A recollection of Nuclear Urbanophobia, dedicated to Kim Jung-On.

In the fall of 1962, innocently engaged in events of childhood cold-war socialization, I sat on the porch of a friend's home helping him roll newspapers for his paper route. On the front page a map much like this:



I didn’t think much of it…my interest in newspapers was the comic strip Alley Oop.

But by early evening that map was being viewed and discussed, with some very real anxiety, by adults all over the country. Trusted news sources (as they were seen back then), were talking seriously about the imminent vulnerability of American cities to missiles based in Cuba.

Atomic bombs were not new to my life. Throughout the 1950’s as the cold-war progressed, nuclear testing was a regular thing, and there was a level of community concern. People talked about building fallout shelters, having supplies of food, first aid equipment. We were told not to eat snow, even snow that wasn't yellow.

No one talking was considered a 'moonbat', they were serious adults. People kids looked to in order to understand the world…our parents, our neighbors, our teachers, the face on the TV.

Schools, including mine had shiny yellow signs with black triangles mounted next to the entries. On the walls of the hallway the same sign with an arrow pointed to the basement cafeteria. My elementary school experience included ‘duck and cover’ exercises.

Back then it seemed we not only feared nuclear missiles, we expected them.

That map arrived. More than half the nation at risk. Adult conversations turned to things like what the target of such missles were and the radius of lethal effects from light, blast, and heat. It was eery, creepy and somewhat frightening talk, from people I considered heroic brave folks. People who Walter Cronkrite’s documentaries on “The Big Picture” had convinced me had previously saved the world except for little hazards that could be protected with ‘Prudential Insurance’.

It was talk of apocalypse. I had no understanding that apocalyp-tertainment is a deep part of culture.

There was talk about what the impact of bombs hitting Chicago or O’hare airport would mean to us out on the fringe of the ‘Chicago Viewing Area’. I don’t remember the details so well half a century later. Adult voices counseled that there was no reason to fear for us. We weren’t a target..CHICAGO was a target!

I remember (or I've rerun it in my mind so many times that I remember imagining as if it's a memory) sitting near the front windows of the living room looking east, thinking...someday next week the sky above the cornfield would flash blindingly bright, the ground would shake, and Chicago would be gone. Because Chicago, I was told, was the greatest city in the Midwest. To destroy America, Chicago, and my godparents who lived there, had to be incinerated. Castro and the Soviets were always aiming at our big cities.

Those October days passed, the front pages of the papers I helped roll up showed pictures of ships on blockade, and the talk died away. They emerged later as themes of our play often along with Godzilla and Rodan.

A couple of years later, the film Gone With The Wind, was winding down it’s 25th anniversary run. As part of enriching our educations with ‘culture’ my elementary school would make a trip into the ornate McVicker’s Theater with it’s three camera system and capacity to show 70 mm film.

Everyone was thrilled. I wasn’t. Chicago was a target and I KNEW IT!

The entire school, me and ALL my friends were going to be put in a bus like cattle and sent off to be slaughtered in THE BIGGEST TARGET IN THE MIDWEST!

I dreaded it. I refused to hand the mimeographed permission request to my parents. But my sister did.

And so I rode the bus into the target, past O’hare Airport, a target all of it's own…into the traffic of the city, off the interstate and into The Loop!!

We went right into the center of the bulls-eye! In awful traffic. How would anyone get out of that if there was an attack?

And I sat through that epic film, paying it no mind, "Frankly, I didn't really give a damn!" My attention stretched to hear beyond the noise of Atlanta burning, for any hint of an air-raid.

I was exhausted when the movie ended and begged time to go faster as the school bus made it’s way out of town in afternoon rush hour traffic. It took well over an hour. But, we made it out.

That phobia has receded, but never really gone away. Riding into Beijing from the airport a few years ago, the bus stopped at a toll booth. The SO interrupted my contemplation of the increased efficiency of the distributed effects of MRVs. “You seemed far away, what were you thinking?” I told her I was wondering if a warhead hit the Forbidden City if it would evaporate this tollbooth. She replied with some truth “That’s sick!”

Well, sort of. It does not leave me completely dysfunctional. I do not break out into sweat anymore. It's not stopped me from visiting many big cities including national capitals of cold war opponents. Cities that surely were targets for the Russians, the Chinese, and the US.

Before they are tourist memories, to me they are targets, and finding my hotel is an alignment with their bulls-eyes. Half a century later, the thought still crosses my mind… “Is THIS the day?” It hasn’t been.

YET.