Air Raid Drills in Havana

Mr. Nikita Khrushchev and President John F. Kennedy certainly weren't friends before the missile placing. Every night, on the 6 o'clock news, there was a different story about the verbal battle between these two giants.

Then, one night, I started to think about death. Would it hurt? Was there really something on the other side? Would I know who I was? Would I still be me? These thoughts filled my head especially after listening to that evening's news. Khrushchev, with a clenched fist waved over his head proclaimed, "We will bury you!"

I was in the fifth grade when I learned the meaning of inter-continental ballistic missile from Sister Mary Catherine. Her soft, gentle words took away all the fear associated with the rockets. They were far away, and would not interfere with recess as usual. The issue was explained, interpreted, and shelved. That science lesson was over. So I thought at the time.

Only one day later, the insignificance of those missiles, the calming effect of her voice, our happy, little daily routines were uprooted by a most violent of storms. It was on that day that I learned those missiles in Cuba were only minutes away from my home. We had all seen the pictures of the A-bomb tests in Nevada, that complete annihilation. Then Japanese bombs and the leftover dust was all left. Now, I could suffer that same fate. Asleep, was my preferred time. I did not want to see that tremendous white flash and feel the flesh melt off my body, better to be sleeping. Then those drills began.

Air raid shelters signs were posted in school basements, on some granite building, libraries, and any other structures thought solid enough for our protection. I saw those tin, yellow signs. I saw that empowering symbol. But, I also saw pictures of Hiroshima after the bomb. Didn't they? There were no buildings. There were no yellow signs. There was only a pile of smoldering ash.

At school, almost every other day, we had an air raid drill. An exercise that told us that a bomb was on the way, so get ready. Get ready? Then my fear took control. It said to me that I was awake not asleep, and I should get prepared to melt away just like the 'Wicked Witch of the West'.

In that fifth grade classroom, we had very small desks that had folding seats attached. We were supposed to get under the desk and put a book over our head, then wait for that "All Clear" signal before returning to our seats. I remember the numerous times that I climbed down under those desks. It always seemed like an eternity. You'd just crouch down there, rolled up into a ball, and pray, waiting for that loud explosion just preceding the heat. Or, would it be so fast that you would not hear a thing, just be dead in an instant. The sweat poured off me; some kids wet their pants. All of us cried. This was Catholic education at its best, getting to know God, up close and personal. When it was over we were just supposed to pick up our books and go on with the lesson. Sure.