Leif Kopperud's story

Out of the navy and enrolled at Alaska Methodist University (now APU), 21 year old Leif Kopperud worked on his truck at his dad’s shop in downtown Palmer that fateful, sunny Good Friday. “We wanted to go party,” said Kopperud unabashedly. As the earth began to shake, he watched a trucker try to fill his gas tank, with one hand on the hose and the other on his truck. “What the (heck) is going on? he wondered.

“It was long!” exclaimed Kopperud. I watched the snow slide on Pioneer Peak.” He saw water slopping out of the Palmer water tower as it swayed from side to side. Then everything went absolutely quiet. The power went out. He headed down to the Glass Bar to get some beer; the place was a mess. The liquor had crashed from the shelves and spilled all over. Fortunately the beer cooler was intact. He picked out a couple of cases, but the cash register didn’t work, because it was electric. He visited Koslosky’s grocery. The place was a mess with foodstuffs all over the aisles. Kopperud said, laughingly, that locals reported seeing the town drunk drive straight as an arrow for the first time.

He picked up the power welder from the shop and went to Palmer City Hall to help. “I was probably more curious than helpful, which was always true for me,” admits Kopperud. Over the next couple days other damage became apparent. The rocker plates on the Knick Bridge had actually hopped around during the quake and flipped over. An 8” crack and drop on one section made the bridge impassable without some mechanism to span the gap. A huge hole appeared by Echo Lake.

When the Old Glenn reopened, Kopperud drove into Anchorage to help. He joined the Civil Defense team and worked at the 13-story McKay building, packing people’s belongings down the long flights of stairs, making trip after trip. “The totalness of it all was overwhelming,” reflected Kopperud. “When it comes to nature, you can’t change the channel.” He recalled the destruction of 4^th Avenue and the serious state of JCPenny.

“It was a different place and time then. We were barely a state, still a territory really. We were cut off. No one came to our rescue. We needed to deal with this on our own.” And then Kopperud noted, “The people were amazing. “

“Alaskans live life with all holds barred. Everyone that was here has an earthquake story. Alaskans love to tell you their bear story, their stuck in the snow stories. But this was a wakeup call. Now people anchor their water heaters, store extra supplies, and have a generator (if they didn’t then).”

Kopperud said there was a strong quake in 1941, which shook his log cabin. He related that he heard these earthquakes go in 25-year cycles. “I am 71,” said Kopperud, “a lifetime has gone by since then. It’s going to happen again; not if, when. We should fight complacency.”