected. I went in to my boss's office and told him my predicament, expecting him to laugh my ass outta there and order me to attend the meeting. To my surprise, he did the opposite: told me to stay and wait for the possible call. 

My boss was a nice enough guy that he might've granted me permission to skip the meeting anyway, but I suspect he also didn't want to be known as the dude who prevented me from winning a million dollars. As if there was ever a risk of that happening...

Alex Winitsky, Arlene Sellers, Will Vinton, sashimi, and me

One stop Will Vinton and I made on our weeklong trip to Los Angeles in late 1978 was the home of film producers Alex Winitsky and Arlene Sellers, perhaps best known for The Seven-Per-Cent Solution, The Lady Vanishes, Cuba, and Irreconcilable Differences. We were there to discuss the possibility of their backing our planned Claymation feature film, Metamorphos Man.

Winitsky and Sellers were gracious hosts, welcoming us into their home as if we were old friends. The primary details I recall about their living room were a white shag carpet and a white baby grand piano. The decor was similarly ornate, with a large chandelier hanging near the piano and at least one glass-fronted hutch containing numerous awards, memorabilia, and knick knacks. On one wall was a pre-production poster of the movie Cuba, starring Sean Connery.

Ms. Sellers excused herself to the kitchen, and Mr. Sellers showed Will and me to the sunken family room, where a short, Japanese-style dining table sat, pre-set with napkins and small plates for company. I initially assumed it must be for some other company, not us movie mogul wannabes from Orygun, but I was wrong. Mr. Winitsky asked Will and me to sit, cross-legged, and  momentarily Ms. Sellers emerged from the kitchen, carrying a round glass plate full of...raw fish?

I knew you could get trichinosis and die from eating undercooked pork, but I wasn't sure what fate might await me if I ate raw fish. Also, since it was undisguised and unadorned raw fish and looked totally unappetizing, I wasn't sure I was willing to try it.

Ms. Sellers placed the plate on the table in front of us, and Mr. Winitsky said to Will and me, "Ever had sashimi? It's quite good."

Will didn't hesitate for even a second. "Never had it," he said, "but it looks delicious." He stuck his fork into a piece of the raw fish and maneuvered it into his mouth. "Mmmm," he exclaimed, almost unbelievably believable.

I decided I had better follow suit. I stuck my fork into a piece and carefully raised it to my mouth, trying not to look as dubious as I felt and hoping I could pull off acting like I loved it—or at least that it wasn't completely unpalatable.

It was, in fact, quite palatable, so I thankfully had little trouble following Will's fine example.

The remainder of our short visit was devoted to discussing Metamorphos Man, while finishing off the sashimi. It turned out that Winitsky and Sellers were too busy at the moment producing Cuba and weren't in the market for a new project, but they invited us to stay in touch.

Metamorphos Man was ultimately shelved (due to a downturn in the economy, presumably), but our visit wasn't all for naught: I had overcome my fear of raw fish.

Dr. Peter's Principle...and mine

I remember my dad talking about something called the Peter Principle when I was a teenager. I don't remember the exact context of the conversation, but I think it had something to do with my dad's belief that he had been promoted to a job he felt unqualified for.

The Peter Principle states that, in a hierarchy, people tend to rise to their level of incompetence. A quick Google search on "the peter principle" yields about 250,000,000 results, many of which attest to the principle's veracity. I, too, can attest to it, having worked at a university for 31 years: on more than a few occasions, I've witnessed—and even directly suffered the consequences of—people being promoted beyond their level of competence.

According to Wikipedia, Dr. Laurence J. Peter "conducted the research that led to the formulation of the Peter Principle well before publishing his findings. He worked with Raymond Hull on a book that elucidated his observations about hierarchies. The principle is named for Peter because although Hull actually wrote the book, it is a summary of Peter's research." William Morrow and Company published The Peter Principle in 1969.

In the late 1970s, Peter published another, less academic book called Peter's People, which, according to its description on Amazon, "takes a close a [sic] humorous look at the wit and wisdom of his favorite people and gives them the full 'Peter Principle' treatment." Peter hired cartoonist Matt Wuerker, my friend and colleague at Will Vinton Productions, to illustrate the book. 

One day shortly after his book was released, Dr. Peter was in Portland (likely on a book tour), and Matt brought him to the studio for a tour. Peter was probably 60 at the time and looked older than his years. He was about six feet tall and dressed in slacks, dress shoes, and an overcoat. He didn't seem interested in shaking my hand, and I didn't force the issue. I thought he seemed antisocial—or maybe just worn down from all the traveling and speaking he no doubt had to do for each new book. 

Anyway, I was unimpressed, and I remember thinking, "If this guy can have a principle named after him, anyone can." 

Which I hereby dub the Cooper Principle.