By Conni Manoli-Skocay, an archivist in Special Collections at the Concord Free Public Library. Resources for this article include Concord Town Reports, the Concord Journal, and materials in Special Collections.
Editor's Note: Be sure to read this issue's companion piece here, about Concord's modern-day effort to prepare for emergencies. Through the lens of history, some Civil Defense information may seem amusing. But there's nothing
amusing about a nuclear war, and there's nothing amusing about preparing for any potentially
devasting disaster. As we prepare now for new emergencies, let's hope that in another 50 years
we can look back in relief that our worst fears were not realized.
You know the drill: In case of a nuclear attack, get under your desk! Everyone over fifty has stories about civil defense drills in school, and almost everyone is aware of the familiar symbol -- yellow triangles in a black circle -- that indicates the location of a fallout shelter.
It's hard now to imagine the mood in the fifties and early sixties when the fear of a nuclear attack wasn't just a "duck and cover" joke, but a frightening possibility. During the cold war years, the threat of a nuclear attack hung over the country and the culture. It was a palpable fear that permeated the lives of Americans. In response to the possibility of an attack, Concord, like communities all over the country, established a Civil Defense Agency (CDA) in 1950, setting up headquarters in the state armory. The organization consisted of fire, police, medical, and communications divisions, with approximately 1,000 volunteers on board to make it all work. Funds were used for communications equipment and medical supplies.
For Concordians, the gravity of the global situation was brought home when the 1952 town report included a removable card instructing them in what to do in the event of an imminent enemy attack. The signal for a Red Alert was short blasts on the fire whistle for three minutes. If heard, everyone must "Keep Calm," because "Panic could be our biggest killer." After that, go inside the house, draw the blinds, keep a first aid kit handy, stay away from windows, keep a four-day supply of food and water, and read the pamphlet, Protection from Atomic Attack.
Descriptions of what would happen in the event of a nuclear explosion were sadly naïve -- or was the federal government trying to curtail the possibility of panic? Apparently, unless you were at ground zero, you probably wouldn't get more than a sunburn. "Clothing or anything thicker" would give protection from the scorching heat. Pamphlets provided precise instructions for building a family fallout shelter, while Town Meeting articles asked for a suspension of normal zoning regulations so people could have shelters in their backyards. Maps showed the path of nuclear fallout one hour, then twenty-four hours after detonation, driving home the point that even if you lived in a remote location, you were still at risk. Concord was anything but safe -- it was instead an immediate target because of its proximity to Hanscom Field.
Because it was equipped for a variety of emergencies, Concord's CDA put its services to use during hurricanes Carol and Edna in 1954, supplying radio communications and generators, and again during a hurricane the following year. In 1957, evacuation drills were conducted at each school and families were encouraged to conduct their own at home, just as they would fire drills. Civil Defense organized training for nurses and emergency personnel in disaster preparation and radiation detection. It's hard to imagine that the emergency evacuation plan -- in the event that there were several hours warning before the attack -- included shunting Concord residents down Route 2A to Acton, "our reception area," before reporting to the Civil Defense Aid Check Points for assignments to homes and buildings there.
In 1961, because of what CDA director Col. John E. Mutty called "deteriorated world conditions," more than 650 Concord residents attended a meeting to explore the construction of an adequate warning system, an underground CDA control center, and community fallout shelters. Survival preparedness remained the goal of the CDA, because, as Col. Mutty wrote, "radioactive fallout is still the greatest hazard man has ever faced."
Though the threat of a nuclear attack was like a dark cloud on the horizon throughout the fifties, the threat never felt as close as it did in the early sixties. The Berlin Wall Crisis of 1961 was followed the next year by the Cuban Missile Crisis. For thirteen days in October of 1962, the nation held its breath.
In response, there was a renewed urgency to establish fallout shelters. In 1963, Emerson Junior High, Peter Bulkeley, Xavier High School, Middlesex Mutual Fire Insurance Co., and the Rose Hawthorne School were officially designated as fallout shelters. Later Emerson Hospital, Concord Reformatory, and the Library were added. Each facility was stocked with food, water, medical supplies, and radiation monitoring devices. A school evacuation drill was held and three thousand children either walked or were bused home in forty-five minutes. Rich Stevenson, then a student at the Concord Carlisle High School, remembers the unusual walk home in the middle of the day.
By the mid-sixties, the threat of nuclear attack gradually began to wane. United States security would not feel as violated again until the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington on September 11, 2001. Concord's Civil Defense Agency continued to operate until 1997, having served the needs of the community for almost fifty years.
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