This mood of euphoria was dispelled quickly when they began to discuss the '72 earthquake.  The memory of it remains strong for chose who stay on here, even though it has been six years and the town has rebuilt itself well, Mr. Meysan's store being the first one completed.  But everyone lost someone dear to them, either family or friend--the line between almost indiscernible.

The devastation started a little before two-thirty in the morning on March 26, on a clear crisp night with the moon just past the full.  Those who were spending the night high in the Sierra said they heard the mountains cry out with low groans, as though in agony and protest.  Then the shaking began.

Those who were not pinned beneath rubble from the first jarring shake rushed outside and were witness to an avalanche of stone cascading down the eastern face of the Sierra.  So bright was the red flow of rock chat many thought they were witnessing a volcanic eruption, but it was just stone-on­stone collisions throwing off flaming trails of sparks.

Here in Lone Pine, the earthquake destruction happened quickly.  The awesome quaking power of nature held court for almost three minutes, and the number of life-altering events during that period of time was incredible.

Being adobe, most of the buildings in the town collapsed, the walls of the drug store so completely crumbled that its wooden roof ended up flat upon the ground; the Owens River was diverted by many yards when it shifted laterally fifteen to thirty feet along its course; some creeks disappeared underground while the earth below Diaz pond, created by a slow seep, opened up to become a lake; water from underground springs burst through the floor of cabins; and the Owens Lake bed near Swansea rose up with a roar of noise, creating a tidal wave chat drew the water back from the raised shore into a perpendicular wall of water on the far west side before it crashed down.  Later, the slag and rock pier at Fish Springs near Swansea had to be extended 200 feet to meet the newly created shoreline.

The whole nature of the valley changed in those three minutes, shifting by several feet the land to the east of town toward the north and that on the west of town southward.  Elevations along the foothills were altered from four to twelve feet and many large fissures opened up, including a twelve-mile long crack in the earth.

On the surrounding ranches, several oxen died for no apparent reason, while others were unfazed.  Elsewhere, a horse fell over backwards into a crack in the earth before the dirt fell in on him, the poor owner finding only four legs sticking straight up in the air.  Attorney Pat Reddy's office in Independence had all its books on the north side thrown to the floor while those on the south side were undisturbed.  And all this destruction created billowing clouds of dust that hovered over the valley for two days.

Independence was hard hit also, their adobe-lined buildings cracking or falling apart.  Although Camp Independence sustained considerable damage, Commandant Harry Egbert sent soldiers out to the towns to lend assistance.  Dr. White, the Post medic, did what he could to lend aid to the injured while Mrs. Kennedy worked to assist him, as did many of the women.  Miners from Cerro Gordo, where incredibly no damage occurred, came the day after with a collection of $800 and lumber to help the people rebuild.  Those miners with families here were especially eager to get down into town.

People tied rags over their faces to keep out the choking dust and simply did what they could.  Those that were physically capable moved rock and timber to reach those that were buried beneath, alive or dead.  Women hauled water from Lone Pine Creek, found anything they could to make bandages for the wounded, picked through rubble for food they could prepare to keep the rescuers going, calmed children, and held the grieving in their arms.

Sixty people died or were seriously injured, many crushed beneath falling adobe walls.  Those who survived and were left to grieve for those who did not, were often those who had changed their habits for some reason and were sleeping away from walls or beams that fell, or they were buried beneath a loved one who took the full brunt of the falling debris.  All the time they were trying to dig out, the ground beneath surprised them often with yet another violent shake, making it difficult to stand for any length of time.  The Fort Independence camp recorder noted 200 tremors between the major quake and five o'clock the next afternoon.  The April 6 edition of the Inyo Independent reported that the length of time between the shocks had finally increased and were now twelve to twenty hours apart.

Many could not afford a plot in the cemetery for their loved ones, and some who died had no one to claim their remains.  Still others felt it right to honor all the dead together in their common fate, so twenty-two of the twenty-seven dead were buried in a communal grave near the road northwest of town, on a little rise created by the quake.  The rest were buried in their own grave just east of the others.

Mr. and Mrs. Meysan were not spared.  Their eleven year old daughter Alice died that morning too.  As fate would have it, Mr. Meysan and Alice had just returned home from an aborted trip to have her eyes treated.  Deciding she was too homesick to finish the trip, Mr. Meysan brought her back.  It was the week before the quake.  They buried her in the area of the communal grave.