It’s funny, I was born in Seattle and spent about half my childhood there (68-73, 74-77, 82-84) and during those years I never felt a single earthquake. I remember a couple of times my Dad asking me if I felt the quake last night, but (ah, blissful childhood) I slept like a rock in those days.
The first earthquake I ever felt was here in NYC in 85. My family was visiting cousins in Brooklyn and I had to sleep on the sofa. I wake up in the middle of the night, house shaking, tchochkes jumping around and I think, “Oh, must be a really big truck - must suck to have those going through your neighborhood.” The next day we found out it was a quake - I think somewhere around 4.2.
Now, after every major earthquake, the Times or New York magazine runs a what-if-it-happened-here? article. I’m always pleased to see that the ground underneath my building won’t liquefy (like Seattle and SF, much of Manhattan is built on fill - plus underground creeks criss-cross the whole island). And I’m sure that a masonry building constructed of (a) mid-19th century brick walls, (b) a 1970 glazed-brick facade, © 1970 rebuilt floors, so thin you can hear your upstairs neighbor sneeze (no joke! and I can hear my downstairs neighbor’s coughing fits), will be just fine.
I mean, having four floors of apartments crash down on you is fine, isn’t it?