SOME PEOPLE point to a major difference between the earthquake in 1906 and the 50th anniversary of the Golden Gate Bridge on May 24, 1987.

The Bridgewalk was planned.

Perhaps this is an uncharitable view, since no one was killed on the Bridgewalk. And the only thing shaken was the people's faith in their government's competence.

Ten years ago, while trapped shoulder to shoulder in the mob, unable to move for more than two hours, I remember discussing with my wife the real possibility that we were about to participate in one of the 20th century's landmark disasters. A bridge collapse would have put to shame all those petty Third World bus and ferry tragedies you read about in the newspaper.

The fiasco began with the breakdown of the Municipal Railway's shuttle-bus system. (A Muni official later took some credit that things weren't even worse, saying,

"Imagine how bad it could have been if we had managed to transport everybody who wanted to go." )

But you really couldn't blame Muni. Organizers of this mess, "Friends of the Golden Gate Bridge" (made up of five members of the bridge district board of directors), hired a so-called expert who predicted that 80,000 people would show up. Instead, estimates ranged as high as 800,000 - more than the population of San Francisco.

We left our house near Lincoln Way at about 5 a.m. There already were small crowds of angry people on street corners cursing the lack of buses. We ran back for our car and drove as close to the bridge as we could. We had planned to meet friends at the South Tower. We never made it that far. The bridge already was packed.

Opening ceremonies never happened. The 450 volunteer marshals and a large force of police, promised by the bridge district, hadn't showed.

And at about 4:30 a.m., when the bridge was empty of cars, the impatient crowd, including those who had been waiting since the bars closed at 2 a.m., overwhelmed two public relations representatives and a handful of Highway Patrol officers. The same mad stampede was taking place on the Marin side. The two mobs collided in mid-span, where, to further complicate matters, stood a large reviewing stand.

At each end of the bridge, people continued to push their way on, increasing the pressure at the center. No one had thought to establish two open lanes going in opposite directions, or the need to maintain an emergency lane if anything went wrong.

Any notion that this event would resemble the leisurely stroll captured in photographs of the 1937 opening day celebration (when the bridge was closed for an entire day), was soon dispelled.

People with baby strollers and bicycles eyed each other nervously. Even knapsacks and picnic baskets were enough to cause resentments. Small children and dogs were picked up and embraced tightly.

The Golden Gate Bridge, all 419,00 tons of it, groaned and swayed like an old wooden plank thrown across a ditch. Frightened and seasick people vomited on their shoes.

Tens of thousands of latecomers jammed Doyle Drive but never got to the bridge itself. On the span, an estimated 300,000 people were packed together. Spectators in boats or planes could see that the graceful upward arch of the roadbed was flattened.

Bridge engineers said later there never was any problem, but I bet their hearts fluttered a little as they turned on their computers.

There were cheers as some people started to hurl bicycles over the railing. A stroller tumbled down and sank beneath the waves 220 feet below.

"Throw the baby, too," people yelled, laughing.

These were probably the bridge walkers trapped on the sidewalk of a roadbed 95 feet wide, with only a 4-foot railing between them and eternity.

To me, the most poignant scene was the high school band from Pottstown, Pa., invited to take part in the festivities because their city provided the steel that was used for the bridge's construction.

Soon after my wife and I got on the bridge, the band passed us at a jaunty clip, playing in formation as it headed for the reviewing stand. Later, we saw them fighting their way off the bridge, escorted by a cop and a few paramedics. One of the band members was being held aloft on a stretcher. A few of them were crying. Welcome to San Francisco.

The heroes in all this, of course, were the people of San Francisco and the Bay Area. They transcended the ineptitude of their leaders, who in the beginning were on display, smiling and waving to the crowd, etc., and then, when things got tense, were nowhere to be found.

No announcements. No encouragement or advice. No one to tell the crowd what was going on.

All I remember was the forlorn voice of Charlotte Mailliard, the anniversary events chairwoman, speaking from the toll plaza, saying over and over again, "Get off the bridge, please, you must get off the bridge."

In a truly dangerous situation, the crowd found wisdom and restraint. Everyone seemed to recognize the seriousness of things and that the unthinkable, which was on everybody's mind, could not be allowed to happen.

"Don't push," people called out. "Relax, calm down," others said. People endured and helped others to endure.

Sometimes it seems that San Francisco doesn't need leaders. Maybe that's why we elect the people we do.

Somehow we survive the unholy alliance of narcissists who run The City, the entrenched bureaucrats, multigenerational politicos, conniving lobbyists and consultants, silk-stocking progressives and dingy local celebrities and socialites.

And things probably will never change. I for one can't wait for the Golden Gate Bridge Centennial. What a crazy party that should be.

Examiner contributor Winston Montgomery is a longtime painting and plastering contractor in San Francisco.<