by Barry P.
I was an engineer at Lockheed from 1964
until 1985. In 1968 and 1969, I was transferred from Marietta to Burbank to
work on the L-1011. My boss was Gernot Hagganmacher, chief of the finite
element analysis section of the stress department. One morning, an earthquake
struck the area, and chairs and desks began to shake and move laterally across
the floor. Since our group was working in a temporary building fabricated out
of numerous house trailers bolted together, most people started heading for the
exits. Hagganmacher, a Swiss native who had lived in Southern California for 25
years, poked his head out of his office, looked around, and exclaimed "Ah, 3½ maybe," and was estimating
the Richter Scale number as "no problem." Hagganmacher went
back to work. "Do you think he knows
what he is talking about?" asked the engineer at the desk next to
mine. "Probably,” I replied. "I think I'll go out and get some fresh
air all the same."
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| Stress took on a new meaning that day in Southern California! |
