DUCK AND COVER

I suppose I learned most of what I needed to know about living with the threat of nuclear annihilation when I was 10. We were living in Wayne's World at the time (Aurora, Illinois); and the Cold War was clearly heating up.

The horrors of World War II were all too fresh a memory, and a madman in the U.S. Senate kept insisting there was a Communist under nearly every bed in the nation.

So, it was hardly surprising that emergency drills were held in schools and elsewhere to prepare citizens for the possibility of an atomic attack.

But, even as a child, I realized that effort was futile.

St. Mary's was (like so many other Catholic grade schools of the period) an aging brick and timber structure, festooned throughout with wainscoting which had been varnished so many times over the years that even a hot breath could have ignited a conflagration.

I may not have known much about the physics of a nuclear blast, but I knew the building I was in wouldn't stand up to a really strong wind, let alone Armageddon. 

I knew that, should a missile hit anywhere within 100 miles of Wayne's World, we were toast!

Nevertheless, I played along and followed the routine like everybody else: duck and cover. 

And the space beneath my antique desk became familiar territory, even if I never believed that an inch of oak and a cast iron frame could keep me from being shredded in a nuclear blast.

It's hard to explain what goes through a child's head when confronted with the never-ending threat of instant obliteration. It's hard to explain, because those of us who've grown up with it are still trying to works out the answer for ourselves.

Today's kids may have to carry the burden of the fear of terrorism in their backpacks - but I doubt their nightmares (or daymares, for that matter) have the same cold inevitability as ours did.   


Now, it's true that today's kids would stage an uprising if forced to follow the sort of ridiculous procedures we did. And I congratulate them. But that doesn't mean they're any less at risk than we were. 

In fact, given that the planet's nuclear powers are still trying to arrange a proper disarmament (as well as a plan for weapons destruction that won't let terrorists get their hands on them), I'd say it's time some sort of alarm was sounded.

In Wayne's World of the 1950s, we had an air raid siren, located just two blocks from my house - but more than capable of reaching everybody in town with its ear-drum-splitting howl. 

For some folks, that horn became the most important (if most dreaded) piece of municipal equipment - and a device that needed regular testing.

So, every Tuesday afternoon at 4:30, they'd set it off. And that meant that every Tuesday afternoon at 4:30, people all over Aurora would wince and plug their ears and swear.  But I doubt that any of them ever bothered to stop what they were doing to duck and cover. 

How many of them spared so much as a thought for world crises or world wars or incoming missiles, we'll never know. All I can ever remember thinking was: "I hope the Russians never find out about this drill." 


Because it was obvious to me (even at that tender age) that all the Soviets would have to do was time their attack for Tuesday afternoon at 4:30; and they'd catch us with our pants down!

Of course, when it comes right down to it, I suppose that's as good a way as any to greet the end of everything. 


It makes more sense than duck and cover.