by Anthony J. Marsella, Ph.D.
Crouching Under School Desks as Warning Sirens Blared
By the latter days of the WWII, fear of nuclear bomb attacks gripped our nation. For children in elementary school, the shrill blaring sound of a siren meant you were immediately to stop what you were doing and crouch beneath your heavy wooden desk.
As l learned more of the atomic bomb’s total destruction in Japan, I wondered how a desk would protect us? There was barely enough desk-top for coverage.
Was this the best our school, our city, our nation could offer for protection? Did they care? I believed neither I, nor any of my school mates, would survive. I was bewildered! Should we stand bravely and sing God Bless America? Was this assertion of courage better than hiding beneath a desk, cowering, awaiting death? Should I assume leadership for the class: “Get up from your knees, if we are to die, then let it be as brave children, not hunkered victims? We don’t kneel to foes! John Wayne never did!”
I awaited death for reasons I could not understand. We were told there was the possibility of another war. War! What do I have to do with war? I am just a kid living in a basement, trying to survive, caring for family and friends, hurting no one! I was confused, torn between passively awaiting death, and struggling for survival. Movies were socializing my mind! War movies, cowboy and Indian movies, cartoons imitating good and bad in life.
I reflectively complied with the teacher’s orders: “Get under your desk! Stay there until I tell you to leave.” Where did the teacher go? Did she hide under her big desk? That was protection!” Her desk was an old-fashioned wooden four pedestal teacher desk. I remember she turned it away from the windows. Did she take off her high heel shoes? No email or tweets at the time.
Was this a drill or the real thing? In the moment, we never knew. We relied on the teacher to tell us! What would she say? Some kids were frightened, I could see it on their faces.
I tried not to show any fear. My uncles, veterans of WWII, told me always be brave! Do not cry! That’s what a soldier would do. This was my foxhole. We stared at each other, smiles, fear, resignation on faces. Some classmates whispered: “Are we going to die?”
So be it! I would die with my buddies, and with some pretty girls dressed with ribbons and bows in their hair, crouching modestly protecting any stares at their panties from peaking boys who took advantage of the situation. “Hey, Patti has pink panties! I saw them when she crossed her legs.” Patti stuck her tongue out at Howard; Howard laughed!
The all-clear siren blared. We had survived the unimaginable. At least for the time. No annihilation!
1950s – 1960s New Wars, Threats, Villains, Words:
Childhood fears of war and nuclear annihilation were compounded when the end of WWII did not bring an end to war. Within years, the Korean War furthered my fears of injury and death.
“Where the hell is Korea?” New battle fields! New terms and villains: Communism, China, Russia, Stalin, North and South Korea. Does it ever end? These guys have atom bombs too; some American citizens gave them the plans. Who did that? The bastards!”
Mid 1940s’ war movies added to my fears. For ten cents, I could sit in the Union Square Theater all day: Back to Bataan, Wake Island, Guadalcanal Diary, Sands of Iwo Jima. John Wayne could not protect us! Neither could William Bendix, Lloyd Nolan, Richard Jaeckle, Henry Fonda, Errol Flynn, Randolf Scott, Anthony Quinn.
Screen images were burned in my mind. I watched bayoneting, shooting, flame throwers, bombs, machine guns, and dead bodies. “Jesus, a soldier shoved flame throwers into a cave and pill box filled with people!”
I recall a dream! A nightmare, returning today, usually prompted by some words or events I see on TV. My recurring dream:
The Chinese Communist soldiers are running down a hill toward our position, screaming, firing guns. There are endless numbers. We wait for commands to fire. We are afraid, and know we cannot win! I accept my fate! I look at my rifle. It’s my toy rifle, bought for me by my uncle in the 1940s. I have no weapon! I need a real rifle! How can I protect myself or others? I am going to die. I wake up sweating, breathless, afraid.