I lived this. Many readers will not have. The instruction was ridiculous, designed to lull children into thinking they would be protected if they followed a simple instruction: Duck and Cover.
Our teachers knew better, and among themselves edited the directive to reflect the truth, but tried not to say it in front of us. Later, of course, we all recalled hearing it, and laughed. What else could we do?
I was in high school during the Vietnam War protests, as well the assassinations of Martin Luther King, Jr. and Robert Kennedy. A nuclear holocaust felt unlikely, but the sight of so many young men sacrificing their lives, coming home maimed or in body bags triggered a new slogan, this time to the President: “Hey, hey, L.B.J, how many kids did you kill today?” It seemed no matter which side you were on, you were pained. Most of us knew someone who had been impacted by the conflict. Those of us who supported the protests felt each loss as surely as those who didn’t. It could have been our brother, or cousin, or classmate, or neighbor. Someone we loved. The fear was always present.
As seniors approaching graduation, there was talk of a prom. Theme? Date? Really? The student council put a vote to the graduating class, a necessary move since there were roughly 1,300 of us. It was supposed to be our big party. But no one was in the mood to celebrate. We voted against it.
There was nothing special or noble about our decision. Far from it. Rather, it was made because we were gripped by a powerful and invasive malaise, a thickening of the atmosphere. Most of us wanted to preserve the energies we had for studying, taking our exams, and preparing ourselves for the next steps in our lives.
I think, if I’d been old enough to understand the depth of the threat, beyond its initial destruction, during those early air raid drills, I would have succumbed to a similar malaise, felt the air growing dense. But I knew nothing about cold war, missiles, or men with colossal egos and a desire to dominate. I trusted that sanity would prevail.
And thankfully, it did.
But now I hear the alarm rising through the school again, the echoes of my teachers, long gone, telling us to file into the hall and crouch near each other, bury our faces in our knees….
And I remember their forced, bitter smiles.
©2017 All Rights Reserved
Deeply sad. People don’t seem to learn from History.
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So true. Sigh.
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Reblogged this on nbsmithblog…random digressions and musings and commented:
I grew up a few years beyond “Duck and Cover” but I certainly remember the nightmares produced by the Cuban Missile Crisis, and I don’t want others to go through this so I definitely wanted to share Barbara’s writing.
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Thank you, Nan! So kind of you!
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I don’t remember duck and cover, but I certainly remember Kennedy’s speech during the Cuban missile crisis and the nightmares it produced for way too many years (well, beyond the event). In fact, I finally let go of that nightmare not too long ago and only hope they won’t start again…for anyone especially my kids and grand-kids. Scary times…
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Very scary. I have the same hope as you, Nan, and am holding onto it tightly. 🙂
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Duck under the desk and civer your head with your hands! As if that would protect anyone from nuclear holocaust! Ridiculous!
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Exactly!
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Wow. Powerful memories and actions. I remember being younger, and being instructed in duck and cover, and practicing that activity instead of a fire drill once a month.
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Thanks, Michael. They were scary times. Sigh.
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Reblogged this on Jane Wilson.
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Many thanks, Jane, for all your support!
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