Nuclear Family

Hiding Places: Fallout in Bernalillo County

2014-09-10T09:55:00.002-07:00

If you spend any time in Downtown Albuquerque, you may have noticed this old shelter sign clinging to the bricks at 1st and Central. For that matter, if you spend any time in Albuquerque, you may very well have noticed a few of these old things around. They're uncommon (to borrow a D&D term), but not quite rare.

It signifies a hiding place.

Someday, according to old fears, there might be a white flash, a rolling fireball, a deafening rumble, and death.

Then what could you do? Not much. But maybe, just maybe, you could hide somewhere. Inside a thick-walled building or down in a concrete-lined basement, or perhaps in a shelter dug out in the backyard. Maybe it would help. Maybe you would live.

In 1968, which is a bit late by Cold War fear standards, the City of Albuquerque worked with the County Civil Defense Agency to create a map showing all accessible fallout shelter areas. Most of these were of the thick-walled building variety, but some had dedicated shelter space where the public could cram inside and wait out the fire.

Can you see your house from here?

If you were Downtown, well, it was a mixed bag. On the one hand, there are plenty of spots to choose from. On the other, whoever was dropping bombs on us would almost certain choose this location for Ground Zero. And like the old joke says, that's probably more of a "put your head between your legs and kiss your ass goodbye" kind of thing.

At UNM, you'd maybe be a bit better off. Lots of public shelters (though the ones with asterisks indicate that they're for the use of residents/employees only) and probably not a high-priority target. If you heard the sirens or even saw the flash, you could maybe get down to the basement of Coronado dorm (where I used to live) in time to avoid much direct harm. As always, though, coming out again is the real issue.

And here we are in my current neighborhood. Section C there, where I live, isn't looking too bad really. 1005, at Washington and Central, is in fact still standing (it's a bank with a subterranean shelter). 43 and 44, once department stores, are now antique shops. In fact, 43 still has the signs. And 47 is the orphaned sky scraper that used to house the Bank of the West. My maternal grandmother worked there in 1968. It's nice to know she would have had somewhere to go.

Ha. In Albuquerque?

Not a good bedtime story

2014-09-08T11:01:00.002-07:00

Traveling through the New Mexico twilight, I’m struck by the sudden timelessness. The highway is off to the east somewhere, the tracks push their way through the back-end of San Felipe pueblo land: coyote fences and hornos, buses from the 60s decaying in a torrent of weeds.

After a certain point, my fellow travelers put their cell phones away, no use for them between the towers on the llano. Even the wifi on the train is faulty, hardly worth the trouble. So the devices disappear and soft conversation fills the car.

It’s a good way to travel, when time is on one's mind.

A young man with a tie-dyed kerchief is talking too loud to a German couple and their three year old son in the next seat over. “Not a good day. My girlfriend broke up with me,” he says.

“Oh, how are you doing with that?” The German woman asks, formal and polite.

“I’m okay. I’ll be fine in like a day. I don’t hold on to worldly things. You can’t you know.”

A few minutes later, he announces, “I rode on a freight train once. It hit a cow and I was 14 cars back and still got sprayed by it. And then there was just shredded cow everywhere.”

The woman interjects abruptly, “I don’t think— I don’t think it’s quite what he needs to hear” she says, indicating her son. “It’s not a good bedtime story.”

Welcome

2014-09-06T11:20:00.000-07:00

As I work on my nonfiction/memoir on nuclear and family history, I encounter a lot of interesting facts and trivia that I'd like to share. This will be my place to do so. I hope you enjoy what you find here.