Fallout

Fallout. You don't hear that word too often, if at all these days. The primary definition would be air that has been radioactively charged after a nuclear explosion. Fallout of this kind can eventually be deadly.

Then there is the metaphor "fallout," meaning the after-effects of something happening. Given this definition, it is a wonder we no longer seem to hear the word "fallout." Because something is always happening after something else happens. We are never without "fallout," even if we don't use the word.

Then there is the drill sergeant's command to "fallout," meaning to disperse from the formation. This command occurs after a period of time after "fall-in" has been uttered, and whatever is on the drill sergeant's mind has been accomplished.

What brings the word to mind is the passing away of the man who designed the signs that were everywhere during the beginning of the Cold War. These signs gave the population direction to a shelter where you were expected to go to survive a nuclear attack that produced the radioactive fallout.

These shelters, generally in the basements of apartment building, were to be stocked with water and food so that the occupants could survive what may be a prolonged period of time that needed to elapse before the air was considered safe to go out in again. The arrangement of the cinder blocks in these bomb shelters were expected to block the rays of radioactive air.

Personal bomb shelters were built in the basements of people's homes. At some point when all this was going on, it occurred to me to wonder where you were going to go to the bathroom. Apartment cellars did not have public toilets, and I don't really remember if the instructions for the construction of a personal bomb shelter showed you how to rig a toilet. Nothing like having the shit scared out of you with no where to shit.

Robert Blakeley, the individual who designed these FALLOUT SHELTER signs has passed away at 95. Mr. Blakeley designed the signs as part of his job as a civilian with the Army Corps of Engineers. As the years rolled on and the fears of nuclear attack subsided, the signs became relics of that Cold War era. No one seemed to take them down, so they rusted away at the edges on the walls they were attached to. A generation plus has grown up, likely nor knowing anything about what the signs meant. At least one sign did find its way into my garage workshop, next to the Civil Defense sign--a whole other story.

Robert McFadden's NYT obituary for Mr. Blakeley accurately captures the essence of the era--fear, and the resignation to what will be will be.  I remember a beat up sign in a Times Square dive that outlined the steps to take in the event of a nuclear attack. I don't remember the number of the last step but it was plain: "Grab your ass and kiss it good-bye."

As Mr. McFadden so rightly relates, there was the famous 'Twlight Zone' episode of neighbors demanding protection in the bomb shelter their neighbor built solely for his own family's use. The moral question of allowing others refuge when they didn't plan for the event the same way you did was raised. What would you do?

The 'duck and cover' drills school children performed where they ducked under their desks and faced away from the windows that were surely going to smash from the vibrations of the bomb. But one generation shouldn't think they had it worse than now. 'Duck and cover' drills have been replaced by 'active shooter' drills, something unheard of in the 50s. Mr. McFadden is a Cold War baby boomer, who can easily identify with the events of the era he is describing.

I remember the local newspaper in Queens, The Long Island Star Journal, that carried instructions for the building of your own bomb shelter. A series of editions laid out the steps. Since the home we lived in had a basement, I was nightly imploring my father to start work on building the bomb shelter. I can still see his passive reaction to my pleas. He was tired from work and likely well into his evening intake of scotch. For him, nothing needed to be done. Especially at that moment, which of course eventually stretched into all moments.

Mr. Blakeley's design was a take on the civil defense triangle, as well as the test pattern that your TV had when there was nothing being broadcast (imagine that today--TV shutting down!), or what would appear on your screen if there was an actual emergency.

There was another sign that hung from the outside of buildings that gave you direction that there was a public shelter where the arrow was pointing. Following the arrow would lead you to the hopefully well-stocked fallout shelter where you would await the "all clear," if it ever came.

All this blended into your everyday life. The shelters have so far never been needed, and the provisions have expired long ago and been taken away. As Mr. Blakeley commented after the height of the worries passed, "it's just like many of the other things that happen in life. It's just one of those routine things."

That was then, and now is now. Ooblah de, ooblah da, life goes on.

(An earlier post, also titled 'Fallout' appeared in 2013)

http://www.onofframp.blogspot.com