It’s Back Again: High Anxiety And Bunker Mentality It’s 1950s Déjà Vu All
Over again
by Cookie Curci
Today, amidst talks of war and fear of chemical attacks against the U. S.,
the hawking of fallout shelters, gas masks and protective paraphernalia has
become big business.
The sale of fallout shelters and fear of nuclear fallout isn’t anything new.
It reached its paranoiac peak in the 1950s, continued in the schizophrenic
‘60s and eased off in the self-satisfying 70s. With the end of the cold war
in the 1980s, it faded into peaceful slumber only to be awakened in the new
millennium with a vengeance.
Daily reports from America’s newly formed Homeland Security nourishes these
fears with bulletins warning of possible imminent attacks. The increased
fears of chemical warfare and/or a repeat of 9/11, has created an uneasy
atmosphere.
Some Americans, as their counterparts once did in the 1950s, are purchasing
peace of mind by installing fallout shelters. Witness the abundance of these
underground shelters now being hawked on the web. Just type in the keyword,
"bomb shelter" or "nuclear fallout" on your computer's search key and the
list of manufactures promoting state of the art shelters will fill your
computer screen. Granted, many of these shelters are sold as a safety havens
during a hurricane or tornado, but all of them mention the especially built
door that will sustain a "blast" of monumental proportions and seal out
poison chemicals. These company web sites will describe for you the many
different styles and types of shelters. They tell us of the ones that need to
be modified for deeper burial into the earth. How the entranceway must be
lengthened in order to offer blast protection (there's that word again). If
you have the mega bucks you can have your shelter custom made at the factory
to sustain high blast pressures. Pandering to our most basic fears, makers of
fallout shelters and other wartime protection paraphernalia sell hope to the
frightened citizen.
If all of this rhetoric sounds somewhat familiar then, like me, you were part
of America’s postwar "duck and cover" generation. Air raid warning sirens
and fears of nuclear holocaust were a part of my everyday life. All through
elementary school the sound of the air-raid warning practice sirens sent me
and my classmates ducking under our desks, coiled like springs with our
heads tucked under our folded arms, while we nervously awaited the all
clear wavering siren to sound. We had all seen newsreels of Hiroshima and the
devastation caused by the A-bomb and we wondered how our little wooden
school desks could possibly protect us from such holocaust.
But despite the cold war threat that hung over us in the 1950s and '60s,
Americans were buying houses and settling into suburbia in search of the good
life. Stressed-out urbanized citizens, who were worried about the bomb, were
also buying into ad campaigns that promised them a safe location for their
family in the event of nuclear war. Keeping up with the Jones’s took on a
whole new meaning in the 1950 and '60s; who could build the better bomb
shelter soon became the new status symbol. These bunkers served as silent
witness to a nation's ill ease. Ever sine 1952 when America began testing the
hydrogen bomb and Russia quickly followed; the technical war between the two
powers was launched. But when Russia came up with a design for a ballistic
missile capable of reaching international soil, America’s fears worsened.
Playing on a nation's fears, construction companies were quickly formed and
the ad campaign was soon underway. Thanks to Madison Avenue, the hawking of
bomb shelters soon reached national proportions. Ads for underground bomb
shelters could now be found among the pages of our favorite newspapers and
magazines.
As the 1950s Cold War between the U. S. and Russia intensified fear of the
bomb and anxiety over the prospects of a nuclear war began to weigh heavy on
the minds of the American public.
Media advertisements and Civil Defense documentaries, sanctioned by the U. S.
government, suggested that building bomb shelters was a viable way for
Americans to protect themselves during a nuclear attack. Capitalizing on
America's paranoia, construction companies jumped on the bandwagon and began
hawking the backyard bomb shelter. In every town across America the wailing
of air- raid sirens could be heard announcing another practice drill.
Duck-and-cover practice was routine in every American schoolhouse. The bomb
had become a familiar, albeit, unnerving part of our life.
Hollywood filmmakers, aware of the public's fear and fascination with atomic
energy, began producing films with nuclear war themes such as: Dr.
Strangelove, Or How I Stopped Worrying and Learned to Love the Bomb, The Last
Man On Earth, The Day the World Ended and The Atomic Kid.
Even though Americans were enjoying fun fads like hula-hoops, lava lamps,
Near jackets, go-carts and go-go boots, a doomsday mentality prevailed.
It was a somber President Kennedy who addressed the nation on Oct. 22, 1962.
Citizens already made nervous by the raging cold war listened as the
president told of the Soviet missile buildup in Cuba and how, in retaliation,
he had surrounded the island with American military power. In response, an
angry Nikita Khrushchev dispersed Soviet warships to Cuba. A military
showdown with the U. S. was imminent.
I remember that fateful night especially well because it was my 21st
birthday. Instead of celebrating, my family and friends sat mesmerized as
President Kennedy delivered his foreboding television address to the nation.
After his address we all sat in numbed silence. Was our greatest fear about
to be realized? Was nuclear war forthcoming? That night, my party guests
made a hasty exit for home to spend the next crucial hours with their
families, and to pray.
Like most of America, I stayed awake all that night listening to radio news
bulletins (TV signed off the air at 1 a.m. in those days). I hoped for the
best but feared the worst. As I listened, I lamented all night long over the
fact that my Dad hadn't built a bomb shelter for his family.
Somehow, through divine intervention or political compromise, by next morning
the crisis had passed, and Khrushchev agreed to withdraw his troops and
missiles from Cuba.
In 1963 a test-ban treaty was reached by world powers. By 1972 the U.S. and
USSR began holding Strategic Arms Limitation Talks (SALT). The two powers
agreed to limit antiballistic missiles and nuclear weapons.
The 1960s were a decade full of turmoil and unrest that saw our most popular
and charismatic leaders assassinated, and we Americans began to lose are
naivete.
I remember an antiwar poster from the 1960s that instructed US citizens on
what to do during a nuclear attack. As I recall, it went something like this:
"In case of nuclear blast, duck and cover your head, bend all the way over
and… kiss your assets goodbye! War and its casualties were nothing to joke
about in the 1960s, but the poster serves as a reminder of the futility of
nuclear war.
War and its battles have been with us since prehistoric man first ventured
out of his cave. But when the scientists of the 20th century gave birth to
the atomic and hydrogen bombs they took the stakes up a mighty notch. Not
until the cold war ended with the tearing down of the Berlin wall did
Americans begin to relax.
Every generation has had its fears. How we deal with them is up to the
individual. Our religious upbringing and whether or not we are fatalists have
a lot to do with how we handle these current and fearful unknowns.
Today, we have Homeland Security who’s spokesman advise us to keep a three
day supply of food on hand, a battery operated radio and duct tape to seal
our windows and doors in case of chemical attack. Living in California, with
the constant threat of earthquakes, I already have most of these items on
hand. Whether or not we feel the necessity to run out and buy a fallout
shelter or rolls of duct tape and plastic sheeting is, as it was in the
1950s, a personal choice. But this is a decision that can only be made when
the time comes to make it. As for myself, the fear of nuclear war doesn’t
inspire me to buy any of these protective devices, it does, however, make
me more mindful and appreciative of all those small everyday joys we
Americans are privileged to enjoy but often take for granted. I think
"Homeland Security" needs to do more than tell us to buy duct tape. It
needs to use the media to inform and educate Americans on the different types
of biological and chemical warfare that may be used against us and our best
course of action regarding each one.
For now, I’ll go on reading the ads for fallout shelters, listen to the
daily issued warnings and predictions while keeping in mind that my
generation went through a similar anxiety once before. I’ll also keep in
mind those prophetic words of the irrepressible Yogi Berra who said it best:
"It's just daja vu all over again!"
For over 14 years, Cookie Curci wrote a popular nostalgia column for The Willow Glen
Resident. (The Silicon Valley Metro Newspapers...San Jose califonia)
www.metroactive.com. She's currently writing a column called "Looking Back" that
appears monthly in FRA NOI - a Chicago based newspaper. In additon she writes for
"Mature Living" in Toledo, Ohio, "Senior News" in West Virginia and THE WILLOW GLEN TIMES in San Jose. More about Cookie is at On Writing a Nostalgia Column.... If you would like to comment on an article, Cookie can be reached at Cookiecurci@aol.com.
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