COLD WAR MANHOOD and the GENDERED DISCOURSE of US SURVIVAL, 1945-1960 a Dissertation S

Home , Civil defense siren, Fiorello La Guardia, Flesh and the Devil, Last Woman on Earth, Leo Hoegh, McClelland Barclay

NATIONAL INSECURITY IN THE NUCLEAR AGE: COLD WAR MANHOOD AND THE GENDERED DISCOURSE OF U.S. SURVIVAL, 1945-1960

A dissertation submitted to Kent State University in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy

Melissa A. Steinmetz

August, 2014

Dissertation written by Melissa A. Steinmetz B.A., Oberlin College, 1994 M.A., University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1998 Ph.D., Kent State University, 2014

Approved by

Dr. Mary Ann Heiss, Chair, Doctoral Dissertation Committee Dr. Elizabeth Smith-Pryor, Member, Doctoral Dissertation Committee Dr. Walter Hixson, Member, Doctoral Dissertation Committee Dr. David Trebing, Member, Doctoral Dissertation Committee Dr. Patricia Dunmire, Member Doctoral Dissertation Committee

Accepted by

Dr. Kenneth Bindas, Chair, Department of History Dr. James Blank, Dean, College of Arts and Sciences

TABLE OF CONTENTS

LIST OF FIGURES .……………………………………………………….………....….iv

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS ………………………...…………………………………….vii

CHAPTER I. Introduction ……………………………………………………..………..1

II. Origins of United States Civil Defense ……………………………...….19 World War I ………………………………………………….…..22 World War II …………………………………………………….29 A Hero Stays Home: World War II Civil Defense in It’s a Wonderful Life …………………………………………………...48 The “Situation” in Korea ………………………………………...57

III. “These are lovely leashes, aren’t they?” Momism, Civil Defense, and the Pursuit of Security …………………………...……………..……….80 Civil Defense in the “Age of Anxiety”: An Overview …………118

IV. Selling Civil Defense ……………...…………………………………....138 Drilling for Survival: Operation Alert …………………………..171

V. Imagining the Inconceivable: Fictional Narratives of Nuclear Apocalypse ……………………...……………………………………...183 Fertility and Fatherhood in Mr. Adam ………………………….208 Civil Defense, Fertility, and Motherhood in Tomorrow! ………216 “Four men . . . alone with the last woman on Earth” …………...223 Race and Masculinity in The World, the Flesh and the Devil ...... 235

VI. Conclusion ………………………...……………………………………263

VII. Epilogue …………..……………………………….………………...... 275

BIBLIOGRAPHY ……………………………………………………………...………306 iii

LIST OF FIGURES

2.1 It’s Up to You—Protect the Nation’s Honor, Enlist Now ………………………..25

2.2 Man the Guns, Join the Navy …………………………………………………….31

2.3 They’ve got the guts—Give ‘em more firepower ………………………………..32

2.4 Jenny on the job: eats man size meals ………………………………………...... 34

2.5 “President Decorates Harry Bailey” ……………………………………………..54

2.6 He Serves, Too—Join the Civilian Defense! ...... 57

2.7 “Somethin’ tells me, Sam, you don’t love me quite – so much” ………………….68

3.1 Walter Mitty with Gertrude and Queenie ………………………………...…...... 89

3.2 State Fair: Boy Scouts Promoting Civil Defense …..……………………...... ….112

3.3 Kidde Kokoon H-Bomb Hideaway ……………………………………………..122

3.4 Housewives Needed: Operation Skywatch …...... …………………...………….137

4.1 “If We are Bombed: A Handbook for YOUR PROTECTION” ………………...158

5.1 Nose Art: “Wanda” ……………………………………………………………..203

5.2 Physicist Signing “Fat Man” …………………………………………………....204

5.3 Miss Atomic Bomb, 1957 ……………………………………………………....205

5.4 Mr. Adam ………………...…………………………………………….……….208

5.5 Tomorrow! ...... 216

5.6 “Michael” (Five) ………………………………………………………………..225

5.7 “Atomic Suds” (Five) …………………………………………………………..226

5.8 “Charles” and “Michael” (Five) ………………………………………………...228

5.9 Death in the City (Five) ……………………………………………...………….232

5.10 “Michael” and “Roseanne” (Five) ……………………………………………...233

5.11 “Ralph” with wagon (The World, the Flesh and the Devil) ……………………..237

5.12 “Ralph” serving “Sarah” (WFD) ………………………………………………..240

5.13 “Ralph” vs. “Ben” (WFD) ………………………………………………………247

5.14 Statue of Atlas in front of Rockefeller Center, New York ………………………251

5.15 Examples of Atlas missile series ……………………………………………...... 252

5.16 “It Looks Darling!” ………………….…………………...……………………..257

6.1 “West Coast Gets Ready” ………………………………………………………271

7.1 “This is How You Can Protect Yourself” ………………………………………277

7.2 “Herman the Hermit Crab” ……………………………………………………..281

7.3 “Am I at Risk?” …………………………………………………………………282

7.4 Doomsday Preppers .…………………………………...…………....….….…..287

7.5 “Primitive Survival Rating” …………………………………………………….290

7.6 Survivalist Mom ………………………………………………………………..292

7.7 Modern Walter Mitty …………………………………………………………...294

7.8 Mitty the Explorer …...………………..………………………………………..296

7.9 Obama vs. Putin I ……………………………………………………………….299 v

7.10 “Putin actually reminds me . . . of my mother” ………………………………….300

7.11 Obama vs. Putin II ……………………………………………………………...301

7.12 Noah ……………………………………………………………………………304

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

It takes a village to write a dissertation.

First, thanks to Cathy Rokicky for mentoring me during my first year teaching at

Cuyahoga Community College years ago. Her suggestion that I apply to Kent’s doctoral program started me on this path, and I will be forever grateful.

I am also indebted to my first husband and dear friend, Carsten Bösmann, who has been an enthusiastic supporter of me and my work throughout my long career as a graduate student. His parents, Helmut and Moni, also supplied cheerful foreign language tutelage across many seasons; they not only invited me to take German lessons in

Hamburg, but provided an abundance of Jever, delicious food, and warm conversation in their beautiful Lüneburg home.

During the long process of researching and writing the dissertation, Uncle Dan never tired of watching my daughter, Molly, so that I could focus on work, and Aunt

Celeste provided comfort—and food—on more occasions than I can count.

Discussing history and life with my fellow graduate students at Kent, whether in

Bowman 205 or at Ray’s downtown, helped me to sharpen my intellectual focus and to laugh when humor was sorely needed. In this regard, thanks especially to Matt Phillips,

Erika Briesacher, and Nathan Fry.

vii

The members of my dissertation committee were generous with their time and gracious in their criticisms; they made me question my assumptions and clarify my thoughts, and I deeply appreciate their insights. My advisor, Ann Heiss, has been nothing short of heroic—I admire her intellectually, professionally, and personally. I feel honored to have been able to work under her guidance, and my gratitude for her commitment to seeing this project to completion is something I do not have adequate words to express.

Thanks to my husband, P.J., for incredible patience, good humor, and encouragement throughout this process. I am glad that he has not become entirely domesticated as a result. I am also grateful to Molly for her cheerful pep talks as well as her complete faith in my ability to write this dissertation. When I was young, my father encouraged me to ask questions and listened to my thoughts with respect and interest—as a result, I believed that my ideas had merit. I hope that after reading this, he agrees.

Last, I want to thank my mother, Ann. In the 1980s, she showed me the importance of loving one’s career. She demonstrated that women could be college professors, and that it was possible to write a dissertation while caring for a husband and young daughter. (In the “Acknowledgments” section of her dissertation, she thanked Dad and me for putting up with “far too many hamburgers.”) Although she has been gone for over twelve years, I miss my mother every day. This work is dedicated to her.

viii

CHAPTER I

Introduction

The use of atomic weapons against Japan in August 1945 ushered in a new age— not only in the context of international relations, but within U.S. popular culture as well.

While Americans rejoiced that World War II had at last come to an end, the technological innovations that secured Allied victory also laid the groundwork for unprecedented anxiety. Suddenly, the destruction of the world through nuclear annihilation became a practical possibility rather than simply fodder for science fiction novels. Negotiating this unfamiliar terrain, American policymakers, military leaders, and ordinary citizens debated strategies surrounding civil defense and national security, often utilizing gendered language and reproductive metaphors that reflected concerns about American masculinity. Popular films and novels of the era also imagined a variety of post- apocalyptic American societies if a worst-case scenario should ever be realized. In both political discourse and popular culture, Americans asked similar questions: Would it be possible to survive a nuclear war? What should men and women do to protect themselves—if anything? Would federal attempts to prepare the nation for nuclear attack

2 serve as a public acknowledgment of U.S. vulnerability? And in the event of nuclear annihilation, who might be left to repopulate America? This dissertation examines how the discourse of American survival reflected gendered constructions of Cold War national identity.

In the last thirty years, historians of U.S. foreign relations have broadened their scope to examine relationships between America’s cultural landscape and U.S. political, military, and diplomatic initiatives. Michael Hunt’s Ideology and U.S. Foreign Policy articulated the importance of understanding how ideological constructions—dependent upon frameworks of race and gender—function to reduce complexities to the understandable and familiar.1 In addition, historians such as Emily Rosenberg, Kristin

Hoganson, and Amy Kaplan have explored what Amy Greenberg refers to as the

“mutually constitutive nature of gender and American foreign relations.”2

Recently, Cold War historians have complicated traditional understandings of

“cause” and “effect” by utilizing cultural analysis to illuminate relations of power embedded within political discourse and popular culture. Historians such as Paul Boyer,

Allan Winkler, and Stephen Whitfield have examined Cold War films, novels, and children’s toys to show how Americans internalized the presence of the bomb in their

1 Michael Hunt, Ideology and U.S. Foreign Policy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1987). 2 Amy Greenberg, Manifest Manhood and the Antebellum American Empire (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 147. See also Emily Rosenberg, “'Foreign Affairs' After World War II: Connecting Sexual and International Politics," Diplomatic History 18 (winter l994): 59-70; Kristin Hoganson, Fighting for American Manhood: How Gender Politics Provoked the Spanish-American and Philippine-American Wars (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998); and Amy Kaplan, The Anarchy of Empire in the Making of U.S. Culture (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002).

3 daily lives.3 In her groundbreaking work, Homeward Bound, Elaine Tyler May effectively linked Cold War containment with domestic ideology, “locating the family within the larger political culture, not outside it.”4 Alan Nadel analyzed popular films and magazines such as Lady and the Tramp and Playboy guided by May’s interpretation of sexual containment, while Margot Henriksen also traced “the continuing cultural discourse and change that accompanied the bomb’s emplacement within American society.”5

Historians have also begun to pay closer attention to constructions of Cold War masculinity within American political culture. Robert Dean has argued that “the politics of gender and sexuality played a central part in political contests for position and power among governing elites”6 during the Kennedy administration, while K. A. Cuordileone suggests that “[b]allsiness was the essential quality of the New Frontiersmen.”7

Studies of gender and Cold War culture, however, have not adequately linked fears of nuclear annihilation with concerns regarding middle-class American masculinity.

3 See Paul Boyer, By the Bomb’s Early Light: American Thought and Culture at the Dawn of the Atomic Age (New York: Pantheon, 1985); Allan M. Winkler, Life Under a Cloud: American Anxiety about the Atom (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993); and Stephen J. Whitfield, The Culture of the Cold War (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1991). 4 Elaine Tyler May, Homeward Bound: American Families in the Cold War Era (New York: BasicBooks, 1988), 10. 5 See Alan Nadel, Containment Culture: American Narratives, Postmodernism, and the Atomic Age (Durham: Duke University Press, 1995) and Margot Henriksen, Dr. Strangelove’s America: Society and Culture in the Atomic Age (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1997), xviii. 6 Robert Dean, Imperial Brotherhood: Gender and the Making of Cold War Foreign Policy (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 2001), 164. 7 K. A. Cuordileone, Manhood and American Political Culture in the Cold War (New York: Routledge, 2005), 201.

As Geoffrey S. Smith suggests, few “diplomatic historians have sought to make explicit the gendered subtext underlining attitudes toward national security, . . . the perceived

Soviet menace, and the need to preserve and project American power generally.”8 Kaplan suggests that discussions of culture have “been excluded from foreign policy on grounds traditionally associated with the ‘feminine.’. . . the popular press is a form of hysteria; public opinion involves a capacity for manipulation.”9 Yet political analyses may be enriched by examining texts that fall under the potentially pejorative label of “popular culture.” For example, Elaine Tyler May suggests that discursive analysis “can be employed to look at nuclear war films, from Failsafe to Dr. Strangelove. . . . But there has yet to be a full-scale study of the nuclear arms race that rests heavily on cultural history.”10

Furthermore, anxieties regarding the potential effects of nuclear radiation on male fertility and sexual performance have not been examined in light of American expectations of middle-class white masculinity. Both civil defense discourse and fictionalized representations of post-apocalyptic society addressed these issues, and analyzing the language of these discussions provides a way to understand the deeply

8 Geoffrey Smith, “Commentary: Security, Gender, and the Historical Process,” Diplomatic History 18 (winter l994): 86. 9 Amy Kaplan, “Domesticating Foreign Policy,” Diplomatic History 18 (winter l994): 99. 10 Elaine Tyler May, “Commentary: Ideology and Foreign Policy: Culture and Gender in Diplomatic History,” Diplomatic History 18 (winter l994): 75.

5 gendered roots of Cold War nuclear fears. As Frank Costigliola has argued, “Language is a coded, and often loaded, system of meaning.”11

This dissertation utilizes Costigliola’s insights as well as Carol Cohn’s argument that binary oppositions provide a powerful, and often subconscious, framework for comprehending culture. She argues that such dichotomies are not inherently “natural” but reflect certain traits the dominant society assigns as masculine or feminine.

According to Cohn, human traits are “divided into pairs of polar opposites that are supposedly mutually exclusive: mind is opposed to body; culture to nature; thought to feeling; logic to intuition; objectivity to subjectivity; aggression to passivity; confrontation to accommodation; . . . public to private; political to personal.” She points out that in each example, the first term is linked to “maleness” (the second being associated with “femaleness”), and is usually appreciated more by society than the second.12 Of course, masculine and feminine assignments are not inherently stable. As

11 Frank Costigliola, “The Nuclear Family: Tropes of Gender and Pathology in the Western Alliance,” Diplomatic History 21 (spring 1997): 164. For other examples of discourse analyses focusing on gender, see idem, “‘Unceasing Pressure for Penetration’: Gender, Pathology, and Emotion in George Kennan’s Formation of the Cold War,” Journal of American History 83 (March 1997): 1309-1339; and Robert D. Dean, “Masculinity as Ideology: John F. Kennedy and the Domestic Politics of Foreign Policy,” Diplomatic History 22 (winter 1998): 29-62. For an analysis of gendered images and American-Israeli relations, see Michele Mart, “Tough Guys and American Cold War Policy: Images of Israel, 1948-1960,” Diplomatic History 20 (summer 1996): 357-380. For the usefulness of gender as an approach to foreign relations, see Mary Ann Heiss, “Real Men Don’t Wear Pajamas: Anglo-American Cultural Perceptions of Mohammed Mossadeq and the Iranian Nationalization Dispute,” in Empire and Revolution: The United States and the Third World since 1945, eds. Peter L. Hahn and Mary Ann Heiss (Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 2001), 178-191; and Kristin Hoganson, “What’s Gender Got to Do with It? Gender History as Foreign Relations History,” in Explaining the History of American Foreign Relations, eds. Michael J. Hogan and Thomas G. Paterson (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), 304-322. 12 Carol Cohn, “Wars, Wimps, and Women,” in Gendering War Talk, eds. Miriam Cooke and Angela Woollacott (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993), 229. Men and women have been “assigned” separate values for centuries; the root of the word “hysteria” comes from “womb.” For a

Costigliola suggests, “the governing logic or pattern of gendered metaphors is not that a person, nation, or policy is always masculine or always feminine. Rather, writers or speakers generally code as masculine that which they understand to be positive, and they generally code as feminine that which they understand to be negative.”13

Cultural commentators noted the development of binary language during the

1950s. Cuordileone discusses the importance of the “hard/soft” dichotomy in Cold War political debate, referring to sociologist Daniel Bell’s assessments in 1955: “presumably one is ‘soft’ if one insists that the danger from domestic Communists is small”; one is considered “hard” if he maintains that “no distinction can be made between international and domestic Communism. . . . The only issue is whether one is ‘hard’ or ‘soft.’”14

Cuordileone suggests that the early Cold War years marked a time of tension regarding

American masculinity—while “hard masculine toughness” was valued, anything else was

“soft and feminine and, as such, a real or potential threat to the security of the nation.”15

discussion of the links between women and madness, see Elaine Showalter, The Female Malady: Women, Madness, and English Culture, 1830-1980 (New York: Pantheon, 1985). 13 Frank Costigliola, “The Nuclear Family: Tropes of Gender and Pathology in the Western Alliance,” Diplomatic History 21 (spring 1997): 168. This may explain why society deems it more acceptable for a girl to be a “tom-boy” than for a boy to engage in traditionally “girlish” behavior (playing with Barbie dolls, for example). 14 Quoted in K. A. Cuordileone, “‘Politics in an Age of Anxiety’: Cold War Political Culture and the Crisis in American Masculinity, 1949-1960,” Journal of American History 87 (September 2000): 515. 15 Ibid., 516. Cuordileone goes on to discuss gendered narratives found in Arthur M. Schlesinger’s 1949 book, The Vital Center, including a description of his historical analysis of American conservatives who had “degenerated into ‘terrified,’ hysteria-prone capitalists who developed ‘delirium tremens’ at the prospect of even moderate social reform and hid in the ‘womblike comfort’ of tariffs and monopolies” (517). Joe McCarthy was also fond of gendered language, criticizing “dilettante diplomats” and Democrats who “cringed,” “whined,” and “whimpered” as “prancing mimics of the Moscow party line.” He told reporters, “If you want to be against McCarthy, boys, you’ve got to be either a Communist or a cocksucker” (521).

As Cuordileone suggests, masculinity was a crucial factor in debates over national security during the 1950s. When Americans argued over the implications of hiding underground or “running to the hills” in the face of an attack, as they disagreed about the efficacy of “active” versus “passive” defense measures, they reflected and shaped the slippery terrain of gendered Cold War discourse. This dissertation analyzes the language of such debates; it also looks to fictional narratives of the period to examine how “the nuclear apocalyptic of this era corresponds to what Richard Slotkin has called ‘the myth of regeneration through violence . . . the structuring metaphor of the American experience.’”16

While scholars from various interdisciplinary backgrounds have pondered the purpose of civil defense specifically—and why civil defense never took hold in American households—there has not been a thorough study thus far of the gendered language of civil defense debates and the effect such language had upon the popular perception of civil defense strategies. But because the work of these scholars has, almost without exception, alluded to the importance of gender as a national security construct, it may be helpful to examine how they have explored that aspect of nuclear age anxieties within the broader context of their work.

Sociologist Guy Oakes analyzes the history of Cold War civil defense in The

Imaginary War and concludes that “[t]he real objective of civil defense . . . was not to

16 Kenneth D. Rose, One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter in American Culture (New York: New York University Press, 2001), 76. See Richard Slotkin, Regeneration Through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Middletown, CT: Wesleyan University Press, 1973).

8 protect the public in a nuclear attack. . . . Rather, civil defense would forestall such an attack by creating a popular tolerance for deterrence.”17 He describes procedures of

“emotion management” encouraged by civil defense officials and suggests that planners asked Americans to channel nuclear anxieties into civil defense activities as a means of controlling their political behavior; in this way, citizens would be distracted from the potential of apocalypse, “inoculated” against panic, and unlikely to challenge federal policies that might lead to nuclear war. Oakes, however, may give FCDA officials credit for more political sophistication than perhaps they deserved. While civil defense planners were expected to work in the interest of the administrations that hired them, their conclusions did not always match up with presidential hopes. And before Americans could be trained to accept deterrence, FCDA officials had to find a way to communicate with the public effectively, something they tried repeatedly but rarely succeeded in doing.

In the course of his discussion, Oakes alludes to—but does not analyze in depth— gendered conceptualizations of defense. In fact, he occasionally uses gendered language himself that mimics the language of the era without highlighting the importance of this language as a site of contestation of Cold War values. For example, Oakes writes about several government officials’ mid-century fears that the citizenry was unprepared to face the nuclear realities of the postwar era; in the context of atomic diplomacy, they suggested that a “newer and softer breed of American” might be “incapable of meeting

17 Ibid., 7.

9 the harder and more exacting standards” of the American tradition.18 In contrast, Oakes describes the belief of civil defense advocates that “the discipline of civil defense would cultivate the toughness . . . needed to meet the demands of the Cold War,” but he does not explore the gendered imagery at work here.19 Perhaps the closest Oakes comes to addressing the implicitly gendered threads of these narratives is when he describes how civil defense officials in the film Operation Alert communicate their hope to avoid a

“knockdown blow” becoming a “knockout blow”: “Preparing for a nuclear attack, it seems, is comparable to preparing for an athletic contest, perhaps a boxing match.”20 He notes the use of “muscular rhetoric” in the film but does not identify how or why such rhetoric might have been used. Finally, Oakes asserts that the “dominant view” in FCDA treatments of family defense practices “held that there were no important gender distinctions relevant to civil defense,” a conclusion that overlooks the inherent contradictions and unstable gender dynamics of FCDA conceptualizations of family defense.21

Laura McEnaney challenges Oakes’ perspective in Civil Defense Begins at Home.

She deftly shows how civil defense militarized the home, but significantly, she also demonstrates how the centrality of the nuclear family to civil defense propaganda feminized civil defense, arguing that the “definition of civil defense as home protection

18 Ibid., 28. 19 Ibid., 34. 20 Ibid., 99. 21 Ibid., 141.

10 and welfare provision feminized preparedness, making it one of the only Cold War defense programs hospitable to women’s participation.”22 She rightly notes, however, that women’s very involvement in civil defense was a source of worry to FCDA planners, because the “gender ideologies undergirding the quest for total preparedness—in both the military and civilian realms—valorized masculine military prowess as a counterpoint to feminine weakness.”23 While McEnaney argues successfully for the feminization of civil defense, this dissertation demonstrates that furthermore, the identification of civil defense with femininity was one of the main reasons it failed to capture the American imagination. In contrast to the strong and masculine “active” military—while simultaneously dependent upon military failure in order to have a reason to exist in the first place—the feminized “passive” defense effort struggled to present itself in ways palatable to Americans’ sense of Cold War national security.

Kenneth D. Rose provides a very useful guide to understanding the metaphors of

Cold War civil defense in his work, One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter in

American Culture. He traces the development of the FCDA, explores the various strategies advocated by civil defense planners (such as evacuation and shelter construction), and agrees with McEnaney that “[c]ivil defense during the 1950s and

1960s would be ‘feminized’ to the extent that links would be suggested between a woman’s home and her fallout shelter, and between her domestic responsibilities and

22 Laura McEnaney, Civil Defense Begins at Home: Militarization Meets Everyday Life in the Fifties (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2000), 89. 23 Ibid., 116, 122.

11 civil defense preparedness.”24 In addition, Rose describes the emergence of what he calls the “nuclear apocalyptic,” or fiction reflecting a sense in the post-WWII era that with the advent of the atomic bomb, scientists may finally have brought humanity close to extinction—bringing with it the potential, for some authors, of a sexual breakdown of society.

Yet while Rose addresses some of the gendered aspects of civil defense language and apocalyptic fiction during this era, his analysis is rooted elsewhere. For example,

Rose argues that “shelterists” failed to convince Americans to take up protective building due to “the troubling moral aspects of shelters,” a seemingly broad category in which gender is inherently present, but remains relatively underexplored.25 He also poses a question that was on the minds of many Americans during this period—“In order to

‘preserve’ the United States, would its citizens have to burrow in the earth like moles?”— and yet he does not proceed to tease out the gendered implications of such a question.26

In other areas, Rose comes tantalizingly close to tying gendered language with national security priorities, asserting, for example, that “sex appeal seemingly played a role . . . in producing generous funding for the ‘active’ Strategic Air Command, and little or no funding for ‘passive’ defense systems such as fallout shelters.”27 While this idea clearly has merit, the gendered foundations of this concept are not developed further in his work.

24 Kenneth D. Rose, One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter in American Culture (New York: New York University Press, 2001), 141. 25 Ibid., 10. 26 Ibid. 27 Ibid., 204.

In contrast to One Nation Underground, this dissertation places gender at the center of the civil defense tug-of-war between FCDA planners and American citizens, and demonstrates how popular anxieties regarding postwar American masculinity became conflated with concerns over the “toughness”—or “weakness”—of certain civil defense strategies.

Like Oakes, Dee Garrison in Bracing for Armageddon suggests that “civil defense propaganda . . . emerged as a focused attempt to legitimize the policy of deterrence.”28

She also notes—as do McEnaney and Rose—that federal funding “would be saved for weapons production, or ‘active’ defense, rather than for protection against civilian loss, or ‘passive’ defense.”29 Garrison recognizes that the feminization of civil defense (that

McEnaney explores so effectively) “ensured the low status of the effort, thus increasing public skepticism and derision of the program,” an important and often overlooked aspect that this dissertation argues was crucial to the failure of civil defense to find widespread acceptance.30 However, while McEnaney argues that women’s rejection of civil defense did not constitute “a widespread maternalist pacifism or . . . some sort of ‘pre-political’ pacifist expression that would later manifest itself in more organized ways,”31 Garrison locates women squarely at the center of “the anti-civil defense movement,” which, she argues, “so expanded popular sovereignty that societal opposition to preparation for

28 Dee Garrison, Bracing for Armageddon: Why Civil Defense Never Worked (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 36. 29 Ibid., 35. 30 Ibid. 31 McEnaney, 120.

13 possible nuclear war began to threaten the basic doctrines of American nuclear strategy.”32 This opposition, she argues, fueled by anti-civil defense women activists, led directly to the antiwar demonstrations of the 1960s.33 Perhaps because Garrison attributes the failure of civil defense to such activist opposition, she does not focus explicitly on the failure of FCDA narratives to masculinize—and thereby render important, relevant, and crucial to national security—civil defense programs.

Finally, Tracy C. Davis addresses the performative aspects of civil defense in

Stages of Emergency. Emphasizing theatrical parallels in the practice of civil defense drills such as the annual “Operation Alert,” she finds that “while the ideas of civil defense got through to many Americans, civil defense in an organizational sense was largely ignored.”34 She briefly discusses the gendered nature of defense performances; for example, she argues that within civil defense, “[m]ale adherents could heroically battle an enemy, embody chauvinistic strength, and fight their personal battle against Communism and the infidel,” while “[f]emale adherents could offer comparable gender stereotyped behavior, including maternal reassurance, caregiving, and submission.”35 Davis focuses more closely on the “rehearsals” of civil defense than upon the gendered narratives used by civil defense advocates to try to create support and enthusiasm for their programs, leaving themes like gender and national security relatively unexplored.

32 Garrison, 10. 33 Ibid., 12. 34 Tracy C. Davis, Stages of Emergency: Cold War Nuclear Civil Defense (Durham: Duke University Press, 2007), 237. 35 Ibid., 152-53.

Concerns about white, middle-class masculinity emerged in a variety of “texts” during the 1950s; magazines, novels, self-help books, and films frequently commented, directly or indirectly, upon the mental and physical state of “the American man.” Popular films of the era, such as The Secret Life of Walter Mitty and The Man in the Gray Flannel

Suit, focus on male protagonists who feel “stuck” in their own lives. Walter Mitty’s secret life was much more pleasant—and exciting—than the real one he shared with his domineering mother. World War II veteran Tom Rath also feels a vague sense of longing for a time overseas when he felt needed, desired, and alive. Both characters ride a train from the suburbs to a corporate job in the city, underscoring the sense that their lives are regulated by forces outside of themselves. Walter’s mother and Tom’s wife are constantly making demands, and both men want to escape but feel trapped.

Civil defense planners recognized the importance of image in the 1950s and in many ways attempted to construct civil defense in the nuclear age as a reflection of strong, white, middle-class masculinity that was just as significant as military programs for the nation’s defense. In the context of popular anxieties over American masculinity, however, and gendered nuclear narratives in print, television, and film, civil defense planners tried to use language and imagery to mobilize white, middle-class men into

“service” for the nation during the 1950s—and ultimately failed.

Anxieties surrounding middle-class masculinity also suffused science fiction narratives of the Cold War, reflecting Toni A. Perrine’s assertion that “[f]ar from being a medium of escapist entertainment, the science-fiction film has always been a sensitive

15 barometer of the cultural and political climate of the day.”36 In particular, post- apocalyptic novels and films often offered implicit strategies for strengthening contemporary male virility. For example, in the 1951 film Five, one of the apparent benefits of nuclear annihilation is that Frederick Jackson Turner’s western frontier reopens. After the apocalypse, a depopulated California becomes a blank space upon which the white male hero, a disaffected New Yorker, can throw off his previous life of consumption and “over-civilization.” Furthermore, since people in the area died in the blast, he can pursue this endeavor without having to displace any original inhabitants.

The resurgence of masculinity represented by the hero’s return to farming the land is also underlined by his reproductive capabilities; in the final scene, he not only plants seeds in the ground (that hopefully will not suffer radiation-induced mutations) but also accepts

“help” in his agricultural endeavor from the lone—and fertile—female survivor, also white. In the film, the hero imbues the paternity of the newborn nation not only with reinvigorated masculinity, but a distinct racial identity as well.

Examining civil defense discourse in the context of Cold War anxieties surrounding masculinity and male fertility illuminates areas in which political and science fiction narratives overlap, challenge, and reinforce each other. For example, Mr.

Adam, a 1946 novel about what happens when the world’s men are sterilized after a nuclear power plant blows up in Mississippi, represents a pre-Dr. Strangelove satire, a

36 Toni A. Perrine, Film and the Nuclear Age: Representing Cultural Anxiety (New York: Garland, 1998), 32.

16 critique of the American system that bases its international strength upon atomic force. In the book, Mr. Adam (sounds like “Mr. Atom”), the only man alive who was not sterilized when the plant blew up, is taken over by the U.S. military in order to preserve American superiority in the “production” of people. Control of Mr. Adam’s national resource, his

“seed,” is a matter of national security. Likewise, in the 1960 civil defense film, “Stay

Safe – Stay Strong”—a film that was intended to reassure Americans that even if a nuclear-laden U.S. defense plane should accidentally crash into American soil, the likelihood of a nuclear catastrophe would be minimal—nuclear material plays a similar role. For example, the film’s narrator explains that “[d]rop tests . . . are made without nuclear components so that this precious material is not wasted. . . . Because fire would also destroy the precious nuclear material, it is replaced.” Ultimately, he warns, such tests can be “costly in the fissionable materials on which our nuclear strength depends.”37

K. A. Cuordileone’s Manhood and American Political Culture in the Cold War provides a model for this dissertation in both structure and methodology. Her text builds upon the work of Kristin Hoganson, who has argued convincingly that U.S. involvement in the Spanish-American War was precipitated in large part by gendered motives; she also relies upon Gail Bederman’s Manliness and Civilization to support her contention that concerns over American manhood at the turn of the century were, in many cases,

37 “Stay Safe, Stay Strong – The Facts about Nuclear Weapons,” U.S. Air Force: Air Photographic and Charting Service, 1960.

17 similar to the gendered anxieties of the mid-twentieth century.38 In this context,

Cuordileone’s analysis—structured upon her readings of popular articles, psychological texts, fictional narratives, and political discourse—concludes that the power of the

“hard/soft imagery that pervaded cold war discourse . . . is intelligible only within the context of the multiple anxieties and uncertainties of the era.”39

Following the examples of Cuordileone and Rosenberg, this dissertation draws upon a wide variety of sources, working “across, or in defiance of, the supposed divisions of ‘private’ (gender roles) and ‘public’ (international politics), of mass culture and elite decision making.”40 By including popular culture in her analyses of international politics,

Rosenberg successfully demonstrates that “discursive analysis can highlight connections between seemingly unrelated categories of experience.”41 And as Susan Jeffords rightly suggests, “a fundamental part of cultural analysis rests in the examination of popular culture, for it is in the space of popular culture that national narratives are exchanged, tested, negotiated, and rewritten.”42 This dissertation analyzes newspaper and magazine articles, self-help books, federal civil defense documents from the National Archives in

38 Gail Bederman, Manliness and Civilization: A Cultural History of Gender and Race in the United States, 1880-1917 (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1995). 39 Cuordileone, viii. 40 Emily Rosenberg, “‘Foreign Affairs’ After World War II: Connecting Sexual and International Politics," Diplomatic History 18 (winter l994): 60. 41 Ibid. 42 Susan Jeffords, “Commentary: Culture and National Identity in Foreign Policy,” Diplomatic History 18 (winter l994): 94.

College Park, Maryland, and finally, post-apocalyptic films and novels to highlight how gender functions, explicitly and implicitly, within national narratives of survival.

Utilizing Bederman’s definition of gender as “an ongoing ideological process” that “implies constant contradiction, change, and renegotiation,”43 this dissertation explores what Cuordileone refers to as the “gender imaginary through which Americans process the political world.”44 First, the dissertation examines the “gendered, symbolic baggage” that imbued civil defense discourse with meaning from its very beginnings in

World War I; next, it analyzes how anxieties regarding middle-class white masculinity played out in the potentially feminized sphere of civil defense; then, it considers how the perceived impact of radiation on male fertility complicated men’s relationships to the nation; and finally, it teases out the multiple ways in which these themes were articulated within post-apocalyptic narratives.45 This dissertation draws upon a variety of sources that may appear disparate at first glance, but by untangling the discursive threads that wove together Cold War survival narratives—political, military, and fictional—it illuminates how thoroughly gender permeated national security debates and shaped how

Americans imagined the survival, or destruction, of the nation.

43 Bederman, 11. 44 Cuordileone, 243. 45 Ibid.

CHAPTER II

Origins of United States Civil Defense

In order to understand the challenges facing civil defense officials during the Cold

War, it is helpful to examine the assumptions upon which earlier versions of U.S. civil defense were based. When the United States entered World War I, patriotic young men and women both had opportunities to serve, but for the most part, their prospects were circumscribed within narrowly defined and gendered rules. For example, while young women on the home front might have been encouraged to knit socks for soldiers overseas as a sign of patriotic support, that type of activity would not have been suitable for young men—who really should have been fighting, themselves, and receiving such socks in the post. Similar expectations prevailed for male behavior during World War II—that is, able-bodied American men were honor-bound to go abroad and fight for their country.

In the early and mid-twentieth century, domestic ideology—in which women are responsible for maintaining life within the home while men earn money outside of it— still offered a structure for middle-class families to emulate. Within the broader context of international affairs, as the “home” became linked with the “nation,” the “home front” came to represent a feminine sphere of influence—something that men fought for

20 overseas.1 Therefore, a patriotic man of fighting age who did not battle the enemy abroad faced a gendered dilemma; were the soldiers overseas fighting for . . . him? And if so, did that emasculate the fellow who remained at home? These kinds of gender concerns persistently intruded on civil defense debates during the Cold War, complicating efforts to present civil defense as a masculine project. The association of the “home front” with femininity as well as the expectation that men would perform military duties abroad during wartime—both ideas consistent with the national experiences of World Wars I and

II—burdened civil defense officials with heavily gendered baggage throughout the 1950s.

During World War I, the United States did not need to prepare bomb shelters or evacuation routes because enemy actions took place overseas; instead, objectives for those remaining at home emphasized maintaining production and domestic morale, and in this context, social programs could serve the national interest. Civilian defense initiatives during World War II reflected a new understanding that the United States was more vulnerable than it had been in World War I; technological advances meant that the nation was not fully “protected” by its oceans anymore. Therefore, following the example of wartime England, federal and state officials proposed measures to minimize the impact of potential attacks within national borders, and volunteers took up air raid duties and trained in first aid techniques. Drawing upon experiences during World War I also enabled planners to define social welfare programs as valid civilian defense activities—

1 For example, in 1949, Billy Graham delivered a sermon warning that “a nation is only as strong as her homes” (Cuordileone 82). Categories of “domestic” and “foreign” have long been used as political headings reflecting this dichotomy.

21 that is, until early 1942, when Eleanor Roosevelt’s leadership of the Office of Civilian

Defense provoked what anthropologist Margaret Mead termed an “almost pathological outburst” of criticism and attacks.2

During World War II, many American women challenged prevailing notions of delicate womanhood; thousands of Rosie-the-Riveters worked in defense factories while thousands more joined military auxiliaries like the WACs and the WAVES. The influx of women into careers previously dominated by men—and their success when they got there—raised troubling questions for those who hoped to re-establish traditional gender relationships after the war.

By the late 1940s, civil defense officials, wanting to present their programs as strong, tough, and just as deserving of funding as military programs, understood that emphasizing the importance of social welfare (with its feminine, caretaking undertones) in addition to the need for protective measures (that also suggested maternal influence) might doom their efforts to failure. But when the Soviet explosion of an atomic device in

August 1949 was followed by the Korean conflict less than a year later, defending the nation from nuclear attack took on terrifying new dimensions, and civil defense became a site of contestation over American manhood itself.

2 Margaret Mead, And Keep Your Powder Dry: An Anthropologist Looks at America (New York: William Morrow, 1942; reprint, New York: Berghahn Books, 2000), 36 (page citations are to the reprint edition).

World War I

On August 29, 1916, less than three months before Woodrow Wilson’s reelection as the man “who kept us out of war,” Congress established the Council of National

Defense (CND) under the Army Appropriations Act of 1916. It was charged with “the coordination of industries and resources for the national security and welfare,” and consisted of the Secretaries of War, Navy, Interior, Agriculture, Commerce, and Labor.3

In addition, Wilson approved a seven-man Advisory Committee that included the president of the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, the president of Sears, Roebuck and

Company, a leader of the American Automobile Association, Bernard Baruch, “the New

York banker,” and Samuel Gompers of the American Federation of Labor.4 Wilson said that the new Council was created because “the country is best prepared for war when thoroughly prepared for peace.” Production, transportation, business, and labor leaders, it was hoped, would best be able to direct manufacturers during a national emergency, as

“[f]rom an economic point of view there is now very little difference between the machinery required for commercial efficiency and that required for military purposes.”5

The organizational structure of civil defense during World War I reflected a three- tiered system of federal, state, and local powers. On April 6, 1917, the day that the United

3 Third Annual Report of the United States Council of National Defense for the Fiscal Year ended June 30, 1919 (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1919), 4. 4 “President Names Defense Advisers,” New York Times, 12 October 1919, 10. Baruch would later propose an ill-fated plan for the international control of nuclear power at the United Nations Atomic Energy Commission in 1946. 5 Ibid.

States declared war on Germany, the Council of National Defense created a “State

Council” section to oversee the development of state defense organizations; ultimately, each governor was asked to establish a council within his state. State councils would then guide the development of local councils in towns, cities, and rural areas; by war’s end, there were over 180,000 local defense agencies across the country.6

The Council of National Defense also established a Woman’s Committee on April

21, 1917, to “coordinate and stimulate war activities of [the] Nation’s women.”7

Members of the Woman’s Committee were chosen by the Council and alerted by mail; many were leaders of prominent women’s organizations. They included two former presidents of the National American Woman’s Suffrage Association, Anna Howard Shaw and Carrie Chapman Catt, the writer and “muckraker,” Ida Tarbell, and the labor activist and former president of the International Glove Workers Union, Agnes Nestor. The

Woman’s Committee focused on issues such as food production, child welfare, domestic and foreign relief, and the sale of Liberty Loans.

Women’s role in the Great War—and the role of mothers, in particular—was sharply debated in the days leading up to the U.S. declaration of war against Germany, often in the pages of newspapers. On March 29, 1917, a group called the “Emergency

Peace Federation,” chaired by Mrs. Henry Villard, posted an advertisement in the New

York Times promoting its drive to raise $200,000 to promote the cause of peace—and

6 Mary U. Harris, “Significant Events in United States Civil Defense History” (Washington, D.C.: Information Services Office, Defense Civil Preparedness Agency, 1975), 1. 7 Ibid.

24 many agitated readers wrote angry responses to the newspaper. Themes running through these letters recur during World War II, as well as in the Cold War context, so it is useful to examine them briefly here.

The hostile responses to Mrs. Villard’s advertisement reflect an attempt to re- appropriate a gendered narrative of war that readers seem to sense has gone awry.

Challenging Mrs. Villard’s womanhood and patriotism, writers forcefully describe how the ideal woman—and ideal man—would behave in the context of a threat to the nation.

For example, Katherine Busbey made this argument:

If I had more sons, and war continued to be made upon my country, I should make untiring effort that they might be given the opportunity of defending their country from the wrongs it has already far too supinely endured. . . . It is my great good fortune to have faith that the American woman can still send her men exultantly to the defense of their land.8

Here, the nation may be imagined as feminine; she has passively laid on her back while

“wrongs” have been committed against her, and she now needs young men to come to her aid. For their part, the writer’s sons would not need to be forced into protecting the nation out of a grudging sense of duty—they would presumably be happy to go, as the writer casts military service in positive terms, as an “opportunity” that their loving mother would “make untiring effort” to ensure for them. In this narrative, the true American

8 “The People’s Loyal Answer to the Pacifists: More Letters Condemning Their Propaganda and Urging the Firm Defense of American Rights,” New York Times, 1 April 1917, E2.

25 woman is delighted to say goodbye to her sons, for they will proudly perform acts of bravery that the endangered country desperately needs.

The theme that defending national—feminine—

honor was a man’s moral imperative was repeatedly

utilized in recruitment posters such as the one shown in

Figure 2.1. While Uncle Sam looks directly at the viewer,

the virginal nation, wearing something resembling a bridal

gown and veil, is only observed from the side; she is clearly

in distress, the stripes of the American flag covering the

lower half of her body. Figure 2.1.9 Another writer to the New York Times, Edwin H.

Blashfield, also examines contours of the mother-son relationship in time of war, using language of maternity that could apply not only to the “mother” but to the nation as well:

“The ‘boy’ whose mother brought him up to be a soldier has a more than fair chance of dying in his bed, having been secure and respected in life and having helped guarantee the security of his mother.”10 Again, military service is depicted in the gendered terms of masculine protecting feminine. And while the danger of death is alluded to here, the

9 Schneck, “It’s Up to You—Protect the Nation’s Honor, Enlist Now,” lithograph, 191-, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Online Catalog, www.loc.gov/pictures/item/92506221/ (accessed 15 January 2014). 10 “The People’s Loyal Answer.”

26 writer emphasizes that a soldier has a “more than fair chance” of surviving the war to die peacefully at home years later.

In stressing the repercussions that might confront sons who refuse to fight for the nation’s honor, writers also reinforce expectations of both manly and maternal behavior.

Constance A. Jonsa implies that her affection for her child is contingent upon his fulfillment of patriotic service: “I . . . have one son to give to my country—and I should despise him if he hung back.”11 This idea, that the man who hesitates to enlist to protect the nation is worse than un-American—he is actually less than a man—infused several letters. Irene McNeal Swasey suggests that “the mothers of real men” should not fall prey to “peace propaganda,” but should focus on “the really big things in life, the things that count, the time when a man must look deep into his own soul and find what sort of man he is.”12 Echoing those sentiments, Emma Sheridan Fry writes, “No man worth bearing ever yet kept out of honorable fight because a woman hung about his neck to ‘save’ him.

I believe our men . . . will be men, whether we help them now or hinder.” In Fry’s view, a worthwhile man has integrity in his core, and the women in his life should help him “be a man.” As to the “honorable fight,” she certainly views the Great War as just, declaring that “[t]o be spiritually submerged and identified with” the “forces of frightfulness that threaten to master and obliterate us” is an idea more terrifying than death.13

11 Ibid. 12 Emma Sheridan Fry, “Women and the War,” Outlook, 11 April 1917, 650. 13 Ibid.

Finally, a writer named William C. Cahn takes a different approach; rather than describe the way an ideal man would behave in a national crisis, he describes the type of man who might actually find Mrs. Villard’s proposals for peace persuasive: “In my opinion the only people that a circular of this kind appeals to are the kind covered by the saying, ‘He who fights and runs away lives to fight another day’—in other words, a moral and physical coward.”14 This is a particularly significant idea because it recurs repeatedly in debates over Cold War civil defense, when surviving in order to “fight another day” was an actual civil defense strategy promoted by the federal government.

The persistent dichotomy between the image of a chivalric hero who yearns to be given a chance to defend the nation’s honor and the cowardly cad who cares for nothing except his own safety loomed large during the 1950s, and significantly hindered the ability of civil defense efforts to take root.

Although there was a great deal of speculation and anxiety regarding the fate of

Western Europe, and by extension, the United States, during World War I, the fact that airplanes had not yet become readily usable for transatlantic flights meant that there was little chance of a large-scale military invasion of the American mainland. For that reason,

“civil defense programs assumed an essentially non-protective quality. Instead of being mainly concerned with programs designed to cope with the effects of actual attack, the civil defense effort was largely given over to the mobilization of popular support for the

14 “The People’s Loyal Answer.”

28 war effort.”15 For example, the Council of National Defense promoted new ways of incorporating private industry within wartime production projects, establishing the War

Industries Board in 1917. And the Woman’s Committee emphasized measures at which women, as homemakers, were thought to be especially skilled—in wartime, growing and conserving food could support the nation in addition to giving wives a way to serve healthy and economical meals to their families, knitting clothing for the troops extended to servicemen the benefits of an activity that thoughtful mothers already utilized to protect their little ones in winter, and selling war bonds demanded social and networking skills that were visible in both women’s club activities and neighborly get-togethers.

Because the focus of civilian defense during World War I was not on escaping attack— the seas protected the nation from the upheaval occurring in Europe—but rather on upholding morale and sustaining production, the kinds of activities the Woman’s

Committee promoted could be included under the civilian defense umbrella without too much protest. This would not be the case in subsequent conflicts. As Thomas Kerr points out, civil defense during the World War I era “assumed a meaning far broader than defending the population against the effects of military attack. The question of whether this should be the case was to become a source of controversy during World War II.”16

Regardless of its peacetime merit, the Council fell dormant at war’s end. In

December 1918, members asked “[s]tate and local defense councils to keep organizations

15 Thomas J. Kerr, Civil Defense in the U.S.: Bandaid for a Holocaust? (Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1983), 11. 16 Ibid.

29 intact to assist Federal agencies in meeting postwar adjustments,” but many smaller defense agencies had already dissolved.17 The Council’s annual report of 1919 asserted that during the war years, the Council represented a “prolific mother that gave birth to the great majority of the vital non-military war-time bodies of the United States, which in turn threw their accumulated power behind the American armies and worked the final tragedy of the Imperial German Government.”18 This language reveals that even as early as 1919, these proponents of civil defense—who were themselves male—presented themselves in maternal terms; their model proposed a generational divide in which the

“children,” or agencies of wartime production, could utilize their power—still “behind the American armies”—in order to defeat the enemy. Council members might well have proclaimed themselves the “Mothers of Civil Defense.”

World War II

By the spring of 1941, German forces were overwhelming Western Europe.

Holland, Belgium, and France had fallen, Japan had joined the Axis with Germany and

Italy, and in Britain, Winston Churchill had replaced Neville Chamberlain—whose name was indelibly linked with the term “appeasement”—as prime minister. German pilots had bombed London and other British cities for weeks on end; the attacks not only devastated

17 Harris, 1. 18 Third Annual Report, 6.

30 property but also started massive fires, and civilian defense volunteers in British cities were left to pick up the pieces.19

Although the United States was not yet officially at war, President Franklin D.

Roosevelt established the Office of Civilian Defense (OCD) on May 20, 1941, and named New York City Mayor, Fiorello La Guardia, as director. The structure of the overall organization included federal advisors and state and local councils in an arrangement very similar to that of the Council of National Defense. Like the Council, the OCD was to coordinate and provide guidance to state and local officials, offering information when requested and bolstering morale. In addition, the OCD would assist in the “recruiting and training of civilian auxiliaries, including women’s organizations,” and promote the service of “[h]ome defense guards, organized to replace the National Guard, now in Federal service.”20

Having established the OCD, President Roosevelt made it known that he wanted

Selective Service Headquarters to provide a list “of registered men who probably would not see military service because of dependents or other reasons, but who might be willing to serve their country within their communities.”21 Mayor La Guardia explained that in addition to men who could not serve their nation on the battlefield, he hoped to “enlist” women and children over the age of fourteen to participate in civilian defense. For example, women could administer first aid to the injured and feed needy children, while

19 Raymond Daniell, “Civilians Prevent New London Fire,” New York Times, 12 January 1941, 1. 20 “Mayor in New Role Bids Aides Assure City Food Supply,” New York Times, 21 May 1941, 1. 21 Ibid., 11.

31 teenagers could salvage critical materials or serve as messengers if communication networks failed. La Guardia envisioned a mass of “disciplined, trained civilians playing as significant a part as soldiers, sailors, and marines.” Of course, not everyone would prove immediately useful. According to La Guardia, “An older man would not help clear the streets of debris . . . but probably he would fit in the picture somewhere.”22

During World War II, there was a clearly defined, three-tiered hierarchy of status

regarding American men’s wartime service. Serving in

combat ranked at the top and garnered the most

prestige. The muscular masculinity that the military

presumably required was promoted and honored in

recruitment posters, and while posters from the World

War I era often featured the feminine figure of

Columbia—the embodiment of the nation—urging men

to enlist, posters in World War II emphasized muscular

male bodies to a far greater degree. Military men were Figure 2.2.23 sometimes depicted as uniting with the machinery of war itself, as “guns” were “manned,” seemingly literally, as shown in Figure 2.2.

22 Frank L. Kluckhorn, “Mayor Opens Drive for Civil Defense,” New York Times, 23 May 1941, 11. 23 McClelland Barclay, “Man the Guns, Join the Navy,” poster, 1942, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Online Catalog, www.loc.gov/pictures/item/92510148/ (accessed 15 January 2014).

If a man were unable to enlist, due to family or health reasons, the next most- respected way for him to serve during wartime was by getting a job in production. This was depicted as an honorable pursuit, and recruitment posters utilized tough, masculine imagery to encourage workers engaged in grueling tasks. William C. Bullitt, former U.S. ambassador to France, explained at a Philadelphia rally in May 1941 that in a national emergency, it was

a crime against our nation for any man, high or low, to delay production of weapons of defense. At this moment of peril, just two divisions of our Army are fully equipped for war. . . . Hitler has two hundred fully equipped divisions. Our men are brave but they cannot stop tanks with machine guns or aircraft with rifles. The first duty of every American who is not in our armed forces is to see to it that our soldiers and sailors and aviators get the arms they need.24

This emphasis on contributing to production as the best way to support American soldiers—if one happened to be stuck at home during the war—was widely promoted, but unfortunately for the men who wanted to prove their potency by performing production Figure 2.3.25

24 Lawrence E. Davies, “La Guardia Warns of Aid to Enemy by Lack of Unity,” New York Times, 29 May 1941, 4 (emphasis added). 25 Dean Cornwell, “They’ve got the guts—Give ‘em more firepower,” poster, 1943, Library of Congress Prints and Photographs Online Catalog, www.loc.gov/pictures/item/90712346/ (accessed 15 January 2014).

33 work, increasing numbers of women began showing up in factories as the war went on.

Unlike combat, the field of industrial labor, dangerous though it could be, was no longer the proving ground of men alone. Women could “give” soldiers firepower too, enabling the men “who’ve got the guts”—the men fighting overseas in Figure 2.3—to give the enemy hell.

Perhaps even worse, women were being recognized and praised for their own accomplishments in production. Rather than criticizing middle-class mothers for neglecting their children by going to work, aircraft manufacturers like Grumman supplied nurseries, child care, and even transportation for their women workers. And because industry no longer depended primarily upon strength and muscle—women could build planes alongside men—the success of the “weaker sex” inherently de-valued the masculinity of the “stronger.”

Women, like men, were viewed by many Americans as partners in the national effort, doing their part to fight the Axis. One New York Times editorial suggested that

“new forms of warfare turn women into soldiers on the home front. . . . In this sense it is a woman’s war, to be approached without illusions, without sentimentality, with a clear realization that nobody stands behind the lines, hence everybody must be trained and toughened to play his part and her part.”26 But if the “line” between combatant and

26 “Women’s Part in War,” New York Times, 25 September 1941, C24 (emphasis added). Women were supposed to “toughen up” physically as well as mentally. Alice Marble, an American tennis champion, was named director of physical training for women under the OCD. Her goal was to “lead a crusade to step up the physical endurance of Miss and Mrs. America, for . . . if they remain as soft as they are now they shall never be able to stand up under the multiple strains and tasks of war.” Dorothy Dunbar

34 civilian has been erased by total war, and everyone must be “toughened” in order to participate, then the traditional narrative of a valiant man fighting overseas to protect the

honor of wife, mother, and country—the

narrative so present during World War I—is

completely undermined. And for a man who

could not go abroad to fight, unable to join the

cast in the one “theatre” where he could perform

his masculinity upon a world stage, he becomes

just another home front patriot, like so many

women around him. Even working at a defense

plant, he might see “Jenny on the job,” eating

“man size meals” without a hint of Figure 2.4. 27 embarrassment (Figure 2.4).

The lowest rung for a man on the national defense ladder during World War II, in terms of public perceptions, was civilian defense work. Needing neither the physical strength to “man the guns” nor the skills to function well in a fast-paced industrial setting,

Bromley, “Keeping Fit the Alice Marble Way,” New York Times Sunday Magazine, 5 October 1941, SM10. After hearing the news about Singapore’s “capitulation” in February 1942, Eleanor Roosevelt wrote her in daily column, “Now we shall have to find within us the courage to meet defeat and fight right on to victory. That means a steadiness of purpose and of will, which is not one of our strong points. But, somehow, I think we shall harden physically and mentally as the days go by.” Eleanor Roosevelt, “My Day,” 17. February 1942, www.gwu.edu/~erpapers/myday/displaydoc.cfm?_y=1942&_f=md056110 (accessed 17 January 2014). 27 Kula, “Jenny on the job: eats man size meals,” poster, 1943, Milner Library, Illinois State University, http://ilstu.libguides.com/content.php?pid=194591&sid=1642538 (accessed 15 January 2014).

35 civilian defense jobs in the United States may have been perceived as attracting well- meaning citizens who were too young, too old, or too female to embody the symbolism of masculine vigor in wartime.

At the outset of the nationwide civilian defense program, the president had requested a list of men from Selective Service who would not likely be sent to war, and young men who were deferred were publicly encouraged to volunteer for civil defense training. In the summer of 1941, Brigadier General Louis B. Hershey announced that

In the very near future each community will be engaged in civilian defense activities. . . . Such activities, of course, cover a wide range and should include a task for almost every young man who is deferred from military training for one reason or another. Every man is expected to do his share, in one way or another, when a crisis threatens the national security.28

Not exactly a rousing call to the men of the nation. In fact, when reports did begin to surface of volunteers registering for duty, their talent and drive were often depicted as questionable, even by the head of the OCD. For example, during New York City’s first day of air-raid warden enrollment, a position that was open to both men and women,

Mayor La Guardia said, “This air-raid warden force must be a disciplined force, not a clambake or a pinochle party.”29 Furthermore, a list of “prospective sources” for finding

28 “All Deferred Men Urged to Join Civilian Defense,” New York Times, 27 July 1941, 27. 29 “Air-Raid Wardens Start Enrolling in City Today,” New York Times, 20 June 1941, 1. This seemed to be a recurring theme for the mayor. Later that summer, he told a group of air-raid wardens that in an emergency, they would have no time for discussion or argument: “This is no pinochle club and no clambake, no athletic contest. It’s grim, it’s dangerous duty on the streets and on the housetops in case of emergency. I want you all to understand that before you definitely and finally decide to sign up for the duration.” See “Air Wardens Face Intensive Training,” New York Times, 19 August 1941, 13.

36 warden applicants, in case not enough should come forward, included “[c]andidates unsuccessful in the last patrolman’s examination.”30

A quirky cast of characters populated a story in the New York Times the following day about volunteers bursting forth “from slums and penthouses” and crowding New

York police stations in order to sign up for warden duty. For example, Vito Silecchi, a shoe-shiner who did business at the West Twentieth Street police station, announced his wish to become an air-raid warden as soon as he arrived at work. Upon questioning by the police captain, he declared himself to be 57 years old. The captain informed Mr.

Silecchi that anyone over 55 would probably not be considered for the job. Mr. Silecchi returned to his shoe-shine stand but approached the captain again an hour later, explaining that he had made a mistake and was actually 54. The captain looked up Mr.

Silecchi’s employment information and said, “‘You’re out of luck, Vito. . . . You’re still

57.’” Mr. Silecchi, disappointed with this result, left “muttering that he was certain he was only 54.”31 Reporters also shared the story of another volunteer, Thomas J. Keenan,

“a midget who for several years was the Toy Town Fire Chief at the old Hippodrome.

Keenan said that in 1923 a fire started at the Hippodrome and he organized a ‘paper cup’ brigade of midgets who put it out before firemen arrived. He is 49 years old and 49 inches tall.”32

30 Ibid., 15. 31 “Slums and Penthouses Send Forth Volunteers Eager to ‘Do Our Bit,’” New York Times, 21 June 1941, 8. 32 “11,418 Enroll Here for Air-Raid Posts,” New York Times, 22 June 1941, 20.

Writers may have intended such stories to be charmingly amusing, but they might also have left the impression that working in civilian defense was not as serious and useful as working in the military or production line. In addition, a number of women’s associations clamored to join the civil defense brigade, much like the Woman’s

Committee of the Council of National Security during World War I, and some men may have been skeptical of their ability to follow through on the job. When Mayor La Guardia addressed a group of 150 representatives from the American Women’s Voluntary

Services (AWVS), he praised their enthusiasm, but wanted to make sure they were not getting involved in civilian defense because of a romantic sense of wartime adventure:

Everybody wants to do something exciting and dramatic. Let me tell you, right off the bat, there’s nothing exciting or dramatic about war. I don’t like it. I hate it. It’s sordid. It’s cruel. It’s devastating. It’s depressing. It’s discouraging. The only exciting part of war you’ll find at the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the pictures painted after it’s over.33

If that did not bring the women back down to earth, La Guardia went on to emphasize that there was “nothing spectacular about the job of ‘staying put’ on the roof of a house or a corner of a street, supervising civilian behavior.” The director of OCD apparently envisioned women volunteers as overly prone to fantastical expectations— whether the high drama of air-raid duty or of social “clambakes” on rooftops—and also

33 “Panic in Air Raids Feared by Mayor,” New York Times, 23 September 1941, 18. Ironically, Eleanor Roosevelt remarked, “I could not help realizing that the mayor was more interested in the dramatic aspects of civilian defense—such as whether cities had good fire-fighting equipment—than in such things as building morale.” Quoted in Doris Kearns Goodwin, No Ordinary Time (New York: Touchstone, 1994), 231.

38 seemed to worry that some might pass out under stress. In describing civilian defense courses to be offered in nursing, La Guardia did not emphasize the techniques and skills that the OCD wanted students to learn, but remarked that the courses were being given

“so that we’re sure no one will faint at the sight of blood.”34

Finally, in his remarks to the women of the AWVS, the director of OCD argued curiously that production—rather than civil defense itself—was the key to American military success: “Modern warfare is measured in terms of industrial productivity. That nation or group of nations that can produce the greatest amount of weapons of war is the nation or group of nations that will win the war.”35 In his address, La Guardia seemed not only to be warning the women of potential disadvantages of the feminine sex for civilian defense work—unrealistic expectations, visions of playing pinochle, fainting during first aid administration—but also pointing out the importance of industrial work, without providing a clear explanation of how civilian defense would support that endeavor. It might be unsurprising if his presentation left some volunteers perplexed.

Images of civilian defense workers as women, men rejected from military service, idiosyncratic individuals, and the elderly of both sexes may have left negative impressions on Americans in wartime. The most damaging blow to popular perceptions, however, occurred after First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt was appointed Assistant Director of Civilian Defense in September 1941. She had publicly criticized her friend, Mayor La

34 Ibid. 35 Ibid.

Guardia, the previous month, suggesting that although she had received—and passed along to him—countless letters from individuals asking how they could be helpful in preparing for war, La Guardia had not been sufficiently responsive; she asserted that “no government agency as yet had given to civilian volunteers an adequate opportunity to participate in the defense effort,” and that the situation was “up to the Mayor” to resolve.36

When Roosevelt took up her post at the OCD at the end of September 1941, La

Guardia declared that he was “happy to welcome America’s No. 1 Volunteer to work.”37

But by February 1942, weeks after the United States had formally entered the war, a scandal enveloped the office. The tradition dating back to World War I that civilian defense would focus on broad wartime social programs rather than on protecting

American civilians enabled the OCD during World War II to undertake health, education, and food programs in addition to protective wartime initiatives. In the interest of promoting children’s physical fitness, for example, Eleanor Roosevelt suggested that a dancer, Mayris Chaney, head the division of children’s activities for a salary of $4,600 per year; Chaney was a dear friend who had previously named a dance step the “Eleanor

Glide” after her.38 In addition, actor Melvyn Douglas was appointed to head the OCD arts council, “to determine the best use that could be made in the defense program of the services of arts and writers who have volunteered to ‘portray what this war means and

36 “Lag in Civil Defense Noted by First Lady,” New York Times, 26 August 1941, 5. 37 “OCD Job Assumed by Mrs. Roosevelt,” New York Times, 30 September 1941, 28. 38 “Appointment of Dancer Causes a Stir,” New York Times, 6 February 1942, 21.

40 what people should do to win the war.’”39 Although Douglas, a veteran of World War I, accepted the position on the understanding that there would be no compensation—and issued a formal statement to that effect—congressional opponents were not appeased.

Addressing the House, Representative Edward E. Cox (D-GA) declared, “‘If an actor wants to fight the Japs, let him grab up a gun. If we want someone to teach children how to behave in times of stress, I recommend a country housewife in preference to a night club entertainer.’”40 Representative John Taber (R-NY) agreed: “‘Let us stick to the purposes for which the OCD was created, to protect the civilian populations of this country from air raids.’”41 And Representative John Hinshaw (R-CA) asserted that it was inappropriate for actors to come “‘to Washington . . . for the purpose of adding glamour to the Office of Civilian Defense.’” Alluding to allegations that Douglas had previously entertained communist sympathies, Hinshaw added, “‘It seems to me a farce to make of the Office of Civilian Defense a pink tea party.’”42

Roosevelt requested a hearing to respond to her critics, telling the press that “she would be ‘perfectly delighted’ to tell inquiring or critical members of Congress ‘the truth’” about the appointments of Chaney and Douglas: “‘I assume they will do me the

39 Frederick R. Barkley, “Landis Bars Plan to Drill Children,” New York Times, 17 February 1942, 13. It is unclear who appointed Douglas; Roosevelt denied hiring him or even knowing who did. The New York Times originally reported that James Landis, the successor to La Guardia as head of OCD, had made the appointment, but eleven days later reported that Douglas had been hired before Landis arrived. For the original report, see “Melvyn Douglas Works at His OCD Desk,” 6 February 1942, 21. 40 “House Cuts ‘Frills,’ Passes OCD Bill,” New York Times, 10 February 1942, 13. 41 Ibid. 42 “Hits at ‘Glamour’ in OCD: Hinshaw Tells House Douglas Helps Make ‘Pink Tea Party,’” New York Times, 5 February 1942, 25.

41 courtesy of allowing me to give them the facts. They have offices, and I have feet. As the person criticized, I imagine I shall be given the opportunity of meeting with them and telling them the truth about the questions they have raised.’” She explained to the press that she had not appointed Douglas and did not know who had—and that while she had

“suggested” Chaney for the children’s physical fitness program, the post itself had been created by others. Defending the program, Roosevelt said, “‘To win the war on the production side we must cut down the number of man hours lost by illness. . . . To win the war on the military side, we must improve the health of our young men. This is a physical fitness job.’”43

Despite attempts to blunt opposition, critics viewed the OCD under Roosevelt’s leadership as both a boondoggle and a social welfare program in disguise. Time magazine declared that Roosevelt, “the ‘OCDiva,’ had already ‘contributed the lioness’ share to the air of bustling nonsense which has characterized OCD,” and the already-present

“suspicion that the OCDiva regarded OCD as her particular plaything was deepened by the appearance of her newly summoned playmates.”44 Senator Millard Tydings (D-MD) suggested that “the Administration was seeking through the OCD to ‘run a social reformatory’ rather than a war. Mr. Tydings said that ‘we are shooting at tit-sparrows

43 “Hearing is Asked by Mrs. Roosevelt,” New York Times, 10 February 1942, 13. A few days later, she noted “that 50 per cent of the young men of the country were found unfit for military service,” and “37 per cent more man-hours were lost in factories of the country through illness last year than through strikes.” See “Mrs. Roosevelt Spurs Up-State OCD Heads,” New York Times, 14 February 1942, 11. 44 “Eleanor’s Playmates,” Time, 16 February 1942, 51.

42 when the air is full of vultures.’” In addition, a New York Times editorial drew attention to the Washington observers who had

asserted, and kept on asserting, that the New Deal and its political followers were using the emergency to effect that change in the country’s social-economic system which in peacetime they were unable to achieve. . . . When it was shown that Mrs. Roosevelt was being permitted to turn the grim business of civilian protection into a social welfare agency, the country appeared to begin at last to believe the oft-repeated warning.45

Meanwhile, open hostility in Congress was making front-page news. During a debate over an appropriations bill that would provide $100,000,000 for civilian defense, congressmen erupted in “assertions, bitter, sarcastic, acrimonious, that the country needed fewer entertainers and more bombers, and that ‘parasites and leeches’ should be stricken from the payroll.”46 A Republican from Nebraska said, “War is serious business . . . and employment, at taxpayers’ expense, of night club dancers, movie actors and perfume peddlers to teach a lot of tommyrot in the name of civilian defense is an uncalled-for piece of moneywasting.”47 The scandal even made international headlines, as an

Australian newspaper described how a congressman read a telegram in the House of

Representatives “from fan dancer Sally Rand, offering her services to the government

45 Arthur Krock, “Criticism on War Acts Rises in Two Capitals,” New York Times, 15 February 1942, E3. Later, the Times reported that Congress was essentially asking “the New Deal for ‘an adjournment of sociological reforms as war projects.’” See C. F. Trussell, “Impatient Congressmen Feel Urge to Run War,” New York Times, 22 February 1942, E8. 46 “House Forbids OCD Funds for ‘Dancers,’ Donald Duck,” New York Times, 7 February 1942, 1. 47 Ibid., 9.

43 gratis, also offering to change the name of her fan dance to ‘Nude Deal.’”48 In a vote of

88-80, the House amended the bill by inserting language to disallow the use of civilian defense appropriations for “instructions in physical fitness by dancers, fan dancing, street shows, theatrical performances, or other public entertainment.”49

In an attempt to kill the amendment, nervous members of the Roosevelt administration sent telegrams to out-of-town Democrats, urging them to return to

Washington for the “final and significant showdown” to come, while Republican leaders cabled their members in hopes of sustaining the amendment.50 On February 21, 1942,

Congress approved the $100,000,000 appropriation for the OCD provided that no money would be put toward non-protective “frills.”51 By that time, Mayor La Guardia and

Eleanor Roosevelt had both resigned from their posts.52

Writing in 1942, anthropologist Margaret Mead explicitly linked the outrage over

Eleanor Roosevelt’s OCD programs with contemporary insecurities afflicting the

“average American man” on the home front:

48 “No Money for Frivolities, U.S. House Decides,” The Argus (Melbourne, Victoria), 11 February 1942, 3. Fan dancing refers to a provocative dance in which a woman uses fans to hide and reveal nudity. 49 Ibid., 1. 50 “House Fight Looms on ‘Frills’ for OCD,” New York Times, 9 February 1942, 1, 9. The report suggests that the battle for votes was as vigorous as that over the Lend-Lease program. 51 “Significant Events,” 5. 52 That week, Roosevelt used her Sunday night radio broadcast on NBC to explain that she resigned for the sake of sparing the office from criticism and attacks—but she also reiterated that the OCD programs were urgently needed: “‘I do not want a program which I consider vitally important to the conduct of the war, and to the well-being of the people during a period of crisis, to suffer because what I hope is a small but very vocal group of unenlightened men are now able to renew, under the guise of patriotism and economy, the age-old fight for the privileged few against the good of the many.’” See “Mrs. Roosevelt Berates Critics, Defends Course as OCD Official,” New York Times, 23 February 1942, 23.

Especially in wartime, when he is trying to be a man and really tough with a serious enemy, he becomes very impatient with what he regards as feminine frills. . . . In the spring of 1942 there was a sudden, almost pathological outburst against the social welfare program of the Office of Civilian Defense, which swept the country like a forest fire. The flames of this outburst were of course fanned by politics . . . but the outburst originated in the disgruntlement of men who were not in the army, . . . in the American man’s impatience with the kind of “goodness” which is identified as feminine.53

It is interesting to note that she used the phrase, “almost pathological outburst,” to describe men’s behavior during this incident; in doing so, she appropriated a traditional critique of women as overemotional creatures, and implicitly feminized men who, ironically, wanted to appear as masculine as possible during wartime.

According to Thomas Kerr, in La Guardia’s view, non-protective aspects of civilian defense such as “physical fitness, welfare, nutrition, child care, housing, and consumer advice were . . . ‘sissy stuff’ and not appropriately a meaningful function for the federal organization.”54 Unsurprisingly then, during the week of his resignation, La

Guardia issued a final recommendation to the president that the OCD should only include activities such as “civilian protection against air raids and military or naval attacks.”55

The new head of the OCD, James Landis, had articulated a similar message at a press conference earlier in the month, denying that “the OCD was being converted into a

‘social reform organization,’ asserting ‘we are concentrating on a war.’”56 His plan for

53 Mead, 36 (emphasis added). 54 Kerr, 17. 55 “Limiting OCD to Protective Role Urged on President by La Guardia,” New York Times, 15 February 1942, 1, 26. 56 “Landis Regroups Civilian Defense,” New York Times, 4 February 1942, 1.

45 reorganization did not entail ending the volunteer participation division that had been responsible for the congressional controversy, but he did lower its profile. Still, he defended Melvyn Douglas from charges of Communist activity and subversion when

Representative Leland Ford (R-CA) attacked Douglas as a “parlor pink”: “I don’t know what a parlor pink is. . . . I think he will answer with his career.”57

A profile of Landis published a few months later declared him the “Barbed-Wire

Boss of the OCD.”58 The writer emphasized his toughness and masculinity—“[h]e can rip and tear like barbed wire any marauder or adversary”—and assured readers that Landis’s vision for the OCD was much less reform-minded than Eleanor Roosevelt’s:

[He] is social minded but not emotionally so, and thus pitches the OCD program in a different key from that of his predecessors. He is cognizant that the forces set in motion by the OCD may bring about substantial reforms in the community life of America, but the protection of American communities, not their reform, is his conception of the function of the OCD in wartime.59

Strangely enough, the depiction of the new director as tough and protective is not reflected consistently throughout the article, and the writer sometimes describes him in language that might also apply to a singles ad: “He likes bridge and has the reputation of being a ‘mean’ player. . . . His hobbies are Grecian art and Civil War battlefields. . . . He can bake apple pies and do stunts at the stove with a skillet. He can speak Japanese and some Russian.” Furthermore, toward the end of the article, Landis comes across in

57 Ibid., 10. 58 Luther Huston, “Barbed-Wire Boss of the OCD,” New York Times Sunday Magazine, 31 May 1942, SM11. 59 Ibid.

46 terms—still glowing—that are diametrically opposed to the anti-reform-minded activist portrayed at the beginning: “At 43 he is animated, eager, curious-minded, vibrant, and a dynamo. . . . His are the eyes, the face, the characteristics, the ideas of a reformer who believes that it is the function of a leader in a democracy to tell people how to make their lives better and happier.”60

In September 1943, about eighteen months after accepting the title of director of

OCD, Landis resigned to become the “American Director of Economic Operations in the

Middle East.”61 Although he recommended that the OCD be abolished because, in his view, state and local agencies were now able to organize their own civilian defense programs, the federal office remained open until June 30, 1945.62

As tensions began to subside in May 1945, air raid sirens were taken down and civilian defense workers were officially “demobilized.” On May 13, 1945—five days after Victory in Europe Day—Mayor La Guardia addressed a crowd of approximately three thousand volunteers at City Hall in New York. He thanked them for their service and noted that, “[l]ike himself, . . . they had been subjected to abuse and criticism and had

‘taken a kicking around from the very people we were ready to protect in case of air

60 Ibid., 21. 61 John Crider, “Landis Appointed as Economic Head in the Middle East,” New York Times, 11 September 1943, 1. 62 “Significant Events,” 6.

47 raids.’”63 He added that if legislation were authorized in Congress, “air raid wardens

[would] be allowed to keep their helmets and armbands as mementos of their service.”64

Other civilian defense supplies, such as actual air raid sirens, would be sold, although the New York Times acknowledged that the “market for civilian defense appliances is weak to the point of utter exhaustion.”65 In any case, property of the OCD,

“the first wartime agency to be abolished,” would be liquidated under the terms of the

Surplus Property Act.66 As for the City of New York, it received only one bid for “all of the 493 slightly used electric air raid sirens. . . . $4,110.” Unfortunately, the cost of the new sirens was $81,367, and New York was expected to pay $75,000 to take them down.67

During the week of December 7, 1941—the day Pearl Harbor was attacked, and two months before the dancing controversy—Eleanor Roosevelt’s documentary salute to women in defense was released to the public. The script was read by Katherine Hepburn and written by Roosevelt herself, and excerpts were printed in that week’s New York

Times Sunday Magazine. The script praises American women who “are working to save this way of life, working to save the nation from the impact of total war, working to build a sure defense.”68 Closing with a tribute that may help explain why participation in

63 “City Demobilizes Raid Wardens,” New York Times, 13 May 1945, 22. 64 Ibid. 65 “Air-Raid Sirens for Sale,” New York Times, 2 June 1945, 14. 66 “To Sell OCD’s Property,” New York Times, 6 June 1945, 13. 67 “$4,110 Bid for Air Raid Sirens,” New York Times, 21 September 1945, 23. 68 “Women in Defense,” New York Times Sunday Magazine, 7 December 1941, SM6.

48 civilian defense during World War II ranked so low in the gendered hierarchy of male wartime service, the film offers a message of gratitude for women who are

serving their country in the laboratory, on defense production lines, in the civilian defense services, and in the home, which is after all the first line of defense. Women have always been the guardians of the home and children—the future of the country—and they are determined that our democracy shall survive and that our precious freedom shall be preserved.69

This narrative recognizes the home as the traditional domain of women but asserts that women can now protect it themselves—and in fact, they always have. On the home front, in this narrative at least, men are not necessary to guard “the first line of defense.”

And given women’s employment on “defense production lines,” fighting in combat was the only wartime activity remaining in which women were not invited to participate.

A Hero Stays Home: World War II Civil Defense in It’s a Wonderful Life

Wars and manliness, it seems, have long been inextricably linked. Wilfred

Owen’s harrowing World War I poetry warned that horror, not glory, was to be had in battle, but men who survived combat during World War II were largely revered as heroes back home. In the postwar period, countless Hollywood films regaled audiences with stories of national honor and tough masculinity honed during the war. Not nearly as many

69 Ibid. (Emphasis added.)

49 movies celebrated the men who could not serve overseas but tried to be useful on the home front anyway.

Given the relative dearth of such films—which itself is a commentary on how un- dramatic and non-heroic it was for a man to stay home during World War II—Frank

Capra’s It’s a Wonderful Life, released in 1947, offers a rare opportunity to explore a cinematic portrayal of a stay-at-home man. The film offers a particularly compelling contrast between potential civilian and military experiences during the war, as the main character and his brother represent the two divergent paths.

Jimmy Stewart stars as George Bailey, an honorable man who repeatedly puts off pursuing his own goals for the sake of others. After graduating from high school,

George’s friends depart for college, but George stays home, helping out in his father’s ever-struggling Building and Loan business and saving money to attend college four years later; at that point, according to the plan at least, his younger brother Harry will graduate from high school and take George’s place in the family business, freeing George to leave the small, and in his mind, confining town of Bedford Falls.

On the night of Harry’s graduation from high school, George’s father admits that he wishes Harry could go with George to college; after all, Harry is still rather young to work at the Building and Loan—“No younger than I was,” George interjects—while somehow, George was “born older” than his brother. When his father asks if he might return to work at the Building and Loan after completing college, George says apologetically, “I couldn't face being cooped up for the rest of my life in a shabby little

50 office. . . . I just feel like if I didn’t get away, I’d bust.” His father quietly agrees—and suffers a stroke later that night. George ultimately chooses to give up his trip to Europe, as well as his college education, in order to save the Building and Loan by taking over the business himself.

Throughout the film, Harry lives the adventures that George dreams about.70

Harry goes to college, gets married, and lands a good job with a bright future working for his father-in-law in Buffalo. Meanwhile, George stays in Bedford Falls, waiting passively for something exciting to happen; much of his life seems to be a series of reactions to external events. At one point, the town’s greedy capitalist banker, Mr. Potter, who has always wanted to take control of the Bailey business, tries to tempt George away from the

Building and Loan by offering him a huge salary and something he has always wanted— an opportunity to travel. After describing the kind of exciting life George could have by taking the offer, Potter describes George Bailey’s life up to that point, as a broken man:

He’s an intelligent, smart, ambitious young man—who hates his job—who hates the Building and Loan almost as much as I do. A young man who’s been dying to get out on his own ever since he was born. A young man . . . the smartest one of the crowd, mind you, a young man who has to sit by and watch his friends go places, because he’s trapped. Yes, sir, trapped into frittering his life away playing nursemaid to a lot of garlic-eaters.71

70 At Harry’s high school graduation party, Sam Wainwright, an old friend of George’s—now a college graduate—tells Harry that his school’s football coach has been following his games and wants Harry to join the team. Gesturing first at Harry and then at George, Sam declares, “We need great ends like you! Not broken down old guys like this one.” 71 “Garlic-eaters,” an anti-Italian slur, probably refers to the Martini family—Italian immigrants who are able to buy a home in Bailey Park due to the Building and Loan’s generous mortgage policies. See Mark Rotella, “It’s a Wonderful (Italian-American) Life,” NPR.org, 20 December 2012, www.npr.org/blogs/monkeysee/2012/12/20/167620418/its-a-wonderful-italian-american-life (accessed January 18, 2014).

George ultimately refuses the offer, but he does not refute the negative assessment.

When World War II casts its shadow over Bedford Falls, it finds everyone with a war job to do. George’s mother and mother-in-law are sewing for the Red Cross; Mary,

George’s wife, offers coffee and snacks to servicemen leaning out the windows of a train

(viewers learn that while Mary and George already had two children, “Mary had two more babies, but still found time to run the U.S.O.”); Sam Wainwright contributes to the war effort as the owner of a factory producing plastic for planes; Mr. Potter heads up the draft board, and is seen coldly declaring a series of residents fit for duty; and George’s

Uncle Billy and Mr. Gower, the town’s elderly pharmacist, are selling war bonds from atop a tank. A poster hangs nearby that depicts a soldier with a bandaged head wound, looking intensely at the viewer and asking, “Doing all you can, brother?”—a question that surely lurked in the minds of many men who stayed home from the war.

Here Capra transitions from the home front to the fields of battle, and the narrator summarizes what the draft-age men of Bedford Falls have been doing:

Bert the cop was wounded in North Africa—got the Silver Star. Ernie, the taxi driver, parachuted into France. Marty helped capture the Remagen Bridge. Harry—Harry Bailey topped them all. A Navy flier, he shot down fifteen planes, two of them as they were about to crash into a transport full of soldiers. . . . George? Four-F on account of his ear, George fought the battle of Bedford Falls.

During this segment, images flash across the screen showing the men in action: Bert, grimacing, struggles through darkness carrying his rifle, shown only by the light of

52 explosions nearby; Ernie is represented by a sky filled with planes and parachutes raining down over France; and Marty, who has what looks to be a conspicuous bullet hole in his helmet, urges men forward to capture a bridge. Finally, George’s brother Harry appears.

Harry, who “topped them all,” stands in front of a chalkboard covered with weather data.

He is calm, cool, and collected, wearing a clean, handsome flight suit with goggles resting just above his forehead. Harry seems to be facing someone just off camera, and as he finishes attaching his headgear, he smiles, gives a jaunty wave, and turns to walk to the exit. Charming Harry looks like he hasn’t a care in the world, even though he surely knows he will soon be flying into danger.

To accompany Harry’s story, Capra also shows footage of war planes and gunfire that lights up the sky. Some planes get hit, and one crashes into the sea and burns just before it would have hit a carrier full of men; the viewer sees this from the now-safe perspective of the transport. As the mighty plane explodes in the sea with a huge boom— what a relief!—the music changes from what had been a proud, triumphant march into a sad, minor-key dirge. It is at this point that George enters the picture.

In order to emphasize the depressing depths into which George has fallen, Capra chooses to contrast George’s wartime experience with that of his friends and brother in the military.72 After every missed opportunity George has to endure—not going to

Europe, not getting a college education, not enjoying a honeymoon abroad—and the

72 Frank Capra had experience working with the U.S. military, having shot a series of films for the government during World War II called, Why We Fight. The series was intended to raise morale and to indoctrinate soldiers about the nature of Axis enemies.

53 series of sacrifices that he nobly chooses to make—taking over the family business, allowing his brother to take the job in Buffalo (even though it was Harry’s turn to work for the Building and Loan), using his own funds to supply customers with cash during the

Depression—George finds himself in a situation where instead of finally getting to see

North Africa, France, or Germany, as his peers do, he has to stay home and fight “the battle of Bedford Falls,” a conflict that suggests an internal as well as an external struggle.

Because George had saved Harry from drowning when they were children—after

Harry skidded off the frozen part of the pond and into the cold waters below—George suffered a permanent loss of hearing in one ear that results in his classification as 4-F, or unacceptable for military service. In this scene, he is working at the Office of Price

Administration, dealing with crabby townspeople and their ration cards. A pencil is tucked behind one ear and he is wearing a shirt, tie, and plain-looking sweater with the top button undone. Standing under a sign reading, “TIRES/GASOLINE,” George looks like he has aged, and for the first time in the film, he is shown smoking a pipe. As the crowd surrounding him competes loudly for his attention, George barks, “Hold on! Hold on! Hold on, now! Don’t you know there’s a war on?”

Contrasting this domesticated version of the wartime experience with footage of the boldness and glory of the Navy pilot’s war effectively shows how removed George is from the battlefield. His experience on the home front is so vastly different from his brother’s that George actually feels the need to remind his neighbors of the war. While

Harry is depicted as light-hearted, carefree, and brave in the face of peril, George is tired, disheveled, and frustrated in the face of ration cards. Ironically, George has been robbed of the opportunity to save lives in the war because of the one life he saved during childhood.

To further differentiate George’s and Harry’s experiences, the audience soon sees that working at the office is not George’s only wartime duty. As the scene shifts from the cacophony of the office to a moonlit night outside a house, the narrator says the words,

“Air-raid warden.” Now it becomes clearer that George is wearing a civilian defense helmet and armband. He blows a whistle—his wartime weapon—and a man inside the house approaches his lighted window and pulls down the shade. George attempts to spit in apparent disgust at the man’s disregard of the blackout, but it doesn’t work. Instead of hurtling toward the ground, saliva lands on the lapel of his coat. He looks around to see if anyone is looking, then pathetically wipes it off with a sleeve.

Having shown that George’s home front services are not valued nearly as much as

his brother’s—and that civilian defense can

provide a good source of emasculating

humor—Capra follows the sorry scene with a

leap ahead to Christmas Day, 1945. The war is

over, Harry has earned the Congressional

Medal of Honor, and the town is getting ready Figure 2.5. to celebrate his homecoming; signs of welcome

55 are draped all over Bedford Falls. The front page of the local newspaper is covered with items about Harry’s heroism, including a picture of President Harry S. Truman himself presenting Harry with his award. George proudly distributes newspapers to everyone he sees.

George’s Uncle Billy, elated over the celebrations, encounters Mr. Potter at the bank and rubs his nose in Harry’s success; he flaunts the newspaper and brings up the topic of the Congressional Medal.

Potter: How does slacker George feel about that?

Uncle Billy: Very jealous, very jealous. He only lost three buttons off his vest. Of course, slacker George would have gotten two of these medals, if he had gone.

Potter (grunts): Bad ear.

Uncle Billy: Yes. After all, Potter, some people like George had to stay at home. Not every heel was in Germany and Japan. (laughs)

While this may seem like a small moment of victory for “slacker George” and

Uncle Billy, this verbal transaction actually drives George’s final downfall, as Uncle

Billy unwittingly hands Potter not only his newspaper but a large cash deposit he was about to make for the Building and Loan. When George learns of the missing funds, he spirals downward to the point of considering suicide. Soon he is offered a chance, by a friendly angel named Clarence, to see how things would be different had he never been born, and George soon makes a terrible discovery in a cemetery. The affordable houses of

Bailey Park no longer exist, because George wasn’t there to build them; in their place are

56 gravestones, and George quickly kneels down next to one, pushing the snow off of it desperately. It reads, “In memory of our beloved son, Harry Bailey, 1911-1919.”

Clarence: Your brother, Harry Bailey, broke through the ice and was drowned at the age of nine.

George: That’s a lie! Harry Bailey went to war. He got the Congressional Medal of Honor. He saved the lives of every man on that transport.

Clarence: Every man on that transport died. Harry wasn’t there to save them because you weren’t there to save Harry.

Even this dialogue, intended to emphasize the positive impact that one person may have on another, indirectly privileges Harry—again. The “proof” that George offers

Clarence that his brother cannot be dead is embodied in his statement: “Harry Bailey went to war.” That is what represents the one, overwhelming “fact” of Harry’s life, overshadowing all else. And in this scene in the graveyard, the ultimate tragedy of

George Bailey’s non-existence is not that the houses of Bailey Park no longer exist because he wasn’t there to build them, but that “Every man on that transport died . . . . because you weren’t there to save Harry.” Here, George’s value is measured by what he managed to contribute to the war effort—Harry’s life.

The importance of military service for defining masculinity and the concurrent diminishment of civilian defense as a masculine endeavor during World War II played a significant role in laying the groundwork for perceptions of civil defense as a weak and feminized program during the

1950s. As a civilian defense worker who lays down the law by blowing a whistle, and who cannot even manage to spit past his coat, George represents the bottom tier of wartime masculinity. He may “serve” his Figure 2.6.73 country in civilian defense, but in the hierarchy of male status, Harry wins the prize.

The “Situation” in Korea

To trace the coded language that Americans were applying to Korea by 1950—as well as to the Soviet Union and themselves—it helps to begin in the weeks following the

73 “He Serves, Too/Join the civilian defense,” lithograph, circa 1942, Victoria and Albert Museum, http://collections.vam.ac.uk/item/O107889/he-serves-too-poster-unknown/ (accessed 15 January 2014).

58 end of World War II in 1945. Korea had just been liberated from Japanese control. While

Soviet forces stationed north of the 38th parallel were accepting the surrender of Japanese soldiers, U.S. forces performed the same duties in the south. U.S. military leaders in

Korea attempted to give federal policymakers back home a sense of the situation on the ground, and in doing so, painted a picture of a weak, vulnerable country desperately in need of protection. Koreans were described as inexperienced in political matters and accustomed to being subjugated by foreign powers, and now there was a grave danger that Soviet forces would take advantage of the situation to solidify Communist control.

In this U.S. narrative of postwar Korea, both the United States and the Soviet

Union were coded as masculine, but they represented two distinct categories of masculinity: the Soviets were savage and vicious, yet powerful, while the Americans were civilized, protective, and perhaps a bit too restrained. For its part, Korea figured consistently as a passive, feminized space upon which the two world powers could battle for supremacy. This particular contest represented a struggle between the United States and the Soviet Union for political dominance in Asia, but the language used to describe it within political and military circles was infused with gendered metaphors, ideas about honor and “commitment,” and the advantages and disadvantages of employing differing styles of masculinity.

Two weeks after attending the surrender ceremonies that marked Japan’s defeat,

General Douglas MacArthur, the Supreme Commander of the Allied Powers, reported to the War Department on conditions in the newly liberated Korea. He compared the

59 southern area to “a powder keg ready to explode upon application of a spark” and warned that the “splitting of Korea into two parts for occupation by force of nations operating under widely divergent policies and with no common command is an impossible situation.”74 His first metaphor affirms the sense of Korea as a passive participant in the postwar struggle between the United States and the Soviet Union—MacArthur’s characterization depicts the region as a powder keg waiting to be acted upon by an instigator, applying a spark. The second assessment also emphasizes Korean passivity;

Korea did not choose its own destiny—it had been “split” at the 38th parallel by occupying powers who could carve the country up according to their own needs. Korea was utterly vanquished.

While MacArthur supported the eventual unification of Korea, he did not champion its immediate independence, in part because he felt that Koreans were too fragile to manage the challenge. In MacArthur’s view, Koreans were politically naïve, having been “dominated” by the Japanese for decades. He also described Koreans as so downcast that “they cannot now or in the immediate future have a rational acceptance of this situation and its responsibilities.”75

According to this narrative, the Japanese have reduced Koreans to such a helpless state that they lack the mental capacity to rule themselves; Koreans are not only used to

74 “War Department Incoming Classified Message,” 18 September 1945, 1. Unless otherwise stated, primary documents relating to Korea during the Truman administration are from the Harry S. Truman Presidential Library’s online collections at www.trumanlibrary.org. 75 Ibid., 3.

60 being submissive, due to previous occupations, but are also so depressed as to be rendered fundamentally irrational as well.76 By referring to Koreans as incapable of attaining “a rational acceptance” of their precarious situation, MacArthur constructs

Koreans as emotional, or feminine, rather than logical, or masculine. Two sentences later, he emphasizes the danger of allowing people prone to such feminine irrationality the power of self-rule, describing Korean political parties as being “born in emotion.”77

While masculinity was often identified with strength and power, it was not always constructed in purely positive or negative terms; competing masculinities complicated simple dichotomies. For example, MacArthur depicts the Russians occupying the northern zone in starkly negative language, but he also describes them as active and powerful; if South Koreans are weak and passive, the Soviet soldiers most certainly are not. When MacArthur argues that the most serious threat faced by the South is from

Soviet forces that cross the border, he asserts that the Russian soldiers “have vandalized, pillaged and looted indiscriminately areas south of 38 degrees where they have visited.”78

This perspective, of Russian forces embodying a savage yet powerful masculinity, is shared by an Australian correspondent writing about visits to prisoner-of-war camps north of the 38th parallel in September 1945—MacArthur forwarded the writer’s account to the War Department, the State Department, and the Joint Chiefs of Staff. After

76 As Carol Cohn has shown, the word “rational” is frequently used in opposition to “emotional,” a categorization that suggests the binary opposition of “male” and “female,” in which the former occupies a position of status while the latter is constructed as inferior. 77 “War Department Incoming Classified Message,” 18 September 1945, 3. 78 Ibid., 2.

61 assuring readers that his narrative is based on first-hand information rather than hearsay, the reporter asserts that the Soviet troops were “indulging in rape and robbery . . . by armed force.”79 He describes the looting “procedure” in these terms:

The Russians, armed with tommy guns, would drive up to a Korean or Japanese house, fire a few shots in the air, then break into the house, drag out what women (mostly young girls) they could find, put them into the truck along with the furniture and any other articles that caught their eyes, and drive off to their barracks. After a day or two the girls are thrown on the street. On the occasion I accompanied the looting party I protested when the Russians brought forth a young girl in tears. They laughed, waved their guns at me significantly, and carried on with the business.80

This passage clearly identifies Russian soldiers with power—a fierce, brutalizing power that does not adhere to the dictates of civilized masculine behavior. First, the writer describes the Russians violating the supposed sanctity of the home. By approaching a house, firing weapons, breaking in, and “dragging” out helpless girls, the

Soviet forces are not behaving honorably; indeed, they seem to be celebrating savagery.

The account insinuates that the women need civilized men to protect them from the

Russian brutes, and that Western men should be the ones to do it because, as the writer later declares, they “would stand up to defend any woman, regardless of her nationality.”

Next, the writer describes how the girls are put “into the truck along with the furniture.” Not only do the Russians disrespect the home, but they objectify women to

79 “War Department Incoming Classified Message,” 28 September 1945, 2. 80 Ibid., 3.

62 such an extent that women are on par with chairs, tables, and “any other articles that caught their eyes.” Furthermore, because the soldiers have guns that they “wave significantly,” they will not be challenged in their acquisitions.

The uncivilized characteristics of Russian soldiers go beyond violence against women. The correspondent also depicts the men as “indescribably filthy. . . . Some hadn’t washed for months by the look of their clothes and faces and necks.” He describes how the troops “ate in filth with flies everywhere,” and suggests that even if the shabby state of their uniforms could be explained by the fact that many of them had just arrived from

Berlin, that would not account “for the dirt on their skin.” The Russians, in this account, are not accidentally unclean, but purposefully so. And it is not limited to their clothing— it’s “on their skin.” The implication is that the Russian troops, while tough and masculine, are fundamentally different from civilized Western men, from their untamed sexual aggression right down to their apparent dislike of soap.

In contrast to the disparaging portrait of Russian soldiers, the writer describes

Korean women in idealized feminine terms. He explains that hundreds of them fed

Western prisoners of war, gave them gifts, and “regarded the prisoners as their friends.”

In this narrative, Korean women appear generous and maternal, but also needy and dependent: “The women especially, looked to [Western soldiers] for assistance when they were in trouble.” In the author’s final analysis, Koreans wanted to be protected by U.S. rather than Soviet forces. As Korea was “being torn in half” and women were being raped by depraved and filthy Russians, the Koreans themselves, wherever the writer traveled,

“wanted to see the Americans come in and take over. . . . The people . . . are pro

American and would like America to take over the whole of Korea.” This narrative presents American troops as civilized masculine heroes who should protect the vulnerable and feminized Korea. The account promotes a gendered framework that encouraged American men to meet the occasion, to be honorable and heroic, and to

“save” Korea.81

In the weeks that followed, the United States and the Soviet Union agreed on plans to end a “trusteeship” of Korea within five years and to promote a unified government; throughout 1946, however, the United States viewed the leaders of North

Korea with suspicion and considered leftist activists in the South evidence of a Soviet- backed Communist insurgency. Addressing these concerns, the newly formed Central

Intelligence Group (the forerunner of the CIA) presented a document in January 1947 titled, “The Situation in Korea.”82

81 Policymakers coded Korea in weak, passive, and feminine terms throughout the late 1940s and early 1950s. For example, in 1947, the State Department drafted a statement for presidential transmission that referred to Korea as “still a divided nation with no government of her own” (2). In addition, “the long delay in unifying Korea has left her economically weak and politically torn by factionalism. Her thirty million people already were suffering from the effects of thirty-five years of oppressive colonial rule which . . . exploited the trade of Korea for Japanese profit. The separation of Korea into two zones . . . has further handicapped her recovery. . . . We are resolved . . . to prepare her to become at an early date an independent state and a member of the United Nations.” (Memo, Frederick J. Lawton to Harry S. Truman with Attachment, 3 June 1947, 2-4). See also “Communist Capabilities in South Korea,” Office of Reports and Estimates 32-48, 21 February 1949, 9: “Communist propaganda . . . is not designed to promote rational thinking, but to stir up unreasoned violence and emotions against the United States and the Korean Government. . . . Korea will remain . . . a fertile field for Communist propaganda so long as economic conditions fail to improve.” The same document not only feminizes South Korea, but infantilizes it, describing fears among the Korean population during late 1948 “that the US was about to withdraw all troops, leaving the infant Republic to face alone the combined forces of the North Koreans, the Chinese Communists, the Soviets, and the internal opposition” (10). 82 “The Situation in Korea,” Office of Reports and Estimates 5/1, 3 January 1947.

The report echoes earlier constructions of Korea as weak, feminized, and dependent, depicting Koreans as people whom the Americans need “to prepare . . . for independence and democracy.” While the “Soviet forces in North Korea are living off the country and antagonizing the people,” the U.S. troops are acting “to educate the Koreans, not to indoctrinate them.” Here, the American occupation is again presented as a civilized

(and civilizing) project, in contrast to the aggressive Soviet presence whose sole aim is

“to integrate the entire peninsula in the Soviet system of Far Eastern defenses”—which necessitates “driving the US out of Korea.”83

Even so, the report grudgingly acknowledged an advantage to the Soviets’ apparent skill in dominating the Korean population by force. The supposedly benevolent position of the United States in relation to Korea is depicted in the report as less effective—if less brutal—than the Soviet position, suggesting that “[w]hile Soviet discipline reigns north of the 38th parallel, South Korea is in a state of unrest.” The tone of the document, while critical of the Soviet occupation, implicitly admires some of its techniques of “regimentation” and “order.” The difficulty for the American zone, it seems, is that administering the region under principles of a gentler, civilized masculinity undermines its effectiveness at creating a staunch South Korean bulwark against communism. Thus, even though “[d]iscontent probably exists in North Korea. . . . the

Soviet regime north of the 38th parallel appears more firmly established than ever.”84

83 Ibid., 9. 84 Ibid.

According to the report, the reluctance of U.S. officials to exert greater control over the South Korean zone not only weakened the occupation but actually aided communist opposition in the South; the Soviet zone may have been administered by brutal force, but at least the Red Army knew how to stifle dissent. In contrast, “Korean resistance to the US occupation has been encouraged by the leniency of US policy” and the “toleration of the US authorities.” Because of the reluctance of American administrators to emulate the “regimentation” of the Soviet zone, the “US has not imposed upon the Koreans the kind of government to which they had become accustomed under the Japanese. . . . The [U.S.] Military Government has confused the public . . . and impartiality has been interpreted as irresolution.” Here again, the report implies that U.S. “lenience” and “tolerance” are potential sources of American weakness in South Korea as opposed to Soviet strength in the North.

Nevertheless, the report confidently concludes that given the choice, Koreans would choose the American system of democracy over the Soviet system. Having established that Koreans are neither politically mature or emotionally stable enough— both coded as feminine qualities—to achieve democracy on their own terms and independent of an occupying power, the report suggests that the South Koreans are still capable of making “a clear choice between the opponents and the supporters of the

USSR.”85 It argues that if the Americans “can maintain order” in the South—a rather

85 Of course, government officials may have preferred not to acknowledge those “choices” that evidenced anti-U.S. opinion, as the report asserts that the “influence of the leftists in the US Zone derives more from . . . the desire of Military Government to appear impartial, than from popular support.”

66 large “if,” as the report has already shown this to be difficult for the “tolerant” American occupiers—the Soviet Union might ultimately be persuaded “to make concessions” that would be advantageous to the United States.

By 1948, U.S. officials were growing anxious to get out of Korea, but they faced a significant problem; if U.S. forces were to “withdraw,” it might look to the world as if the strong, honorable, and protective American forces had abandoned their weakened, dependent—and feminine—South Korean partner. On April 2, 1948, the National

Security Council (NSC) issued a report on “The Position of the United States with

Respect to Korea” that addressed this concern. According to the NSC, the United States should be working toward “establishing” an independent Korea, ensuring that the national elections scheduled for 1948 are duly representative of Korean voters, and helping to improve Korea’s economy and system of education. While these may have sounded like noble goals, another aim was mentioned a bit more discreetly: “terminating the military commitment of the U.S. in Korea as soon as practicable consistent with the foregoing objectives.”86

Frank Costigliola has effectively demonstrated the power of gendered metaphors to shape policy decisions —and gendered discourse was certainly at work in discussions of Korea. Analyzing how George Kennan’s “emotionalized picture of the Soviet threat and his militarized language” in the Long Telegram influenced American thinking about

86 “The Position of the U.S. with Respect to Korea,” National Security Council Report 8, 2 April 1948, 1.

67 the Soviet Union, Costigliola argues that Kennan’s repeated use of the word

“penetration” throughout the document conveyed the image of Soviet leaders “engaged in the driving, aggressive behavior conventionally associated with masculinity.”87 And while Kennan portrayed the “Soviet government as a masculine rapist,” he depicted the

West “as dangerously accessible” through potentially subversive organizations.88

Communist forces in North Korea were also depicted as masculine rapists—intent on subjugating the South—and the gendered implications of withdrawal were widely discussed by U.S. policymakers. For example, the CIA argued that South Korean forces were incapable of undertaking the military activities that “would be necessary against the large-scale border penetrations . . . which would undoubtedly follow the withdrawal of

US troops.”89 In addition, policymakers asserted that South Korea’s military dependence upon American forces left it in such a vulnerable state that “U.S. withdrawal could be interpreted as a betrayal by the U.S. of its friends and allies in the Far East and might well lead to a fundamental re-alignment of forces in favor of the Soviet Union throughout that part of the world.” The report asserted that it would be unwise to “abandon” the

South Korean government after elections, because doing so “would violate the spirit of

87 Frank Costigliola, “‘Unceasing Pressure for Penetration’: Gender, Pathology, and Emotion in George Kennan’s Formation of the Cold War,” Journal of American History 83 (March 1997): 1331, 1333. 88 Ibid., 1333. 89 “Consequences of US Troop Withdrawal from Korea in Spring, 1949,” Office of Reports and Estimates 3-49, 28 February 1949, 2 (emphasis added).

68 every international commitment undertaken by the U.S. during and since the war with respect to Korea.”90

Despite these caveats, the NSC acknowledged the drawbacks of remaining in

Korea after national elections—and continued using words often associated with

romantic

relationships, like

“commitment,”

“involvement,” and

“engagement” to

describe potential

pitfalls. For

example, NSC-8

argued that if the

United States were

to guarantee South

Korean

independence and

borders, it would Figure 2.791

90 Ibid., 8-9 (emphasis added). 91 Clarence Daniel Batchelor, “Somethin’ tells me, Sam, you no longer love me quite – so much,” drawing, 195-, Library of Congress, Prints and Photographs Division, Washington, D.C., http://hdl.loc.gov/loc.pnp/pp.print (accessed 20 January 2014).

69 lead to increased demands upon U.S. men and money and would “commit the U.S. to continued direct political, economic, and military responsibility, even to the extent of risking involvement in a major war.” Not only would the U.S. “commitment” to Korean security become ever more permanent, but it could lead to further “involvements” in risky foreign affairs on Korea’s behalf. Ultimately, the NSC recommended that the U.S. government should attempt to “effect a settlement of the Korean problem which would enable the U.S. to withdraw from Korea as soon as possible with the minimum of bad effects.” The United States should train Korea’s own forces and offer economic aid rather than maintain a military presence in Korea indefinitely: “This course of action would reduce the drain on U.S. resources and avoid underwriting a new Korean government to the extent that involvement in Korea might become so deep as to preclude disengagement.”92 While the NSC approved of the United States keeping international

“commitments,” it did not support a depth of “involvement” in Korea that might lead to a permanent “engagement.” Truman approved NSC-8 six days later, and U.S. troops completed withdrawal from Korea at the end of June 1949.

Less than two weeks before the U.S. withdrawal from Korea was complete,

President Harry S. Truman received a memo offering suggestions on how to present to congressional leaders the administration’s proposal for an additional year of economic aid to Korea. The memo emphasized that continued assistance was necessary because it

92 Ibid., 10-11 (emphasis added).

“is essential. . . . Without it south Korea will be unable to resist the tide of Communism which is in complete control of north Korea.”93 U.S. support was needed in order to help

South Korea “resist”—a word that framed South Korea as a passive, feminized victim of hostile advances from the brutish North. It concludes with an ominous note about international reactions to American military withdrawal:

A great many members of the United Nations were reluctant to have the General Assembly take the responsibility for the settlement of the Korean problem because they felt the United States was trying to unload it on them. Although no express commitments have been made, the U.S. implied . . . that it would not abandon the Republic but would give it essential economic and military aid.94

Explaining the need to withdraw military commitment from South Korea while simultaneously providing economic support to the country proved a challenging proposition for the administration. It forced policymakers to emphasize the threat to

South Korea from what Secretary of State Dean Acheson referred to as “the thrust of

Russian imperialism,” while also acknowledging that “no person can guarantee [South

Korea] against military attack.” One of the difficulties in this balancing act was arguing, in effect, that with regard to Asian areas threatened by Communist expansionism, it was in U.S. interests “to develop their resources and their technical skills so that they are not subject to penetration. . . . [But] we must clearly understand that the military menace is not the most immediate.” In a speech to the National Press Club in January 1950,

93 Memo to Harry S. Truman with Attachment, 18 June 1949, 1 (emphasis added). 94 Ibid., 2 (emphasis added).

Acheson suggested that if there were to be a Communist attack in Asia, “the initial reliance must be on the people attacked to resist it and then upon the commitments of the entire civilized world under the Charter of the United Nations which so far has not proved a weak reed to lean on.” This line of argument effectively removed the United

States from its position as South Korea’s lone military protector, but it also left the door open to criticisms that the United States was, in fact, “unloading” its responsibility onto the United Nations. 95

Acheson’s speech represented a complex understanding of the political power of sexual metaphor. In a section of his speech titled, “Susceptibility to Penetration,”

Acheson cites the inexperience of new governments that “have not become firmly established or perhaps firmly accepted in their countries,” thereby leaving them—as he states twice in the first paragraph—“susceptible to penetration.” He goes on, however, to distinguish between areas in which the United States has “direct responsibility . . . to act,” such as Japan, and other Asian nations where the United States is simply “one of many nations who can do no more than help.” In these latter regions, he explained, “the responsibility is not ours. . . . We can only be helpful friends.” There was a clear line between a “commitment” that implied a sense of responsibility—and a platonic relationship that did not.96

95 Secretary of State Dean Acheson’s speech, “Crisis in Asia: An Examination of U.S. Policy,” National Press Club, New York, 12 January 1950. 96 Ibid. (Emphasis added.)

Some Republican leaders were not convinced that such careful delineations bolstered the U.S. image in the Cold War world. One month after Acheson’s speech,

Senator Joseph McCarthy (R-WI) challenged what he portrayed as the administration’s passive approach to Asian affairs: “Can there be anyone who fails to realize that the

Communist world has said the time is now?—that this is the time for the show-down . . .

? Unless we face this fact, we shall pay the price that must be paid by those who wait too long.” Here McCarthy criticizes the Truman administration for becoming too passive, too patient, and too weak; the Soviet Union—not the United States—was controlling the terms and timing of the potential conflict by determining that “the time is now.” In addition, McCarthy compares the battle between the United States and the Soviet Union to a “show-down,” language reminiscent of American Westerns and cowboys, and implies that the United States has already lost—a particularly painful disgrace considering that Americans were responsible for developing the Western genre in the first place. McCarthy blamed Dean Acheson and members of the State Department for leading the nation down the path to emasculation on the world stage:

The reason why we find ourselves in a position of impotency is not because our only powerful potential enemy has sent men to invade our shores—but rather because of the traitorous actions of those who have been treated so well by this Nation. . . . This is glaringly true in the State Department. There the bright young men who are born with silver spoons in their mouths are the ones who have been most traitorous.97

97 Joseph McCarthy, “Speech at Wheeling, West Virginia,” 9 February 1950 (emphasis added).

Referring to Acheson as a “pompous diplomat in striped pants, with a phony British accent,” McCarthy tells his Republican audience that the “moral uprising” that Acheson’s corrupt leadership has inspired among the American people “will end only when the whole sorry mess of twisted, warped thinkers are swept from the national scene so that we may have a new birth of honesty and decency in government.” For McCarthy, such

“warped” figures as Acheson, coded as feminine with his “striped pants” and “phony

British accent,” must be removed from office before the United States can regain its

“potency” and win the “show-down” with the Soviet Union.

On June 25, 1950, four months after McCarthy’s speech, open conflict in Korea finally erupted when North Korean forces invaded South Korea. In an Army Department conference between Washington and Tokyo, military leaders reported that North Korea was probably not pursuing a raid of limited scope, again utilizing sexual metaphors to convey the danger presented by North Korean aggression: “the size of the North Korean

Forces employed, the depth of penetration, the intensity of the attack, and the landings made miles south of the parallel on the east coast indicate that the north Koreans are engaged in an all-out offensive to subjugate South Korea.”98 This gendered terminology permeated further discussions as well. After Truman ordered the U.S. Far East Air Forces to “support and assist” South Korea, and declared that North Korean military forces south of the 38th parallel would be considered targets of attack, U.S. military leaders abroad

98 “Army Department Teletype Conference,” 25 June 1950, 3 (emphasis added).

74 informed the administration that the situation was becoming increasingly dire. In their view, Northern forces were intent on “penetrating” the 38th parallel—and South Korean actions north of Seoul had not “succeeded in stopping the penetration recognized as the enemy’s main effort for the past 2 days.” Furthermore, they stated that South Korean forces had been “unable to resist [the] determined northern offensive. South Korean casualties as an index to fighting have not shown adequate resistance capabilities or the will to fight and our estimate is that a complete collapse is possible.”99

Again the masculine North is coded as active—taking the “offensive” position and “penetrating” southern territory, while the South is coded as passive—“unable to resist” the advances of the North and lacking “the will to fight.” In this tenuous situation, the Truman administration had to decide whether to “commit” U.S. military forces in order to “save” a feminized South Korea, or to “abandon” her to the rape and pillage of

Communist invaders from the North.100

One way U.S. officials tried to rectify the worsening situation was by attempting to “draw a line” in Korea, a line that would signify to the Soviet Union that the United

States would no longer be restrained in its military activities. As a metaphor, “drawing the line” reinforced U.S. masculinity in two ways: it established a boundary that could thereby be defended by force, and it positioned the United States as an active rather than

99 “Army Department Teletype Conference,” ca. June 1950, 2-3 (emphasis added). 100 This gendered conundrum calls to mind the male Australian correspondent’s report from Korea in 1945, in which his language reflected a sense of powerlessness against Soviet forces raping and subduing Japanese and Korean women in the north.

75 passive participant in structuring the conflict. The invasion of North Korea into South

Korean (and implicitly American) space demanded a strong U.S. reassertion of the boundary as a “line” that U.S. forces could protect from “violation.”

Policymakers also discussed the importance of appearing strong in the international realm. At a meeting between the president and congressional leaders on

June 27, 1950 (four months after McCarthy’s attack on Dean Acheson’s masculinity),

Secretary Acheson declared that “the United States should adopt a very firm stand” in

Asia because South Korean forces seemed to be “weakening fast,” “their leadership was weak and indecisive,” and “the governments of many Western European nations appeared to be in a state of near-panic, as they watched to see whether the United States would act or not.”101 A memorandum covering the same meeting portrayed Western

Europe in a similarly emasculated fashion, quoting Congressman Mike Mansfield (D-

MT) as saying that the United States needed to “stiffen Western Europe.”102

Although he was careful to remind those in attendance at the meeting that the

United States was operating under the auspices of the United Nations, Truman reaffirmed the conflict as a battle between the United States and the Soviet Union, stating that the

“communist invasion of South Korea” was “very obviously inspired by the Soviet

Union.”103 This made the status of American power—or lack thereof—a matter of

101 “Notes Regarding Meeting with Congressional Leaders,” 27 June 1950, 3. 102 “Memorandum of Conversation,” 27 June 1950, 2 (emphasis added). 103 The notes do not record Truman mentioning North Korea by name in this context; instead he implicitly marginalizes their power, identifying the “communist”—rather than “North Korean”—invasion with the U.S.S.R.

76 domestic and international prestige, and again, State Department officials frequently presented what they termed “blatant and irrefutable Communist aggression” in sexualized terms. For example, in a document providing an overview of the conflict, the Department asserted that the invasion of the South “was fairly widely interpreted as an obvious probe by world communism at a soft spot in the non-Communist world which, if successful, would undoubtedly be followed by further action against other soft spots.”104 If the

United States were being challenged to a “show-down” in Senator McCarthy’s terms, and if South Korea—a territory protected by the manpower of the United States—was viewed as a “soft spot,” it was ever more imperative that the world should view American power as strong rather than weak. Some Europeans admired Truman’s boldness in coming to

South Korea’s aid; according to the State Department, Western reactions to the president’s declaration of support for the use of force in Korea were very positive. For example, the foreign minister of Luxembourg “described the firmness of the President’s statement as comforting . . . . [He] thought the Soviets would be surprised at the vigor of our reaction.”105

104 “State Department Overview of Korean Situation,” 28 June 1950, 2 (emphasis added). Concern over “softness” was not limited to the geographical area of South Korea itself. Senator Joseph O’Mahoney (D-WY) complained to President Truman that the limited appropriations given to South Korea before the invasion—appropriations “intended primarily for internal security, not for resistance to an invasion from the north”—would “undoubtedly be used to support a charge that our policy was soft toward the Communists in Korea.” Correspondence between Joseph O’Mahoney and Harry S. Truman, 28 June 1950, 1-2. 105 Ibid., 4. Not all Americans were pleased with the idea of taking an active role in Korea. In a letter to President Truman, an attorney from Chicago criticized –in gendered terms—the negative effect that such U.S. initiatives might have on the U.N.: “I exceedingly regret the act of active warfare instituted by you. Aside from the fact that it is, in effect, a declaration of war, which only Congress has the power to declare, it also emasculates the force and effect of the United Nations.” Joseph Albaum to Harry S.

While many praised the muscular strength of American resolve, representatives from South Korea expressed gratitude toward the United States in terms that coded South

Korea as feminine and the Soviet Union as masculine—in a negative way reminiscent of

Douglas MacArthur’s earlier depictions. These exchanges provide further proof that masculinity does not always imply a positive value while femininity represents negativity and weakness; gender assignments can be flexible depending upon the goal of the narrative in question.

English speakers during this period often adopted the practice of using feminine pronouns to identify nations, but under certain circumstances, especially—but not always—when referring to a nation considered to be aggressive, this gendered code could be reversed. In a telegram to Secretary of State Acheson, Ben C. Limb, Minister of

Foreign Affairs in South Korea, thanked the U.S. government, expressed pride in the partnership between the two nations, and declared that South Korea “most emphatically pledges all in her power to win a lasting victory for cherished common cause.” He goes on to insist that “Korea will never forget what the government and people of America are doing for her; it will go down in Korean history for many centuries as a great turning point in her national life.”106 Three days later, President Truman received a letter from

South Korean President Syngman Rhee, via the Korean Embassy, that also portrayed the

Truman, 30 June 1950 (emphasis added). Another letter to the president, critical of U.S. intervention and support for the unpopular Syngman Rhee, asks, “Must we pull his chestnuts out of the fire for him?” Ann and George Ash to Harry S. Truman, 12 July 1950. 106 Niles W. Bond to Eben Ayers, With Attached Telegram, 14 July 1950 (emphasis added).

78 conflict in gendered terms—this time emphasizing the terrible masculinity of the Soviet

Union:

So, suddenly, on a quiet Sunday morning, expecting that the outer free world would only piously express indignation at his naked aggression so reminiscent of Poland and Pearl Harbor, and knowing that the forces of the Republic of Korea were purely defensive, without planes, tanks, or heavy guns—all of which were possessed by the aggressive Communist forces—they attacked.107

General Douglas MacArthur echoed Rhee’s depiction of Soviet forces in a letter to President Truman two days later. MacArthur offered an “estimate of the Korean situation” in positive terms for the United States by suggesting that North Korean forces—explicitly masculine in his description—had lost their “chance for victory” due to U.S. superiority and forcefulness:

The enemy’s plan and great opportunity depended upon the speed with which he could overrun South Korea once he had breached the Han River line and with overwhelming numbers and superior weapons temporarily shattered South Korean resistance. This chance he has now lost through the extraordinary speed with which the 8th Army has been deployed from Japan to stem his rush. When he crashed the Han Line the way seemed entirely open and victory was within his grasp. . . . [but U.S. forces] so slowed his advance and blunted his drive that we have bought the precious time necessary to build a secure base. . . . His supply line is insecure. He has had his great chance but failed to exploit it. We are now in Korea in force.108

107 John M. Chang to Harry S. Truman, 17 July 1950, 1 (emphasis added). 108 Douglas MacArthur to Harry S. Truman, 19 July 1950, 1-3 (emphasis added).

In this context, believing that communist forces were “probing soft spots” in order to achieve their expansionist goals raised several significant issues for U. S. policymakers: how should they define American responsibilities toward the weakened

South Korean nation? Would the Soviet Union utilize the atomic technology its leaders had acquired since the end of World War II? And if the United States were perceived by the Soviet Union as “soft,” might that suggest the next target for Soviet “penetration”?

During the summer of 1950, the position of the United States within international opinion was considered crucial to national security. To many Americans, it appeared that the showdown between the Soviet Union and the United States was finally happening on the Korean stage—and the recent loss of the atomic monopoly represented a threat to national survival graver than that posed by the War of 1812. Within months, President

Truman established the Federal Civil Defense Administration, “to protect life and property in the United States in case of enemy assault.”109 Civil defense officials would try to convince Americans that their programs represented masculine strength rather than feminine weakness—and that in fact, civil defense should be respected as much as the

U.S. military. But in an “age of anxiety” characterized by perceptions of white, middle- class American masculinity in decline, they would face a difficult struggle.

109 Harry S. Truman, “Statement by the President Upon Signing the Federal Civil Defense Act of 1950,” 12 January 1951. The American Presidency Project, www.presidency.ucsb.edu/ws/?pid=13777 (accessed 25 February 2014).

CHAPTER III

“These are lovely leashes, aren’t they?” Momism, Civil Defense, and the Pursuit of Security

In order to evaluate how the gendered messages of civil defense functioned within the particular environment of the 1950s, it is useful not only to explore the roots of civil defense itself but also to examine broader ideas about manliness and national identity that shaped cultural concerns of the early Cold War period. The physical, economic, and cultural dislocations precipitated by U.S. participation in World War II were still fresh in the minds of many in 1950, and as World War II had underscored the nation’s need to develop an alternative source of manpower during wartime—namely, womanpower—the

Korean conflict and concerns about potential Cold War battles again prompted debates about mobilizing women on the home front. During the 1950s, an increasing number of single and married women worked outside the home; according to Stephanie Coontz,

“[m]arried women comprised the majority of the growth in the female work force throughout the 1950s, and between 1940 and 1960 there was a 400 percent increase in the number of working mothers.”1 As Cuordileone notes, “the popular image of the 1950s as

1 Stephanie Coontz, The Way We Never Were: American Families and the Nostalgia Trap (New York: Basic Books, 1992), 160-161. 80

81 culturally and sexually repressive tends to minimize the profound transformations that were occurring in the realm of sexuality and gender.”1 The destabilizing influence of

World War II lingered well into the 1950s—and to several cultural commentators of the era, the challenges to traditional gender roles wrought by wartime experiences posed serious questions about the fate of both the family and the nation.

With gender roles unsettled, whose responsibility would it be to protect the family in the event of attack? Would suburban neighbors chuckle at the sight of Dad building and stocking a basement shelter? Was planning for Armageddon sensible—or neurotic? And why were middle-class men apparently declining in masculine vigor? As

Americans engaged in these cultural conversations during and after World War II, they frequently employed gendered tropes and reproductive metaphors that translated complex issues into accessible narratives. A close reading of a variety of cultural texts reveals how concerns about gender played out in novels, magazine articles, films, self-help books, and even academic studies of “national character.” Such an analysis also aids in developing a sense of why civil defense programs failed to capture the imaginations of American men.

In 1942, Philip Wylie published what would turn out to be a bestselling book—a polemic against strong women, weak men, the psychiatric profession, Christianity, and an assortment of other things he viewed as cultural ills: Generation of Vipers. Writing with a strong authorial voice, Wylie actually includes “Directions for Reading this Book,” to

1 Cuordileone, xxi.

82 help the reader find exactly what he or she is looking for, quickly. For example, he advises “haters of the matriarchy” to proceed directly to chapter eleven, “Common

Women.”2 Here they will find a brand-new term: “momism.”

Wylie begins his argument against the matriarchy by suggesting that the idea of

“mom” is a cultural construction, a particularly American one, that has saturated society so completely that it has even infiltrated that most masculine of organizations, a division of military men at war: “Mom is an American creation. I cannot think, offhand, of any civilization except ours in which an entire division of living men has been used, during wartime, or at any time, to spell out the word “mom” on a drill field.”3 Furthermore,

Wylie asserts that the metaphorical tendencies of mothers to consume their own offspring must have some intellectual validity because the theme has been considered in literature since classical times: “The spectacle of the female devouring her young in the firm belief that it is for their own good is too old in man’s legends to be overlooked by any but the most flimsily constructed society.”4

Having thus grounded his case, Wylie proceeds to depict mothers as both the epitome of weakness and the “thin and enfeebled martyr whose very urine, nevertheless, will etch glass.”5 In his view, Mom is responsible for replacing her nine-year-old son’s

“notion of being a surveyor of the Andes” with the more practical ambition of taking “a

2 Philip Wylie, Generation of Vipers (New York: Farrar and Rinehart, Inc., 1942), xxi. 3 Ibid., 184. 4 Ibid., 185. 5 Ibid., 187.

83 stockroom job in the hairpin factory” and spending the rest of his life trying to move up the so-called ladder of success. In this way, Wylie writes, “the women of America raped the men, not sexually, unfortunately, but morally.”6 Mom circumscribes her son’s dreams while selfishly pursuing her own—and her decision to abandon the home and venture into the public realm has already had disastrous results:

Mom got herself out of the nursery and the kitchen. She then got out of the house. . . . In a preliminary test of strength, she also got herself the vote and, although politics never interested her (unless she was exceptionally naïve, a hairy foghorn, or a size forty scorpion), the damage she forthwith did to society was so enormous and so rapid that even the best men lost track of things. Mom’s first gracious presence at the ballot-box was roughly concomitant with the start toward a new all-time low in political scurviness, hoodlumism, gangsterism, labor strife, monopolistic thuggery, moral degeneration, civic corruption, smuggling, bribery, theft, murder, homosexuality, drunkenness, financial depression, chaos and war. Note that.7

Wylie links the maternal transgression of domestic boundaries with what he sees as horror, vice, and depravity. Uninterested in politics, Mom nevertheless wins the vote after a “test of strength” and graciously sends the nation into a downward spiral that leads to war.

Not content with running the country’s politics into the ground, Mom figuratively castrates her son—by limiting his ambitions and requiring servitude to Mother in exchange for her approval—and takes over “the male functions . . . interpreting those

6 Ibid., 188. 7 Ibid., 188-189.

84 functions in female terms.” Moms eventually dominate “schools (into which they have put gelding moms), churches, stores, and mass production,” and in a final “inversion,” they don “the breeches of Uncle Sam” himself.8

This gender-inverting, son-castrating, “destroying mother” of whom Wylie speaks became a formidable and frightening archetype for middle-class white women in the postwar United States. Wylie represents her as the Medusa of the age, “the woman in pants,” a threat to American manhood that must be quashed, and ultimately issues this remarkable call to action:

We must face the dynasty of the dames at once, deprive them of our pocketbooks . . . and take back our dreams which, without the perfidious materialism of mom, were shaping up a new and braver world. We must . . . stop spending all our strength in the manufacture of girdles: it is time that mom’s sag became known to the desperate public.9

In his angry denunciation of the insidious inner workings of Mom, Wylie presents himself as a revolutionary figure determined to reveal the ugly truth behind the makeup and rescue American men from lives of humiliation and weakness. His use of the girdle image effectively casts Mom as a cunning pretender—a woman who presents herself as something she is not in order to trick gullible men into finding her beautiful—and men as the unwitting dupes who sacrifice independence and strength in order to “support” the very image that seduces and emasculates them.

8 Ibid., 200-201. 9 Ibid., 203.

This portrayal of Mom recurred repeatedly during the postwar years. The 1947 film, The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, tells the story of a man so dominated by his mother—and by his fiancée, Gertrude—that he escapes his everyday life by fantasizing about heroic adventures in which he is finally free to assert his masculinity before an adoring and submissive, woman of beauty. Walter Mitty’s father is neither present nor mentioned in the film; viewers may imagine that he was henpecked to death before the story begins. The middle-class house Walter shares with his mother is tidy and well kept, like his mother herself. Mrs. Mitty communicates with her son through a combination of nagging and scolding that inevitably leads to disappointment when her needs are not met, regardless of Walter’s good intentions.

The film begins with a scene that symbolizes the power relationship between mother and son. Walter, dressed in a suit and hat, sits in a car next to his mother, whose hat, bedecked with an ostentatious purple bow, coordinates perfectly with her conservative dress. While Walter is technically in the driver’s seat, his mother is clearly in charge; the first line of the film features her criticizing his driving:

Mother: Not so fast! You’re driving too fast! What are you driving so fast for?

Walter: Hmm?

Mother: Well, you were up to 35. You know I don’t like to go over 30, and you were up to 35! Walter, you’re always doing something else and having your mind on something else.

Walter (with sincerity): I’m sorry, Mother.

Mother: Besides, you haven’t been listening to a single word I’ve said.

Walter: Yes I have, Mother.

Mother: What did I say?

Walter: Well, you said I was up to 35 and you didn’t like me to go over 30.

Mother: Not that. I said we’re going to have it in a church.

Walter: Have what, Mother?

Mother: The wedding!

Walter: Oh.

Mother: See? You weren’t listening. Red light, Walter.

By the time the car screeches to a halt to avoid running the light, viewers have learned a great deal about the two characters and the relationship between them. The first criticism Mrs. Mitty levels at Walter is very specific: he is driving too fast. Interestingly, she is not critical of his driving in a general sense here; she literally represents a force holding him back, a theme also clear when she reminds Walter to stop at the red light.

Mrs. Mitty also rebukes him in a way that implies he is aware of his disrespectful behavior to his mother but childishly chooses to indulge in it anyway, thereby justifying her criticism and denial of maternal approval: “You know I don’t like to go over 30, and you were up to 35!” In addition, viewers understand that on some level, Walter has become numb to his mother’s rebukes. He does not challenge her version of events but apologizes glumly instead. And when Walter does attempt to stand up for himself,

87 asserting that indeed he had been listening to his mother although she insists he was not, he actually proves her correct; she had moved on to the subject of “the wedding”—which she has apparently decided to have in a church—while his mind must have been elsewhere. Of course, Mrs. Mitty seizes on this opportunity to rub Walter’s nose in it:

“See? You weren’t listening.”

At this point, Walter and his mother notice an advertisement for soap on a building opposite, which provides the venue for escape that Walter seeks. It depicts a tall ship at sea in stormy waters, and the words “Sea Drift Soap Chips.” The advertisement reminds Mrs. Mitty that she would like Walter to bring soap chips home for her, but

Walter is already staring at the picture in a daze, immune to her words. The light turns green, a car behind them honks, and Mrs. Mitty patiently tells him to “go ahead.” Walter, obediently chanting the name of the company so he won’t forget it later, drifts into a dramatic scene that finally allows him to narrate his own exciting destiny. In his mind, he becomes Captain Walter Mitty, “fighting courageously to keep his tortured vessel from being smashed to bits.” A beautiful woman lurches over and asks to help, but he valiantly tells her to “Get below!” and insists that despite his broken arm, he will keep his word to her father and deliver the ship’s cargo: “half a million dollars of rare spices.” As the mast breaks in two and stormy waters surge over the helm, the woman screams…and viewers suddenly see Mrs. Mitty yelling, “Walter! Watch out!”

The juxtaposition of mother and potential mate serves to contrast the behavior of the two—Mrs. Mitty scolds and belittles Walter while the fantasy woman looks up to

88 him, offering assistance that he can heroically decline—but it also underscores the depressing idea that for Walter, a “make believe” world is vastly superior to reality. In the “real world,” it seems that Walter’s mother and his fiancée, Gertrude, unfortunately share a great deal in common. When Gertrude and her mother come over for dinner that evening (Walter brought home a rake for the occasion rather than the cake his mother had requested), Gertrude brings along her lap dog, Queenie. It quickly becomes clear that for

Gertrude, the dog occupies a higher place on the social hierarchy than that of her future husband. Apparently, Walter and Queenie have not met to this point, so Gertrude introduces the two in baby-speak:

Gertrude: Queenie, say hewwoh to your future daddy, Walty Mittens!

Mother (to Walter): Well, don’t stand there like a stick. Wave back.

Walter: Hello, Queenie.

Walter reaches over to pet the dog and is bitten on the finger. Gertrude acknowledges the affront by cooing, “Naughty Queenie!” in response.

Walter’s mother and fiancée both treat him as a subordinate rather than as an equal—let alone a superior. The only subservient woman in his life is a fantasy. And while the dog is doted upon unconditionally—Queenie has her own bib with her name

printed on it and eats dinner

at the table from a

highchair—Walter has to

earn affection by running

errands and following

orders. The price of his

mother’s love is his

Figure 3.1. unquestioning obedience, and as Gertrude insists upon bringing Queenie on the honeymoon despite Walter’s objections, it appears that his emasculation will continue for the rest of his life.

This theme is perhaps most visible when Walter goes shopping for dog biscuits.

During the family dinner the previous night, Gertrude remarked that Queenie seemed to be feeling unwell, and Gertrude’s mother—seconded by Mrs. Mitty—volunteered Walter to procure some of the “new vitamin puppy biscuits” after work the next day. When

Walter subsequently visits the pet needs area of a department store, he actually begins to exhibit dog-like traits. Seeing a man in the store whom Walter believes wishes to harm him, Walter nervously opens the box of dog biscuits he just bought for Queenie and proceeds to shove one into his mouth. Other shoppers look at him oddly and Walter

90 explains, “I always eat them. They contain vitamin B1.” Next, he ducks into a circular display of dog leashes adjacent to a human-sized, pink dog house. The helpful female clerk who assisted him earlier approaches and, addressing Walter through the display, says, “You forgot your change, sir.” She passes some bills through the wall of hanging straps. Walter, hunched over and not inclined to leave his hiding place, thanks her distractedly.

Clerk: These are lovely leashes, aren’t they?

Walter: Oh yes. Lovely. Lovely. Leashes. [He finally steps out from inside the display.] Uh, how much are these muzzles?

Clerk: Three dollars.

Walter pays and rejects her offer to wrap his new muzzle. Instead, he puts it on, over his face, and says politely, “No, I’ll wear it home.”

Walter’s transformation now appears complete. He needs no further obedience training, and is ready for the life of servitude awaiting him in marriage. As evidenced by the opening scene in the car, he has internalized and accepted the maternal leash, while the dinner scene underscores his lack of status in his fiancée’s eyes; there, Walter not only fails to achieve the role of the alpha male in a room full of women, but his position is clarified as subservient to a rude little dog named Queenie.

Because the film is a comedy, viewers know that it cannot end this way for the

“hero,” and the conclusion shows Walter not only telling everyone off but marrying the fantasy woman as well—who, like a well-coiffed Velveteen Rabbit, has finally become

91 real. To reach this point, Walter ultimately leaves his fiancée at the altar and rescues his fantasy woman from evil-doers, which of course, leads Mrs. Mitty, Gertrude, Gertrude’s mother, Gertrude’s vaguely alluded to alternate suitor, and Walter’s boss verbally assaulting him for being irresponsible. Suddenly, Walter looks at the group and says,

“Shut up!” Everyone stops talking. This marks the beginning of Walter’s redemption of his own sacrificed masculinity.

Boss: Mitty!

Walter: You too! Now you’re all going to listen to me. For years I’ve been listening to you, and you almost put me in a straightjacket. Your small minds are muscle-bound with suspicion. That’s because the only exercise you ever get is jumping to conclusions. You ought to be ashamed of yourselves. Every one of you.

Boss: Now hold on, Mitty, I don’t think—

Walter: You never think!

Boss: What?

Walter: The only good idea you ever had was to hire me to do your thinking for you!

Gertrude’s suitor: Heh heh heh.

Walter: Oh, heh heh heh. [He punches Gertrude’s suitor in the face.]

As Gertrude runs after her gentleman friend—perhaps she will find a happy life nursing his wounds?—Walter’s boss stares at Walter with newfound respect.

The film ends with Walter, or “Walt,” as his boss now calls him, stepping into a new, spacious office with the fantasy woman at his side. The door reads, “WALTER

MITTY, ASSOCIATE EDITOR.” In the final scene, with not a Wylie-esque “mom” in sight, viewers learn of Walter’s promotion from lowly copyeditor, his marriage to the new Mrs. Mitty, and his relationship of apparent equality with his boss, whom Walter now calls “Bruce.” Walter no longer needs to fantasize about the man he wishes he could be; life has finally rewarded him for refusing to be submissive, and the future looks as bright as his new office walls.

While Walter Mitty’s narrative may have had a happy ending, many cultural commentators pondered the negative effect that domineering mothers might be having upon the nation. In The American People, published in 1948, Geoffrey Gorer suggests that “the unquestioned high position and far-reaching influence of women in contemporary American society” has had significant effects on both children and adults.10

In his view, the “idiosyncratic feature of the American conscience is that it is predominantly feminine. Owing to the major role played by the mother in disciplining the child, in rewarding and punishing it, many more aspects of the mother than of the father become incorporated. Duty and Right Conduct become feminine figures.”11 Furthermore, he argues, because men have been imbued since youth with a sense of feminine morality, they inevitably resent it and look for excuses to escape its grasp, whether through “the stag poker game” or the “fishing trip.”12 And on the political level, “a great deal of the

10 Geoffrey Gorer, The American People: A Study in National Character (New York: W. W. Norton and Co., 1948), 55. 11 Ibid., 56. 12 Ibid., 57.

93 animus felt and expressed by businessmen and their spokesmen against the New Deal was due to the fact that its social legislation was felt to be introducing into the domain of masculine privilege the meddling female morality.”13 Indeed, this is consistent with

Margaret Mead’s assessment that incorporating social welfare programs within the context of World War II civil defense conflicted with “the American man’s impatience with the kind of ‘goodness’ which is identified as feminine.”14

Mead, writing in the same year as Wylie, does not blame women in general or mothers in particular for metaphorically castrating the nation’s men. If the nation is

“weak,” there are other causes, in her view, and women as well as men are guilty of not being tougher. In 1942, she worries that many Americans have adopted a fatalistic sensibility toward World War II, in which the outcome of the conflict is already written, if still unknown. Mead rails against this as

an essentially passive attitude towards the world; an attitude completely out of key with American history, out of key with our picture of ourselves as a people who, virtually single-handed—each man alone with an ax and a rifle—conquered a wilderness. It is an attitude born of riding on subways, working in office buildings, and poring helplessly over ticker tape—the attitude of men who wouldn’t know what to do with an ax or a rifle, of women who have never in their lives seen a pump or a wood stove or a chicken which had to be cleaned before it was eaten. When our journalists get angry and say that Americans are soft . . . this is essentially what they mean . . . that they have lost their sense of being able to control their own destiny by their own inventiveness and toughness and determination.15

13 Ibid., 60. 14 Mead, 36. 15 Ibid., 101-102.

Mead’s reference to axes and unplucked chickens is consistent with the recurring theme of pioneering widely utilized in civil defense literature. In this case, the American narrative of heroic conquest of the dangerous frontier is juxtaposed with the lifeless image of employees being shuttled to work rather than walking (or even driving themselves) and once there, being imprisoned in an office no more physically demanding than a living room. The story of Walter Mitty, who takes a train from Perth Amboy into

New York City every day, is evocative of this theme; perhaps worse, Walter’s final triumph celebrates his decision not to reject the corporate world but to luxuriate within it, pleased to rub shoulders with “Bruce” and to take his proper editorial place in the publishing hierarchy.16

While Walter may have escaped the clutches of his mother, his fate remains less than assured at the close of the film. Many writers argued that the corporate career of the

1950s divorced a man from enjoying a hearty nineteenth-century relationship to his work.

Instead of finding a sense of worth in his own self-reliance, the mid-century man’s form of “production” entailed cultivating approval from others. Drawing upon David

16 Wolfgang Schivelbusch points out that many nineteenth-century train travelers who were new to this mode of transportation often used a particular metaphor to describe it: “The traveler who sat inside that projectile ceased to be a traveler and became . . . a mere parcel.” He quotes two examples of this idea: “the traveler ‘demotes himself to a parcel of goods and relinquishes his senses, his independence,’” and “‘for the duration of such transportation one ceases to be a person and becomes an object, a piece of freight.’” See The Railway Journey: The Industrialization of Time and Space in the 19th Century (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1977), 54. Tom, Gregory Peck’s character in The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit (1957) also commutes to an office job in Manhattan via train. His story is different, in that while Walter yearns to create his own heroic narrative from scratch, Tom has already experienced adventure while serving in World War II, and while some war memories are painful, he also misses the environment of danger, camaraderie, and love overseas.

Riesman’s The Lonely Crowd, Rollo May describes people who depend upon others for approval—Riesman uses the term “other-directed”—as “characterized by attitudes of passivity and apathy.”17 He then paints a picture of what Walter’s “happily ever after” future may look like:

The clearest picture of the empty life is the suburban man, who gets up at the same hour every weekday morning, takes the same train to work in the city, performs the same task in the office, lunches at the same place, leaves the same tip for the waitress each day, comes home on the same train each night, has 2.3 children, cultivates a little garden, spends a two-week vacation at the shore every summer which he does not enjoy, goes to church every Christmas and Easter, and moves through a routine, mechanical existence year after year until he finally retires at sixty-five and very soon thereafter dies of heart failure, possibly brought on by repressed hostility. I have always had the secret suspicion, however, that he dies of boredom.18

In the mid-twentieth century, many writers expressed concern over the seemingly irresistible pull of “security” for American men. In The Power of Positive Living,

Douglas Lurton describes the results of a 1949 Fortune poll of 150,000 new male college graduates; while veterans made up 70 percent of this population (“many of whom courageously faced tanks and machine guns”), only 2 percent of the men planned to embark on future entrepreneurial pursuits. Lurton refers to the other 98 percent as being

17 Rollo May, Man’s Search for Himself (New York: W. W. Norton, 1953), 20. David Riesman identifies the other-directed man as the result of “a western urban world in which, with growing economic abundance, work has lost its former importance and one’s peers educate one in the proper attitudes toward leisure and consumption—indeed, in which politics and work become, in a sense, consumables.” See The Lonely Crowd: A Study of the Changing American Character (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1950), vii. 18 Ibid., 21.

“obsessed with a yearning for ‘security,’” wanting corporate jobs with dependable pension plans. He suggests that some critics “believe that this lack of enterprise is due to the fact that these men were first rocked in the cradle of the home, later spent years in service, where they were told what to eat and wear and when to get up in the morning, and then were handed college educations on a platter. They have come to like too well being provided for by others. They love the cradle.”19 The theme of the infantilization of

American men recurs throughout popular psychological literature of the 1950s.

While anthropologists, psychologists, and sociologists generally agreed that

American men had lost their drive, many 1950s commentators blamed not only the spirit- crushing world of corporate work, but the familiar figure of the over-dominant mother as well; common to both assessments was the theme of passivity. Douglas Lurton describes an example of this character in terms reminiscent of the early Walter Mitty: “the potato personality, the human vegetable, the passive one who takes the buffeting of life with scarcely any positive or negative reaction, simply suffering from and dumbly submitting to outside influences.”20 The authors of Psychology of Adjustment specifically link such passivity with Philip Wylie’s assessment of “mommism . . . a direct attempt to find security in the mother rather than in self-reliance. Behind mommism is a parental fixation[,] . . . a certain faith in mother’s ability to help out in all circumstances, . . . [and

19 Douglas Lurton, The Power of Positive Living: Everyday Psychology for Getting What You Want Out of Life (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1950), 57-58. 20 Ibid., 18-19.

97 a] lack of psychological weaning at the expected age.”21 Rollo May echoes this argument, acknowledging that while he is uncertain how accurate Wylie’s analysis is, “there is still plenty of evidence that the system ‘in our country is beginning to resemble a matriarchy,’ as the psychiatrist Edward A. Strecker points out.”22 May subsequently goes even further, suggesting that “[m]atriarchy is one thing, but we still have the question of why there is such a demanding quality in the power women exert in our latter-day matriarchy.”23

Without naming Mom directly, Henry C. Link, a therapist, worries about the number of patients he sees “who are emotionally immature and dependent largely because of the prolonged wet-nurse attitude of their parents.”24 And in The Meaning of Anxiety, May describes the struggle of a man whose “behavior was characterized by passivity, a subordination of himself to others (prototypically the mother), [and] a need to have others take care of him.”25

An overprotected childhood—a life too sheltered—was thought to reinforce fear and anxiety in adults; this could apply to a nation as well as to individuals. Link sees the

“present scramble for security” in the United States not as “a revival of the spirit of

21 William H. Mikesell and Gordon Hanson, Psychology of Adjustment (New York: D. Van Nostrand Company, Inc., 1952), 93. 22 Man’s Search for Himself, 130. 23 Ibid. (Emphasis original.) 24 Henry C. Link, The Way to Security: Guideposts on the Road to Personal Security (Garden City: Reader’s Digest, 1951), 33. 25 Rollo May, The Meaning of Anxiety (New York: Ronald Press, 1950), 257. In the context of the new atomic age, it might be easy to understand this man’s yearning for security. May actually argues that the mid-twentieth century “is more anxiety-ridden than any period since the breakdown of the Middle Ages. Those years . . . when Europe was inundated with anxiety in the form of fears of death, agonies of doubt about the meaning and value of life, superstition and fears of devils and sorcerers, is the nearest period comparable to our own” (34-35).

98 adventure and self-reliance, but the psychology of a nation which has gone soft, a nation which is living on the moral momentum of its past.”26 Addressing young people who might, therefore, be prone to withdrawal and regression in the face of conflict, General

Dwight D. Eisenhower spoke to Columbia University freshmen about the importance of disregarding the pursuit of security, in terms reminiscent of Theodore Roosevelt’s “The

Strenuous Life”:

In these days and times when we hear so much of security . . . I must tell you that you have come to the wrong place if you are seeking complete fulfillment of any ambition that deals with perfect security. In fact, I am quite certain that the human being could not continue to exist if he had complete security. Life is certainly worth while only as it calls for struggle for worthy causes, and there is no struggle in perfect security.27

Link would probably agree with such sentiments, as he argues that America’s historical success was due to the courage of its citizens, who were not content with the simple pursuit of survival: “in times of emergency, they put their American ideals above their immediate safety. As between safety and adventure, they chose adventure. As between security and freedom, they chose freedom.”28

In this context, the rationales behind civil defense—first, that federal, state, and local governments had an obligation to promote programs that might ensure security for

Americans in the face of nuclear annihilation, and second, that the U.S. military would

26 Link, 74. 27 Lurton, 58-59. See also Theodore Roosevelt, “The Strenuous Life,” 10 April 1899, http://www.historytools.org/sources/strenuous.html (accessed 12 April 2014). 28 Link, 81.

99 not be able to protect citizens across the country from every threatening bomb (or even most of them)—were premised on both the pursuit of security and the prediction of failure. Unfortunately for civil defense officials, psychologists in the “age of anxiety” were simultaneously suggesting that pursuing security and predicting failure were signs of male weakness and passivity. To make matters worse, the strategies civil defense planners proposed emphasized self-preservation rather than offensive power; in the midst of cultural fears about the potency of white, middle-class masculinity, preparations for doomsday were doomed. Link quotes a writer who “spoke very practically of the A-bomb threat when he said: ‘If they hit me, they hit me. But if they miss me, I am way ahead of the guy who has spent his days cowering in a mental foxhole.’”29

Tension between civilian and military interests permeated debates over how to structure a federal civil defense program in the months leading up to the establishment of the FCDA. In 1948, the “Hopley Plan,” a lengthy list of recommendations for constructing such an organization, was published; it began by highlighting civil defense as integral to any comprehensive approach to national security and suggested that while government officials had addressed the needs of the U.S. military, civil defense had been neglected: “America definitely has a ‘missing link’ in its defense structure. Our country has, and is developing, various elements of our defenses to insure national security, but it has no national civil defense.”30 In 1949, proponents of the plan argued for the

29 Ibid., 166. 30 Russell J. Hopley, Civil Defense for National Security (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1948), 1.

100 centralization of planning, military, and relief aspects of civil defense, and were frustrated upon learning that these functions would be split up:

This “solution,” which will be announced officially shortly, is opposed by some who believe that the effectiveness of the organization will be destroyed, and one or two survivors of the old Hopley planning group advocate establishment of the Office of Civil Defense under the Secretary of Defense in order to salvage it. A special military planning group, working under the Joint Chiefs of Staff, however, has reached the conclusion that civilian defense should be the responsibility of civilians—not of the military. . . . [T]he virtual shelving of the Hopley recommendations means, in the opinion of some students of the subject, a grave handicap to the adequate development of civilian defense, a basic requirement in the atomic age.31

The decision to keep civil defense separate from—and subservient to—military defense was indeed critical.

When President Harry S. Truman proposed the establishment of a federal civil defense program in December 1950, military officials made it clear that they did not intend to participate in a leadership role. Testifying before a Senate Armed Services subcommittee, a Department of Defense spokesman asserted that “the country’s military leaders wanted no part of civilian defense and desired to save their effort for their primary mission, defined as the victorious termination of war. . . . He also suggested language for the bill designed to prevent invasion of the military field by the proposed civil defense organization.”32 This assertion is remarkable. Not only does it define the

31 Hanson W. Baldwin, “Civil Defense Plan Reported Shelved,” New York Times, 23 June 1949, 14. 32 Harold B. Hinton, “Army Chiefs Shun Civil Defense Role: Senate Group Asked to Bar Invasion of Military Field by Home Front Agency,” New York Times, 8 December 1950, 37.

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“primary mission” of the military as winning wars—presumably a job more important than merely protecting the public at home—but it also casts civil defense in a role antagonistic to the Department of Defense, as a potential “invader” into the military realm (strangely bestowing much more symbolic power on civil defense officials than they ever actually enjoyed). Furthermore, suggesting that military officials “desired to save their effort for their primary mission” implies that if the military were to assume responsibility for civil defense coordination, it would actually sap their strength. These arguments echoed the anger voiced by Philip Wylie in Generation of Vipers; according to

Wylie, when women ventured into the public realm, they represented a disastrous intrusion into male political space. And within the home, “moms” overpowered their sons’ strength and independence by whipping them emotionally into submission; even if moms did not wield physical power, their psychological control trapped men into lives of practicality rather than adventure, and reduced them to being seekers of approval rather than men of independent will. In the national context, civil defense could not be permitted to emasculate the military via inclusion in the Department of Defense.

Despite—or perhaps because of—such rejections, civil defense officials often promoted their programs as pseudo-military in nature. In Cleveland, Ohio, for example, the local Civil Defense Digest promoted itself as “principally a military organization depending upon complete cooperation of all the elements for a concerted attack on CD problems. It depends, as does the military, on a delegation of duties to field commanders who are under the general direction of a central headquarters, in this case the CD set-up

102 at Cooley Farms.”33 A few months later, the newsletter seemed slightly more ambivalent about its identification with the military, proclaiming in the same issue that civil defense is “the fourth arm of our national defense” but also that “[as] the greatest of democracies, the true might of America lies not in our military but in ourselves.”34 The following year, however, saw a return to military comparisons:

CIVIL DEFENSE MUST BE A PERMANENT PARTNER IN NATIONAL DEFENSE. Like the Army, the Navy, and the Air Force, civil defense must function as long as a national security program is required; it must be regarded not only as a protective element . . . but also as a positive force supporting the retaliatory and counterattacking power of the armed forces.35

The military term, “offensive,” implies a confident sense of looking outward, making

“active” decisions, and “taking the fight to the enemy” rather than surrendering initiative.

“Defensive” suggests an internal rather than external focus, with the goal of stopping or blunting the enemy’s forces; the term is essentially passive, in that “defenders” must wait for an attack to occur in order to function. In an attempt to project a sense of activity, power, and initiative, the Cleveland Civil Defense Digest utilized language to emphasize its offensive rather than defensive nature—it would mount “a concerted attack on CD

33 Cleveland Civil Defense Digest, February 1952, 2. Cooley Farms, named after Harris Cooley, a Progressive minister at the turn of the twentieth century, was a complex consisting of several components, including an Old Couples’ Cottage, Female Insane Cottage, Male Insane Cottage, infirmary, cemetery, tuberculosis sanatorium, and workhouse. See Jeffrey T. Darbee, “A History of the Cooley Farms Complex,” teachingcleveland.org (accessed 1 April 2014). 34 Ibid., July 1952, 1. 35 Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, March 1953, 3.

103 problems,” it “must be regarded not only as a protective element,” and it would assist the

“counterattacking power” of the military.

Civil defense insignia, uniforms, and even identification stickers for cars promoted a sense of military discipline. Before the FCDA was even established, New

York State chose its official insignia “for civil defense forces.”36 And in the fall of 1951, the Cleveland Civil Defense Digest celebrated the distribution of stickers “for all vehicles that will be used in the organization. . . . Transportation, Utilities, Auxiliary Police and

Fire, Communications, Special Weapons, etc., should be noticeable around town soon.”37

Less than two months later, the Cleveland office received a surprising delivery to go with the Auxiliary Police stickers: “WEAPONS FOR AUXILIARY POLICE . . . a shipment of night-sticks, of the billy-club variety, has arrived. They were made by inmates of the

Ohio Penitentiary. There has been some discussion about arming auxiliary police with firearms but that is far in the future.”38 The lack of firearms for auxiliary police was apparently a common complaint, at least in New York City. In the summer of 1954, the city’s civil defense director “presided at a meeting of 100 auxiliary police commanders at civil defense headquarters. . . . The meeting, he said, was called to hear ‘gripes.’ The chief ‘gripes’ . . . were the desire for shields, for the right to carry firearms and the right to ride in police radio cars.39 There were also complaints about the unavailability of

36 “Insignia Adopted for Civil Defense,” New York Times, 22 November 1950, 8. The term “forces” also promotes a military ideal for a civilian organization. 37 Cleveland Civil Defense Digest, 31 October 1951, 2. 38 Ibid., 14 December 1951, 2. 39 “City’s Defense Chief Denies Drop in Force,” New York Times, 21 August 1954, 19.

104 uniforms, but the director asserted that “many auxiliaries had uniforms and that the others could buy them.”40

While the issues of sticker distribution and riding around in police cars may seem vaguely childish, many civil defense volunteers viewed these as serious concerns; unfortunately for the Cleveland auxiliary police, however, descriptions of their activities in the local newsletter may have inadvertently conveyed a sense of weakness. While they might have been armed with night-sticks, the auxiliaries were not using them. According to the Digest, “The Auxiliary Police have been used to good advantage during parades, patrol duty on Halloween and as cross-walk guards for churches before and after services.”41 The following year, Cleveland zone directors issued uniforms to the auxiliary police, partially paid for by the city:

The uniforms . . . are spruce green in color and consist of a modified Eisenhower jacket and trousers. The volunteers pay for the remainder of the uniform. The Auxiliaries look very natty in the new outfit and make a fine impression on the public. The general public got the first look at the “new look” when our police assisted the regular force in controlling crowds during the Letter Carriers parade and Sea Way Day.42

While the aid given by the auxiliary police to “the regular force” is mentioned here, the appearance of the new uniform—and its effect upon observers in the general public—

40 Ibid. 41 Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, January 1953, 2. 42 Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, October 1954, 2-3. “Sea Way” Day may refer to the beginning of the Great Lakes-St. Lawrence Seaway System; construction began the previous month. www.ohiohistorycentral.org/w/Great_Lakes_St._Lawrence_Seaway_System (accessed 4 February 2014).

105 seems more important. Public relations was a consistent concern, and the idea that the auxiliaries made a good impression by looking “very natty” must have made local civil defense officials proud. Auxiliaries were still serving over three years later, and the

Cleveland office thanked them enthusiastically: “CONGRATULATIONS! We would like to acknowledge the superb and outstanding job done by our own Cleveland Auxiliary

Policemen in the recent policing of the ‘Mothers March on Polio.’ Not one incident of trouble was encountered.”43 It remains unknown whether the Mothers March was peaceful due to the presence of the auxiliary police—but it is clear that auxiliaries were not getting a great deal of use out of the billy-clubs they had received several years earlier. Providing crowd control and “policing” for events like the “Letter Carriers

Parade” and the “Mothers March on Polio” may have emphasized the auxiliary nature of their work, rather than their authority—even with those natty uniforms.

The Cleveland civil defense office had its own challenges regarding status in the community. In May 1953, the digest jubilantly announced that headquarters had been relocated—to the “building formerly occupied by the County Morgue.”44 Happily, “[t]he entire building has been renovated by City Hall workers under the direction of Miss

Marion McGinty, Custodian, and the results are wonderful. A 28 foot sign adorns the front of the building proclaiming to one and all that Civil Defense is doing business at a new stand.”45 The irony of a civil defense office headquartered in an ex-morgue goes

43 Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, March 1958, 6. 44 “New Civil Defense Headquarters,” Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, May 1953, 7. 45 Ibid.

106 unmentioned. Similarly, when officials first announced the construction of the

“Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Rescue School” in the July 1955 issue of the Digest, they noted that it is “being built adjacent to the Southerly Sewage Disposal Plant”—but in the October 1955 issue, the school no longer occupies land adjacent to but on the property of the plant itself.46 Situations at the Cleveland office may have represented an anomaly, but during a simulated attack on Camden, New Jersey, organizers explained that “medical teams will be carried in from suburbs by planes to land on the sprawling city dump grounds in a rehearsal of how Camden could be succored by its neighbors.”47

Establishing an office in a morgue and a rescue school on the property of a sewage facility suggests the funding problems faced by many local communities; hopefully the

“medical teams” flown in to the Camden city dump were heartily appreciated.

Civil defense on the federal level received a great deal of support from women’s clubs. Philip Wylie had particular loathing for members of such organizations:

With her clubs (a solid term!) she causes bus lines to run where they are convenient for her rather than for workers, plants flowers in sordid spots that would do better with sanitation, snaps independent men out of office and replaces them with clammy castrates, throws prodigious fairs and parties for charity and gives the proceeds, usually about eight dollars, to the janitor to buy the committee some beer for its headache on the morning after, and builds clubhouses for the entertainment of soldiers where she succeeds in persuading thousands of them that they are momsick and would rather talk to her than take Betty into the shrubs. All this, of course, is considered social service, charity, care of the poor, civic reform, patriotism, and self-sacrifice.48

46 “Rescue School,” Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, July and October 1955, 2. 47 “100 Planes Slated to ‘Bomb’ Camden: Pamphlet Shower Saturday to Be First Simulated Attack on Major Industrial Area,” New York Times, 7 January 1951, 15. 48 Generation of Vipers, 190-191.

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The club woman is not only inherently selfish but also, in his view, somewhat unnatural, from her manly affection for beer to her inappropriate “seduction” of soldiers. She controls buses, plants, and politicians and inevitably reorients them to serve her own nefarious purposes—all under the guise of serving a “good cause.” Wylie goes on to emphasize the vapidity of her activities, suggesting that “[k]nowing nothing about medicine, art, science, religion, law, sanitation, civics, hygiene, psychology, morals, history, geography, poetry, literature, or any other topic except the all-consuming one of momism, she seldom has any especial interest in what, exactly, she is doing as a member of any of these endless organizations, so long as it is something.”49

Geoffrey Gorer does not view club women nearly as harshly as Wylie, although he acknowledges that they are easy to ridicule, due to the “deep incongruity between their matronly appearance . . . and their undergraduate (almost school-girl) eagerness and seriousness.”50 He suggests that many of them are genuinely conscientious about civic matters, sincerely idealistic, and “untainted with the amorality of the male world of business.”51 Club women are to be taken seriously, Gorer argues, because of their personal commitment of time, money, and energy to a cause they earnestly believe to be right, and he dramatically asserts that “it is in the women’s clubs that the future policy of

49 Ibid., 191. 50 Gorer, 66-67. 51 Ibid., 67.

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America, and so in many ways the future of the world, is to a great extent being decided.”52

One group in particular, the National Federation of Business and Professional

Women’s Clubs (BPW), was especially eager to join the national discussion on civil defense. In 1950, Gabriel Almond described the BPW as a “conservative organization. It consists of a membership of more than a hundred thousand professional and business women organized in local groups which are federated in the national organization.”53

Months before the FCDA was established, and two weeks after the Korean War began, members voted “to take the lead in organizing a Washington conference to seek full participation of women in civil defense planning and in economic and military mobilization.”54 In the fall of 1950, the president of BPW, Sarah T. Hughes, went further, making the rather remarkable—and certainly un-conservative—announcement that

women should be drafted as well as men because “war is total.” Appearing on a television forum, she held that women should be used for any kind of duty for which they are qualified, even combat service. She suggested that one of the results of drafting women might be to keep more fathers at home to look after their children and prevent another breakup of homes such as occurred during the last war. “If we are going to have war, it will be total war,” she declared. “If it comes, women should be drafted for civil defense, production and the three services. They have the rights and privileges of government, they should take the responsibilities, too.”55

52 Ibid. 53 Gabriel A. Almond, The American People and Foreign Policy (New York: Harcourt, Brace and Company, 1950), 177. 54 Lawrence E. Davies, “Women Seek Role in Mobilization,” New York Times, 8 July 1950, 16. 55 “Draft of Women Backed,” New York Times, 9 October 1950, 13. Her statement was somewhat marginalized by the Times, which added a final sentence to the article: “Norman Thomas, many times the Socialist candidate for President, agreed that a time might come when a draft of ‘everybody, even children,’

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For men who already viewed club women with disdain, an announcement such as this may have reinforced the idea that members were not realistic, that they were uninformed about serious military issues, and perhaps even that—as Philip Wylie feared—club women ultimately wanted symbolically to castrate the nation’s men once and for all. If women were off fighting wars while the men were left home to tend to the children, the traditional wartime narrative of masculinity would be inverted and destroyed.

The periodical of the BPW, National Business Woman, frequently discussed women’s civil defense responsibilities within its pages. One report claimed that Mrs.

Johanna Griffin, the Kentucky group’s energetic State National Security Chairman, had

“encouraged close to 100 per cent participation in the clubs in such areas as the Ground

Observer Corps, preparedness in the home and community, first aid training . . . and disaster and evacuation planning.”56 Members distributed CD kits to local clubs, “helped set up an observation tower,” and won “Wings” in recognition of twenty-five hours of service in the Ground Observer program. Unwittingly recalling the pampered dog in The

Secret Life of Walter Mitty, the article praised “Mrs. Queenie Grable of Lexington” for fulfilling 750 hours of GOC service.57 Members and leaders of the group also participated in simulated disasters. In the summer of 1957, “the entire BPW Executive Committee,

might be necessary.” Interestingly, Hughes uses the hierarchy of three kinds of wartime national service in her statement—“civil defense, production, and the three services,” but places civil defense at the top of the list. 56 “Kentucky CD,” National Business Woman, January 1957, 32. 57 Ibid.

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National Board and staff were evacuated from Detroit. . . . BPW participants watched mock first aid and surgical demonstrations and lunched on ‘refugee fare’ of fried chicken, salad, and miniature tarts.”58

As part of its drive to encourage member participation in civil defense programs, the journal often reprinted excerpts of speeches given by federal leaders to female audiences. For example, members could read the address given to the National Women’s

Advisory Committee by Leo A. Hoegh, Administrator of the FCDA in 1957; he reminded his audience that “there won’t be enough men” to carry out civil defense activities if war comes—and since “women are mainly responsible for family welfare,” they must be involved.59 The following year, they reported Leo Hoegh’s assessment of women’s participation in civil defense that he delivered to over two hundred representatives of women’s groups, telling them that “you are the country’s greatest force accomplishing good.”60 At the same meeting of the Women’s Advisory Committee, Mrs. Hiram Cole

Houghton echoed the recurring theme “that the women of the United States must bear the brunt of civil defense planning because ‘in almost all its many facets, civil defense centers around the home and the family.’”61

58 “BPW Flees Detroit,” National Business Woman, September 1957, 11. 59 Jeannette Williams, “National Security Needs You: Women Vital to Preparedness Program, Delegates to National Meeting Learn,” National Business Woman, December 1957, 9. 60 “Operation YOU,” National Business Woman, November 1958, 10. 61 Ibid. Katherine Howard also described civil defense in familial terms, writing that “women have an age-old interest in the survival of their homes and families.” “The Better Half of Civil Defense, National Business Woman, February 1957, 8. Arguments for women’s involvement in civil defense because of their talents outside of the family were rarer, but occurred: “Mrs. Rowland Davis, president of the New York State Federation of Women’s Clubs, urged all club women to take a greater role in defense. Because they are trained in leadership, she said, they should be well fitted for any job to which they are called,

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The power of women’s clubs was evident throughout the decade. In addition to meeting regularly with Leo Hoegh in the late 1950s, members of the General Federation of Women’s Clubs met with Millard Caldwell on the day he was sworn in as

Administrator of the FCDA in 1951.62 The Women’s Advisory Committee met with

President Eisenhower in the fall of 1954 and was told that

war is no longer something that is neatly packaged, divided into parts, and there are soldiers off somewhere and we are doing our best through the Red Cross, the U.S.O., and knitting and all the things to send to them. It is not that removed any longer from us—it is right on our doorstep, right squarely there. And so every woman, every child, has practically the same duties in war as does any man, no matter where he is. It is a frightening and revolutionary thought.63

During the meeting, Eisenhower also described “a peculiar difficulty” that women’s groups would need to overcome: “Americans have a very great fear of being thought a little ‘Boy Scoutie,’ or maybe I should say ‘Girl Scoutie’; that is being a little too naïve, too childlike.” In asking women to help certain Americans get over their “reluctance to be ready,” he used a gendered model that implied the Americans he had in mind may have been male: “Any man that has been married as long as I have doesn’t underrate the persuasive powers of a lady.”64

particularly in civil defense.” “Emergency Roles for Women Cited,” New York Times, 25 February 1951, 42. 62 “Shelters Won’t Help, Caldwell Declares,” New York Times, 17 January 1951, 6. 63 “Eisenhower Maps War Role For All: Civil Defense Women’s Group Told Preparedness for New Type of Conflict is Urgent,” New York Times, 27 October 1954, 15 (emphasis added). 64 Ibid. A similar point was made in 1958 by the Under Secretary of Health, Education, and Welfare, Bertha Adkins; she encouraged the General Federation of Women’s Clubs to tackle the problem of “inertia and apathy” in their hometowns, saying “if women get interested in civil defense in a community, then men will.” See “Operation YOU,” National Business Woman, November 1958, 10.

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Figure 3.2. Too “Boy Scoutie”? Promoting civil defense at a New Hampshire State Fair, 1955. Civil Defense Photographs, 1951-1961, National Archives at Boston, MA.

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Regardless of attempts to militarize civil defense via uniforms, insignia, or rhetoric, many women viewed it as a “domestic” program associated with the home and family, while still others saw civil defense as an opportunity for political action.65 In practice, women frequently crossed the imaginary line between public responsibilities and private life. For example, under the headline, “Housewives Learn the Hospital Arts,” readers learn that “Brooklyn housewives and mothers are bouncing coins to test tautly stretched blankets just as their sons and husbands in the armed services have done.”66 In one sense, the housewives were learning to utilize a military technique for nursing use, yet the same article describes the women engaging in more stereotypically feminine behavior: two students “modeled the neat blue nurse’s aide’s uniform they all will have before they take up hospital duties,” and “Mrs. Dorothy Ronning of 825 Seventy-second

Street posed in the uniforms for photographers.”67

Civil defense officials were particularly interested in signing up housewives to serve as volunteer wardens, because their presence at home during the day, “when men were at business,” would enable them to be available should an emergency occur.68 In

65 In early 1951, the chairman of the New York State Workmen’s Compensation Board, Mary Donlon, said that “the present crisis presented a greater opportunity for women to take a leading role in politics. She declared most men were so busy with private business they had ‘woefully neglected’ the public business. ‘Women can take over every election precinct in the country and change politics,’ she said.” See “Emergency Roles for Women Cited, New York Times, 25 February 1951, 42. 66 “Housewives Learn the Hospital Arts,” New York Times, 29 March 1951, 13. 67 Ibid. 68 “City Defense Head Asks Women’s Aid,” New York Times, 27 December 1950, 8. “Mrs. Ralph Healy, special assistant to the chairman of the State Civil Defense Commission” said that “at least half the wardens should be women . . . because men are away from home so much of the day. A trained warden service can reduce casualties and enable a neighborhood to take care of its own small fires.” “Only 55,000 Wardens: City’s Needs Are Put at 400,000, Half of Them Women,” New York Times, 28 June 1951, 43.

114 fact, Mrs. John L. Whitehurst, speaking as assistant to FCDA Administrator Millard

Caldwell, told members of the BPW in 1951 that “women will be asked to carry on 80 per cent of all civil defense work during an emergency.”69 Suggesting that “able-bodied” men would be engaged in active military service or production work during wartime, thus leaving women—and those men deemed unfit for service because of age or infirmity—to tackle the civil defense tasks, implicitly reinforced the three-tiered hierarchy of masculine war work visible during World War II (in which civil defense is valued least). An editorial in the New York Times reflected this structure in the summer of 1951: “These are times which demand extra efforts from everyone—from the soldier, from the defense plant worker, from the civil defense volunteer.”70

In addition to the uphill battle for credibility that civil defense officials faced, some women’s activities, perhaps unfortunately for the civil defense public relations effort, did appear to be rather odd. On Staten Island, for example, a women’s riding club decided to “mobilize the horse for civil defense against atomic warfare.”71 Remarking that “[l]oyalty oaths for the horses have been waived,” the article paints a picture of well- meaning but out-of-touch wealthy women in the countryside:

69 “Women’s Role in Defense,” New York Times, 11 July 1951, 34. Another representative of the FCDA, Jean Allen, repeated this statistic during a speech to the Ladies Auxiliary of the Veterans of Foreign Wars the following month. During wartime, she said, “most able-bodied men would be in the armed services and the others would be needed to keep the wheels of commerce and industry rolling. The need for women will be great.” She also acknowledged that “civil defense lacked the glamour of many types of volunteer work but was of the utmost importance.” See “Women to Be 80% of Civil Defense,” New York Times, 27 August 1951, 7. 70 “A Sense of Belonging,” New York Times, 4 June 1951, 25. 71 “Staten Island Women’s Riding Club Enlists with Horses in Civil Defense,” New York Times, 2 August 1952, 17.

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The young women of the Richmond Cavalcade are not quite sure how they would react to the role of atomic Paulette Revere . . . but they are optimistic. “We’d probably be shaking in our riding boots,” said Mrs. William Simonson Jr., “but we’d show up—I think.” Experimenting a bit at this week’s ride, they suggested both the medieval and the atomic ages as they rode out carrying the first walkie- talkie most of them had seen, a medical kit, a United States flag, and the blue and gold banner of their club. “Of course,” one of them admitted, “we wouldn’t be carrying the flags in actual warfare.”72

The article implies repeatedly that the women’s civil defense idea is half-baked nonsense.

Everyone in the group agreed, it was noted, that actually getting to the stables during and after an attack might pose difficulties, and finally, Mrs. Donald Law performed an experiment to “find out how her big bay horse, Marchalong, would stand up under stress.” Shaking a “metal first aid kit,” the animal “shied, skittered and tried to bolt, quieting only when his rider dropped the kit.” Mr. Franzreb, the owner of the stables, smiled and said that “he isn’t in favor of this.”73

While some civil defense volunteers may have appeared scatterbrained in print, others seemed as skittish as Marchalong. During the summer of 1954, civil defense officials in Port Jefferson, Long Island, designed a civil defense drill. Utilizing a “fifty- two-inch make-believe bomb,” the pretend explosion broke windows, loosened a restaurant chandelier, caused two women to faint, damaged a car, and caused ten dogs to go “temporarily berserk.”74 More importantly, however, civil defense workers were apparently not equipped to handle the situation: “As dazed civil defense workers

72 Ibid. 73 Ibid. 74 “Make-Believe Bomb Convinces L.I. Town,” New York Times, 24 July 1954, 15.

116 regrouped after the explosion, they completely forgot about two low-flying jet planes that roared over by prearrangement. The sound further unnerved the defense workers, and they hit the dirt in panic. Once again they regrouped, only to scatter anew when a Civil

Air Patrol plane arrived and began dropping emergency supplies.”75

In addition to attracting auxiliary policemen, women’s club members, housewives, wealthy equestrians, and defense workers prone to anxiety, civil defense officials also initiated “[a] program to enroll ‘senior citizens’ over 60 years old in New

York’s civil defense organization.”76 Men and women who volunteered were “members of Welfare Department day centers for the aged” and received civil defense arm bands and buttons; the group ranged in age from 64 to 87.

The same summer, “Operation Skywatch” was criticized as “a spotty, half effective affair” when it became clear that half of the plane spotting volunteer posts had remained vacant.77 Volunteers present included “clergymen, forest wardens, prison guards and even hospital patients,” but there still were not enough; from a total of

500,000 spotters needed for twenty-four hour surveillance, only 150,000 had signed up.

Therefore, New York State agreed to accept children as young as twelve, “if their hearing and eyesight are good—youngsters need parental consent, and the training is brief and simple.”78

75 Ibid. 76 “Men, Women 60 or More Sign Up for Civil Defense,” New York Times, 22 May 1952, 16. 77 William M. Farrell, “Air Spotter Posts Only Half-Manned,” New York Times, 15 July 1952, 1. 78 Ibid.

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For those who wanted to criticize civil defense, there were certainly many available avenues. In early 1951, Vincent Wilder, insurance salesman and civil defense director for Merrick, Long Island, charged that Communist groups were trying to

“sabotage by ridicule” Nassau County’s civil defense programs. According to Wilder, a fellow resident of Merrick confided that he had received a sarcastic letter from someone calling himself the general director of the air raid division of a fictitious organization: the

“Civilian Defense Program Committee, Eastern Seaboard.” The letter notified the man that he had been appointed commander of Merrick air raid wardens, and enclosed a list of sixteen items that he should wear, including a belt “with hooks for buckets of water and six filled sandbags and a tin helmet with turned-up brim for carrying extra water. . . . an axe in his belt, a stirrup pump over his left shoulder, an extension ladder over his right shoulder, a long-handled shovel under his left arm, a rake under his right arm, a scoop in his left hand and extra sand in all his pockets.”79 Mr. Wilder suggested that the rude letter was sent because the recipient declined to join the Communist party after a woman attempted to secure his membership. Mr. Wilder resolutely declared, “If the civil defense program is worth sabotaging, it is worth fighting for.”80

Amazingly, the Merrick letter was only the beginning. Within three months, the

F.B.I. was investigating reports of hundreds of similar letters delivered to civil defense workers across the country. FCDA Administrator Millard Caldwell called the campaign

79 “Civil Defense Gibe Laid to Leftists: Nassau Resident, Who Rejected Red Advances, Gets Letter Poking Fun at Wardens,” New York Times, 8 February 1951, 12. 80 Ibid.

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“the work of some subversive group.”81 The director of civil defense for Columbus, Ohio said the letters were “written with an electric typewriter on bond paper signed by ‘Hugh

B. Reddy,’” and included the list of “ironic items” and equipment “through which the writer holds civil defense up to ridicule.”82

Civil Defense in the “Age of Anxiety”: An Overview

After World War II, new Civil Defense Office was created under the authority of the National Security Resources Board (NSRB) to help to instruct the American public on how to behave in the event of a nuclear attack. President Harry S. Truman expanded this program by creating the Federal Civil Defense Administration (FCDA) in 1950, but because the civil defense program was never funded enthusiastically, its administrators usually focused on public relations campaigns rather than actual project construction.

The federal government took an oversight role, advising and encouraging local agencies to manage (and often pay for) practical aspects of the program. This framework allowed for a great deal of flexibility at the local level as individual communities could choose to adopt or to ignore federal recommendations for managing nuclear risks. And because local and national leaders viewed public relations as key to the success of civil defense

81 “Anonymous Notes Jeer at Defense: Letters That Deride Campaign Received Across Country— F.B.I. Aid Sought,” New York Times, 29 June 1951, 8. 82 Ibid.

119 initiatives, it is helpful to examine what images they invoked to persuade civilians to defend the homeland, and how Americans responded.

Civil defense pamphlets, articles, and state and local organizations encouraged citizens to consider potential survival methods in the event of a nuclear attack. Some officials supported the development of a massive evacuation system as the best approach to protect the masses, while others favored federal funding for the construction of public and private fallout shelters. As technology—and science—changed during the 1950s, the appeal of these two options waxed and waned. On the whole, however, neither approach became terribly popular with a wide segment of Americans. Examining the gendered discourse surrounding these methods sheds light on why this was the case.

During the postwar period, some Americans wondered if the being safe in the atomic age required constructing a new life underground. In 1949, physicist R. E. Lapp asserted that “absolute safety can be obtained only in deep natural caves or in deep excavations. Must we, then, resign ourselves to a mole-like existence as the only alternative to a life of constant fear?”83 The idea that Americans should prepare to hide in underground shelters in order to achieve security was widely considered not only repugnant, but unmanly.

Men who built shelters were sometimes sneered at in national magazines. For example, under the heading, “A Place to Hide,” the New Yorker reported on a prosperous

83 R. E. Lapp, Must We Hide? (Cambridge: Addison-Wesley Press, 1949), 158.

120 businessman “who has such fears that he will cease to be that he’s made . . . elaborate preparations . . . to protect himself against atomic bombing.” These measures included not only a bomb shelter in the basement stocked with everything from “canned whole chickens” to hams, but an escape tunnel that “burrows for twenty feet under his lawn.”

Interestingly, if the man happens not to be at home when the enemy attacks, there is no reason to worry: “his wife will hold the fort. She has a shotgun at hand all the time, and will soon start practicing on the local police target range to improve her aim.”

This article turns traditional patriarchal family imagery on its head; it emphasizes the man’s irrational “fear,” an emphasis on protecting himself rather than his family, his seemingly odd interest in maintaining a supply of hams for the basement—food supply was usually presented as a woman’s prerogative in civil defense literature—and finally, his inclusion of a bridge table in the shelter, which the authors of the article suggest “he expects to find use for while the rest of the world is going bye-bye,” an allusion to the way children simplistically refer to departures. If this somewhat emasculated man is not at home when the bomb hits, his wife will be fully armed to “hold the fort,” a military reference.84

Civil defense proponents faced an uphill battle when it came to persuading

Americans to construct bomb shelters, as homeowners feared that such projects might

84 “A Place to Hide,” New Yorker, 1 March 1952, 19-20. Emphasis added. Finding the appropriate firearm for one’s wife was a common concern. See Pat Frank, How to Survive an H-Bomb and Why (New York: J. B. Lippincott Co., 1962), 116: “If you don’t have a gun and are concerned about protecting your home, I’d recommend the Remington 66, a .22-caliber automatic rifle . . . so light that your wife can easily handle it.”

121 inspire the ridicule of neighbors. Americans may have hoped to avoid being viewed in the same light as the eccentric New Yorker mentioned above; civil defense advocates felt the need to persuade their audiences to disregard the opinions of others when considering whether to prepare for the worst. For example, a Saturday Evening Post article from

1951 advised, “if you live in a very big city, and in an area of high-population density, there is nothing neurotic about reinforcing your basement. Your neighbors may laugh at you. But they may not laugh so loudly in a couple of years.”85 Ten years later, the anxiety persisted: “To many, the decision to build or not to build a shelter seems to turn on consideration of the neighbors. . . . probably the greatest obstacle to a full-blown, family civil defense program” is the “[f]ear of being laughed at.”86 In the eyes of civil defense supporters, constructing a shelter did not represent a manifestation of psychological dysfunction or weakness—but not all Americans shared this view.

An attack on the idea of such “digging in” can be found in recurring references to the Maginot Line, a series of reinforced defenses constructed in France during the 1930s to stop a potential invasion of France along the German border. The Line failed miserably because the Germans invaded by going around the fortifications through what the French erroneously believed were impassible forest areas. As many observed during the civil defense debate, “Much ridicule has often been attached to those who sought to

85 Stewart Alsop and Ralph E. Lapp, “The Grim Truth about Civil Defense,” Saturday Evening Post, 21 April 1951, 194. 86 Mel Mawrence, You Can Survive the Bomb (Chicago: Quadrangle Books, 1961), 99.

122 be impregnable behind massive fortifications such as the Maginot Line.”87 The use of the word “impregnable” is significant here; the idea that not only an American woman but the nation itself could be a potential mother in need of protection returns throughout the civil defense debate.88

Assuming, then, that

to some Americans,

digging a shelter

symbolized a defeat of

masculinity, how did

civil defense

proponents respond?

Sharing an

understanding of the

same cultural “rules”

for defining

manliness, yet coming Figure 3.3. Might the womb-like “Kidde Kokoon” be impregnable?89 to different

87 Lapp, 5. Emphasis added. For other examples of the Maginot Line metaphor, see Kenneth D. Rose, One Nation Underground: The Fallout Shelter in American Culture (New York: New York University Press, 2001), 90-91. 88 Ironically, this idea of protecting the nation through the creation of walls would return, supported by the American military this time, in the discourse surrounding the construction of radar nets around the country. 89 Life, 23 May 1955, 169.

123 conclusions in this case, supporters of shelters often returned to traditional male imagery—especially of fighting during wartime—to defend their perspective. For example, one writer argued that “[i]t is no disgrace to dig in. Ask any trench soldier of

World War I, or former foxhole tenant of World War II or Korea, or anyone resident in

London during the blitz. Should war come, the continental United States will be the front line, and a hole in the ground will not be despised.”90 Another supporter refers to the nobility of the “foxhole concept,” suggesting that “we dug our foxholes in our war and our fathers and grandfathers dug their trenches in a long unbroken string of wars from

World War I back to the American Revolution.”91 Continuing with the military theme, this writer asserts that “the armed forces always endeavor to provide maximum protection for the personnel consistent with the weapons involved. Such protective devices as steel helmets, bulletproof vests, gas masks, foxholes, trenches, tanks, armored ships, and many others.”92 Americans did not expect their soldiers to serve without adequate protection simply in order to seem brave, so why should civilians go without similar protection?

Civil defense proponents also criticized the government for appearing to provide more security for American missiles than for American citizens. Detractors of civil defense might refer to family bomb shelters as holes for cowards to crawl into, but they were not likely to question the military’s proud support of similar “shelters” for

American missiles. On the contrary, such silos were often referred to as “hardened sites,”

90 Frank, 16. 91 Martin, 122, 289. 92 Ibid., 287 (emphasis added).

124 a term reflecting a strong, masculine connotation.93 Some civil defense advocates highlighted this dichotomy, contrasting the government’s forceful protection of missiles to its apparent neglect of civilians. For example, one writer asserted that “[n]ot too far in the future, 830 Atlas, Titan, and Minuteman [intercontinental ballistic missiles] will be in a state of readiness. Almost all will be located . . . on ‘hardened sites’ . . . protected against blast from everything except a direct hit or close near-miss by one of

Khrushchev’s largest weapons. What of the people around about? Very few private citizens can afford a ‘hardened site’ for self and family.”94 Advocates of federal funding for shelters deliberately linked civil and military defense to insist that “soft” targets, such as civilians, should be protected as thoroughly as “hard” ones.

In addition to using military imagery, proponents of civilian shelters also appealed to men’s traditional role as fathers to protect the family. For example, in You Can

Survive the Bomb, the author suggests that “we [do not] wish to dissuade. . . confirmed advocates of oblique suicide” who say that in the event of war, “‘I would rather die in dignity than live in degradation’. . . (His wife and children, however, might wish he were not so cavalier with their dignity.)”95 Another advocate echoes this idea, suggesting that men protecting their families from attack are protecting the nation as well: “Every man

93 For example, one writer describes how “highly hardened missile silos are constructed to provide a good probability that they would survive . . . so that they could be used for a counter-strike. These values of site hardening have been announced officially.” Ibid., 18. 94 Frank, 154. 95 Mawrence, 2. The author goes on to remind men that the future of his family “depends, to a large extent, on your saving yourself” (43); in addition, he warns, “Many children will be orphaned by neglect. Don’t add yours to the list” (93).

125 who decides to protect himself and his family adds a stone to the rampart of our total defense and makes attack on this country less inviting.”96 Within civil defense debates— whether for or against civil defense measures—participants struggled to support their positions by invoking traditional masculine imagery.

Civil defense advocates also drew comparisons between the nuclear threat to

American civilians and the (real or imagined) hazards faced by early American

“pioneers”—highlighting, for example, the ever present dangers of Indian aggression or the threats of an untamed wilderness. Supporters of civil defense placed contemporary

Americans within a “pioneer” narrative that usually stressed a celebratory history of

American masculinity that, writers argued, remained relevant in the Cold War context.

For example, one proponent recalled that “Our own ancestors endured the wilderness and

Valley Forge. . . . Liberty was won by men who pledged their lives, their fortunes, and their sacred honor—men who believed their children deserved better than their fathers.

We are those children, and we would shame our heritage with a decision to die, rather than endure.”97 In this interpretation, rejecting civil defense measures meant deciding to die and ignoring—even disrespecting—the sacrifices made by heroic American forefathers. The writer continued, managing to apply this grand, patriotic logic to the specific issue of shelter construction: “When the pioneers built stockades, they couldn’t be sure they wouldn’t be scalped in the forest, but the stockade greatly improved their

96 Frank, 10. 97 Mawrence, 11.

126 chances for life. The fallout shelter is just an old principle applied to new circumstances.”98 This “pioneer” narrative was so useful that it emerged not only in popular civil defense discourse but also in at least one federal civil defense manual for instructors:

“Historical Aspects of Civil Defense Principles” Teaching points: 1. Mutual assistance by the American citizenry in colonial times and in pioneering and settling the West exemplified civil defense principles of self and group protection. a. Self-defense and group defense by banding together to fight their enemies. b. Neighbors helping each other to clear land for new farms and build new homes in the wilderness. c. Mutually solving community problems in the old town meeting.99

“Pioneer” language linked the practice of civil defense to the glory days of settling the

West, and resonant images of hardscrabble life in the wilderness may have reminded

Americans of past victories over perceived enemies. Proponents of civil defense who used this approach offered Americans optimistic reassurance in the midst of the Cold

98 Ibid., 70. See also page 149: “First there was wilderness, then bloody revolution. . . . Now the entire civil population is threatened with nuclear attack. For the first time in four generations we face the moral problems our forefathers faced when they took their families into the wilderness. We must now decide whether life is worth living only when it is sure and convenient, or whether it is worth the utmost endurance.” In Total Atomic Defense, Sylvian G. Kindall pointed out that “wars no longer start with a skirmish at Concord Bridge. . . . Over the top of the world, across the arctic wastes, across Canada, past our northern boundary and on through the Mississippi Valley will race fast planes, almost invisible to the eye, streaking toward marked targets” (11-12). Also, an article in the Saturday Evening Post referred to the words of Ellis A. Johnson, director of the Operations Research Office at Johns Hopkins University (an agency working with the U.S. Army): “until communism is destroyed, we must learn to live with courage and prudence, as did our forefathers in pioneering days when faced with other mortal dangers.” Herbert and Dixie Yahraes, “This School is Ready for the H-Bomb,” Saturday Evening Post, 25 September 1954, 114. 99 Office of Civil Defense Administration, Basic Civil Defense (Washington, D.C.: GPO, 1959), 9.

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War, but by appropriating the “pioneer” narrative, civil defense supporters also associated themselves with toughness, grit, and a masculine tradition. Forging this connection posed a challenge to critics who portrayed civil defense as “feminized,” the domain of the weak. In popular versions of American history, successful pioneers have seldom been dainty, fragile, or “feminine” creatures.100

Like shelter construction, evacuation was another controversial approach, and debates over this issue hinged upon how participants defined the essential responsibilities of American men in the midst of a crisis. During the 1950s, after President Harry S.

Truman was accused of “losing” China and being “soft” on communism, some

Americans may have viewed the election of General Dwight D. Eisenhower as symbolic of a toughening stance against potential Cold War threats. If so, some of these citizens may have been startled to find a photo report, “When Ike ‘Fled’ Washington,” staring back at them from the pages of U.S. News & World Report in the summer of 1955. The article described Eisenhower’s participation in “Operation Alert,” a nationwide civil defense drill designed to test the effectiveness of preparations for nuclear attack.101

According to the article, “sirens wailed,” Eisenhower got into an awaiting car, and the

100 Women do appear in civil defense “pioneer” references, but they usually exhibit traditionally “masculine” qualities, like toughness. For example, “The hardships and complexities of bare existence following a droppage of H-Bombs . . . would require toughness of spirit and body, and agility of mind, people like—well, like the Pilgrims in their first awful winter, like Washington’s ragged soldiers at Valley Forge, like the women who jolted across the Plains in covered wagons” (Frank 95). 101 Journalists sometimes depicted people who participated in such emergency drills in feminine terms. For example, in its “Talk of the Town” section, a New Yorker columnist referred to “eight million well-behaved citizens, docile as lambs, huddled in hallways and tunnels while a hush fell over all.” New Yorker, 8 December 1951, 31.

128 presidential entourage “headed swiftly to the hills.” After Eisenhower retreated to his

“mountain hideaway,” the country, in simulated fashion, fell to pieces. 102

Interestingly, the article compared Eisenhower’s hasty departure to President

James Madison’s earlier exit from the White House, “to escape British invaders in 1814.”

According to the U.S. News interpretation of the 1814 event, “[w]hen American troops broke into a scramble to get away from the advancing British, they swept the President and his staff along with them.” Perhaps getting carried off with the troops— involuntarily?—resolved any potential presidential twinges of guilt Madison might have had about the traditional captain going down with his ship. In any case, the article goes on to report that the president’s wife, Dolley Madison, had remained in Washington; after the crisis, she had to venture into Maryland “looking for her husband.”103

By the 1950s, the nation had modeled many aspects of its civil defense structure on England’s during World War II. But Eisenhower’s simulated “response” in

Washington in 1955 contrasted sharply to the well-known response of Britain’s Queen

Mother who refused to abandon London during the Blitz. Buckingham Palace sustained several direct hits during World War II, and through sharing the experience of war with her subjects, the Queen Mother seemed to establish a closer connection to them; she declared that after the Palace had been bombed, she could “look the East End in the

102 “When Ike ‘Fled’ Washington,” U.S. News & World Report, 24 June 1955, 66. See also, “Civil Defense: Best Defense? Prayer,” Time, 27 June 1955, 17: “For the first time since the War of 1812, when President Madison fled to the Virginia countryside, the U.S. Government was fleeing Washington.” 103 Ibid., 68-69.

129 face.”104 Just a few years later, Eisenhower may have seemed weak by comparison.

Strangely, a Newsweek report on the Operation Alert drill actually commented on what

Eisenhower was wearing at the time, much like society papers habitually reported on the fashions of “important” women. According to Newsweek, after a fog horn sounded, the

“President shook hands with [Secretary of State John Foster] Dulles . . . and unhurriedly walked to a White House Cadillac. He was wearing a double-breasted tan summer suit and a brown felt hat.”105

Civil defense was frequently referred to as one half of the “sword and shield” of national defense.106 Proponents of “active” defense, or the “sword” part of the equation, supported measures the military could take to develop defensive combatant capability on

American soil—for example, through the construction of anti-missile installations aimed to destroy potential incoming Soviet attacks. Air force planes and pilots represented other examples of “active” defense. In contrast, “passive” defense, or the “shield” aspect, focused on civilian, rather than military, responses to war. Such approaches as shelter

104 (Like the wife of the neurotic New Yorker, the Queen also learned how to use a gun in case she had to fend for herself.) The East End was a poorer section of London, particularly hard hit by German bombings, and the Queen hoped to boost morale by visiting battered areas of the East End where unexploded bombs may still have been lurking. Recently, one East Ender remembered this time, saying, “we went through a lot round here during the War, but whenever we saw Royalty it uplifted us. She never ran away.” “The Queen Mother,” BBC News online, http://news.bbc.co.uk/hi/english/static/obituaries/queen_mother/the_war_years.stm (accessed 12 February 2014). For another reference to the strength of the British during World War II, see Lapp, 53: “Even though outnumbered, the fighters never gave up their heroic part in the Battle for Britain. The men and women of Britain stoically withstood the impact of the continued bombardment.” 105 “Civil Defense: So Much to be Done,” Newsweek, 27 June 1955, 22. 106 See, for example, Martin, 274.

130 preparation, evacuation planning, first aid, and disaster management fell under the

“passive” category.

These binary categories of “active/passive” defense are consistent with Carol

Cohn’s formulation of the “aggression/passivity” dichotomy. And in much of civil defense discourse, as in Cohn’s binary representations, the “active” approach was generally regarded more positively than the “passive.” Two articles from the Saturday

Evening Post offer an example of the difference in tone when Americans involved with active and passive defenses are described.107

First, here is a typical example of the practitioners of active defense as strong, masculine defenders of the country. “Night Fighters Over New York,” an article about two fighter pilots, begins this way: “While you sleep, interceptors roar into the dark after every suspicious plane to approach our shores. Their guns are loaded, and they’re not fooling—for if enemy A-bombers ever do come, men like Bull Mileski and Killer Kane will have the big job: Stop em!”108 Here readers are introduced to two men—one named

“Bull” and the other, “Killer,” whose masculinity is beyond question; these men protect vulnerable Americans during the dead of night, and their “guns are loaded.” When the men are in the sky, focused on a suspicious target, “their feelings are those of two hunters stalking a tiger in a dark jungle. A tiger that is stalking their homes. It’s up to them

107 It may be helpful to keep in mind Lapp’s comment that “in the last war we thought of fighter pilots as heroic figures and . . . acclaimed the prowess of the men who flew bombers over enemy cities,” 4. 108 Phil Gustafson, “Night Fighters Over New York,” Saturday Evening Post, 2 February 1952, 32.

131 alone to make sure the marauder doesn’t get through.”109 The men are clearly brave, and their activity is described in sportsmen’s terms—reminiscent of Teddy Roosevelt hunting souvenirs for his “exotic” travels. In addition, however, “Bull” and “Killer” are the only forces able to prevent a wild animal from attacking their “homes.” The article concludes with a note of caution, but also a reference to “death-dealing”: “It’s reassuring to know that this air-age border patrol is always out there on guard. But it’s also well to remember that Air Force officers have repeatedly warned that some enemy bombers would probably get through. That’s why we hope to discourage attack with a death- dealing strategic air force.”110

This journalistic portrayal of the vigor and potency of “active” defense contrasts sharply with an essay on “passive”—or civil—defense from the Saturday Evening Post,

“They Hope They’re Wasting Their Time.”111 The article is a description of volunteers working for the Ground Observation Corps (GOC) in New England; this group of sky- watchers would stand around looking for threats from above in the form of enemy aircraft. The reporter gamely references Paul Revere, “the original American ground observer,” then goes on to offer a local supervisor’s description of some of his loyal volunteers:

We’ve got them all ages, from a man of seventy-seven who regularly takes the meanest watch of all—midnight to four A.M.—down to teen-agers. There are

109 Ibid., 66. 110 Ibid. 111 Sidney Shalett, “They Hope They’re Wasting Their Time,” Saturday Evening Post, 26 September 1953. Even the title is bleak, with a reference to time wasting.

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even some eight-year-olds who come with their parents and do a grand job of acting as an extra pair of ears. We run across the darndest things. . . . for instance, there’s a lady who’s taught her dog to bark when he hears an airplane, so she can phone in the flash.112

Compared with the first report on “active” defenders, this seems like a fairly meager crew; strong men named “Killer” do not work at this post. Instead, the skies are observed by an elderly man, teenagers, parents, and kids—not to mention a woman and her trained dog. The article continues, reporting that observation posts “turn up lots of flying saucer reports,” then turns to the story of Edgar Thurston, who donated the use of his water tower to the local GOC. According to the reporter, Mr. Thurston “is eighty- three years old and suffers from arthritis, but he fills in at the observation post whenever needed.”113 This image of a weak, sick, elderly Mr. Thurston represents a direct

112 Ibid., 41. The dog’s name was “Blitz.” 113 Ibid., 129-130. For more on the apparent marginalization of the Ground Observation Corps, see interview with Lieutenant General Joseph H. Atkinson, Commander in Chief of Alaskan Command, in “We are only 5 miles from Russia,” U.S. News & World Report, 16 December 1955: “A[tkinson]: . . . we have the Eskimos integrated in the Ground Observer Corps, and they do a pretty good job. Of course, they have a little bit of trouble getting the information back. They have to wait until they get to a radio. Q: How about the loyalty of the Eskimos? A: I have no doubt about them. They are very loyal.” For another example of how civil defense was imagined as weak or feminized, see Frank, 137-38: “In 1957, a year memorable for the Sputniks, I often watched with wonder as the . . . ladies of Mount Dora spied [for] passing aircraft from their new aluminum and glass tower. . . . Every time a scheduled airliner crawled lazily across the sky, or a Navy jet streaked past on the traffic pattern for Sanford, the ladies telephoned a flash to the filter center in Miami. . . . Finally, this silly season came to an end. There was also a period when people became air raid wardens and put on tin hats and rushed into the streets to tweet whistles and order other people, not wearing tin hats, to get off the streets, go home, or anyway do something.” This impression can also be seen in the 1958 film, The Blob, when an elderly and confused civil defense worker leaps out of bed to put on his “CD” helmet upon hearing the civil defense siren in the middle of the night; he freezes momentarily when the fire alarm is also sounded. After this second alarm, he complains to his wife that he is uncertain what hat to wear (civil defense or fire patrol), a stereotypically “feminine” concern. For more on civil defense as a pursuit for children, see “Civil Defense: There Isn’t Any,” Newsweek, 31 July 1950, 32: for many Americans, civil defense seems “like playing in a shiny white helmet.” Apparently, religious fanatics were also perceived as “natural” candidates for civil defense positions. See “A Sect Anticipates Armageddon,” Life, 22 November 1954, 177: “Adventists, who hold that the second coming of Christ is near at hand,

133 counterpoint to the images of tough and hardy men like “Bull” and “Killer.” The ground observers do not have guns that “are loaded.” They do not have guns at all. In the context of civil defense debates that compared the “virility” of active and passive defense, this essay represents what many critics of civil defense surely suspected—that civil defense symbolized weakness.

Notably, at this observation site, the colonel in charge (his military title comes from service in the “Maine militia”) tries to lift the spirits of volunteers by procuring military-style uniforms: “He thinks there should be a fatigue uniform; a jacket, or, at least, a shoulder patch. ‘It would be a very useful thing in building esprit,’ he said. ‘I’m getting nowhere, but I’m still trying.’”114 Why would a uniform—or a shoulder patch— be important for volunteers? Because a strong connection to military defense offered civil defense workers some hope of credibility. By the same token, military leaders may have been reluctant to make uniforms available because popular ridicule of civil defense might tarnish the military’s masculine image. One writer argued that the “Army is jealous of its ‘offensive tradition.’ Like storming San Juan Hill and staging invasions and capturing enemy-occupied capitals. It doesn’t want to be tied down in the Zone of the

Interior.”115 This use of the phrase, “tied down,” compares the military to a young

believe it will be preceded by the apocalyptic troubles. They have accordingly been leaders in civil defense work.” 114 Ibid., 130, 132. The colonel, Vladimir Dmitri Krijanovsky, is described this way: “late of the United States Army, formerly of the late czar’s Lancer Guards, and now a chicken farmer in West Scarboro.” 115 The author went on to argue that the Army feared that “the National Guard and organized Reserve will be delegated to Civil Defense duties. An especially vociferous lobby consists of National

134 bachelor, unwilling to commit to marriage because he wants to explore other avenues and adventures, relegating the “Zone of the Interior” to feminized territory.

Some civil defense officials hoped to strengthen the morale of their volunteers by providing them with military-style uniforms, but this was often an unsuccessful mission.

However, one civil defense program did manage to appropriate a traditional masculine symbol: dog tags. As JoAnne Brown suggests in “‘A is for Atom, B is for Bomb’,” dog tags were “domesticated” within educational contexts during the early Cold War; in case of Armageddon, tags previously distributed to students would provide the names and addresses of children burned beyond recognition. One of the objects most closely connected to perceptions of masculinity, dog tags in the hands of civil defense administrators became necklaces—the property of school children. In April 1951, according to Brown, advertising for such identification portrayed a boy and a soldier comparing tags. By August, the image of the soldier was replaced by “a smiling mother- teacher figure proffering a happy boy his necklace.”116

Supporters of civil defense had to justify controversial programs that redefined the uses of traditionally gendered symbols, and they also found themselves in the awkward position of trying to legitimate the need for their programs by pointing out the flaws of a purely military defense. For example, one proponent of civil defense argued

Guard generals and colonels. They envision glory in leading an armored division in a dash across the Ukraine. They can see no glory in shooting looters, cleaning up the streets, restoring sanitation and other essential facilities, and assuming command, for a time, in their own home town.” Frank, 140-141. 116 JoAnne Brown, “‘A is for Atom, B is for Bomb’: Civil Defense in American Public Education, 1948-1963,” Journal of American History 75 (June 1988): 81.

135 that “[w]hen all means of Active Defense have failed to prevent hostile aircraft from reaching their objective, it is the mission of Passive Defense to counter the consequences of the attack.”117 Another supporter argued in favor of civil defense because “what our army cannot do is to prevent enemy planes and rockets, bearing atomic bombs and incendiaries, from destroying our important cities.”118

Cold War civil defense suffered from negative, and feminine, associations from the outset. It was associated with passivity rather than action, fear rather than bravery, security rather than risk, and neurosis rather than reason. In the post-World War II era when many cultural commentators feared that American men were growing weak, passive, and dependent, successful civil defense exercises like the one covered by

Newsweek in 1951 actually celebrated the efficiency with which millions of city dwellers took orders: they “scuttled for the cover of steel buildings, subways, and basements in a good-natured, orderly, and effective way.”119 In addition to overbearing “moms” and club women, civil defense programs attracted the participation of elderly individuals and others with idiosyncratic flair. And while civil defense was certainly plagued by a number of issues—under-investment at the federal level, shifting executive priorities, and persistent questions about its ultimate usefulness—the feminization of civil defense during the 1950s played a significant role in its failure. Regardless of the challenges,

117 Augustin Prentiss, Civil Defense in Modern War (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1951), 163-64 (emphasis added). 118 Sylvian G. Kindall, Total Atomic Defense (New York: Richard R. Smith Publishers, 1952), 22 (emphasis added). 119 “Civilian Defense: New York Shows the World,” Newsweek, 10 December 1951, 22.

136 however, civil defense officials doggedly attempted to “sell” their programs to the

American public. Exploring several examples of these efforts—and some of the strategic shortcomings they displayed—is the subject of the following chapter.

137

Figure 3.4. Looking for enemy planes—and a few good housewives. “Operation Skywatch observation tower behind Roosevelt School in Euclid needs housewives to look for aircraft during daytime hours on week days.” Cleveland State University, Civil Defense Collection. Cleveland Press, March 8, 1955.

CHAPTER IV

Selling Civil Defense

In the midst of concerns over the waning virility of American men and the growing power of the “matriarchy,” civil defense officials needed to make self-protection strategies (such as hiding under a tablecloth, leaping into a handy ditch, or speedily getting out of town, depending on the time and circumstances) seem as masculine as possible—and they had to do it in a way that did not come across as overpowering or domineering. This was a challenging task.

Using a variety of approaches, including films, pamphlets, and Operation Alert exercises to educate as wide an audience as possible in civil defense techniques, planners often struggled to achieve success. They identified themselves with the military whenever possible, reminding citizens that “active” and “passive” defense were equally integral to national survival, but attempts to teach Americans how to behave in a nuclear crisis always ran the risk of infantilizing or condescending to the audience, thereby losing them. For example, when staff members at the National Security Resources Board

(NSRB) were drafting the booklet that would become “Survival Under Atomic Attack,”

138

139 comments on material and tone were circulated around the office. During the summer of

1950, one person suggested that the publication

should not sermonize. It should be like a set of Boy Scout’s rules, or like a list of “do’s” and “don’ts” in which precepts are laid down without even starting to explain the complex arguments for them . . . perhaps like a catechism. . . . The rules can then stand out clear and in readily memorized form—like the Ten Commandments! . . . The average individual’s main cry is “tell me what to do!”; and the necessity or desirability for documenting the rules by scientific and historical evidence I think is imaginary.1

Comparing civil defense strategies to a catechism or the Ten Commandments suggests a certain kind of role imagined between a planner and an ordinary American—perhaps that of a priest to a child just learning the most basic information about what his or her religion means. There is no need for “scientific and historical evidence.” The authority figure does not need to prove any of his points. Regardless of the challenges, federal civil defense officials continued to try to connect with Americans throughout the 1950s. This chapter traces examples of their attempts—and their results.

In April 1950, Paul Larsen, head of the Office of Civilian Mobilization within the

NSRB, received a letter from the Director of Civil Defense for Maryland, Lieutenant

Colonel David. G. McIntosh, III. The letter was polite but direct:

I fully realize you have had only a minimum time to get oriented in your position, but I am calling this to your attention again because the most important single factor connected with Civil Defense, in my opinion, is the way it is presented to the public and if State Directors are made to look like a bunch of numb-skulls, we

1 Memorandum to N. L. Goodwin from G. L. Schuyler regarding NSRB Booklet, “Self Protection Against Atom Warfare—Restricted,” 6 July 1950, 2. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 14, Folder E4-47.

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cannot hope for much confidence and assistance in the implementation of our plans when completed.2

Concerns about public perceptions were widely shared among state, local, and federal civil defense officials throughout the 1950s. Convincing Americans that civil defense programs were patriotic, meaningful, and symbolic of strength was a significant task, and planners in Washington promoted civil defense as best they could while simultaneously coping with a variety of challenges.

In the early days of 1951, Larry Nixon was the public relations director of the

Madison Avenue advertising agency, Hewitt, Ogilvy, Benson and Mather. The firm would become the “tenth biggest agency in the world,” and handled ads from companies such as General Foods, American Express, Shell, and Sears.3 On January 14, 1951, Nixon wrote a letter to the head of public affairs for FCDA, expressing his exasperation with the slow rate of progress on developing the public information program for civil defense. He admitted that some of the failure might his responsibility, as he had volunteered to consult with the FCDA free of charge. Still, he reported that he was “violently annoyed” with developments up to that point:

I’ve been in this cockeyed business of swaying public opinion for thirty-odd years and I have never been associated with a program that has failed as miserably as I think this one has on Civil Defense. I’ve laid a few colossal eggs in my career, but I always managed to find a way to salvage the proposition and get it across. . . . I don’t want to simply walk away and admit that the problem cannot be solved.

2 RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 3, Folder E4-2M (emphasis added). 3 “Ogilvy and Mather: Our History,” www.ogilvy.com/About/Our-History/David-Ogilvy-Bio.aspx (accessed 30 March 2014).

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Perhaps it is pride; anyway, I’ve never been associated with a failure in a big campaign and I don’t want to start now after thirty years in the business.4

Toward the end of his letter, Nixon noted that while the FCDA might think he had

“gone haywire on this situation,” he would be just as irritated as if he were selling a product and sales were poor. As it was, he recognized that a federal agency, lacking a

Chairman of the Board, was quite different from a corporation. In addition, he lamented,

“We haven’t got any cash register to point to in Civil Defense, as we would have in a selling campaign.”5

One of the first problems civil defense officials faced was how to market their programs without appearing to undermine military defense operations. They were in a difficult position, because in order to drum up congressional funding and popular interest, civil defense proponents were forced to point out that the effectiveness of military defense was never absolute. In other words, they had to emphasize aspects of American weakness—reminding their audiences that 100% protection from atomic attack was impossible, no matter how many U.S. bomber pilots or NIKE missiles the military might mobilize. Because civil defense depended upon a wide agreement that some aspects of military defense would inevitably fail, promoters of civil defense had to avoid coming across as gloomy, alarmist, or depressing.6

4 Letter to John A. De Chant from Larry Nixon, 14 January 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3N. 5 Ibid. 6 Not to mention boring, as well. This was a common problem for civil defense officials in crafting their message. According to the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, “Civil defense, to many people, is a boring or a depressing subject.” See Murray S. Levine, “Civil Defense vs. Public Apathy,” 1 February

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Civil defense planners also wanted to avoid ridicule, and recognized that language would play a significant role in creating a positive image of civil defense. Therefore, in the months leading up to the establishment of the FCDA in December 1950, civil defense officials in the NSRB discussed whether to use the term “civilian defense” or “civil defense.” W. Stuart Symington, head of the NSRB, was inclined to use “civilian,” but members of the staff were against it, arguing, among other things, that “‘Civilian

Defense’ is still associated in the minds of many people with the morale building, community-organization type of activities of the OCD during World War II—not a happy association.”7

Choosing to use “civil” rather than “civilian” reflected a desire to avoid the connotations of the brief, but memorable, Eleanor Roosevelt era and to identify civil defense programs with strength rather than weakness. Considering Carol Cohn’s discussion of the linguistic weight of gendered oppositions, the labeling of civil defense as “passive” defense immediately linked it with femininity, while military defense, or

“active” defense, was effectively coded as masculine. Civil defense officials constantly tried to overcome this gendered hierarchy by conflating civil and military defense as

1953, 27. At the conclusion of an interview with General Omar Bradley, Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff that was broadcast on ABC radio in the spring of 1950, General Bradley actually posed a question to the interviewer—asking what Americans wanted the Defense Department to do that it wasn’t doing. Elmer Davis replied, “[Y]ou said once that you thought we could win a hot war or a cold war, but you weren’t sure we could win a war of boredom. The best way, I think, to keep the people from relaxing too much if it degenerates into a war of boredom . . . is to keep on giving them as full information as possible.” (This, of course, they were not eager to do.) Department of Defense, Office of Public Information, “Remarks of General Omar Bradley,” 18 April 1950, 4. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 10, Folder E4-3. 7 Memo from William A. Gill to Paul J. Larsen, 29 June 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 10, Folder E4-1.

143 much as possible—and by portraying certain civil defense activities as well as the program overall as a masculine endeavor—but criticism of civil defense persisted throughout the 1950s.

When Millard Caldwell, ex-Governor of Florida, became the first Federal Civil

Defense Administrator in history, he, like Larsen, was greeted with unsolicited advice. A letter from the editor of a weekly newspaper in Stuart, Florida, informed Caldwell that

“passive defense” might not be a wise term:

The very idea of passive civilian defense is repugnant to Americans. . . . What we need . . . is a distinctly American program, fitted to the American character— strong and positive. . . . Every single citizen should be made to realize that he is a combatant and can take part in positive action to hurt the enemy: then the response to the Civilian Defense Program would be spontaneous and real. Civilian Defense patterned on how to make the nation stronger, on how to beat off attack, on how to do things that will hurt the enemy—and not passive Civilian Defense patterned on the sheep-like thought that we must know where to flee to and how to bind up our wounds and how to rescue and help other civilians—should dominate the picture. . . . The patronizing air with which Washington bureaucracy lays out a passive defense program is galling. It fails to take advantage of the inherent strength of the nation, is soft and weak.8

The writer argues further that since “real defense is always in attack,” every American man should be “enlisted” in an aggressive, armed civil defense “reserve.” He would learn

8 Letter to Millard Caldwell from Ernest F. Lyons, 2 December 1950 (emphasis original). RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 1, Folder 1. The sense of the nation as “weak” was echoed in several letters throughout the early 1950s. J. J. O’Dell wrote to President Truman in March 1951 that in his view, “[W]e are letting ourselves become dangerously weak, in a world where over half the people recognize and respect only strength. . . . As soon as [the Russians] feel they are strong enough and we are weak enough they will attack, and at the rate we are going it won’t be long now. . . . If we are going to become so weak that we are pushovers for the Russians and they attack us, then what good will economy do us then? With our capital in Moscow? . . . . [W]e are sitting back, taking it easy, twiddling our thumbs while the odds against us mount with each passing day. How dumb can we get? Mr. Truman, how dumb can we get?” RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 10, Folder E4-3.

144 how to use a machine gun, and finally, “Russia would be faced with terms it understands: a nation armed to the man.”9

A person calling himself Czar J. Dyer had sent a similar letter to the NSRB two months previously, with a description of his plan for defending Detroit. Dyer acknowledges that because the United States is forced to adopt a system of passive defense (since the United States will not, presumably, preemptively strike another nation), Americans are at a disadvantage: “all is blindness to us, though all is visible to the attacking adversary.”10 Yet he clearly supports the Truman administration’s emphasis on self-help:

[I]t must be drilled into the plain citizen that he is an American and must count on standing on his own legs in a civic emergency, without bawling to the Government for help and direction. At all costs this people must be driven out of their cow-like placidity, their strange, unnatural, feminine passiveness, and made to understand that their fate depends on them, not on what their enemy plans to do to them.11

9 Ibid. 10 Letter to W. Stuart Symington, Chairman, NSRB from Czar J. Dyer, 21 October 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 6, Folder E4-3D. This theme is found in other letters as well. For example, Mrs. Leonard Minkle asked the president, “What person will have time to dig a hole in the ground and fill pots and pans with water and supplies as bombs are falling earthward. These things must be done beforehand, whether we will have use for them or not. I guess it is because America has never been considered the aggressor country and must wait to be hit before it can show any kind of preparedness or readiness to another country.” Letter to President Truman, 27 December 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3M. Interestingly, the idea that as a rule, Americans always wait for the aggressor to strike first is also discussed in Margaret Mead’s And Keep Your Powder Dry. According to Mead, “[O]ut of the confusion which can be built in the male mind when females are those who urge his maleness insistently upon him, there has emerged a special American form of aggressiveness; aggressiveness which is so unsure of itself that it has to be proved. . . . His best position is in a fight which somebody else started, for which he cannot blame himself and for which no one else can blame him, getting in good hard punches and surprising himself at how well he is doing” (97). 11 Ibid. The idea that offensive strength is superior to defensive power is echoed in the conclusion of a strange pseudo-manifesto entitled, “A Fourth World War.” C. P. Monningh of Barstow, California writes, “We need never again be on the defensive. . . . [L]et us forever be on the offensive, never confused, and never afraid!” RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3M.

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Both letters emphasize the glory of American manhood, specifically, and both express sadness, or anger, that somehow that glory has been lost and must be recovered. Indeed, some of Dyer’s language resonates with psychological and anthropological assessments of the crisis of American manhood during the Age of Anxiety:

[Americans] must be shown clearly the truth of the fact that the real enemy is never some other fellow called “the enemy,” but their own selves, over whose weaknesses they must learn to triumph for their own and their Country’s sake. We don’t lick an Everest, a mathematical problem, or another man. We never do anything else but lick ourselves—our weaknesses and fears as posed for us by Everest; our ignorance as posed to us by the problem; our desire to quit under the enemy’s blows and punishment before he is forced to give up under ours.12

Many men, some women, and even a few children wrote to the president or to civil defense officials requesting that the government distribute arms, either free or at cost, to a large number of civilians for defense purposes.13 One writer suggested that it would be “a deterrent . . . and a spur to our allies,” as well as a superior alternative to digging caves and ducking.14 Another writer suggested that the federal government

12 Ibid (emphasis original). In Psychology of Adjustment, Mikesell and Hanson posit a similar idea: “People with strong feelings of inferiority, who are excessively timid and frustrated . . . may never become aggressive even if they are attacked, physically or psychologically. As a consequence of their previous belittling experiences, they are psychologically whipped. Instead of taking a positive stand they tend to retreat further away from society and social contacts” (123). 13 Charles Clancy of Tacoma, Washington, aged 14, wrote to President Truman offering his own thoughts: “In the event of an air raid on the west coast the people would not be prepared. I’m aware of the great scarcity of guns and ammunition. I say you should arm the public on the west coast only with one tommy gun a family. So Mr. Pres. I hope you will regard this thought. And I hope to expect an answer as soon as you have time. So may God help you in your great job.” RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 6, Folder E4-3C. 14 Letter to Stephen Early, Secretary to the President, from J. J. Corkill, circa December 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 6, Folder E4-3C.

146 should organize a “CIVIL DEFENSE ARMY (CDA).”15 Armed and trained, these soldiers would enjoy a satisfaction “vastly more substantial than from milling about in some kind of a subterranean shelter and not doing a damn thing to help save themselves, the country, or anyone or anything else—nothing, but just being a liability in a crisis.”

Open to men and women, this organization of “intelligence scouts” would lurk throughout the country looking for potential saboteurs and arresting them (or shooting them if they resisted arrest). They would have to possess “special aptitudes for spotting enemy infiltrating persons and enemy collaborators,” and most candidates would have to endure substantial “psychological conditioning,” because “many of them are of the hiding-place-seeker type.” But ultimately, “a man or woman with a rifle, revolver, a knife, and a little know-how . . . would be decidedly more than . . . a hiding, frightened, defenseless liability.”16 A great many letters championed the idea of establishing an armed civil defense corps; more than anything else, the ability to carry a weapon seemed to mitigate associations between civil defense and weakness.

If writers were not offering the government their advice on how best to create a powerful civil defense agency, they often asked what to do in an attack—especially in the early 1950s when the FCDA was getting started. Mrs. George F. Mahoney of Manhattan

Beach, California, wrote to Senator Richard Nixon in January 1951 demanding to know

15 Letter to Millard Caldwell from James S. Harmon, December 21, 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 7, Folder E4-3H. 16 Ibid (emphasis original).

147 how the government was proposing to protect citizens on the West Coast. Her frustration is evident in her letter:

What chance have we got if the enemy should attack us? We haven’t any bomb shelters, we are just sitting ducks out here on the coast. . . . In all the civil defense pamphlets given to us, they keep repeating go down in your cellar if we are attacked. We out here in the West Coast don’t have basements or cellars. What are we going to do. They say find a hill and fall on your face against the hill. We have no hills along the coast, that is not near our homes. And another thing, the enemy won’t telegraph their punches, so how will we know what, when, and where?17

The following month, FCDA officials received a letter from the Director of Civil

Defense in Ashland, Kentucky—the letter is missing, but the official response suggests that there was no surprise when it reached the federal office: “We agree that ridicule would seriously impair our program of civil defense. Steps are being initiated to offset any campaign of that nature.”18 Unfortunately for civil defense officials, the threat of ridicule was their constant companion, and there probably were not many options open to them to discourage campaigns of mockery. (How does one go about doing that?) This is why they generally viewed public relations—in terms of defining the relationship between civil defense officials and the civilians they wanted to save—as crucial.

As Andrew D. Grossman suggests in Neither Dead Nor Red, “mass civic education was a domestic propaganda enterprise; its fundamental purpose was to govern

17 Letter to Richard Nixon from Mrs. George F. Mahoney, January 16, 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3M (emphasis original). 18 Letter to David Aronberg from M. P. Rooney, February 16, 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 3, Folder E4-2K.

148 how the general public thought about atomic weapons and their effects.”19 By the time the FCDA came into being in December 1950, many Americans were wondering how to consider such matters. In August 1949, the Soviet Union had demonstrated its mastery of the atomic bomb; two months later, Mao Zedong proclaimed the establishment of the

People’s Republic of China. When North Korea invaded South Korea during the summer of 1950, the Cold War appeared to be turning hot—and at this point, according to

Grossman, “there was palpable fear in the United States that World War III might be under way.”20 While a certain amount of fear was necessary to encourage Americans to support civil defense programs, too much fear risked escalating into panic; civil defense officials wanted Americans to be “alert, not alarmed,” a tricky calibration. Therefore,

“the FCDA intended to produce a manageable level of fear that could then be channeled into civil defense operations and training.”21

As Allan M. Winkler notes, “with but limited funds, civil defense activity necessarily involved a good deal of cajoling.”22 Officials at the Federal Civil Defense

Administration, and later the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization, tried to get

Americans interested and involved in civil defense projects in several ways. They held drills, designed pamphlets, gave speeches, and offered advice to local civil defense office staffs. Another way to promote preparedness on a large scale was through developing

19 Andrew D. Grossman, Neither Dead Nor Red: Civilian Defense and American Political Development during the Early Cold War (New York: Routledge, 2001), 36. 20 Ibid., 38. 21 Ibid., 42. 22 Allan M. Winkler, Life Under a Cloud, American Anxiety about the Atom (New York: Oxford University Press, 1993), 114.

149 films—often with corporate rather than federal funding—for a variety of audiences: school children, potential civil defense volunteers, and uncommitted viewers of network television.

The FCDA made agreements with several film studios and distributors so that films would be made as quickly as possible; studios would receive royalties for every film sold and distributors would be entitled to a share of the profits. Archer Productions was offered two civil defense projects, one of which became the black and white film,

Our Cities Must Fight.23 It debuted in Washington, D.C. on January 7, 1952, and was featured—along with Duck and Cover, starring Bert the Turtle—as part of FCDA’s

“Alert America” exhibit, a collection of displays, posters, and dioramas on civil defense that crossed the country in “three convoys of ten 32-foot trailers each” to teach

Americans how to respond to atomic attack.24

Our Cities Must Fight attempted to sell civil defense by emphasizing manliness, military discipline, and honor. The film is set in a newspaper office filled with shadows and silhouettes evocative of film noir detective movies, and viewers see white male hands at a typewriter, “hunting and pecking” for individual keys; this is a man who has not taken a typing course. He is well dressed, or at least, his wrists are, judging by the handsome cufflinks. There is no ring on his left hand, so the audience may assume he is not married. Given that the atmosphere is heavy with chiaroscuro, it would not be

23 Melvin E. Matthews, Duck and Cover: Civil Defense Images in Film and Television from the Cold War to 9/11 (Jefferson, NC: McFarland and Co., 2012), 20. The other became the much more famous Duck and Cover. 24 Ibid.

150 surprising to see Sam Spade or Philip Marlowe lazily smoking a cigarette at the desk— but neither of them would have typed these words:

“LEAD EDITORIAL” The enemy will have no trouble winning the next war. Too many Americans will desert their cities at first sign of danger. This is treason!

After a moment, the draft is crumpled up and thrown away; then the man picks up a phone and dials a number. As the music becomes increasingly suspenseful, the door to the office opens, and a man walks in wearing a suit and hat. Is he friend or foe? Does he have a gun? The man at the desk looks up and puts down the phone. “Oh, hiya Fred,” he says to the man in the doorway. “I was trying to get a hold of ya.” Finally, the ominous music disappears, allowing viewers to relax. “Park your hat and grab a chair, huh?” he continues. Fred sits down obligingly.

The rest of the film takes place in the form of a dialogue between the two men.

The editor, Jack, has apparently received several letters from readers complaining about a recent pro-civil defense piece in his newspaper. He chooses one from the pile on his desk and reads it to Fred: “Dear Editor, Usually I agree with your editorials, but your call for civil defense volunteers was nonsense. If this city is attacked, my plans are made and they don’t include waiting around to get killed.” At this, Jack pauses to give Fred a skeptical look while Fred lights a pipe. Jack continues reading aloud: “I’m gonna take my family to a place in the country where we’ll be safe. I think I’m as patriotic as the next

151 guy, but I’d be pretty dumb to remain in this city when those bombs start falling.” Jack tosses the letter back on his desk, disgusted. “Name doesn’t matter,” he sighs.

This fictional letter-to-the-editor does two things simultaneously. First, it identifies the typical critic of civil defense as a married man with a family, sensible, for the most part, because he usually agrees with Jack—therefore, there is hope that he can be persuaded to see the logical reasons behind civil defense. Second, it lays the groundwork for a subsequent refutation by clearly delineating the critic’s negative views of volunteers at the outset of the film. The writer describes them as passive, “waiting around to get killed,” and “pretty dumb.” While volunteers may act out of a sense of patriotism—the critic feels he has to defend his own sense of duty in comparison—they can be easily dismissed as either lacking family responsibilities or not prioritizing their families by planning to go to a safe “place in the country,” as the critic would do if an attack occurs.

Fred’s initial response is to describe the writer as cowardly: “Take to the hills, huh? Another member of the ‘take to the hills’ fraternity.” This phrase, “take to the hills,” frames evacuation as nothing more than running away from danger; it refutes the idea that civil defense volunteers who remain in a city under attack are either passive or stupid—they are actually the brave ones; “taking to the hills” is a sign of weakness.

Furthermore, the word “fraternity” conjures up images of men who congregate regularly on the basis of a similar interest; membership becomes a marker of identity and belonging. But if this fraternity is based upon a common fondness for escaping hazards, what a sorry group it is—they may have fun at their parties and gatherings, but they are

152 really just irresponsible kids, unwilling to undertake the mature preparations that the Cold

War crisis demands.

Not wanting to alienate potential viewers who might be sympathetic to the writer’s views, Fred is careful to describe people like the writer as “intelligent,” but swayed by emotion—often considered a feminine quality in contrast to masculine logic and reason. Fred implicitly feminizes male critics of civil defense when he says, “They made up their minds without thinking. They’re letting fear push them.” This statement turns the writer’s original argument on its head and depicts the critics as passive, allowing themselves to be “pushed” by fear. Jack agrees, holding his glasses thoughtfully, and proceeds to discount the writer’s argument that he is “as patriotic as the next guy,” suggesting instead that the opposite is true: “It’s pushing them into something pretty close to treason,” Jack asserts. If that were not enough to silence critics of civil defense, Fred returns to the theme of cowardice, telling Jack, “You know, there’s really nothing to be gained by turning tail and running after an enemy attack.” He explains, very rationally, that “mass evacuation of cities just doesn’t work”—an idea that will make this film obsolete in later years when evacuation becomes the preferred FCDA strategy—and finally, approaching Jack and putting his hands on the desk for emphasis, Fred appeals to

Americans’ patriotic instincts once again: “If war comes and we desert our cities, we’ve lost the war.”

Within minutes, the film has both acknowledged and dismissed perceptions of civil defense as weak, passive, and irrational against the backdrop of a film noir setting reminiscent of hard-boiled detectives and tough guy protagonists. Constructing the debate

153 as a “conversation” between men, women are largely absent from the film; the most prominent place they appear is during a series of flashbacks set in the destruction of

World War II Europe; here they flee cities and straggle down streets with crying babies and hungry children—a nun briefly appears, as well, to offer a weary refugee a hunk of bread. This footage, meant to convey the message that evacuation is ineffective and potentially dangerous, casts critics like the cowardly letter writer as the toothless old men, crying women, and miserable children of World War II. If viewers want to avoid that tragic fate, they may sign up to become civil defense volunteers; according to the film, this is not only the patriotic thing to do, but tough and masculine as well.

Our Cities Must Fight repeatedly emphasizes the importance of “able-bodied” people remaining in the city during an attack to help in the aftermath of disaster, and depicts these stalwart citizens working according to a gendered division of labor. Men are shown doing “manly” things: tossing rubble aside, driving ambulances, putting out fires, and carrying stretchers. Women are much less active. Besides the kindly nun, one woman is shown stuck in traffic behind the wheel of an American Red Cross car and another is a teacher watching over a classroom full of children—neither of them is actually doing anything; the first is immobilized and the other simply observes.

Toward the end of the film, Fred compares civil defense volunteers to soldiers in the army, underscoring the importance of signing up and staying on the job:

Modern warfare has no respect at all for civilians. Like it or not, each of us has his share of fighting to do, his share of danger to face. Running away from that duty would be desertion, pure and simple. In the army, it would mean court-martial. As a civilian, it would not only be treasonable, but it would mean having to live with

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the knowledge that in deserting your responsibility, you failed yourself, your family, your friends, your city.

By describing desertion as “not only . . . treasonable,” Fred emphasizes the moral as well as the technical crime of leaving the city—such action means personal failure, public humiliation, and a life of shame and regret. And by linking civil and military defense, a well-worn tactic of civil defense officials, Fred attempts to gain respect and legitimacy for civil defense programs.

For his part, Jack makes the danger of attack seem like a tremendous opportunity for non-military men to show their mettle without leaving home. He suggests with great intensity that if American cities are attacked, “There will be plenty of suffering, plenty of misery, broken homes, death—dangers that used to belong only to soldiers. But we’ve got to be able to take it and come back fighting!” Here, experiencing the horrors of atomic attack confers an honorary military status on ordinary men. (It seems that there will be “plenty” of horror to go around.) But it also places demands on them in order to maintain that elevated status; men must absorb the pain of attack, face the enemy, and retaliate with force. In Jack’s view, the survival of the nation depends on the answer to one single question, which, at first, he poses to no one in particular: “Have Americans got the guts?” he muses. Suddenly, in a jarring break of the fourth wall, Jack turns and looks directly into the camera; the abrupt interruption of the established format demands that viewers pay attention. Now interrogating the audience directly, he asks, “Have YOU got the guts?” The camera stays on his face for a moment, then fades to a drawing of a cityscape at night.

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Our Cities Must Fight offered a response to those who mocked civil defense. By the end of the film, the letter-writer’s characterization of civil defense as passive, stupid nonsense has been rebutted at every turn using an active and patriotic tone. Even men who have never seen combat—perhaps especially those men—should get ready to take the helm if their city is ever attacked. War on the home front would offer opportunities to demonstrate resilience and strength, and remaining within, rather than fleeing, the city is the courageous course of action. At one point, Fred says, “The enemy knows that a city deserted by its people is a city robbed of its power to resist, of its power to produce.” If the city is coded feminine—she is deserted, she is robbed, she can no longer resist, and she can no longer produce—then abandoning her in her time of need represents a particularly callous affront, the act of a man who had “failed” his city. In this light, civil defense represents a heroic aspiration to save rather than abandon.

While Our Cities Must Fight consists of two single men talking to each other in a shadowy urban office after dark, Survival Under Atomic Attack, released in 1951, is set in a suburban family home during the daytime. Voices of the husband, wife, son, and daughter are not actually heard, although viewers sometimes see them speaking to each other; instead, a narrator, the trustworthy Edward R. Murrow, offers guidance to the on- screen family—and thereby the viewers themselves—regarding how to prepare for nuclear disaster.

Murrow, an American journalist who gained a loyal following during World War

II for his live radio broadcasts from London during the Blitz, introduces the subject of atomic bombing with the calm, determined voice that made him famous. “Let us face,”

156 he says, “without panic, the reality of our times.” A woman stops hanging laundry on a clothesline and looks up with concern at the sky. The narrator continues: “The fact that atom bombs may someday be dropped on our cities.” At this, a man with a troubled expression also looks skyward. “And let us prepare for survival, understanding the weapon that threatens us.” An atomic explosion blasts onto the screen.

The statements that open the film emphasize key points that recur frequently throughout civil defense films of the 1950s: do not panic, face the facts, and know what to do if an attack should come. Advising viewers to think rationally is common to almost all civil defense films of this era; in Survival Under Atomic Attack, footage of Hiroshima and Nagasaki is used almost clinically to show how, if only the Japanese had been better prepared, many might have been spared the worst effects of the bombings. For example, the narrator acknowledges that “people caught in the open as far as two miles away suffered flash burns. Yet, protection could have been easily achieved. Here, a bridge post and rail shielded the surface behind it. Any solid material afforded similar protection.”

An American soldier appears to study the pattern of light and dark left on the surface of the bridge.

Like Our Cities Must Fight, this film also underscores the importance of remaining in urban, industrial areas using military metaphors: “If an emergency should come, our factories will be battle stations. Production must go on if we are to win.”

Survival Under Atomic Attack, however, extends the radius of responsibility beyond purely urban areas, pointing out that “offices and homes will also be posts of duty, not to be deserted.” Here the footage shifts from Japan to the United States, and viewers see a

157 middle-class white couple sitting on a living room couch. The husband smokes a cigarette while studying the FCDA pamphlet, “Survival Under Atomic Attack,” and seems to talk to his wife about what he is learning. While this domestic scene plays out, the narrator declares, “With the knowledge of the first atomic explosions to guide us, our chances for survival will be far better than those of the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki, if we act on our knowledge and are prepared.”

Now that the home is a militarized site not to be deserted, the narrator suggests that constructing a shelter area is the first priority. Therefore, husband and wife leave the living room and walk downstairs to the cellar, “the safest place to be.” On the way down, the husband takes the lead and demonstrates to his wife the sturdiness of the wooden beam over their heads; he tries to jiggle it, but it refuses to budge. The narrator points out that the wall closest to the nearest target area is the best place to find protection, because

“if the house is blown over, it will most likely fall away from this wall.” The husband brings the workbench over to the correct wall and crouches under it; his hand motions suggest he is explaining to his wife how to lie under a table. But while he demonstrates the concept enthusiastically, he never actually lies down.

After offering suggestions on finding suitable shelter in apartment buildings and houses without basements, the narrator proceeds to offer a list of things that can be done immediately in order to prepare for the worst. Unfortunately, the recitation of this long list of instructions—which we see carried out by men and women—may have reminded viewers of “momism” in its tone:

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Clean up that attic. Keep waste in covered containers. Don’t let trash pile up in the yard. Set aside a small supply of canned goods; they’re safe from radioactivity. Have a good flashlight on hand—electric lights may go out. Keep a first aid kit and learn how to stop bleeding. Make a habit of keeping a bottle of fresh water handy. A radio will be important for receiving vital instructions.

Civil defense tidying seems to be a male job here, as viewers see the first three jobs being done by men. The next four involve women collecting helpful items (in contrast to the men containing or dispersing potentially dangerous ones). The last necessity literally stands alone, as viewers simply see a radio displayed in the center of the screen. The final instruction—to keep a radio on hand to receive still more instructions—seems particularly ironic.

Civil defense officials were often in danger of having their messages come across as negative or scolding in tone. For example, in early 1951, the St. Paul Civil

Defense office printed a number of

25 booklets using the image in Figure 4.1 on the Figure 4.1. back cover. This does not promote a persuasive, patriotic case for becoming a volunteer;

25 “If We Are Bombed: A Handbook for YOUR PROTECTION.” RG 304, Entry31A, Box 4, Folder E4-2S.

159 it just tells the observer how to behave “correctly,” like a nagging mom. Another irony of civil defense is that the model of self-help with minimal federal involvement often invoked a posture of strong parental control.

After the family in the film has been told what to do, the final step is to gather the equipment necessary and set up the shelter in the basement. We see the husband and wife working together here until the wife suddenly looks directly into the camera for a moment and then down slightly. Viewers might think that she was looking right at them, but as they will soon discover, she was looking at her young son instead. This is the first time viewers see the little boy—he is wearing a cowboy outfit, complete with holstered gun, and gallantly offers his mother a can opener for the shelter. She smiles, the father smiles, and the child smiles as if they are all in on a little joke, and Mom gives the boy a hug and kiss, grateful for his help with survival preparations. He has clearly been well trained.

Moving from the basement into the living room, viewers see that the little cowboy is now playing outside and wearing a cowboy hat; he hides behind some rocks with his pistol sticking out, seemingly looking for “Indians” to shoot. When a siren suddenly goes off, the boy looks at the sky, and the narrator warns, “Once you hear this, act fast.” The boy runs into the house where he finds the rest of the family in a tizzy—scurrying about, turning things off, and closing the blinds. The boy grabs his blanket and rushes down to the basement, his only concern getting to safety. There, Mom, son, and a young daughter—who has recently appeared—get under the work table, but Dad does not join

160 them. Instead, he stands in the middle of the room, looking at his watch while the rest of the family cowers.

In this scene, it is as if the little boy outside, “protecting” his family from the imagined hazards of the suburban wilderness, suddenly must abandon his fantasy and revert to being a scared child; the cowboy with a gun becomes a little boy with a blanket, hiding under a table with the “women” of the family—his mother and sister. The transition marks the boy as yet another victim of momism, a system encouraged by the

“matriarchy” in which the emasculation of boys by their mothers forces them to give up the adventures they crave for the maternal security they are trained to need.

The narrator who orders everyone about is male, but he speaks in the scolding, maternal language of civil defense—do this; don’t do that; you’ll get in trouble if you don’t listen. At the same time, however, the father asserts his own power and manliness by refusing to obey the narrator’s instructions to cower with the rest of the family. His wife and children are “protected,” but he remains outside of that space as an observer and keeper of time.

The same “dignity” is not conferred upon the two men in suits walking past an outdoor fruit stand when the siren blasts. The narrator offers them this urgent advice: “An attack could come without warning. The sky would suddenly light up. If a doorway is right at hand, use it! If the nearest shelter is more than a couple of steps away, fall to the ground immediately! Flying glass and debris are immediate dangers, so stay where you are until you’re sure it’s safe to move!” It remains unclear just how the men will find out when it is “safe to move,” but at this point, both of them look thoroughly humiliated

161 anyway. One is left crouching in a doorway, while the other has flattened himself next to a curb with what looks like a sweater covering his head.

At the conclusion of the film, viewers return to the original suburban house where things have now returned to normal—as if nothing had happened; the husband and wife are again sitting on the couch reading, domestic tranquility restored. The narrator ends with what may come across as a smug note of superiority, depicting the Japanese victims of atomic bombings as a case study for Americans’ benefit: “If the people of Hiroshima and Nagasaki had known what we know about civil defense, thousands of lives would have been saved. . . . Yes, the knowledge is ours. And preparation can mean survival for you. So act now. Someday your life may depend on it.”

Another film, Operation Doorstep, released in 1953, presents a more “realistic” way of looking at suburban disaster. Using footage from the Yucca Flat test of March 17,

1953, the film gives viewers a glimpse of the effects of atomic explosions upon houses— and mannequins—in the desert. At the same time, the film valorizes the then-current

FCDA Administrator, Val Peterson, former governor of Nebraska, as well as the civil defense teams that were at the site that day.

In a dramatic tone, the narrator describes the setting, while viewers see a group of mannequins sitting on folding chairs. Several empty cars are also visible, donated by dealers for the event:

The time: March 1953. The Scene: Las Vegas, as the caravan sets out for the site of AEC’s Nevada Proving Ground. Yucca Flat. A barren area of desert, sagebrush and Joshua trees now suddenly comes alive with activity. Into each car go these lifelike department store mannequins, donated by private sources, to help

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determine the effect of atomic blast. And here, one of the two typical American- frame dwellings to be tested.

Two elements stand out during this introduction to the film: the contrast between the

“barren” desert suddenly flourishing with life—only to become “dead” again in short order—and the magnanimity of private enterprise, and by extension, capitalism, by donating cars and mannequins for destruction.

Moving on to look inside one of the houses, viewers are shown “scenes typical of the American family at home”—the unprepared American family, that is. Here are

“children at play, unaware of approaching disaster.” The children are probably also unaware that their mannequin parents have neglected to provide a “simple box-type shelter” for their sake. In a way, American adults could be viewed as the “children at play” in this drama, willfully unaware of—and unwilling to prepare for—impending doom, just like members of the “‘take to the hills’ fraternity.”

The day turns into night, and as media and civil defense observers begin to arrive at 2 a.m., viewers are given an update from the scene: “Our troops move into trenches two miles from Ground Zero. With them is Federal Civil Defense Administrator, Val

Peterson.” Ominous music sets in. Viewers learn that the other civil defense observers are stationed with the journalists at News Nob, seven and a half miles from Ground Zero.

There is an explosion, and House One is hit by the blast. The roof blows off into the rear yard and the house disintegrates. The narrator explains: “Within minutes after the blast, our troops move into No Man’s Land as part of their own test exercise.” Then as if to ensure that civil defense workers received their fair share of glory—but in the process

163 sounding a bit like the fox with the grapes—the narrator declares that “civil defense teams could have moved in just as quickly to rescue the injured.”

The narrator soon returns to show viewers the utter destruction of the unprotected house. A fair amount of disdain for the unprepared mannequin family permeates the narration: “Remember this family? They did NOT take shelter. Their living room after the blast. Mannequins thrown about. Clothing cut. Plaster bodies pockmarked by flying glass. Injury, perhaps death, in a tangle of debris. The result of being unprepared.”

Concluding the film with a reminder that local civil defense offices offer information for those interested in constructing a home shelter, the narrator declares, “Today, there is no second best for family civil defense. . . . Prepare now against the threat of atomic warfare.

Or will you, like a mannequin, just sit and wait?” The question lingers, reminiscent of the question posed directly to the audience at the conclusion of Our Cities Must Fight: “Have

YOU got the guts?” Here, viewers see a male mannequin, seated and holding a magazine, calmly looking out a window, the embodiment of passivity itself.

If the mannequin in Operation Doorstep represented a white, middle-class suburban husband through imagery and symbolism, the film, Survival Street, shown on

NBC television in 1956, depicted a more literal husband who, similarly, chose not to become an active participant in civil defense. In many ways, this film represents an attack on the unprepared American father, using implications of guilt in a similar way as in

Operation Doorstep but with a clearer focus on the specific responsibility of Dad to take care of his family. The narrator of Survival Street talks directly to “you” while placing

“you” in the role of the father, so that unlike “Doorstep,” in which the narrator poses

164 questions to the audience without assigning any particular role to them, every viewer of

Survival Street, man, woman, or child, is interrogated as if he or she is the father of the family on screen, experiencing what he goes through at every stage of the narrative.

The program begins with a scene set in the living room of a house; Mom is sitting on a chair, sewing, the son seems to be reading a comic book on the floor, the daughter is on the couch feeding a doll, and a bespectacled Dad is sitting in a chair, reading. The accompanying music sounds very “American,” like it might be a Copland piece, and the narrator begins:

It’s a quiet Sunday afternoon and you’re sitting in your living room enjoying life. The family is with you. You’ve had a tough week; you don’t want to trouble your mind with anything more serious than the crabgrass on the lawn. And then you hear it, way off, and you listen. You think, could it be? Nah. Not a chance. But suppose it is? Suppose this time, it’s the real thing. Are you ready? Have you done everything you can to protect yourself and your family? Have you done anything?

That last, terrible question lingers as the scene changes to the “Civil Defense Warning

Center,” where two men discuss something urgently and each picks up a telephone. A siren blasts.

Suddenly viewers are back in the living room, seeing a close-up of Dad’s face. He is still sitting in his reading chair, but now looks appropriately alarmed (matters seem to have passed the “alert” phase). A bright light suddenly flashes across his face as the siren continues to wail. At this, Dad covers his face with his hands. Viewers see his wedding ring.

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This scene is a damning indictment of the suburban husband uninvolved with civil defense. The focus is only on Dad—not the wife or the children—as if to emphasize his own self-centeredness as well as his own responsibility. He is essentially passive, like the mannequin at the window, remaining in his chair despite the siren rather than ushering the family to safety or even getting everyone to lie flat on the floor. The only instinct he seems to have is narcissistic; he covers his face either to protect himself or to deny what is happening. The wedding ring in the frame is the final insult; he hides from the horror when his family needs him the most, behind the very symbol of his marriage. He is a coward.

In the silence that follows, Dad’s face dissolves into black and is replaced by the image, in negative form, of a broken brick wall with fire and smoke emanating from behind it. Music softly returns. If that was the family’s living room, they must now surely be dead. The camera pans down the brick wall and the words, Survival Street appear, then fade.

Val Peterson, sitting at a desk, explains that Americans must be “willing to train ourselves and know how to protect ourselves and our families. That’s what civil defense can do for us. If we know these things . . . we won’t panic and give up when the first bomb falls. We and America can survive. But the time to prepare is now. We’ve played ostrich long enough.” This speech frames the rest of the program as a learning opportunity for the audience—now that the action is removed from the purely dramatic sphere, viewers understand, if they had not before, that this is not an ordinary film; they should watch carefully in order to learn how to survive.

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The scene shifts to a pile of rubble upon which Dad is lying, motionless and unconscious. While his/your fate is, at least for the moment, left to the imagination, the narrator addresses the audience:

This could be you. Sixty seconds ago, you were enjoying a peaceful Sunday afternoon. Now you’re a casualty. “This is just make believe,” you tell yourself as you lie there under debris. But suppose it were the McCoy. Would help come? Would you and your neighbors know what to do? Or would you discover that as a human being you were suddenly expendable?

Burned out buildings are displayed as viewers hear the narrator grandly declare, “This is the architecture of nuclear war.”

The use of the word “architecture” to describe these buildings in shambles implies the inversion of its original meaning. Usually, architecture refers to something planned out, purposefully chosen, and constructed—the result of careful calculations that can boast either beauty of form or utility of function or both. Using the term here implies that the bomb that left ruins in its wake actually “constructed” a new town, on purpose. The word also places the objects described—in this case, the burned out buildings—within the context of a long tradition, as histories of civilizations can be read through the language of architecture. This suggests that humanity has entered a new chronological and architectural period: the nuclear age. Perhaps there is hope in this, as up until this film, at least, epochs had relentlessly changed over time. On the other hand, the picture portrayed here is inescapably bleak.

Returning to the remains of the living room, the audience sees Dad still knocked out on the ground. The narrator addresses “you” again: “You wait for the sound of

167 rescue. Will it come? In the movies, the Marines always land in time but the Marines are busy fighting. So are the other military services. Who’s going to help? Somebody?

Anybody?” Turning the tables on those who criticized civil defense as a “passive” response to war, pro-civil defense officials have constructed here a narrative of passivity to describe the uninvolved father as a weakened liability who is forced to wait and hope and can do nothing more. Juxtaposed with the depiction of “your” irresponsibility is a man in a helmet and civil defense armband who runs to a car and starts yelling things into a radio. At this point the narrator rather snidely reminds “you”—really kicking a man when he’s down—that “one of your neighbors took the trouble to volunteer as block warden. He’s a fellow just like you. Likes to relax on Sunday afternoon, go to the beach when it’s hot, but he pulled his head out of the sand long enough to prepare himself, just in case. His radio message now to CD headquarters is the first link in a chain reaction of help.” Interestingly, the civil defense hero is both empowered by and subversive of this particular description, as atomic weaponry always begins with a chain reaction—leading to death. In any case, civil defense officials, as opposed to the father-victim, are shown as active rather than passive subjects in this tale. As sirens wail and fire trucks whiz by on the road, viewers hear the exultant cry: “And civil defense is rolling!”

A final insult to the unprepared Dad comes as the audience sees a woman civil defense worker carrying a victim—the worker nearly slips and falls—and the narrator explains, “These women rescue workers are housewives, who took time out from housekeeping chores to be trained in civil defense!” At this point, four women carry someone on a stretcher across the screen, each woman taking one corner. Then the scene

168 quickly changes to show Dad still in the debris, helpless. “Maybe YOU thought it was kind of silly when your wife took that first aid course, remember?” Civil defense officials might have enjoyed the opportunity to tease skeptics for a change, but the narrator’s tone and words may have come across as officious—and civil defense planners already had a reputation for being that. The narrator makes another rather snarky remark after Dad is finally moved to a hospital center; he shares that one of the other patients received severe flash burns that could have been fatal, but happily, the patient knew how to protect himself: “There’s no mystery about radioactivity, if you’ve taken the trouble to find out.”

At the conclusion of the program, viewers are finally asked to “join the team,” and President Eisenhower asserts that “a new element has come into being in the total strength of the nation.” (Ironically, the new element of which he speaks is not plutonium.) “The new element is the active and personal participation of every American family in building a trained readiness to cope with disaster of any kind. . . . Our purpose now is to be strong enough to preserve peace—for weakness and unreadiness invite attack.”26

While references to family unity in the face of danger appeared frequently in civil defense films and letters to the FCDA, so did imagery of the elusive “frontier.” In 1955, for example, Frontlines of Freedom, a film produced by the Civil Defence Corps of

Canada and the FCDA that demonstrated the vulnerability of Canada and the United

States to Soviet bombers, submarines, and guided missiles, was released. After quoting

26 The idea of “inviting” attack will be explored in the next chapter.

169 the Magna Carta, the Declaration of Independence, and Abraham Lincoln, the film shows an image of a fort with gunfire emanating outward from each corner while the narrator declares, “For the first time since the days of Indian attacks, we have live frontiers. The frontlines of freedom are again at our doorsteps. Yesteryear, the common purpose of our forefathers became the collective defense of free men. Their mutual strength achieved the peace.” At this, the image of a peace pipe appears. But what is this doing in a film about civil defense?

In The End of Victory Culture, Tom Engelhardt argues—in terms reminiscent of

Margaret Mead—that the traditional heroic story of U.S. victory over enemies is based firmly in a defensive structure in which Americans are never the aggressors. The plot often follows a formula: Americans are the victims of a “sneak attack,” outnumbered in battle, often by non-white enemies, but ultimately succeed in winning a dramatic victory in the name of liberty. Engelhardt discusses how this often played out in Hollywood westerns in which the white hero bravely fights off the “savage Indians”:

As the enemy bore down without warning from the peripheries of human existence, whooping and screeching, burning and killing, the viewer, inside a defensive circle of wagons, found himself behind the sights of a rifle. It was, then, with finger pressing on trigger that American children received an unforgettable history of their country’s westward progress to dominance. In this tale, you had no choice. Either you pulled the trigger or you died, for war was invariably portrayed as a series of reactive incidents rather than organized and invasive campaigns. . . . The band of brothers, the small patrol, or, classically, the lone white frontiersman gained the right to destroy through a sacramental rite of initiation in the wilderness. In this trial by nature, it was the Indians who, by the

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ambush, the atrocity, and the capture of the white woman . . . became the aggressors and so sealed their own fate.27

Recycling this construction of a “historic American victory” consecrated by the right of self-protection imbued civil defense programs with the masculine aura associated with guns, rifles, and the dangers of the wilderness; it also figuratively re-opened the frontier that had been officially “closed” since Frederick Jackson Turner’s declaration in

1893. In this way, civil defense proponents marketed their programs as a symbolic return to more glorious days, offering manly opportunities for developing, testing, and displaying strength, but the absence of artillery (as well as a literal frontier waiting to be vanquished/civilized) may have doomed this approach to failure from the start.

Like the boy who proposed distributing one tommy-gun per family to help protect the nation, twelve-year-old William Mohn wrote to President Harry S. Truman in early

1951 with his own pseudo-military idea:

Bob Jablock and I have started a club called Boys Defense Service. This club is one which we thought we could start to help our country win this war. We will have a camp in Aberdeen and will train for military service in case Russia attacks our country before we are of age. Myself, I don’t know much about military training, but, I have been seeing some of the movies and I learn a lot from them. I am writing this letter asking you if it is all right to have this club. . . . The uniforms for the club will be yellow t-shirts and blue jeans. Please answer my letter.28

27 Tom Engelhardt, The End of Victory Culture: Cold War America and the Disillusioning of a Generation (Amherst: University of Massachusetts Press, 1995), 4-5. 28 Letter to President Truman from Gen. Bill Mohr, 12 January 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3M.

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He signed it, “Gen. Bill Mohn, South Dakota Boys Defense Service.” The idea of defense has clearly captured this boy’s imagination, but he is not interested in learning about crouching in doorways; he wants to “help” the country and create his own heroic narrative too (having seen many of them in films, no doubt).

In return for his letter, he received this response from the director of public affairs for the FCDA, addressed to “Mr. William Mohn” instead of “General Bill”: “Your Boys

Defense Service can be most helpful in the defense effort by volunteering your services to civil defense officials in your city. Why not let them know about your interest?

Meanwhile, I know you will be interested in the booklet, “Survival Under Atomic

Attack,” that I am enclosing for you.”29 Like Philip Wylie’s “moms,” the FCDA took

General Bill’s yearning for adventure and channeled it into rules to memorize instead.

Drilling for Survival: Operation Alert

Another way to heighten awareness of civil defense was through the annual ritual of “Operation Alert” drills. These enabled Americans to practice what civil defense officials hoped they had been learning. Exercises in cities across the country required civilians to stop whatever they were doing—at a particular moment marked by a siren’s wail—and to proceed calmly to the nearest location that served as a public shelter for a pre-determined amount of time—usually ten to fifteen minutes. During the drills, police

29 Letter to William Mohn from John A. De Chant, 26 February 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3M.

172 directed drivers to pull to the curb and public transportation was halted—although in San

Francisco’s 1954 exercise, streetcars continued to run despite the theoretical approach of incoming bombs.30 Washington, D.C. did particularly well in that year; one observer remarked that “[c]ompliance was so complete that any persons seen on F Street during the 10 minute period looked like intruders on an empty movie lot.”31 The following year, however, was not quite so successful: “Thousands of federal workers streamed to their automobiles, as if ready to make the evacuation trip. . . . But once there, most merely touched the door handles, waited a few minutes, then went back to work.”32 Many

Americans may have been willing to play their roles in an epic fantasy when they were required to do so by law, but there was no easy way for civil defense officials to quantify how much their hearts were really in it.

In addition to training the public, federal civil defense planners also hoped that

Operation Alerts would enable officials and volunteers to make mistakes in practice that might be devastating in real life. Visualizing the entire nation under attack, the architects of doom were free to imagine a variety of scenarios that might cause problems in the wake of nuclear explosions. While city dwellers focused on their own immediate

“survival” for a period of several minutes, federal officials considered how they might respond adequately in the midst of disasters occurring across the country over a period of

30 David F. Krugler, This is Only a Test: How Washington, D.C. Prepared for Nuclear War (New York: Palgrave, 2006), 121. 31 Ibid. 32 Alvin Shuster, “President and His Aides Leave Washington before Mock Hydrogen Bomb Attack,” New York Times, 16 June 1955, 16.

173 days. In 1957, the New York Times gave a sense of the scale of that year’s Operation

Alert: “During a make-believe attack on the United States July 12, 155 major cities were theoretically hammered by 167 hypothetical weapons ranging from 20,000 to 20,000,000 tons of T. N. T. equivalent.”33

Underscoring the imaginary nature of Operation Alert exercises—and thus providing a somewhat skeptical commentary to readers—reporters for the New York

Times sometimes used language that might have been more suited to science fiction novels than newspapers. Even a sense of tongue-in-cheek humor could be detected within the occasional story. For example, a report on plans for the 1956 exercise featured this rather florid language:

In twenty-four hours of assumed frightfulness starting at 10 A. M. on Friday, a simulated atomic assault will “obliterate” seventy-six United States industrial and military centers. . . . The exercise assumes that the country will first learn it is under attack when submarines fire missiles with atomic warheads on Hawaii, Puerto Rico and the Canal Zone. . . . After the assault in the territories, hypothetical flights of “enemy bombers” will pour devastation on United States cities for five hours.34

Perhaps the specificity with which destruction was planned—starting promptly at 10:00 a.m., hitting seventy-six targets, opening with a submarine attack “in the territories,” and lasting for five hours—seemed so scripted by federal civil defense officials that reporters could not help but highlight, or at times even embellish, its absurdity.

33 “Relocation Sites Closed,” New York Times, 20 July 1957, 6. 34 “Nation is Bracing for Atomic Alert,” New York Times, 15 July 1956, 51.

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A week after the “devastation,” Russell Porter wrote a very creative article for the

New York Times. He declared in a front-page story that “New York was theoretically blown off the map by hydrogen bombs yesterday, but New Yorkers took it all in stride.

Two hours later, millions of hypothetically dead and injured were actively taking part in the city’s most successful Civil Defense alert test.”35 Celebrating New Yorkers but conjuring up visions of the “undead” taking over Manhattan, Porter’s description recalls

Richard Matheson’s 1954 novel, I Am Legend, in which the last man on Earth is surrounded by his neighbors—now vampires thirsty for his blood—who slowly transformed as a result of “the bombings.”36

Occasionally, civil defense officials were thwarted in the execution of their pretend emergencies by actual disasters for which they were unprepared. When officials in Virginia attempted to carry on with the exercise when a tornado struck in 1956, a sense of unreality pervaded the proceedings, potentially enhancing the perception of civil defense as nothing more than an absurd game. According to one report,

Shortly after the information headquarters here went into operation this morning, communication lines to vital relocation centers spread about the area went dead. It was nearly thirty minutes before emergency repairs were effected by technicians and the press headquarters again began to receive bulletins of “damage” and “devastation” wrought by enemy bombers. . . . Meanwhile, the Government used this headquarters today to supply the country with news of departmental actions unrelated to the current exercise while reporting that Washington had been “wiped out” by a nuclear bomb attack. . . . Typical of the mélange of items . . . were that United States exports of nonmilitary goods reached a record level of

35 “City at Standstill in U.S.-Wide Atom Raid Test,” New York Times, 21 July 1956, 1. 36 Orb ed. (New York: Tom Doherty Associates, 1995), 56. Ironically, the protagonist in the novel sits in his living room one day listening to “The Age of Anxiety” by Leonard Bernstein: “Age of anxiety, he mused. You thought you had anxiety, Lenny boy” (31).

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$6,800,000,000 in the first five months of the year . . . [and] that Admiral Arthur W. Radford, chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, planned to leave Washington tonight for a three-week trip to the Far East.37

In the exercise of the same year, Secretary of the Interior Fred A. Seaton admitted, “’We had a bad moment on Saturday . . . when we discovered that one of the ‘bombs’ had demolished Fort Knox and distributed the nation’s gold supply all over the adjacent landscape.’”38

As Operation Alert itself veered off into odd directions, the rules for playing the game the following year were not made sufficiently clear to civilians. In a good-natured article explaining the different meanings of air-raid sirens New Yorkers would be hearing that day, the Times reported that:

The take-cover phase will last about fifteen minutes. Its end will be signaled by the “alert” signal, a three-minute steady blast of the sirens. This will mean “all clear” today. Tomorrow, if there were a real enemy raid, it would not mean all clear. Instead, it would mean that “the public is to listen for civil defense information and instructions which will be disseminated by all means of communication.” After this exercise is over, we wonder whether civil defense authorities ought not to review the question whether a given signal should mean one thing in practice and another if and when war has begun.39

From 1954 to 1962, Operation Alert infantilized the American population, forcing adults to play the role of children in a strict teacher’s classroom. A sense that the annual exercises were not particularly helpful, but at least allowed Americans to play “dress up”

37 Charles E. Egan, “Virginia Tornado Hampered Alert,” New York Times, 21 July 1956, 6. 38 Charles E. Egan, “Efficiency Gain Shown in Alerts,” New York Times, 24 July 1956, 13. 39 “Sirens Mean You Today,” New York Times, 12 July 1957, 19.

176 for a short while, was underscored in a film depicting the 1956 exercise: Operation Alert.

The Warning Yellow level was code named “Lemon Juice” that year, and the film depicts a civil defense worker yelling, “Go on condition air defense warning: LEMON JUICE!

Repeat: LEMON JUICE!” Even President Dwight D. Eisenhower was treated like a child when he evacuated Washington, D.C. in 1955. Journalists reported not only on his fashionable outfit and hat, but also on conditions in the “emergency White House” to which the president was evacuated: “He had a Spartan office—and a $5 toy telephone with 50 ft. of wire for a staff intercom.”40

Operation Alerts encountered a variety of difficulties every year. During the 1955 exercise, an unsalaried ex-military intelligence officer from World War II was dismissed for refusing to go to his command post, saying that it was “’so inadequate it couldn’t cope with a brushfire threatening a doghouse in a backyard.’” Furthermore, he warned,

“’If we goof off, we do so before the whole world.’”41 An upsetting aspect of the 1956 drill from the point of view of civil defense officials, who desperately wanted military approval and support, must have been the event discussed under a small headline in the

New York Times that read, “Officials Quit Exercise.” The article below consisted of one sentence: “Charles E. Wilson, Secretary of Defense and other high military officials

40 “Best Defense? Prayer,” Time, 27 June 1955, 20. The same article referred to a latecomer to the substitute White House—a woman Philip Wylie would probably not have appreciated: “In all, the heads of 32 agencies and departments reported. One of the last was Health and Education Secretary Oveta Gulp Hobby, whom the President teased, ‘I wondered where you were. I looked for you.’ Mrs. Hobby, white- gloved and sleekly coiffed, confessed she stopped for lunch along the way.” 41 Alvin Shuster, “President and His Aides Leave Washington before Mock Hydrogen Bomb Attack,” New York Times, 16 June 1955, 16.

177 quietly left their Operation Alert headquarters today and returned to Washington for a weekend holiday.”42

Operation Alert drills were not without critics. In “Our Skirts Gave Them

Courage,” Dee Garrison explores how two young American mothers appropriated the symbolism of motherhood to fundamentally change the peace movement in the United

States. By 1959, veteran activists such as Dorothy Day had protested Operation Alert exercises for years; instead of training citizens to follow orders, Day and others argued, the government should be searching for ways to end the arms race and to save the world from destruction. During most of the 1950s, however, civil defense protests did not attract much of a crowd—such events seemed geared toward a more radical population.43

That changed after two young mothers, Mary Sharmat and Janice Smith, independently decided to challenge authorities by refusing to evacuate during a mandatory drill. Bringing their children to the 1959 Operation Alert protest in New York

City, both women expected to be jailed—one even brought extra diapers and baby supplies in an overnight bag. When the alert was sounded, Smith told the police that “all this drill does is frighten children and birds. I will not raise my children to go underground.”44 This strategy of including toddlers in protests while invoking maternal instincts was immensely effective. The following year, Sharmat and Smith banded together and recruited more mothers to protest, ultimately receiving over three hundred

42 “Officials Quit Exercise,” New York Times, 22 July 1956, 46. 43 Dee Garrison, “Our Skirts Gave Them Courage,” in Not June Cleaver: Women and Gender in Postwar America, ed. Joanne Meyerowitz (Philadelphia: Temple University Press, 1994), 207. 44 Ibid., 210.

178 pledges from mothers with children to come out and challenge the 1960 Operation Alert exercise.45 Advising the women to “be polite to the police and to dress carefully for the protest in their best dress and hose,” Sharmat ensured they would not be dismissed as

“beatniks.”46 She later described the events of the day: over five hundred “friends” gathered, filling City Hall Park with activity. The group “loaned out extra babies to bachelors who had the misfortune to be childless. Dozens of children played in an area designated ‘Stay Off the Grass.’. . . The sirens sounded. We stood. . . . There was dead silence through the park.” According to Garrison, “The women’s most brilliant innovation was their reliance on the image of protective motherhood to win public notice and support.”47 Protests grew even bigger in 1961, and by the end of 1962, Operation

Alert was dead.48

In December 1958, a federal civil defense official gave a presentation to an education conference regarding the new “National Plan” that had just been approved after years in the making. A draft of his speech suggests that civil defense planners were still suffering from feelings of inferiority when compared with the military establishment they tried so hard to emulate: “The statement of the Mission, in Part II of the Plan, unequivocally announces that civil defense and defense mobilization is ‘an integral part of the total defense of the Nation.’ [I’m not name dropping, to get a little reflected defense department glory spread on our programs.]” The final sentence was crossed out.

45 Ibid., 213. 46 Ibid., 214. 47 Ibid., 215. 48 Ibid., 218.

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Later in the speech, Scott was planning to comment briefly on the inherent dignity of civil defense programs, but that too was changed. He begins, “Which type of defense—active or passive—is most important, is something of a metaphysical question.

Without both, National defense is inadequate.” Then he was going to go on to say,

“Nonmilitary defense is not—and never was—a second-class relative of military preparations.” The edited version still kept a bit of the feeling there, but toned it down:

“Nonmilitary defense is not a poor relative of military preparations.”49

Another federal official, Dean Pohlenz, revealed that civil defense in 1958 still stung from the World War II image that preceded it. In a speech at the Naval War

College in Newport, he said, “Possibly the greatest obstacle we in the non-military defense business have had to overcome is the popular image of civil defense as a well- meaning little man decked out in tin hat and arm band, carrying a bucket of sand. We are trying hard to erase—or at least minimize—this picture.”50 A “well-meaning little man” playing dress-up in a pretend uniform and defending America using a substance children often play with at the beach was apparently not a virile image.

Finally, the use of the term “passive” defense was in the process of being erased as well. In reviewing drafts of the National Plan, a Regional Administrator commented that “the term ‘Passive Defense’ is utilized frequently on pages 51, 52, 53, 54, etc. It is questioned whether this term is necessary to supplement the term ‘civil defense.’ The

49 National Plan Briefing for Education Conference by Jack Scott, 10 December 1958. RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 5, Folder IVF8. 50 National Plan Presentation, Dean Pohlenz, Naval War College, Newport, Rhode Island, 24 November 1958. RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 5, Folder IVF8.

180 word ‘passive’ is generally construed to mean ‘not active.’ It is suggested that if the term

‘passive defense’ is to be used, it be clearly defined.”51 More succinctly, the Department of the Interior offered this advice: “We suggest that ‘non-military’ be used in lieu of

‘passive’ and that ‘military’ be used in lieu of ‘active.’ The word ‘passive’ is not good, psychologically.”52

Federal civil defense planners understood the importance of image in selling a product—and encouraging Americans to prepare for disaster was never going to be an easy sell. In 1956, a writer in the New Republic noted that “civil defense is our only defense activity based on the proposition that war is not coming,” and pointed out that

“even Washington, D.C., concededly one of the principal enemy targets, spends on civil defense only one-sixth as much as it does on its zoo.”53

Several cultural commentators publicly wondered why Americans seemed to be reacting with apathy to the potential nuclear threats of the postwar era. In March 1955, one writer suggested that “new factors make up our otherwise inexplicable inertia today.

Among the military the tradition dies hard that this nation, which can punish all others, cannot itself be hurt.”54 One month later, Paul-Henri Spaak—who served as the first president of the United Nations General Assembly, the prime minister of Belgium, and

51 Memo regarding National Civil Defense Plan (Working Draft), 4 December 1957. RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 1, Folder IIIB3. 52 Comments on Draft of Annex 4, 13 March 1959. RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 7, Folder VC4d. 53 Haldore Hanson, “If the Enemy Did Attack,” New Republic, 27 February 1956, 15. 54 Michael Straight, “The Ten-Month Silence,” New Republic, 7 March 1955, 11.

181 eventually the Secretary General of NATO—wrote that Europeans, not Americans, were the apathetic ones regarding the dangers of the atomic bomb:

Interest in this question is much more keen in the United States than in Europe. I am always surprised to find how much talk there is about it in America and that it leaves Europeans comparatively indifferent. A psychological explanation may be that for the first time in their history Americans feel directly menaced. They feel that a Third World War would be their war, that they would no longer be intervening in the conflicts of others but would be fighting for their own existence. The oceans no longer protect them effectively. The weapon which may be used against them is terrible. They are weighing the dangers of a totally new situation.55

Both writers suggested that Americans were facing a significant change in modes of thinking about the world during the mid-1950s. The first article referred to an old

“tradition” of American invincibility that was finally on its last legs, whether or not military leaders were willing to recognize it as such. The second also emphasized an unprecedented increase in American vulnerability, suggesting that citizens were grappling with a “totally new” comprehension of fighting “for their own existence.” In this context, federal civil defense officials had a strikingly difficult job: to present a terrifying hypothetical situation in a way that made it seem “manageable.”

One way officials tried to reach a wide audience was by using civil defense films to educate, indoctrinate, and recruit volunteers. Of course, there were potential hazards in executing this approach. For example, the question of tone was always precarious—a fine line could distinguish the sound of a government agency sharing helpful information

55 Paul Henri-Spaak, “The Atom Bomb and NATO,” Foreign Affairs 33 (April 1955): 357.

182 from that of an all-knowing “mom” making unprepared viewers feel guilty. Another problem arose over how to present American men in positions of vulnerability without making them look silly, frightened, or helpless (unless, as was apparently the case in

Survival Street, this was actually the intention).

Operation Alert exercises provided yet another way to reach Americans, but here too, difficulties lurked around every corner. What if a natural disaster ruined the staging of a hypothetical devastation? What if civilians—especially mothers—did not do what they were told? What if people laughed at the volunteers? And perhaps most troubling, what if the military did not take it seriously at all?

Imagining the aftermath of nuclear war was not an activity limited to government officials. Authors and filmmakers also envisioned post-apocalyptic Americas, peopled with characters and plots that played out nuclear anxieties on a fictional plane.

Masculinity was a common theme in these narratives, as was male fertility and reproduction. Investigating how fiction functioned to address and alleviate American fears in the early Cold War is the subject of the next chapter.

CHAPTER V

Imagining the Inconceivable: Narratives of Nuclear Apocalypse

Civil defense officials attempted to spread the gospel of self-protection in a variety of contexts. Films and television broadcasts offered ways to reach large audiences across the country, as planners attempted to present civil defense practices as acceptably masculine pursuits. Scripts and narrators, however, could easily fall into the trap of exemplifying the negative traits Philip Wylie ascribed to “momism.” In some cases, civil defense films seemed to pelt viewers with endless rules while assigning blame to those who remained unprepared. (“Remember THIS family?”) Furthermore, male “characters” were often placed in vulnerable situations that required them to fall down, crouch awkwardly, or dart behind barriers. Operation Alerts were also risky propositions, as bored participants, natural disasters, maternal protestors, and uncooperative federal officials could always interrupt the smooth progression from annihilation to recovery that was the ultimate goal.

During the late 1940s and 1950s, however, many Americans took it upon themselves to imagine their own nuclear narratives. Citizens, writers, and filmmakers created a variety of interpretations of destruction and rebirth, and in the process offered

183

184 the American public multiple opportunities to negotiate a wide range of anxieties. Before proceeding to a discussion of themes common to fictional constructions of nuclear apocalypse, it may be helpful to pause momentarily over two examples of individual insecurities about international affairs. These may present, in a very small way, a sense of how powerfully the “births” of the Cold War and atomic age influenced ordinary

Americans’ views of the world.

Many Americans shared their anxieties about potential destruction by writing to civil defense officials. For example, Mrs. Enid E. Melrose, a nurse, requested pamphlets regarding first aid in a nuclear disaster—but in a final post script, she also urged the federal government to take decisive action to prevent wild animals from roaming the countryside, out of control, during and after an attack:

If I am not speaking out of turn in any way, may I suggest that an order be put into effect, at once, that all animals that would be at all dangerous if at large, be disposed of . . . whether owned privately or housed in zoos, etc. I am thinking especially of lions, tigers, bears, boars, poisonous reptiles or dangerous ones, gorillas, etc. For instance, rattlesnakes if let loose during an attack would quickly breed. . . . Lions, tigers and the meat-eating animals would feast upon injured human beings and after tasting human blood would attack others. They too would get into our woods and multiply and be a great danger to the remaining population in wooded areas.1

Experiencing an unfamiliar sense of vulnerability after the Soviet Union’s successful atomic test in 1949 and the onset of the Korean War less than one year later,

1 Letter to NSRB from Mrs. Enid E. Melrose, 14 November 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder E4-3M.

185 ordinary Americans created their own nuclear imaginaries as ways of making sense of— and asserting some semblance of control over—an entirely new, dangerous, and shifting geopolitical terrain. A letter from ten-year-old Patricia Marie Fisher to President Harry S.

Truman suggests how international insecurities were profoundly shaping American thinking:

If there is another world war I have an idea for it. We could make the enemy waste a lot of bombs this way. You could put lights in wastelands and deserts to make it look like towns and cities. During an air raid the lights could be left on, and the enemy would think that the city did not know about the air raid. I hope you get this letter. If you do get this letter please do something about it. I do not like this war any more than anybody else. Yours truly, Patricia Marie Fisher P.S. My mother is going to address this envelope for me. She says you will probably never get this letter. I hope she is wrong. P.M.F.2

Patricia asserts herself in this context as an act of faith. As a ten-year-old girl, she exerts even less control over international politics than adults do, but nevertheless she sends her suggestion to the President of the United States—or at least, her mother does. Patricia not only depends upon grownups to ensure the safety of the world in which she lives; she also depends upon her mother to address the envelope for her. And considering her mother has not been particularly encouraging about the prospect of the letter ever reaching the president himself, Patricia is left to do the only thing she can do under the

2 Letter to President Harry S. Truman from Patricia Marie Fisher, 26 January 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 7, Folder E4-3F.

186 circumstances—hope that her mother is wrong. Patricia represents, in a sense, a reminder that no matter how political or cultural elites (or mothers) may try to shape others’ behavior, individuals, even young ones, generally retain some power to accept, reject, or modify the intended message.

Guy Oakes used the apt phrase, “imaginary war,” to refer to the way Cold War civil defense officials created a landscape of simulated conflict during the 1950s— maintaining a state of “constant readiness” for battle emphasized a greater need for federal funding and leadership and encouraged public participation in pseudo-military exercises. Literature and film, however, also reflected a sense of imagined nuclear reality during this era, as the explosions of atomic and hydrogen bombs destabilized Americans’ perceptions of themselves, their leaders, and their traditional sense of geographic invulnerability.

The language Americans used when imagining their nation under attack, whether in official government documents or popular magazine articles, frequently utilized sexual metaphors and drew upon well-known pioneer imagery. To understand why Americans may have expressed their anxieties and hopes in these particular ways, it is useful to examine the roots of American mythologies relating to the wilderness.

In Virgin Land, Henry Nash Smith traces how Americans defined themselves as unique in various periods spanning hundreds of years. In the Revolutionary War era, for example, he suggests that America was “presented as a new and enchanting region of

187 inexpressible beauty and fertility.”3 In later years, William Gilpin—who served as a bodyguard for President Lincoln and was later named governor of Colorado Territory— argued that the American people were destined to expand westward: “to subdue the continent -- to rush over this vast field to the Pacific Ocean -- . . . to regenerate superannuated nations -- . . . to cause a stagnant people to be reborn.”4 In 1846, he painted a picture of pioneer hardiness that—with the exception of the rifle—would be easy to recognize in civil defense imagery over a century later:

Surrounded by his wife and children, equipped with wagon, ox-team, and provisions, . . . accompanied by his rifle and slender outfit of worldly goods, did these hardy men embark. . . . [S]urrounded by the uncertain dangers of an Indian foe, a government and a discipline, at once republican and military, was created for the common safety, and implicitly obeyed.”5

National narratives such as these are intended to seem “natural” and timeless, providing insights into the makeup of the American “character.” In this case, the self-reliant pioneer leaves the familiar world behind and struggles valiantly, with his family, to establish a new life out West.

Followers of this frontier ideology often resented what they perceived to be the

“overcivilized” life of the east coast. Smith suggests that the poet, Walt Whitman, subscribed to the view of the eastern seaboard as emblematic of “the past, the shadow of

Europe, cities, sophistication, a derivative and conventional life and literature. Beyond,

3 Henry Nash Smith, Virgin Land: The American West as Symbol and Myth (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1950), 11. 4 Ibid., 37. 5 Ibid., 38.

188 occupying the overwhelming geographical mass of the continent, lay the West, a realm where nature loomed larger than civilization. . . . There . . . would grow up the truly

American society of the future.”6 In “O Pioneers!” Whitman describes the kind of relationship that he (and the reader) have with the American landscape:

We primeval forests felling We the rivers stemming, vexing we and piercing deep the mines within; We the surface broad surveying, we the virgin soil upheaving, Pioneers! O pioneers!

It is an active, laborious life, cutting down trees, stemming rivers, piercing mines, surveying the surface, and “upheaving” the “virgin soil.” The pioneers’ command of nature is celebrated here, as is the work that agricultural living entails. The earth itself, virginal before the plow, offers a feminine contrast to the manly laborer/narrator who exerts control over it.

A sense of the wilderness as inherently sexual is reflected in the journals of

Francis Parkman, author of The Oregon Trail, published in 1846. They describe how, in

Parkman’s youth, “[h]is thoughts were always in the forest, whose features possessed his waking and sleeping dreams, filling him with vague cravings impossible to satisfy.”7

The theme of rebirth also emerged in nineteenth-century writing about the West.

For example, Smith states that Frederick Jackson Turner viewed nature as “a poetic account of the influence of free land as a rebirth, a regeneration, a rejuvenation of man

6 Ibid., 45. 7 Quoted in Smith, 52.

189 and society constantly recurring where civilization came into contact with the wilderness along the frontier.”8 In an article published in The Atlantic in 1903, Turner defined nature in maternal, feminine terms:

Into this vast shaggy continent of ours poured the first feeble tide of European settlement. European men, institutions, and ideas were lodged in the American wilderness, and this great American West took them to her bosom, taught them a new way of looking upon the destiny of the common man . . . and ever as society on her eastern border grew to resemble the Old World in its social forms and its industry, ever, as it began to lose faith in the ideal of democracy, she opened new provinces, and dowered new democracies in her most distant domains with her material treasures and with the ennobling influence that the fierce love of freedom, the strength that came from hewing out a home, making a school and a church, and creating a higher future for his family, furnished to the pioneer.9

In this narrative, the American wilderness is bountiful and generous; despite the “feeble” character of the European men who become “lodged” there, she welcomes them warmly and helps them grow strong.

One of the most famous figures emblematic of the American wilderness as the nation’s distinctive feature was Daniel Boone. A real person, his legend grew up around him as writers embroidered heroic narratives based upon his pioneer life. A literary reviewer observed in 1846 that Boone “wanted a frontier, and the perils and pleasures of a frontier life, not wealth; and he was happier in his log-cabin, with a loin of venison and his ramrod for a spit, than he would have been amid the greatest profusion of modern luxuries.”10 His rejection of “Old World” tradition in favor of the pursuit of freedom and

8 Ibid., 253. 9 Ibid., 254. 10 Ibid., 57.

190 self-reliance in the wilderness marked him as uniquely American before the world—an example of the “myth of the frontier” that would reappear in the apocalyptic imagination of the nuclear era.

In Regeneration Through Violence, Richard Slotkin defines the frontier myth as

“the conception of America as a wide-open land of unlimited opportunity for the strong, ambitious, self-reliant individual to thrust his way to the top.”11 In the context of the frontier, this is done by enduring the challenging and often dangerous struggles of nature, emerging from this pseudo-initiation as a changed man. According to Slotkin, Indian rituals and religion were significant in the construction of the frontier myth, as elements of both European and Indian mythologies combined to form a coherent American narrative.

Slotkin describes how European colonists and Indians envisioned the figure of

God differently. While Puritans viewed God in stern, patriarchal terms, “the Indian conception of creative divinity” invoked both masculine and feminine features. It figured the earth as “a primary, female deity—maternal, sympathetic, loving, passionate, violent.

. . . She did not administrate or rule the world. . . . Rather, she was the world itself.”

Meanwhile, the paternal aspect of divinity emphasized “actively fathering life upon the passive earth.”12 The movement toward celebrating the story of Daniel Boone in the

11 Richard Slotkin, Regeneration Through Violence: The Mythology of the American Frontier, 1600-1860 (Middletown, CT.: Wesleyan University Press, 1973), 5. 12 Ibid., 45.

191 primary hunter myth represents, in Slotkin’s view, “a shift in attitude favoring the Anglo-

Americans’ adoption of an Indian-like, mythopoeic view of the landscape.”13

The fact that American colonists were not “native to the soil” meant that they felt a need to prove that their relationship with the land was nevertheless strong and significant. Eventually, the myth of Daniel Boone would fulfill this need. According to

Slotkin,

The most distinctive trait of Boone’s character was his love for the wild land. . . . The most significant of the legends that had gathered around Boone . . . centers on this sense of identification with the land and constitutes an eighteenth-century Kentucky equivalent of the primitive divine king and sacred marriage myths, in which a tribal hero meets and cohabits or weds with an avatar of the feminine nature spirit, thus insuring renewed life to both tribe and land.”14

According to legend, Daniel Boone was hunting deer in the woods one night when he saw two eyes in the distance; instead of shooting at the supposed deer, however, Boone approached and found a frightened woman instead—Rebecca, who would eventually become his wife: “For Boone, the spirit of nature is feminine, and his relation to it is that of panther to deer, hunter to prey, sexual aggressor to coy, amenable victim—and both are beings of the wild.”15

In 1888, another frontier hero, Theodore Roosevelt, established the “Boone and

Crockett Club” to support the pursuit of big-game hunting; interestingly, one of the qualities that hunters who were accepted into the club needed to possess was “a capacity

13 Ibid., 152. 14 Ibid., 298-299. 15 Ibid., 300.

192 for self-help,” again a familiar theme from 1950s civil defense materials.16 Roosevelt would become well known for advocating pursuit of the “strenuous life” in the wilderness instead of wasting away in a cradle of east coast convenience, and in fact, many inhabitants of cities found that nature offered a refreshing antidote to the confinement of urban life.17 In 1904, one writer suggested that spending time fending for oneself in the wilderness would “give you good red blood . . . [and] turn you from a weakling into a man.”18

In civil defense discourse, the metaphor of the pioneer settling on the wild frontier served several purposes simultaneously. First, it provided a way for civil defense advocates to present their framework as a “natural” extension of a tradition intimately linked with perceptions of “American-ness”—that is, white Americans working together for the sake of defense from a common enemy, usually Indians. This construction prized both individualism and principles of community aid, much like civil defense, and as an added bonus, frontiersmen were not usually depicted as dependent upon the federal government for much of anything.

The pioneer narrative also drew upon images of a rugged, Daniel Boone type of manliness at a time when many cultural commentators were voicing concerns over the

“softening” of white, middle-class American men due to overprotective moms, the

16 Roderick Nash, Wilderness and the American Mind (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1967), 152. 17 Theodore Roosevelt, “The Strenuous Life,” 10 April 1899, http://www.historytools.org/sources/strenuous.html (accessed 12 April 2014). 18 Ibid., 153. An example of this idea was made famous in Edgar Rice Burroughs’ Tarzan of the Apes (1914).

193 development of “other-directedness” that encouraged men (and women) to look to their peers to find approval and identity, and increased demands that men conform to corporate expectations in order to gain job and economic “security.” As Teddy Roosevelt frequently asserted, spending time in the wilderness, fending for oneself, was an effective way to enhance virility and power—something civil defense programs, especially compared to the military, often seemed to lack. Of course, a disadvantage to this narrative was that unlike pioneers, civil defense volunteers were not expected to utilize firearms, a source of frequent aggravation for many veterans, and others, who wanted to form armed defense units across the country.19

Frontier imagery was also flexible enough to embrace women as well as men in calls for involvement in civil defense; when families were bouncing across the country in covered wagons, one could argue that “traditional” wifely skills in areas such as cooking, first aid, and childcare were undoubtedly helpful. This narrative could also appeal to women who were not fond of domestic duties, by implying that during times when husbands had to be away (hunting, perhaps), wives successfully managed to hold down the fort.

Finally, and more generally, the concept of frontier settlement reaffirmed an

American attachment to “the soil,” one that coded the earth as fertile, feminine, and even

19 Mary Mulligan wrote to the NSRB about this on December 26, 1950: “My suggestion is this: Establish temporary armories at convenient places throughout the country; equip them with arms for civilian use; and hold classes for civilians in the use of these arms. Also, permit civilians to own weapons and to keep them in their homes. . . . The early settlers in this land would have been quickly eliminated if they had been unarmed.” RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder M.

194 maternal in its ability to nurture life. The framework of the Daniel Boone myth utilized elements of Native American spirituality that allowed Boone, by adopting those elements, to take nature itself as his wife—represented by Rebecca, the supposed deer— thereby forming a marital attachment to the land that marked him as “belonging” on

American soil, despite non-native genealogy.

This reverence for and attachment to one’s soil often asserted itself, sometimes overtly and sometimes surreptitiously, within the context of potential threats to the

“homeland.” Days after Millard Caldwell became the Federal Civil Defense

Administrator in December 1950, he received a letter from a fellow Floridian and

Chairman of the Brotherhood of Locomotive Firemen and Enginemen:

This envelope contains a little Florida soil, just a speck of this great United States. It is a sample of the most unusual soil on earth because it is American. Democratic loving free people have shed their blood for it, and upon it. . . . On this Christmas, . . . I can think of no more appropriate gift to an American loving citizen than to give you a little of that which was given to us by our forefathers, and we have given to each other, and will give to our children to keep, to value and defend against all who challenge the virtue and right of this free soil.20

His letter includes references not only to American forefathers but also to American virtue, the defense of which was utilized as a theme within World War I recruitment posters. He also refers to future generations that will inherit and protect the soil, suggesting a sense that this is a tangible gift (that can even be sent by mail) proceeding

20 Letter to Millard Caldwell from Frank D. Howard, 15 December 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 7, Folder E4-3H.

195 from the founders to Americans yet to be born. The powerful but passive position of soil as something “virtuous” that is to be kept, valued, and defended codes it as feminine, and the implications of this positioning appear in a variety of contexts during this era.

In November 1954, Ralph Lapp wrote an article for the Bulletin of the Atomic

Scientists describing how a nuclear explosion would affect the surface of the earth if a bomb were to burst at ground level; he presents his analysis in sexual and reproductive terms: “Much of the substratum below the exploding bomb is dislodged and volatilized into particles impregnated with radioactivity. In addition, some of the elements in the substratum may become radioactive by the primary penetrating radiation from the bomb.”21 He notes that after the explosion, the substratum becomes both a carrier and producer of radioactivity.

Next, Lapp discusses what kind of shelters are most useful for someone “located beyond the range of primary blast,” pointing out that in addition to concrete, “packed soil” is also quite effective in shielding individuals from radiation: “a foot and a half of hard packed soil can reduce an intensity of 2500 r/hr to 50 r/hr. Thirty inches of soil cuts this intensity down to 2.5 r/hr which can be regarded as acceptable for survival in a shelter.”22 In 1955, one of the Atomic Energy Commissioners, Willard Libby, remarked upon the protective qualities of soil as well: “[A]bout a foot of earth is excellent shielding

. . . a shovel properly used could save a man’s life. If no ready-made cellars were

21 Ralph E. Lapp, “Civil Defense Faces New Peril,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, November 1954, 350. 22 Ibid. Here, “r” refers to roentgen, the expression of radiation.

196 available . . . he could merely dig a hole and crawl into it and stay there for the first few hours.”23

If it were accepted that American men are “supposed” to defend American soil, and that a Soviet bomb would “impregnate” the soil with radioactivity via “penetrating radiation,” how could a man use the very American soil he was meant to defend as a protective barrier between himself and the bomb? It paints a picture not only of cowardice but dishonor, as he allows American virtue to be impugned while literally hiding underneath the scene of the crime.

Many government officials, journalists, and ordinary Americans wondered if the nation were appearing weak before the Soviet enemy; such criticisms often employed gendered and sexualized language. In the spring of 1951, the New York Times published a front-page story about General Hoyt S. Vandenberg’s testimony before the Senate regarding President Harry S. Truman’s recall of Douglas MacArthur: “The highest air officer of this country declared today that General of the Army Douglas MacArthur’s rejected policy for bombing Communist China might have left the United States ‘naked’ before the Soviet Union.”24 Describing his concern, Vandenberg stated that if the U.S.

23 Quoted in Michael Straight, “The Ten-Month Silence,” New Republic, 7 March 1955, 10. 24 William S. White, “China Air War Would Leave Us ‘Naked,’ Vandenberg Says,” New York Times, 29 May 1951, 1. The idea of national “nakedness” imbued anxieties over international affairs with personal meanings that linked nation and body. Three years later, Joseph and Stewart Alsop wrote in similar terms about how the country might look after a mass evacuation: “It is an astonishing idea, if you think about it—all of America’s great cities lying naked and empty of people.” Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, May 1954, 2. In the fall of 1950, Time magazine declared hopelessly that “Cities are pretty much defenseless and their populations are naked under the enemy.” “Civil Defense,” 2 October 1950, 12. And in 1953, Ralph Lapp and Stewart Alsop reminded readers that in December 1941, “Pearl Harbor lay defenseless and naked to attack.” “We Can Smash the Red A-Bombers,” Saturday Evening Post, 21 March 1953, 82.

197

Air Force were “emasculated,” that would remove a major deterrent to Soviet attack.25

He had argued a few months earlier that it would be dangerous to invest “limitless” money in “static defenses” such as radar, because if that were to occur, “the remaining military effort would be reduced to impotency,” and he was determined that “under no circumstances will we be caught with our planes down.”26

Others worried that the United States might be too “open” to attack or might actually be “inviting” one. Many civil defense proponents utilized this language to rally support for greater efforts. In 1952, Millard Caldwell gave a speech to a conference of mayors in which he warned, “If we don’t take prompt action to get ready, . . . we are laying ourselves open to the kind of crushing attack that would make Pearl Harbor seem as disastrous as the bruised knees and cut fingers of a Sunday School picnic.”27 Bernard

Brodie echoed this idea in 1959, arguing for greater protection of active defense installations: “[A] conspicuous inability or unreadiness to defend our retaliatory force must tend to provoke the opponent to destroy it; in other words, it tempts him to an aggression he might not otherwise contemplate.”28 Later, he writes that “many attractive targets” could be saved through passive defense—while acknowledging that nuclear weapons have paved the way for a “kind of destructive orgy”—and defines a pre-emptive

25 Ibid. 26 Hoyt S. Vandenberg, “The Truth about Our Air Power,” Saturday Evening Post, 17 February 1951, 101-102. Happily for Americans, the U.S. system of strategic air power was “poised to ram the atomic bomb down the throat of an aggressor in the event it is used against us.” Ibid., 100. 27 “Caldwell Address,” Cuyahoga County Civil Defense Digest, 2 December 1952, 2. 28 Bernard Brodie, “Strategy in the Missile Age” (Santa Monica: RAND Corp., 15 January 1959), 185.

198 strike on the Soviet Union as occurring after the Russians have launched their weapons but “before that attack is consummated and preferably before it gets well under way.”29

Uranium itself was sometimes discussed in sexualized terms. Robert Serber, a physicist from Berkeley, gave lectures to newly arrived Manhattan Project scientists at

Los Alamos in 1943 regarding the structure of the bomb, explaining that the best approach was to

machine-craft two different assemblies of pure uranium metal and then slam them together with great force. . . . Serber included a crude sketch of a uranium metal slug being fired with a mini cannon into the curved receptacle of a receiving piece of uranium, as a penis enters a vagina. In the usual mechanic’s vernacular, the convexity was termed the “male” part of the device, and the concavity the “female.”30

Another physicist at Los Alamos described uranium as uniquely feminine. Otto Frisch

“had been stacking blocks of enriched uranium without a reflective assembly—they were

‘naked,’ and so he called this the Lady Godiva experiment.”31

Writers often discussed the atomic bomb as if it were a living organism.

According to the Saturday Evening Post, the atomic bomb “was conceived in awesome

29 Ibid., 203, 234, 242. A man who witnessed Pearl Harbor wrote to President Truman in 1950, framing his argument for greater action on civil defense in similar terms: “Each day of delay, . . . if we remain wide open, may someday invite attack.” Letter from Edward Farley to President Truman, 24 January 1950. RG304, Entry 31A, Box 7, Folder E4-3F. And Mary Mulligan of New Jersey asked, “Are our Canadian neighbors alerted to the fact that their vast, sparsely-populated country practically invites invasion?” Letter from Mary Mulligan to NSRB, 26 December 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 9, Folder M. 30 Tom Zoellner, Uranium: War, Energy, and the Rock that Shaped the World (New York: Penguin, 2009), 62. 31 Ibid., 63. “Naked” uranium, it turns out, is very dangerous. Frisch ended up escaping death by seconds, after realizing that he had inadvertently absorbed a large amount of radiation.

199 secrecy.”32 A journalist, William Laurence, was permitted to witness the creation of

“Little Boy,” the bomb that was dropped on Hiroshima, and wrote, “Being close to it and watching as it was fashioned into a living thing so exquisitely shaped, . . . one somehow crossed the borderline between reality and non-reality and felt oneself in the presence of the supernatural.”33 After seeing the Trinity explosion in July 1945, a physicist said, “A new thing had been born; a new control; a new understanding of man, which man had acquired over nature.”34 Another observer suggested after the Trinity test that the world itself had been reborn: “about a hundred seconds after the flash came the ‘first cry of a newborn world.’”35 Years later, when the hydrogen bomb was first tested at Eniwetok

Atoll in November 1952, scientist Edward Teller—who had developed the bomb—was back at Berkeley, watching a seismograph closely. He rejoiced when he saw the dot “do a little dance,” then sent a cable to his skeptical colleagues at Los Alamos that read, “It’s a boy.”36

In some cases, nuclear bombs did not represent newborn babies but grown men’s wives. In order for Strategic Air Command to declare a crew capable of flying a bomb- laden plane, each crew member needed to be tested in weaponry:

In this course, he is introduced to his particular bomb, which is tailored for a particular target. After several weeks of the most intensive study, he will know this bomb better than he has known anything or anybody in his life. He will be

32 Pat Frank, “Are We Safe From Our Own Bombs?” Saturday Evening Post, 23 July 1960, 50. 33 Quoted in Zoellner, 85. He later referred to himself as a “journalistic Paul Revere.” 34 Ibid., 65. 35 P.D. Smith, Doomsday Men: The Real Dr. Strangelove and the Dream of the Superweapon (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 2007), 312. 36 Ibid., 359.

200

given a written examination. If he passes, he is “married” to his weapon. . . . When a flier is transferred to another aircraft, carrying a different type of weapon, he is retrained and “remarried.” He must sign a document affirming his complete familiarity with the weapon and procedures and thereby assumes personal responsibility.37

Beyond the bombs themselves, Americans often discussed bomber planes in terms that might also describe pregnant women. The plane that carried the atomic bomb to Hiroshima was named Enola Gay after the pilot’s mother, and references to bombers as figurative maternity planes—or mother ships?—frequently appeared in the popular press. In 1938, even before atomic weaponry, Cecil Day-Lewis composed a poem titled

“Bombers” that explores this theme:

Black as vermin, crawling in the echelon Beneath the cloud-floor, the bombers come: The heavy angels, carrying harm in Their wombs that ache to be rid of death. This is the seed that grows for ruin, The iron-embryo conceived in fear.38

Worse, even, than Philip Wylie’s domineering moms, these planes are inversions of any possible symbol of positive spiritual maternity: black, crawling, heavy angels, with harm in their wombs, growing from an evil seed into a metal monstrosity. The “delivery” of this baby will be no cause for joy.39 It is reminiscent of a rather despondent letter sent to

37 “Are We Safe From Our Own Bombs?” 50. 38 Smith, 264. 39 Writers frequently used the terms, “deliver” and “delivery” to describe the mechanism whereby a bomb would be dropped on an enemy. Some reports also referred to the bomb storage area of the plane as its “belly.” See “Are We Safe From Our Own Bombs?” 51.

201 the NSRB in March 1950: “The continued apathy of the great majority of our people toward this forthcoming atomic conflict will result in our great nation becoming a huge cemetery.”40

On some occasions, writers actually described bombs as “eggs,” a symbol of fertility and motherhood. In 1950, the Saturday Evening Post ran an article hypothesizing that “the Soviet version of the B-29 can reach any target in the United States on a one- way mission. Soviet bombers could drop their eggs and then ditch at sea in a rendezvous with submarines that would pick up the crews and haul them back to Russia.”41 Another writer, ten years later, announced that “a SAC B-36, on loan to the Air Force Special

Weapons Center . . . had inadvertently laid a nuclear egg on barren territory not far from

Albuquerque in 1956.”42 The idea of a plane laying such an egg on “barren” land presents the interesting conundrum of what sort of creature might result from this fertilization, while simultaneously solving the problem by describing the land as lacking appropriately fertile soil in which the egg could “grow.”

Two decades earlier, a connection between radiation and eggs was also apparent when the Reno Evening Gazette reported on the development of a “new kind of poultry,” the “radium hen,” an instrument invented to find misplaced radium needles doctors used in medical treatments:

40 Letter to Paul Larsen from Russell A. Cook, 21 March 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 6, Folder E4-3C. 41 Howard H. Martin, “Could We Beat Back an Air Attack on the U.S.?” Saturday Evening Post, 4 November 1950, 23. 42 “Are We Safe From Our Own Bombs?” 50.

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The hen family can well be proud of the “bird.” It is sexless and yet clucks excitedly. . . . It needs no food, except electricity, looks like an ordinary watering can, and has led perplexed scientists to the location of many radium “eggs.” Its frantic clucking when brought close to any radioactive element is what makes the “radium hen” a valuable asset. . . . The closer the “hen” is brought to the unknown location of the expensive needle, the louder and more excitedly it clucks.43

It is convenient that the mother hen, requiring little maintenance, expresses her joy so loudly when she finds one of her lost offspring—and then can be turned off and put away until she is needed once more.

Bomber pilots did not always imagine their planes to be mother-figures; some painted “bombshells” on the side of their planes instead, implying that the relationship between pilot and plane was inherently sexual. A profile of pilots guarding New York in

1952 echoed this sense of the bomber plane as erotic possession, describing the process of take-off as “screaming into the high-pitched roar that a hot jet makes when she starts.”44 The article also referred to the idea that aeronautic “maturity” is only reached when a pilot can navigate according to data from his plane’s flight panel alone: “There’s nothing like instrument flying, it’s said, to separate the men from the boys.”45

43 “‘Radium Hen’ Has Affinity,” Reno Evening Gazette, 24 August 1935, n.p. 44 Phil Gustafson, “Night Fighters Over New York,” Saturday Evening Post, 2 February 1952, 32. 45 Ibid., 64.

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Figure 5.1. “Wanda” seems eager to be “manned.”46

46 More examples of such “nose art” can be found at the website for the state of Hawaii, which maintains an online archive of historic photographs. (Planes featuring images of women in similar states of undress are inscribed with a variety of captions: “All Alone—And Lonely,” “Bomb Babe,” “Booby Trap,” and “Bouncin’ Bette.”) State of Hawaii Department of Transportation, Airports Division, “World War II Nose Art,” http://hawaii.gov/hawaiiaviation%3E/aviation-photos/1940-1949/world-war-ii-nose- art/Wonderous%20Wanda.jpg/ha_image_view_fullscreen (accessed 20 March 2014).

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Figure 5.2. Physicist Norman Ramsey displays a sense of prideful paternity by signing his name, next to many others, on “Fat Man,” the “egg”/bomb that will be “fertilized” in flight and subsequently “delivered” over Nagasaki.47

47 Jascha Hoffman, “Norman Ramsey Dies at 96; Work Led to the Atomic Clock,” New York Times, 6 November 2011, http://www.nytimes.com/2011/11/07/us/norman-ramsey-dies-at-96-work-led-to- the-atomic-clock.html?ref=obituaries&_r=0 (accessed 20 March 2014). It was considered too dangerous to fly great distances with the bomb fully functional, so the safety apparatus was disengaged during flight, when the plane approached its target destination.

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Figure 5.3. It’s a girl? “Copa Room showgirl Lee Merlin poses in a cotton mushroom cloud swimsuit as she is crowned Miss Atomic Bomb in this 1957 photograph.”48

48 It was said that “[w]here uranium could be found, its daughter product, radium, would be sprinkled within.” Zoellner, 44. Photo and caption from “Gallery,” Las Vegas Sun, http://www.lasvegassun.com/photos/1905/may/15/4120/ (accessed 20 March 2014). Remarkably, in 2012, “the Las Vegas Chamber of Commerce named Holly Madison 2012 Miss Atomic Bomb and recreated the classic 1957 photograph of showgirl Lee Merlin in a mushroom cloud swimsuit,” substituting Madison’s image for Merlin’s. See Sarah Feldberg, “Learning From and Repeating History with the Miss Atomic Bomb Photo Recreation,” Las Vegas Sun, 16 May 2012, http://www.lasvegassun.com/news/2012/may/16/learning-and-repeating-history-miss-atomic-bomb-ph/ (accessed 20 March 2014).

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Paul Boyer points out that:

The complex psychological link between atomic destruction and Eros (a link that at the time of America’s first postwar atomic test in 1946 led a French fashion designer to christen his new bathing suit the ‘Bikini’) was established very early. Within days of Hiroshima, burlesque houses in Los Angeles were advertising ‘Atom Bomb Dancers.’ In early September, Life fulfilled a Hollywood press agent’s dream with a full-page cheesecake photograph of a well-endowed MGM starlet who had been officially dubbed ‘The Anatomic Bomb.’49

Ironically, perhaps, this was also a time when American men were growing very concerned about the possibility of radiation having negative effects on sexuality and male fertility. One of the first utterances in the Enola Gay after witnessing the plane drop the bomb on Hiroshima was from Tom Ferebee, who “wondered aloud whether radioactivity would make us all sterile.”50 Another article described the crew’s reactions to seeing the explosion in slightly different terms: “Some of them ejaculated, ‘My God.’”51

Four years later, the Atomic Energy Commission issued a report on “medical aspects” of radiation exposure. It found that while many pregnant women near the

49 Paul Boyer, By the Bomb’s Early Light: American Thought and Culture at the Dawn of the Atomic Age (New York: Pantheon Books, 1985), 11-12. 50 Paul Tibbetts and Wesley Price, “How to Drop an Atom Bomb,” Saturday Evening Post, 8 June 1946. The innocuous title boldly implies that it is within anyone’s power to emulate the feat if given the proper instruction. 51 Donald Porter Geddes, ed., The Atomic Age Opens (New York: Pocket Books, 1945), 20. Eleven years later, fears about male fertility still resonated. A government report based assumptions of American behavior after nuclear attack upon massive casualties, with the survivors “assailed in varying degrees by fears that they had been subject to sufficient radiation exposure to cause illness, sterility, or death.” “A Report to the President and the National Security Council by the Panel on the Human Effects of Nuclear Weapons Development,” 21 November 1956.

207 detonations in Hiroshima and Nagasaki died, when it came to future fertility, men were much more gravely affected by radiation than women:

There is no present evidence of alteration in female reproductivity. Even a fatal dose of radiation does not produce sterility in females. As to male sterility, the male testicle is more exposed to radiation because of its position and covering than is the female ovary, and its cells are more easily damaged. There was evidence of diminished reproductivity for a period of three months in males who were within one mile of the explosion point.52

This information, alone, was enough to prompt many unsettling questions—but it was compounded by another finding of the study: that scientists may not know until decades later how exposure in parents might affect the development of their children: “[p]erhaps twenty-five years must elapse before reliable information can be obtained about the effects of radiation exposure upon heredity following atomic bomb explosions.”53 In

1955, Pope Pius XII celebrated Easter while reminding the world of “the horrors of monstrous offspring” that might result from nuclear testing.54

52 “Atomic Energy Commission Interim Report on Medical Aspects of Atomic Weapons,” 20 December 1949, 3-4 (emphasis original). RG 326, Entry 67A, Box 64, Folder Study of Effects of A-Bomb on Man. 53 Ibid., 8. 54 Dee Garrison, Bracing for Armageddon: Why Civil Defense Never Worked (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 61.

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Fertility and Fatherhood in Popular Fiction: Mr. Adam

In 1946, Pat Frank addressed reproductive anxieties in the form of a novel named

Mr. Adam, “an extremely funny story” according to the cover.55 The narrator, a New

York journalist named Steve Smith, learns

of a mysterious lack of maternity ward

bookings starting abruptly on June 22; the

date marks nine months after “the great new

fission plants at Bohrville, Mississippi—a

city erected in the center of the state and

named after one of the famous atomic

physicists—disintegrated in an explosion

that made Nagasaki and Hiroshima mere

cap pistols by comparison.”56 Deducing that

the events must be related, Steve discovers

that “all men [were] sterilized without

Figure 5.4. exception, while few if any women were affected. The doctors say almost all women still ovulate, and the Fallopian tubes have not been damaged.” This strange dichotomy is explained by two factors: the human body

55 Pat Frank, Mr. Adam (Philadelphia: J. B. Lippincott, 1946). 56 Ibid., 14. It turns out that the explosion eviscerated most of the state, but “nobody really missed Mississippi” (15).

209 being “a strange business,” and the fact that “[m]en have always been more susceptible to certain rays than women.”57

When a baby is born to Homer Adam and his wife—Homer was underground in a lead-shielded mine in Australia when the disaster occurred—Steve briefly takes up residence with the family to get a story on the only man to father a post-Mississippi baby; soon after arriving, he meets Colonel Phelps-Smythe of the U.S. Army, a brash, officious man who immediately informs Homer that he is now “under the protection” of the military: “‘[T]he Joint Chiefs of Staff have decided, in the national interest, that Mr.

Adam is vital, strategic government property. The Joint Chiefs felt themselves authorized in making this decision of the basis of future national defense.’”58 Homer is dismayed by this news, not seeming to realize his own importance: “‘But I don’t wish to be taken over,’ he protested. ‘I just want to be left alone with Mary Ellen and the baby. Is it my fault that all the rest of you are sterile?’ At this, Phelps-Smythe reminds Homer that he is

“just as much a military secret as the atomic bomb.”59

The novel addresses a number of post-World War II concerns in quick fashion: the hazards of nuclear production in the United States; the potential effect of radiation on male fertility; the sense that men are particularly vulnerable to reproductive harm while women are not; and the possibility that after disaster, the new nation might be fathered by

57 Ibid., 18. In the case of radiation, at least, men did seem more susceptible. Highlighting male fragility in the atomic age hinted at a potential reversal of gender stereotypes; if men were more vulnerable to radiation than women were, traditional dichotomies were in danger of crumbling. 58 Ibid., 39. 59 Ibid.

210 men like Mr. Adam, who does not argue forcefully for his family’s privacy, but ultimately surrenders to the authority of General Phelps-Smythe, looking “dazed and helpless” as he does so.60

Homer had been deemed physically unsuitable for military service during World

War II, and eventually shows signs of mental weakness as well, losing weight and developing a “twitch” as time goes on and the stress of being the last productive man in the world increases.61 When Steve’s wife hints that she may look into joining the thousands of women already on a waiting list for artificial insemination, or “A.I.,” with

Homer’s sperm, Steve declares angrily that they “are not going to fill this apartment with lanky, redheaded children all subject to inferiority complexes.”62 Maria Ostenheimer, a member of “the executive board of the New York City investigating committee” for the

National Re-fertilization Project, visits the couple and gives them a summary of the national problem:

As things are now, everything depends on the well-being of one man—a sensitive man who apparently was never very strong. If his health is ruined—either his physical health or his mental health—it imperils the chances of successful artificial insemination. . . . [W]e cannot make maximum—perhaps not even normal—use of Homer Adam until he again becomes a tranquil, normal man. Even if we were able to use him in his present state—which is doubtful—we might create a race of physical and nervous wrecks. 63

60 Ibid., 40. The colonel, while disappointed that Homer did not serve in the army during World War II due to being classified 4F, takes comfort knowing that at least Homer was not a conscientious objector. 61 Ibid., 49. 62 Ibid., 47. 63 Ibid., 25, 49.

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Persuaded that because Homer needs him, the nation needs him, Steve grudgingly agrees to travel to Washington—where Homer has been moved for military “protection”—to console Homer and, in Steve’s words, to serve as “nursemaid to the potential father of his country.”64

Ironically, throughout most of the novel, Homer is rendered utterly passive due to his uniquely active “seed.” His weakness is an integral part of the plot; nearly from the beginning, external forces dictate the terms of his daily existence, and when he falls apart under the strain to the extent of needing a “nursemaid’s” care, the mental and physical strength of his progeny—and that of the post-Mississippi nation itself—appears to be in doubt.

In the Senate, members argue over the global implications of America’s possession of Mr. Adam, some hoping “that Homer Adam would not be shipped outside the territorial limits of the United States.” Similarities to contemporary debates about the international control of atomic power are apparent:

Senator Salt plausibly replied that A.I. being what it was, it was not necessary to ship Homer Adam anywhere, just the male germ. . . . Russia had as much right to hope for perpetuating herself as any other nation—more than some he could mention.

FROGHAM (D. Louisiana): Will the Senator yield?

SALT: I yield.

FROGHAM: Is it not a fact that we could forever dispose of this damnable Communism, which is infecting the whole world and causing strikes and

64 Ibid., 50.

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disturbances and menacing the very foundations of the Republic, say within two generations, by simply confining A.I. to those nations which are willing to give us definite statements as to their future foreign policies, and their territorial and ideological intentions?

VIDMER (R. Massachusetts): If we only give A.I. to those nations which know their future foreign policy, then we will have to exclude the United States. (Laughter.)65

The book also plays with the multiple meanings of “production” in time of national crisis. When Steve asks for a sense of the overall structure of the Re-Fertilization

Project, the deputy director—named Percy Klutz—draws a huge map of positions, offices and committees on their restaurant tablecloth. Confused at the complexity of the bureaucracy, Steve says, “I thought the idea was simply to get Adam in shape, and then start producing babies.” Klutz, startled, explains that “[t]he production end is only the smallest part of it! That comes way down here”—he indicated the bottom of the tablecloth—“in Operations.”66

At this point in the novel, readers understand that the government cares not for

Homer Adam’s personal welfare, but rather about what he can “produce” for the nation’s benefit. He represents America’s reproductive power in a world sterilized by radiation, which places him on par, ironically, with control of the atomic bomb in terms of importance to national security. When word eventually spreads that two fertile men— who were also apparently in mines when Mississippi exploded—have been found in

65 Ibid., 52. 66 Ibid., 57.

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“Outer Mongolia,” their presence kept secret by Soviet authorities, Steve suggests that if this were true, “it would start a production race between us and the Russians.”67 And in that case, American prospects would appear bleak: “[I]f they have two men to our one, and a bigger population to work with, why I suppose they can keep their birth rate well above ours.”68

Objectified by political and military establishments, Homer is only valuable as long as his sperm is viable, but even then, uncertainty surrounding the effects of his apparent weakness on the “quality” of future generations of Americans evokes pre-

Trinity concerns about whether the atomic bomb they test might turn out to be a humiliating “dud.” Reflecting contemporary concerns regarding the smothering of boys by their mothers, Steve thinks that when Homer wishes his wife would visit Washington, he really wants someone else: “[I]f Homer’s mother still lived, it would be his mother, in all likelihood, whom he would want. . . . I saw a grown man . . . whose marriage was probably the passionate seeking for a second mother to whom to run whenever he encountered the frightening facts of life. This was the man chosen to re-populate the earth!”69

67 Ibid., 100. 68 Ibid., 100-101. Steve describes how nations attempt to protect their military secrets using terms of “penetration”: “[E]very major power has two operations, one called S.I.—Secret Intelligence—and the other C.I.—Counter Intelligence. . . . It is a wonderful racket. It is sort of an international club. All the fellows in S.I. try to penetrate other countries, and all the fellows in C.I. try to keep other countries from penetrating us.” 69 Ibid., 69.

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A moment of hope for men everywhere glimmers when Tommy Thompson, a scientist friend of Steve’s, discloses that due to the promising results of some of his experiments, he “is not entirely satisfied that the male sperm is really dead. I think he is stunned, knocked out, paralyzed, but I’m not sure he is dead. I think I saw one wriggle.”

In Tommy’s opinion, if one did actually wriggle and “the male germ isn’t totally destroyed, then it is just a matter of nursing him back—or jarring him back—into full vitality.”70

This process of male revitalization on the microscopic level parallels Homer’s psychological progress in Washington, where, for the first time in his life, women throw themselves at him when he goes out in public. When Congress institutes a national drawing for A.I. and the first name selected is that of a senator Homer hates, he grows vocal in defense of his liberty, declaring his impatience at being objectified and his desire to play no part in the Re-Fertilization Project. In a final irony at the conclusion of the novel, Homer ensures that he will no longer remain without rights—“like one hundred and sixty pounds of U-235,” in Steve’s words—by exposing himself to radiation that renders him sterile, just like any other American man.71

The continuation of the human race was placed further in doubt when leaders of the Soviet Union declared, soon afterward, that they had no knowledge of “unsterilized

Mongolians. The story of the two Mongolians, Moscow said, was undoubtedly part of an

70 Ibid., 99. Just as Steve was required to “nurse” Homer back “into full vitality.” 71 Ibid., 197. A scientist who was on the scene at the time said Adam had “committed what amounted to sexual suicide” (209).

215 anti-Communist plot.” Even as it became apparent that “the world would not die in agony and convulsions” but would rather “expire of old age,” everyday life continued normally.

Steve’s editor, J. C. Pogey, states that the apparent apathy of the population does not surprise him: “If the threat of destruction couldn’t jolt us out of our rut—and that threat was apparent long before Mississippi—then the fact of destruction can’t be expected to change us much either.”72

The novel concludes with the discovery that Steve’s wife is pregnant; she spiked

Steve’s drinks one day with a large amount of Tommy Thompson’s experimental seaweed therapy. Predictably, this development has international implications, again suggestive of debates over international control of atomic energy:

The government immediately took over all production, and Phelps-Smythe, now a general, was entrusted with security. This was a most important post, because there was no doubt that the Russians were trying to steal the secret. They actually admitted it themselves. . . . There is a group that believes that UN should handle a good deal of it. But the Administration has decided that it is of much too vital importance for UN. Being a young organization, . . . [it] should not be entrusted with the secret of Thompson’s tonic. All the commentators agree that Thompson’s tonic is dynamite.73

When Steve’s twins are eighteen months old, his editor, J. C., comes over for a visit; by this time, the world has reverted to its usual war-like state. As J. C. watches the two boys in their playpen, Little Abel plays contentedly with some blocks while Little

Stephen approaches Abel with a tack hammer in hand, “as if to scalp him.” J. C.,

72 Ibid., 217. 73 Ibid., 230.

216 fascinated, says, “This is where I came in,” and departs, not to be seen again.74 The implication is that Steve’s editor is Jesus Christ, or God, “coming in” after Cain kills his brother Abel in the Bible. There is no way to determine whether J. C. is disappointed in the world’s regression to violence or if he senses that killing is human nature and the world must thus be reborn. The novel does imply, perhaps, that the destruction wrought by the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki should make Americans consider their postwar options carefully, in order to avoid the “threat of destruction” becoming the “fact of destruction.”

Civil Defense, Fertility, and Motherhood in Tomorrow!

Another novel depicting the after effects of nuclear disaster is Philip Wylie’s Tomorrow! Published in 1954, a dozen years after Generation of Vipers, and adapted into an ABC Radio/FCDA-sponsored radio play hosted by Orson Welles in 1956, the story is “a tale of two cities,” as the play declares, one with—and one without—a local civil defense organization. The novel (and the radio program to an even greater extent) employs the frontier imagery and references to stalwart Figure 5.5.

74 Ibid., 231.

217 forefathers that frequently characterized civil defense literature. The first paragraph of the novel begins with a familiar homage to the original European inhabitants of the region, who immediately set about demonstrating their ownership of the land by renaming their surroundings:

When the pioneers came across the plains to the place where the Little Bird River flowed into the Abanakas, they halted. . . . They renamed the Abanakas the Green Prairie. The Little Bird, as a town crept south along its banks, became Slossen’s Run—thanks to a trapper who, in the early part of the nineteenth century, set his lines in the headwaters of that creek.75

Predictably, the “flat and fertile land,” woods filled with game, and easy access to fresh water not only made it a wonderful place to establish a town, but also meant, in Wylie’s words, that the “settlement was often attacked by hard-riding Sioux.”76 Ultimately the

Sioux were no match for the residents of Green Prairie, however, and over time, “where

Sioux arrows had fired cottonwood logs in the fort, skyscrapers stood.”77

When readers are introduced to the Conner family, they learn that the Conners,

“like all their fellow citizens, and more keenly than many, . . . shared the doubts and anxieties of the new age.”78 For Wylie, the responsible worrier joins civil defense, and when young Lieutenant Chuck Conner comes home for a thirty-day leave from the

75 Philip Wylie, Tomorrow! (New York: Rinehart and Co., 1954), 7. 76 Ibid. Wylie, a consultant to the FCDA, dedicated his novel to “the gallant men and women of the Federal Civil Defense Administration and to those other true patriots, the volunteers, who are doing their best to save the sum of things” (6). 77 Ibid., 8. 78 Ibid.

218 military, he discovers that his father, mother, brother, and occasional girlfriend-next- door, Lenore, have all taken up civil defense duties.

The residents of River City, on the other side of the river from Green Prairie, are not nearly as responsible: “Instead of laboring mightily to construct a CD outfit equal or superior to that in Green Prairie, they had only to relax—and make jokes about the earnestly rehearsing citizens across the river.”79 Minerva Sloan, wealthy and powerful resident of River City who owns a bank and a newspaper in Green Prairie, finds the upheaval of the town’s civil defense drills appalling, especially when one takes place during rush hour as she is trying to get home for dinner with important guests. The description of Minerva read by Orson Welles over the radio echoes the harsh depictions of Wylie’s “moms”:

Minerva Sloan, formidable mother of Kit Sloan, was homeward bound from being formidable at a director’s meeting of the mercantile trust company when the practice alert sounded. And it did ill content her. On downtown Central Avenue, traffic was stopped solid six cars abreast. Cars had stopped, doors had popped open, and people had scurried obediently to the vaulted entries of great skyscrapers and other shelter areas. All except Minerva Sloan. She sat furiously in her limousine, being formidable.

The next day, after threatening her pro-civil defense editor with being fired, Minerva’s newspaper prints headlines blaming sixteen injuries and a general “paralysis” of the

Sister Cities on the unnecessary civil defense drill.

79 Ibid., 40.

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When Green Prairie volunteers finally receive the inevitable “yellow alert” warning that is not a drill, the Conner family zooms into action—Dad is driven by a neighbor to civil defense headquarters, Mom reports for duty wearing her “nurse” armband, brother Ted heads up to his bedroom to man the ham radio, and Chuck, an intelligence analyst, heads off to the military operations office. The only member of the family not engaged in the rush is the youngest sister, Nora, age eleven; when the air raid sirens finally go off, she is downtown doing her Christmas shopping, and ends up getting a ride out of town with none other than Minerva Sloan.

Minerva takes Nora to her grand home in River City, where much to Minerva’s surprise, she learns that despite her community’s well-known skepticism, her staff has kept the cellar supplied as a shelter for just such an ominous occasion. They all go downstairs, Minerva muttering complaints all the way. And this is what saves them—the civil defense-minded servants. Minerva is seriously injured in the blast, but brave young

Nora procures medical aid for her. The rest of Chuck’s family in Green Prairie, civil defense volunteers all, survives intact. His aunt Ruth and her family in River City, however, do not fare well; unsheltered when “the Light” strikes, Ruth’s husband, Jim, says to the family somewhat skeptically, “Maybe we should do like they told us—duck,” but it is too late:

The windows screamed into the room. And that year they were double; Jim had put on storm windows. Don’s hand was amputated. Jim lost much of his face; it became scarlet stew. All the children fell, bleeding. But Irma, the baby, being kissed by her anxious mother, received a pound of glass in her back and lungs;

220

she was torn almost apart. Ruth was not hurt at all—the baby having shielded her—not hurt at all, physically.80

The mother of this family seemingly gets the punishment she deserves—not only has

Ruth been irresponsible in not planning ahead for her family’s safety, but her unawareness about the dangers of flying debris, information that she easily could have gotten from local civil defense officials—has literally killed her baby, while leaving herself unharmed. Ruth ends up losing the rest of her family as well, as her husband succumbs to radiation sickness two weeks later, and her other children are trampled at a makeshift shelter in River City. Ruth does not even get to bury her baby; as they walked dazedly through town in the wake of the attack, the baby’s “insides had come through its back, slowly . . . and finally they’d jiggled so loose and slack that she stepped on them now and again. . . . People who saw Ruth leading, walking, tripping a little, slipping . . . said things and were sick or they screamed. . . . Finally, Ruth threw it away.”81

The graphic harshness with which Wylie describes the physically and psychologically injured mothers-who-should-have-known-better conveys a stark judgment of their guilt. In the immediate aftermath of the bomb, an anonymous woman sits on the step of a building, “in a great puddle of blood, trying . . . to push things back inside her.” After a while, it becomes clear that

her organs seemed to be moving with a convulsive, blood-camouflaged, separate life. She kept pushing them against the rent across her abdomen and all of a

80 Ibid., 216. 81 Ibid., 229.

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sudden the biggest object let out a blat. . . a baby . . . and the woman was trying to get it back within herself—probably it was too soon. . . . Then she flopped over, but the other thing went on blatting and blatting, its breath catching on every intake.82

Both examples depict the violent consequences of mothers neglecting responsibilities to their young. Both women witness their children’s bloody demise, both go insane—Ruth ends up at a “home” after the war—and both are publicly displayed as maternal failures.

At the conclusion of the novel, Chuck Conner marries the girl next door: Lenore, the civil defense volunteer. When she announces that she is pregnant, Chuck is stunned;

Lenore had been a “Geiger man” during the emergency, and was exposed to high amounts of radiation even though she was wearing protective gear. Her declaration of fertility overwhelms Chuck with happiness—but she quickly adds, “It’s actually only seventy-five per cent wonderful.”83 Chuck’s father, riding along with them in the car, does not understand so Lenore explains:

“About a quarter of the babies, Dr. Mandy said, are born dead—or not in their right minds—if their mothers were rayed.” Chuck murmured, with the extra poignancy of the still-new husband, “That’s a terrible thing to face, I know! But Lenore, dear . . . !” She said, “Not too terrible. Just means I might have to have four, for every three we keep. So what? Can’t you imagine how I feel, to know I can have them? And does this country need babies now!”84

Lenore’s excitement at discovering she is not sterile after all inverts the concern over radiation’s effect on male fertility depicted in Mr. Adam. But her happy acceptance of the

82 Ibid., 243. 83 Ibid., 287. 84 Ibid. (Emphasis original.)

222 potential need to sacrifice one out of every four children seems rather unsettling. At least readers know that Lenore will do everything in her power to protect the babies she ends up keeping, because as a civil defense veteran, she has proven her maternal stripes.85

Films as well as novels imagined how a society might function—or break down— after a nuclear catastrophe in an imagined future. They often implicitly criticized elements of contemporary culture as well. While “[n]o film is an unambiguous index of popular values. . . . [n]or are popular films simplistic mouthpieces of hegemonic forces,” it is possible to understand these films as presenting serious—sometimes radical— criticisms of elements of American society, with the implicit message that in the “real” world, as in the films themselves, it is never too late to advocate cultural change.86

In the closing moments of On the Beach, the 1959 film starring Gregory Peck

(who also played The Man in the Gray Flannel Suit) as one of the last survivors of a nuclear conflict, waiting for death as radiation slowly circles the earth, a large banner reads: “There is Still Time, Brother.”87 Likewise, in Five, a 1951 film about life after nuclear war, the hero declares there is hope in the midst of destruction:

85 The symbolism of new life in a world reborn is not limited to humans, and fertility seems to be in the air at the Conner home. Their male cat—whom Nora has named “Queenie”—fathers a litter of kittens at the conclusion of the novel and lounges near them looking “appropriately suspicious, pleased, defiant, and generally paternal” (282). 86 Christian G. Appy, “‘We’ll Follow the Old Man’: The Strains of Sentimental Militarism in Popular Films of the Fifties,” in Rethinking Cold War Culture, Peter J. Kuznick and James Gilbert, eds. (Washington, D.C.: Smithsonian Institution Press, 2001), 78. 87 Paul C. Carter, Another Part of the Fifties (New York: Columbia University Press, 1983), 255. According to Carter, the reason why Stanley Kramer created and released the film “in a dozen of the world’s great and vulnerable cities—including Moscow!—was to state that yes, brother, there is still time. Do something with it. Now.”

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It’s like the world is starting all over again. We’ve got a new chance. To make the world what . . . what everybody used to talk about. We’ve got that chance. Let’s make the most of it. Let’s not make the mistakes they did, the millions of them. Let’s not be at each other’s throats. Let’s work together, live together, like friends.

The discussion that follows is limited to two low-budget films released during the

1950s that deal with post-apocalyptic scenarios—and do not contain monsters, mutants, or aliens: Five and The World, the Flesh and the Devil. Perhaps surprisingly, these films not only question the morality and usefulness of developing nuclear weapons, but at certain moments, they also criticize the nature of consumerism, gender roles, and racism in 1950s American culture. It is important to note that a single film might challenge certain widespread cultural assumptions, about race or gender for example, while simultaneously reinforcing others, but illuminating the tensions between these contradictory themes will reveal a fuller understanding of how post-apocalyptic films in the 1950s challenged and reinforced dominant cultural values.

“Four men . . . alone with the last woman on Earth”

In 1951, the Columbia Pictures film, Five, offered viewers a critique of American consumer society that was anything but subtle. Nominated for a Writer’s Guild of

America award in 1952, the film linked consumerism and nuclear destruction, concluding that Americans—men, at least—should abandon their materialistic ways to embrace individualism over conformity, a theme echoed during the 1950s by authors like Rollo

May and David Riesman.

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The film was written, directed, and produced by Arch Oboler, who had previously written for radio. Committed to making “motion pictures simply and without the appurtenances that films have grown on themselves like barnacles,” Oboler filmed Five at his home near Los Angeles with what one New York Times reviewer called a

“professionally obscure” cast.88 Even with such humble beginnings, however, Columbia acquired the picture for distribution—part of what some in the business considered a trend in which the “grass roots activity of Hollywood’s really independent producers . . . has burgeoned.”89 Indeed, in Another Part of the Fifties, Paul A. Carter suggests that

“the rise of the independent producer” was a “major economic and organizational breakthrough” during the period.90 If, as Carter argues, “Hollywood had always been chicken-hearted about social and political controversy,” the growing confidence of independent filmmakers during the 1950s may have opened some doors, even small ones, that had previously been closed.91

Five begins with the destruction of the world; a nuclear bomb explodes, and as air raid sirens wail, black smoke envelops one international symbol after another, including the Eiffel Tower and London Bridge. At last, the camera gazes down upon one small,

88 A. H. Weiler, “Random Notes Concerning People and Pictures,” New York Times, 22 April 1951, 97; Arch Oboler, “Perils of Backyard Atomic Film Making,” New York Times, 31 December 1950, X4; Bosley Crowther, “A Touch of ‘Art’: ‘The Scarf’ and ‘Five’ Betray an Old Taint,” New York Times, 29 April 1951, X1. Crowther did not enjoy Five; in his column, he suggested that while the cast seemed capable, it was a shame that on-screen, “they have to behave as though they are reading modern poetry for a group of long-hairs in a Greenwich Village loft.” 89 Thomas F. Brady, “Hollywood Digest: Speculative Film-Making on Low Budgets Increases— Metro’s Roving Directors,” New York Times, 11 February 1951, 97. 90 Carter, 210. 91 Ibid., 209.

225 lonely woman, trudging along a dirt road in a rural hillside. She reaches a seemingly abandoned town, and reads the headlines of Mountain Weekly newspaper: “World

Organization Collapse Imminent; World Annihilation Feared by Scientist/Savant Warns

Against New Bomb Use.” Church bells ring as she screams, “Help me! Please!”

Roseanne, the survivor, eventually wanders into a beautiful frontier house—Arch

Oboler’s actual residence, designed by Frank Lloyd Wright—where she finds a fire

already burning in the hearth. When a bearded man

enters the house, Roseanne faints dead away, but

she awakens to discover that he seems quite polite.

Michael explains that he had been a city dweller

back East, working as a “barker” on the Empire

State Building when the nuclear disaster occurred,

but that now, living out West, he goes hunting

Figure 5.6. every day (even though there is nothing to hunt). Sarcastically, he admits that he now enjoys what in the pre-apocalyptic world would have represented the American dream: “I never had it so good—a house, food, no problems.”

Michael and Roseanne’s clothing reinforces a recurring theme of the film, that

“returning to nature” is the only way to ensure long-term survival. Over time, these two survivors begin to look like a stereotypical frontier couple from the nineteenth century.

Roseanne trades in a fitted, short-sleeved blouse for an oversized, long-sleeved shirt that she buttons up to her chin, wearing it tucked into a plain, calf-length skirt with her hair in

226 a modest bun. For his part, Michael looks like a country woodsman, with un-styled hair, a scruffy beard, and attire suitable for hunting and farm work.

In this new, or perhaps old, world of

nature, the local, small-town store represents a

potent symbol of consumerism gone wrong.

When Michael and Roseanne go there for

supplies, they end up standing near a display of

boxes—for what particular product, the

audience and the characters are not yet aware.

Michael picks up one of the boxes and Figure 5.7. reminisces about his mother and the money- driven society they used to inhabit: “Remember how important box tops used to be? My

Ma, that was her big dream. Tear off a box top, write twenty witty words, and own the world. Mail it in with ten cents in stamps and you’ll get rich, fat, and famous.” He turns to Roseanne and offers her the box. “Here, madam,” he says with a dramatic flourish,

“tear off a box top.” Ominous music rises as they suddenly realize what he is holding: a

“giant-size” box of “Atomic Suds, the new WONDER washer!” Roseanne grimaces, and

Michael angrily shoves all the boxes of Atomic Suds onto the floor. “Come on,” he says bitterly, “Let’s get what we need and get out of here.” Michael does not want to dwell among the symbols of a capitalist consumerism that may have facilitated the atomic disaster itself.

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The audience soon learns that what the frontier couple really needs cannot be found in a store. That evening, Michael brings in firewood—not detergent—for the cold night ahead, and as he and Roseanne look at the stars, he says, “All those years in New

York and I never saw the moonlight. I hated New York. It was like a trap, holding me.

When I was a kid, we were so poor, hungry poor. Out in the country, hunger’s different.

In the city, everything’s there—only a piece of glass between you and what you need.”

He pauses. “It’s done with.” Michael suggests here that the hunger that exists in “the country” is less shameful than that of “the city,” because in the countryside no artificial barrier, like glass, divides people and goods, mocking those who lack enough money to partake in the abundance.

Eventually Roseanne and Michael encounter two more survivors: an elderly white fellow and an African American man named Charles, who drives a jeep. Upon seeing

Roseanne, the older man steps out of the car and takes off his hat to introduce himself: “I am Arthur P. Barnstaple. I am assistant cashier at the Santa Barbara Bank. How do you do?” Even though the financial pulse of the nation has stopped, Barnstaple informs his new companions that his bank is “quite an institution, you know. Three-quarters of a million capitalization.” He views his time with the other survivors as a temporary break from his job: “Vacations are delightful, but one has obligations to one’s work.”

Barnstaple’s singular focus on managing finance, capital, and investments in pre-disaster society marks him as a tragic figure in the post-nuclear world, and his character contrasts strongly with Michael, who disparages capitalism, cities and everything in them.

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Eventually, the audience discovers that Barnstaple is dying, perhaps of radiation sickness, and it is too late for him to compensate in this new world for an unremitting focus on work in the past. One evening, as he gazes admiringly at the stars, Barnstaple remarks with regret that he never got a chance to read a book about constellations he once purchased—in his words, the book turned out to be an “impractical investment.”

Barnstaple’s progression into dementia is marked by references to money; at one point,

Roseanne tells the others with concern that “he keeps talking about bank statements.”

While he seems to have enjoyed his work, Barnstaple’s job is described in terms of confinement—his co-worker, Charles, says that before getting sick, Mr. Barnstaple was a

“pretty bright man in his cage.” When Barnstaple senses that he is nearing death, he makes one last request: to go down to the ocean. Lying sick on the beach, listening to the sound of the waves, he utters his last words, “When I was a very young man, I always wanted to go to sea. I don’t remember why I didn’t.”

Charles has regrets of his own about

paths not chosen. Alongside Michael—

perhaps to minimize imagery suggestive of

sharecropping or slavery—Charles works

under the hot sun to prepare a field for

planting, and remarks that his father would

have approved of such hard, “honest” work,

in contrast to his employment at the bank: Figure 5.8.

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Michael: How ‘bout the bank? No “sweat of your face”?

Charles (flatly): Good morning, Mr. Harrison. Good morning, Mr. Adams. Good morning, Mr. Palmer.

Michael: What’d you want to do, Charles?

Charles: I wanted to be a teacher.

Michael: Why didn’t you?

Charles: Lost my way somewhere, I guess. First a girl, a decent suit, then after a while, I guess what I wanted more than anything else was a little piece of security. Nine-thirty to four, $38.50 a week. Every week. Security.

This film was released four years prior to publication of The Man in the Gray

Flannel Suit in 1955, but Five lays out many of that book’s prevalent themes. “A girl” possessed the power to domesticate Charles, and the lure of “a decent suit” disguised a path to conformity. According to Five, when a man’s search for security results in the sacrifice of his individuality, the man is already dead, even without the bomb.

At every opportunity, Five emphasizes the artificial—and, at times, absurd— nature of a society based on consumption. For example, when Charles considers the possibility of their little group generating electricity, his imagination turns to billing:

“Electric light. Now that would be something. Then we could find me a washing machine. Then I could fix me up a meter, send me a bill every month. Of course, I

230 wouldn’t pay it, so that would force me to disconnect myself. Did you ever stop to think?

A world without bills.”92

Throughout the film, this bucolic “world without bills” in the countryside is contrasted with a sense of evil and danger lurking in the cities. For example, Roseanne, who is pregnant, is desperate to know whether her husband Steven, who had been in the city, might have survived the blast, but Michael refuses to take her there.

Michael: Do you want to kill yourself and it? Through some miracle we’re safe here. But in the city, how do you know what would happen to you and…

Roseanne: But I’ve got to know about Steven!

Michael: All right, I’ll tell you. He’s dead. They’re all dead, everyone. You and I are in a dead world. And I’m glad it’s dead, cheap, honky-tonk of a world.

Later, Roseanne tries again to persuade Michael that she would be all right on such a trip.

Michael responds, “But you won’t be all right. Don’t you understand? It’s the cities themselves, where the bombs fell, the radiation’s the thickest.” The film ultimately proves Michael correct.

92 Charles’s reference to wanting a washing machine is consistent with his portrayal throughout the film as a gentle, non-threatening, not particularly masculine character—he is never a threat to Michael’s romantic pursuit of Roseanne. Even though Charles often engages in traditionally masculine work—such as laboring in the fields with Michael—Charles also performs tasks more frequently associated with women. For example, Charles is shown doing laundry in a waterfall, babysitting, and cleaning up dirty dishes. In the dishwashing scene, Charles sports a shirt and tie above the waist, but from the waist down he wears a frilly apron, which he lovingly folds when he is finished cleaning. Charles: “Sure wish we could find us an electric dishwasher. We’re gonna get dishpan hands.” Roseanne (enters): “Did you finish the dishes?” Charles: “All starched and ironed!”

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While Roseanne is curious, yet cautious, about journeying to the city, one recent addition to their group absolutely favors it: Eric. He washes ashore as Mr. Barnstaple is dying, having survived the world’s destruction due to his fortunate location atop Mount

Everest. His accent sounds vaguely European, and Eric—rather than Charles—represents the main challenge both to Michael’s leadership of the group and his prospective romantic relationship with Roseanne. Eric represents Michael’s opposite in many ways; while Michael enjoys hard work and hates shopping and cities, Eric finds labor distasteful and actively encourages the consumption and enjoyment of material goods. He criticizes the efforts of Michael and Charles to farm the land, asking Roseanne, “Isn’t that a misdirection of energy? Why this return to primitiveness? The shelves of the cities are bursting with food. A lifetime of food.” Later, Eric confronts Michael directly:

“Michael, I was thinking. With your primitive mind and timidity, in a few years, you’ll be swinging from the branches of the trees. Fortunately, I, and I believe I speak for

Roseanne as well, are not quite satisfied with this return to nature of yours. Not when the cities are open, a waiting treasure chest. Everything in the world is there for us, everything for the taking.” Eric’s disregard—and even disrespect—for hard work is evident when, in one particularly nasty moment, he drives the community jeep through

Charles’s cornfield, annihilating any hope of a crop—and implicitly attacking their hope for a new society not based on material goods. Eric explains why he does it: “All the food we could possibly want is in a thousand warehouses. If [Charles] persists in working like an animal, let him work. I was tired. I took the short route back.”

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Like the serpent in the Garden of Eden, Eric persuades Roseanne to join him on a dangerous journey to the city, so she may find the answers she seeks regarding her

husband’s fate. When they get there, air raid sirens

are going off, but the city is at a stand-still, skeletons

lurking in windows and behind abandoned cars.

While Eric sets off for loot, Roseanne takes her baby

to search for her husband, and in an eerie scene,

Figure 5.9. discovers his body; in shock, she returns to the jeep.

Eric soon comes back, gleefully announcing, “I told you. The whole world, a waiting treasure chest.” He presents her with an assortment of diamond necklaces and jewelry, but she is not grateful, or even interested. “Could we go now?” she asks dully. When the car does not start, Eric says, “I’ll get something better. Ever think you’d own the world?”

Again, she replies weakly, “Couldn’t we go back now?” The answer, of course, is no, and because she cannot drive a car, Roseanne can only hope to escape on foot. She walks away, but Eric grabs her: “Where do you think you’re going? Get back in that car. Come on! Stay with me as long as I want you.” In a scuffle, she rips his shirt open, revealing blisters on his upper chest—presumably from radiation. He looks horrified, then runs away, howling.

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Unfortunately for Roseanne’s baby, the damage has been done; her visit to the city, against Michael’s advice, results in the death of her child. Roseanne survives, however, and walks all the way back to the house on the hill, notably taking neither car

nor luxury items with her. She reunites

with Michael—now the only remaining

survivor because Eric murdered Charles

the night they left—and as Michael starts

digging into Charles’s old patch of ground,

Roseanne appears with a shovel. “I want

Figure 5.10. to help you,” she says. The land will become fertile again, and so, viewers might imagine, will Roseanne. With that, the film ends, quoting a passage from Revelations about all things being made new.

Five offers a powerful criticism of consumer culture, conformity, and materialism in the 1950s. Mr. Barnstaple works in a bank rather than pursuing his wish of going to sea; Charles describes “losing his way” because of a girl, a suit, and a need for security;

Eric, the lazy, selfish lout, treats Roseanne as if she were a commodity no different from the jewels he scavenges; and Roseanne loses her baby because she returns to the city, a symbol of death in the post-apocalyptic world. Only Michael survives unscathed, a character who represents a “return to nature”—and a rejection of the world of consumerism.

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Grace Wells, Information Specialist for the New York office of the Atomic

Energy Commission, was not pleased with the film, and sent a letter to the FCDA conveying some of her “stronger impressions.” She pointed out that:

it is logical to assume that the heroine could not have been wandering the countryside in a state of shock for more than a few days or she would have collapsed and died of starvation, exposure and exhaustion. However, all the bodies strewn along her path are skeletons, so their flesh must also have been destroyed by the “dust” which on the other hand did not contaminate tinned food or drinking water. These inaccuracies are unimportant, however, compared to the overall message of doom. Were the international situation different this film might simply be regarded as another Orson Welles science fantasy, but under present conditions I’m afraid it might be accepted by the public as near truth at the very least. At best this is an untimely and irresponsible production.93

The FCDA agreed. Replying to Wells, Harold L. Goodwin of the Public Affairs

Division said that the office had communicated with “all interested Government agencies and with the film coordinator at the White House. We also have received some frightening promotion from Mr. Oboler’s promotion man.” Goodwin went on to explain that one of their consultants was now assigned to view the film and report back, after which time, the FCDA would hopefully have the opportunity “to discuss it directly with

Mr. Oboler.”94 No further communication is noted.

93 Letter to Harold L. Goodwin from Grace Wells, 29 December 1950. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 13, Folder E4-31. 94 Letter to Grace Wells from Harold L. Goodwin, 12 January 1951. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 13, Folder E4-31.

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Race and Masculinity in The World, the Flesh and the Devil

By the end of the 1950s, Harry Belafonte was recognized as a successful, multi- talented entertainer. He had won a Tony Award in 1954, and in 1956, he sold one million albums with Calypso, a collection of Jamaican folk music. The release in 1959 of The

World, the Flesh and the Devil (WFD) marked yet another success, “the debut of

Belafonte’s own production company, HarBel Productions”; the film was described as the “first big Hollywood release to be screened with a Sepian as star and co-producer.”95

Like Five, WFD also addresses issues surrounding popular consumption—it implicitly examines who is doing the consuming and why. However, this film’s criticisms are more subtle than those in Five; the filmmakers seem to enjoy the majesty of

New York City as well as the potential joys of “shopping” in a post-nuclear world. One advertisement for WFD in the New York Times included these telling lines:

New York Becomes a Ghost Town Today! East Side, West Side, stores and banks will be unattended . . . millions in cash, jewels, and furs there for the taking. Want a Cadillac? Take your pick! But there will be no takers. There will be no people in this vast city . . . except for three survivors, spared by accident, two men and one girl who will meet by chance. What happens to them in the deserted metropolis, how they live and how they face the most important reality—just one girl, and two men who desire her—is something to excite the imagination.

95 “Belafonte’s First Picture as Producer-Star is Tops,” Chicago Defender, 16 May 1959, 18. The film was released by MGM.

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Interestingly, the ad juxtaposes a supposedly universal desire for an unlimited supply of

“cash, jewels, and furs” with what the ad presents as the “most important reality”: a limited supply of women. In a post-nuclear world of unlimited “supplies,” what happens when only one woman remains and two men desire her? Would such a situation empower the woman involved? Might she get to “consume” men with impunity? A book published two years before the release of WFD, The Decline of the American Male, suggested that woman “shortages” historically threatened American masculinity: “When the frontier moved westward, women became scarce. . . . Men no longer had their pick of brides, the dowry quickly disappeared, and, as Dr. [Margaret] Mead says, ‘women with guts became more and more acceptable.’”96 Some believed such women were poised to threaten American society in the 1950s; one psychiatrist, Dr. Irene Josselyn, warned that

“we are drifting toward a social structure made up of he-women and she-men.”97

96 J. Robert Moskin, “Why Do Women Dominate Him?” in The Decline of the American Male (New York: Random House, 1958), 23. 97 Ibid., 24.

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Ralph Burton, played by Harry Belafonte, is a Pennsylvania coal miner who survives nuclear destruction by being trapped in a mine; by the time he gets out, the radioactive danger has passed. Seemingly alone in the world, he decides to drive to New

York, where he sets

up a new life for

himself in the city. In

contrast to Michael

and Roseanne’s

experience in the

grocery store in Five,

Ralph whistles with

joy as he stocks up on Figure 5.11. canned goods at a store in Manhattan. Not only does he take food, but he also brings home two white mannequins for company—a man he calls Snodgrass and a woman he names Betsy.

Consumption is celebrated in these early scenes.

Ralph’s apartment is filled with paintings, fancy furniture, and busts of important looking people; he wants to “save things” in danger of decay and recreate the city rather than escape from it. Unlike Michael, the hero of Five, who leaves the decadent city of

New York to start a new life farming in the fields of California—thus embarking on the familiar middle-class white man’s journey of transformation from the “overcivilized”

East to the rugged, “savage” lands of the West, where he will presumably rediscover his

238 lost masculinity—Ralph leaves a small mining town in Pennsylvania and travels eastward after the nuclear disaster, establishing himself in downtown Manhattan. He works on restoring light to the dark street near his home, and when he finally flicks a crucial switch, light floods the area, triumphant music swells, and Ralph rejoices.

Exhilarated, he experiments with the size of his shadow (that can now be seen against the building), performs an exuberant dance, and travels across town, ascending a tall building to see the warm light emanating from his corner of the city. In contrast to Five, in which the trappings of modern society—and cities themselves—are either mocked or feared by the white male protagonist, Ralph’s character in WFD celebrates the urban environment.

He delights in the art and literature he finds in New York and brings as much of it as he can back to his apartment for safekeeping. His hunting expeditions are not for animals but for books. While Michael’s story takes him from the top of the Empire State Building to an isolated frontier home in California, Ralph travels in the opposite direction—from the bottom of a Pennsylvania mine to the heights of a Manhattan skyscraper. According to this post-apocalyptic narrative, Ralph does not profess a need to challenge his physical and mental self by surviving the challenges of the wilderness; on the contrary, he quests for the “civilization” found in the libraries and art museums of New York City. If middle- class white men yearned to escape the bonds of stifling office jobs and meddling mothers by getting in touch with their more “primitive” sides in nature, a working-class black man was perhaps “savage” enough. In WFD, it seems, one of the most liberating opportunities that a post-apocalyptic America might offer an African American man is not a return to a

239 life-affirming, “primitive” form of masculinity but rather its exact opposite: the adoption of a “civilized,” intellectual urbanity.

While the female leads in both Five and WFD are white, their physical appearances and dress differ markedly. Sarah Crandall, with her strikingly blonde hair, carefully applied makeup, and stylish dresses is not equipped for pioneering in the wilderness the way Roseanne is. One day, she arrives at her building to find that Ralph has restored her electricity, and he comments on the multitude of packages visible in her convertible. “I’ve been shopping,” she says cheerfully. “Service was terrible, but I got a few bargains. I’m all ready for spring!” In WFD, shopping enables Sarah to imagine that life will continue as usual, even with traditional New York fashion “seasons.”

However, even WFD acknowledges the artificial nature of advertising.

Addressing Snodgrass, the male mannequin, Ralph says, “Always smiling. Nobody can be that happy.” Later, he continues: “What’s so funny? I’m lonely and you’re laughing.

Do you know what it means to be sick in your heart? From loneliness? You don’t care, do you. No sense, no feeling. You look at me but you don’t see me. You don’t see me and you wouldn’t care if you did.” Ralph tosses Snodgrass out of his window, which brings

Sarah out from a hiding place, leading to their first meeting. Ralph later explains why he threw Snodgrass away: “I brought him home because he was smiling. After a while, he got on my nerves.”

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Ralph and Sarah soon become friends; however, he consistently serves her, much like Charles serves Roseanne in Five. He becomes her maintenance man, connecting her

apartment to a generator and then politely

reminding her to “pay [her] bills promptly.”

He washes the dishes after they eat (she

supposedly cooks the meal, but we don’t see

this taking place on screen). He even briefly

becomes her hairdresser, after Sarah explains

that “Antoine in Paris” was not answering her

calls. One scholar has suggested that Ralph

“becomes a one-man staff of servants for

Sarah. Sarah, however, requests equality. She

Figure 5.12. does not wish Ralph to be her servant but rather a friend and perhaps eventually her lover.”98 This may be a misinterpretation.

Sarah does want to pursue a romantic relationship with Ralph, but she enjoys being served as well; in the haircutting scene, for example, she tells Ralph, “If you do a very nice job in back, I might even give you a large tip.”

Ralph finally asserts himself in this context, temporarily changing the dynamic between them. After warning Sarah of his inexperience as a barber, and then chopping off

98 Frank. W. Oglesbee, “The World, the Flesh, and the Devil,” in Nuclear War Films, Jack G. Shaheen, ed. (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1978), 28.

241 her hair with increasing anger, he bursts out, “Look, nobody cuts my hair—I have to do it myself. I put two mirrors together and I cut it myself. Look, do it yourself.”

Ralph displays assertiveness in this scene, but for the most part, Ralph is uncertain and passive in the rest of the film. In the post-nuclear world of WFD, Sarah freely adopts the role of romantic pursuer while Ralph maintains his distance, reversing traditional 1950s dating roles. Sarah brings him flowers (for him to put in water!) and says things like, “How ‘bout inviting a nice girl over for lunch?” One afternoon, sitting comfortably in her chair as Ralph clears the table after their meal, she even suggests that they consider living in the same place rather than inhabiting separate buildings:

Sarah: Ralph, wouldn’t it be easier if I moved into this building? I mean, instead of this going back and forth and you trying to make both places run? It took you all month getting electricity into my place. If I were here…

Ralph: No.

Sarah: Why not?

Ralph: People might talk.

This comment, that “people might talk,” may be interpreted in strictly gendered terms, that is, that a man and woman living in close proximity would have aroused suspicions in the pre-apocalyptic world; the question of race is not explicitly addressed.

However, when Ralph suggests that Sarah should make an effort to stay busy, Sarah lashes out:

Sarah: I’m free, white, and 21, and I’m gonna do what I please.

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Ralph: I shouldn’t be giving you advice. I’m sorry.

Sarah does not understand the implications of her remark until later in the scene:

Sarah: You know me well enough to be honest with me.

Ralph: Don’t push me. I’ll be so honest it’ll burn you.

Sarah: I know what you are, if that’s what you’re trying to remind me.

Ralph: That’s it, all right. If you’re squeamish about words, I’m colored. And if you face facts, I’m a Negro. And if you’re a polite Southerner, I’m a Neggra. And I’m a nigger if you’re not. (thrusts his hand in front of her face)

Sarah: I’m none of those things, Ralph!

Ralph: A little while ago, you said you were free, white, and 21. That didn’t mean anything to you—just an expression you’ve heard for a thousand times. Well, to me, it was an arrow in my guts.

Sarah: Ralph, what do I say? Help me. I know you. You’re a fine, decent man. What else is there to know?

Ralph: In that world that we came from (pointing at the door), you wouldn’t know that. You wouldn’t even know me. Why should the world fall down to prove I’m what I am and that there’s nothing wrong with what I am? Look, we leave it the way it is and I won’t mention it again. Okay?

Sarah: We haven’t said anything about love, have we.

He turns and walks out the door. But when he returns, a few days later, he clearly attempts to re-establish himself in the traditional male courtship role. He drives to her apartment, honks the horn of his truck, and she appears at her window, one story up.

Like Romeo and Juliet during the balcony scene, Ralph hollers up to her, asking if they can be friends again.

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Sarah: What choice do I have?

Ralph: Hey, that’s no way to talk to somebody when they’ve brought you a present. Today’s your birthday, remember?

Sarah: What kind of a present? (giggles)

Ralph: Something you haven’t seen in a long time.

He throws a package up to her and leaves; when she unwraps the box, she finds a huge Harry Winston diamond pendant inside. As a token of apology and a renewal of their broken relationship, Ralph has given Sarah a diamond, utilizing the social “rules” of consumption to reestablish himself as a potential suitor in her eyes.

However, when Ralph learns that there may be other survivors in the world—he hears what sounds like French coming through his shortwave radio—the dynamic shifts again, and he retreats to his previous role. In honor of Sarah’s birthday, Ralph adorns a fancy restaurant with balloons, and becomes her valet, host, musician (he has prerecorded himself singing a song for her), and waiter, always greeting her with a formal, “Good evening, ma’am.” But when Sarah requests Mr. Burton-the-singer’s company at her table for one, Ralph-the-waiter refuses, referring to himself in the third person: “Mr. Burton isn’t permitted to sit with the customers, ma’am.” Sarah grows upset, and Ralph explains that there may be others alive: “You and I are not alone in the world anymore.

Civilization’s back.” Sarah asks bitterly whether that makes a difference. “You know it makes a difference, Miss Crandall,” he replies.

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The possibility of a romantic relationship between Sarah and Ralph existed, even if tenuously, when they were the sole survivors of the apocalypse, but knowledge of the possible presence of others seems to have closed that door—from Ralph’s perspective. If

Ralph has succeeded in reconstructing civilization, he has also opened the door to the reappearance of social hierarchies. He seems to struggle with an internalization of racism with or without others to observe—and judge—his behavior.

Soon one more survivor joins them, a white man named Ben. He is sick when he guides his boat into a New York harbor, and Sarah and Ralph nurse him back to health.

When Ben regains consciousness, Sarah explains that he is in an apartment building.

“High rent district, I hope?” he asks. Ben immediately refers to status, reminiscent of

Eric’s character in Five; and soon after, he makes fun of Ralph—invoking Ralph’s previous identity as a coal miner—for saving seemingly valueless things like books from a moist, rusty library:

Ben: Been mining again, I gather. What new treasures have you saved?

Ralph: Maybe I’m foolish for saving things, but don’t laugh at me. Okay?

Sarah’s behavior changes when Ben joins them. In her relationship with Ben,

Sarah suddenly becomes more stereotypically feminine—offering to give Ben a shave, for example, and “fix something” for him to eat—perhaps suggesting that her character could challenge traditional dating roles more easily in the context of an interracial relationship, due to her potentially privileged status in that pairing during the 1950s.

Unlike in Five, where Charles, the African American character, is never considered a

245 potential suitor for Roseanne, Ben recognizes immediately that if he wants to pursue

Sarah, he may face a significant challenge from Ralph. But when Ben broaches the subject, he discusses Sarah as if she has no opinions of her own:

Ben: I have nothing against Negroes, Ralph.

Ralph: That’s white of you.

Ben: We have only one problem. There are two of us and one of her. What are we going to do about it?

Sarah [enters]: Why don’t you just toss a coin? Eat, drink, talk about women, make your plans and get everything settled. And let me know how I make out—if you can find me!

Sarah is frustrated about the prospect of her future being decided by two men, but she refuses to declare her own preference. In this way, she allows the men to make decisions for her, even though she claims she is determined not to let that happen. For example, eventually Ralph admits his love for Sarah, but tells her that Ben would be a better match for her.

Ralph: I think I know what’s best for you. I want him to have you.

Sarah: Sooner or later, someone will have to ask me what I want.

Ralph: It won’t be me that asks.

Ralph makes the decision for Sarah—in Ben’s favor. Ben is also willing to decide for Sarah—in his own favor. While Ralph exhibits “civilized” and self-denying

246 behavior, Ben uses “primitive” language reminiscent of Tarzan to communicate what he wants:

Ben: Me man, you girl. How ‘bout it?

Sarah: Isn’t that a little crude?

Ben: Well [grabs her], I’m sick of talking.

Sarah: Ben, don’t.

Ben: The other night when I held you, I felt you come to life, for a few seconds at least. You knew I was a man, you knew what you wanted. I could force you. Could be easy. No one around to care if you scream, all the Boy Scouts out of town. Shall I force you? Is that the way?

Sarah: It’s a way of getting me to make up my mind. I’d decide then, all right.

Ben: And not for me, I gather.

Sarah: I’m sick of you both, you and Ralph.

Sarah explains that she does not have to choose either of them; in terms of supply and demand, she is in a position of power—she can go away by herself because “there are other men in the world. Ralph is beginning to talk to them on the radio.” Ben agrees, but asserts that such contact is years away; in the meantime, he tells her that “You’re all that’s left, for either one of us. You’ll have to decide between us.” She refuses. “Then I’ll do it for you,” Ben replies.

247

Both Ben and Ralph have made decisions on Sarah’s behalf, even though it is

Sarah who supposedly has the power of choice. At Ben’s insistence, he and Ralph ultimately arm themselves for a shoot-out in deserted downtown Manhattan. But while

Ben hunts for Ralph,

Ralph stumbles

across the United

Nations building,

and reads the words

inscribed on the

wall: “they shall beat

their swords into

plowshares, and their

Figure 5.13. spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war anymore.” Ralph throws away his rifle. Ben, however, remains armed, and when he sees

Ralph, demands to know why Ralph is not shooting: “Fight, damn you! Why don’t you fight?” Ben finally gives up and walks away.

When Sarah finds Ralph, she tells him that he can’t leave, but Ralph replies that he’s “got work to do,” to “save things.” “Ralph,” she says, “Wait for me. You can’t go.”

She stares at him intently, and extends her hand, which he slowly takes. There should be a kiss between them here, but there is not; instead, Sarah unexpectedly shouts, “Ben!

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Wait for us!” and all three walk off together, as the words, “The Beginning,” appear upon the screen.

The Chicago Defender referred to the relationship between Ralph and Sarah as

“restrained,” “slightly romantic” and “semi-romantic,” and one column referred to the pair “making love by proxy.”99 Even Belafonte, who co-produced the film, was disappointed in the chaste portrayal of their relationship. In his biography, Belafonte, he claims to have agreed with contemporary film reviewers who criticized this aspect of the film: “Not only do I agree . . . but I said as much to Sol Siegel [co-producer] while we were making the film. And the protests of Inger Stevens [who played Sarah Crandall] and

Mel Ferrer [who played Ben] were even stronger than mine. But it didn’t do any good.

They had a wonderful basis for a film there, but it didn’t happen.”100

Even so, this restrained interracial romance angered some white Georgia audiences who suggested that the film was “stirring up trouble.” According to an article in the New York Times, one sheriff “said several white persons watching the film had called him and objected to romantic scenes involving Miss Stevens and Mr.

Belafonte.”101 Another article reported that an angry white audience member told the owner of a drive-in theater “not to show any more ‘immigrant type’ motion pictures on

99 “Belafonte’s First Starring Pix Role Wins Chicago Fans,” 1 August 1959, 19; Al Monroe, “So they say,” 25 March 1959, 18; “Scribe Notes Change in Hollywood Rules,” 19 March 1960, 19. 100 Quoted in Jeff Stafford, “Negative and Positive, Hollywood’s Role in Black History,” Turner Classic Movies, 25 July 2006, www.tcm.com/thismonth/article.jsp?cid=95535&mainArticleId=133204 (accessed 10 January 2010). 101 “Georgia Film Dispute,” New York Times, 30 August 1959, 53.

249 his screen.”102 Clearly, WFD was, if only in muted fashion, challenging tenets of racist ideology in the potentially “safe” context of an unrecognizable future.

Having examined two films of the 1950s that imagined life in a post-apocalyptic

America, it may be useful now to discuss some officially imagined scenarios. One of the most frequent concerns voiced by government officials and ordinary Americans alike was the threat of enemy “penetration.” Keeping in mind the frontier myth of Daniel Boone, which figures American soil and land as inherently feminine and fertile, the threat that a

Soviet bomb might be detonated on American soil takes on a darkly gendered cast.

To understand the significance of the term, “penetration,” it is helpful to consider

Costigliola’s article, “‘Unceasing Pressure for Penetration’: Gender, Pathology, and

Emotion in George Kennan’s Formation of the Cold War.” Here Costigliola analyzes the language of George Kennan’s long telegram of 1946, in which Kennan urged the containment of communism. According to Costigliola, “Kennan portrayed the Soviet government as a rapist exerting ‘insistent, unceasing pressure for penetration and command’ over Western societies.”103 To meet this challenge, Costigliola argues,

“Kennan proposed that the West respond to the monstrous hypermasculinity of the Soviet

Union by itself acting more masculine.”104 These Cold War concepts illuminate how gender played a significant role in civil defense debates as well; as “active” defense

102 “Belafonte Pix Stopped After First Day Run,” Chicago Defender, 12 September 1959, 23. 103 “‘Unceasing Pressure,’” 1310. 104 Ibid., 1333.

250 became linked with vigorous masculinity, “passive” defense came to represent feminine weakness.

Civil defense advocates questioned the efficacy of “active” defense alone, and in constructing their arguments, they frequently referred to the risks of Soviet “penetration.”

For example, one proponent argued that “passive” defense programs would be necessary because “many bombers may be able to penetrate our defense net.”105 Another civil defense supporter asserted that an adequate “[d]efense must consider all contingent possibilities and enemy penetration of any active defense system that can be devised is one of them.”106 In addition, the administrator of the FCDA issued a rather dire warning in the Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists: “even with guided missiles for air defense, and with the jet aircraft, and with the radar fence, you still must expect somewhere in the neighborhood of 50 to 60 per cent enemy penetration for quite a while in the future.”107

Forced to justify their own programs before the government and the American public, civil defense supporters implicitly questioned the virility of America’s “active” defense programs by suggesting that American missiles would not be able to neutralize every

Soviet attack.

Of course, discussions of Soviet “penetration” did not always refer to airspace; the term also described espionage and Communist infiltration. For example, one writer asserted that young men and women were particularly vulnerable: “The Communist

105 Lapp, 130. 106 Martin, 275. 107 “An Interview with Governor Val Peterson,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, September 1953, 240.

251 penetration has aimed at the young . . . I personally witnessed efforts to penetrate the student body. . . . How many students were recruited, . . . their minds infected with seeds of treason, is impossible to calculate.”108 One article in Life magazine suggested that in the aftermath of World War II, “in the shadow of Russia’s deceptive counter-proposals,”

Americans “had been the victims of espionage of a particularly penetrating character.”109

Not only American airspace but Americans themselves were susceptible to Soviet penetration.

Turning to gendered metaphors in particular, and echoing Costigliola’s reading of

Kennan’s Long Telegram, Soviet penetration was also

described by some writers in sexualized terms. In the

early 1950s, one civil defense supporter called upon

Americans to “recognize the obvious efforts of a

ruthless enemy to seduce us from the defense of our

way of life.”110 In addition, an article in Time warned

that “[c]ities are pretty much defenseless and their

populations are naked under the enemy.”111 In this

context, the nation had to be protected from the

advances of an unwelcome Soviet suitor—and Figure 5.14. interestingly, in preparing to undertake this defense of

108 Ibid., 158 (emphasis added). 109 Lewis L. Strauss, “Some A-Bomb Fallacies are Exposed,” Life, 24 July 1950, 81. 110 Kieffer, 68 (emphasis added). 111 “Civil Defense: The City Under the Bomb,” Time, 2 October 1950, 12 (emphasis added).

252 the country, NASA utilized powerful masculine language to give American missiles names such as “Atlas,” “Titan,” and “Minuteman.”

Examining the meanings behind these names reveals connections between missiles and masculinity. “Atlas” is a figure from Greek mythology known for his strength; he is frequently depicted carrying the world on his muscular shoulders.

According to NASA, the man directing the design team that was working on Atlas expressed the idea that this missile “would be the biggest and most powerful yet devised”; therefore, Atlas would be an appropriate name.112

Atlas was actually a Titan himself, but NASA used

“Titan” in the broader sense to refer to “a race of giants.”113 “Minuteman” referred to members of the

Revolutionary War-era militia who were willing to fight at a moment’s notice, and it is interesting to note that this name represents another intersection between military and Figure 5.15. Examples of the civil defense proponents—both groups seized upon Atlas series. Revolutionary images to enhance their identities.

To deploy U.S. defense weapons effectively, diagrams, as well as language, described the necessity of shielding a circular zone around any potential target— frequently using words such as “rings” or “circles” of protection against enemy

112 SP-4402 Origins of NASA Names, Appendix D: NASA Naming Committees, http://history.nasa.gov/SP-4402/app-d.htm (accessed 2 April 2010). 113 Ibid.

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“penetration.” Imagining the nation as a suburban home became easier with terms describing the U.S. northern warning system as “an arctic radar picket fence.”114

Reproductive metaphors were commonly used to describe American defense capabilities.

One commentator referred to America’s radar and interceptors as “an impregnable system of defense.”115 Another, demanding that the U.S. “defense ring” be strengthened, argued that “active defense, which consists of intercepting the bomb en route, must be more foolproof. . . . One atomic bomb packs a big wallop in a small package and we simply cannot afford to let an appreciable number slip through the defense ring.”116

Another writer argues that “[b]ecause we know that the enemy can penetrate almost any defense line, we must establish our defense facilities in depth. . . . We must set up a ring of death to guard North America.”117 Of course, it was common knowledge that there were “holes” in these rings that could allow enemy missiles to penetrate them: “A radar net is like a dike; one hole may bring disaster.”118

In addition to anxieties that the Soviets might penetrate American airspace, many

Americans also feared that nuclear radiation might penetrate American bodies. Like

Communists thought to be lurking in mainstream America whose true identity might be invisible to the naked eye, radioactivity represented a silent menace that could threaten

114 “An Interview with Governor Val Peterson,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, September 1953, 237. 115 William L. Laurence, The Hell Bomb (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1951), 82 (emphasis added). 116 Lapp, 129 (emphasis added). 117 Kieffer, 184-85 (emphasis added). 118 Ibid., 132. Diagrams of bomb destruction can be found in Gerstell, 13. See also Laurence, 19; “Basic Civil Defense,” 25-29.

254 the future of the American way of life—and American masculinity—by rendering men sterile. As one author wrote, “These rays leave no holes or mark of any kind. You cannot see them. You cannot see what they have done.”119

Supporters of civil defense seized upon the issue of repopulation after a nuclear attack to assert that civil defense was necessary. Only with such measures in place would the country sustain “enough survivors so that the nation can be reconstructed and its social structure, fundamental morality, and traditions be preserved.”120 They placed the future of the country at stake. If Soviet missiles met their targets and Americans were not adequately sheltered—if American “rings of death” were not powerful enough to prevent their “penetration”—the end result would not be conception at all, but potentially its opposite: sterility.

Many Americans voiced concerns about possible genetic effects of radiation. One study of Japanese men examined in the weeks following the March 1954 Bikini Atoll test of the hydrogen bomb revealed “a great reduction or total absence of sperm.”121 In addition, 25 percent of the pregnant women at Hiroshima or Nagasaki who experienced

“severe radiation sickness” had miscarriages, while another 25 percent had babies who died before reaching their first birthday. According to the study, “Of those children who survived four to five years, a quarter were mentally defective and had microcephaly—a

119 Richard Gerstell, How to Survive an Atomic Bomb (Washington: Combat Forces Press, 1950), 75 (emphasis original). 120 Martin, 276. 121 A. Pirie, ed., Fallout: Radiation Hazards from Nuclear Explosions (London: MacGibbon & Kee, 1958), 142.

255 condition in which the head is tiny, due to a reduction in the size and development of the brain.”122 Other such complications included dwarfism and hemophilia. Very alarming was one response to the claim that fears of birth defects were groundless because “there have not yet been many monstrous births among the survivors of Hiroshima and

Nagasaki. This argument overlooks one of the very well-established principles of mutations—recessives are by far the most common mutants. The monsters we made in

1945 in Hiroshima and Nagasaki have not yet had time to be born.”123

Other writers were not so grave, and some reminded their readers that sterility did not mean impotence. For example, one remarked that, “Even when the Japanese could not have children, they were still able to have sexual relations. There’s a difference.”124

In another case, a writer informed his readers that “Some of the concern about the genetic effects of radiation arises from a failure to distinguish between libido, impotence, and sterility. In at least one audience genuinely concerned with the insidious effects of radiation, there was general relief when the speaker pointed out that even large doses of radiation have little effect on libido and potency!”125 Another example comes from an

Ohio manual for civil defense instructors, regarding how to handle “all kinds of stories” they might encounter:

122 Ibid., 52. 123 Ibid., 146. 124 Gerstell, 17. He goes on to add that if you received a large dose of radiation, “one morning you might look at your pillow and find that your hair had begun to fall out. This might go on for a week after that, or until you were completely bald. . . . It’s barely possible you might find that for a time you were unable to beget children, although you could still have sexual relations” (70). 125 Lapp, 17. He also notes that “offspring will not be monsters.”

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1. Monster children. There’s been a lot of talk that after we have been exposed to radiation our future children may be abnormal, possibly monsters. . . . Unquestionably, exposure to large amounts of radiation will affect the development of an unborn child, but what is more likely to result is the death of the unborn child rather than the birth of a freak.

2. Sterility. On the same subject, it has been stated that exposure might prevent having children. There is no doubt that many people in the two Japanese cities became temporarily sterile. However, we know now that the maternity wards there are doing a thriving business.126

Concerns about masculinity permeated the language of civil defense discourse during the Cold War. As “active” defense programs prepared to defend “soft” targets against Soviet “penetration,” “passive” defense initiatives became less significant in the minds of much of the American public. If the Soviets did invade with nuclear weapons, what reason would there be to survive? Not only victims of the initial blast, but men for years into the future would be faced with the question of genetic mutation—if their

“reproductive material” survived at all. What would an American man’s role be in a postwar world, having failed to rescue his family, his nation, and his future?

A set of commonly held gender ideals shaped the framework of civil defense debates. Opponents of funding for civil defense often argued that such investment would take money away from the “real” defense provided by guys like “Bull” and “Killer” in

126 State of Ohio, Adjutant General’s Department, Training of the Air Raid Warden: Civil Defense Information Bulletin No. 9-2 [n.d.], 131. Such anxieties can be found not only in written commentary but also in Cold War films like THEM!, a film about how ants turned into gigantic killer mutants as a result of nuclear tests, or the comic book character “Spider-Man,” about a boy who is bitten by a radioactive spider. Many writers tried to make light of the hazards, as is evident in this anonymous poem in the Lancet, a British medical journal: “The Nuclear Boffins (God bless ‘em all)/Have the “fall outs” assessed to a decimal./Yet my nephew and niece/Have got five legs apiece,/And their intellect’s infinitesimal,” Pirie, 142.

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the skies of New York—

active, manly, military

defense. Meanwhile, many

supporters of civil defense

funding claimed that without

it, America would be

fundamentally weakened—or

feminized—in the eyes of a

Soviet enemy (see Figure

5.16).

In both contexts, the

danger posed by Soviet

nuclear capabilities

threatened American Figure 5.16.127 masculinity. Would men be able to protect their wives, or would women have to start shopping for guns? Would

American men run for cover when Soviet bombs began to fly—or would they stand their ground and “act like men,” even if it meant death? Communists may have already attempted to “seduce” Americans from within the nation, but with nuclear weapons, they could also threaten “penetration” from outside—with potentially devastating implications

127 Herblock, “It Looks Darling!” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, September 1953, 242.

258 for American reproduction. In this context, the debate over “passive” defense measures, such as shelter and evacuation planning, and “active” defense strategies, such as missile development, took on an urgent and gendered importance. With names such as “Atlas,”

“Titan,” and “Minuteman,” missiles showcased American masculinity in a vigorous light, contrasting sharply with images of civil defense programs that advised the middle-class

American man—or his wife, for that matter—how to protect his family by burrowing under the ground like a cowardly mole.

In 1959, Bernard Brodie wrote Strategy in the Missile Age.128 In it, he used sexual relationships as a metaphor for military planning, suggesting that because the principles of battle

are mere common sense propositions, most of them apply equally to other pursuits in life, including some which at first glance seem to be pretty far removed from war. If, for instance, a man wishes to win a maid, and especially if he is not too well endowed with looks or money, it is necessary for him to clarify in his mind exactly what he wants of the girl—the principle of the objective—and then to practice rigorously the principles of concentration of force, of the offensive, of economy of force, and certainly of deception.129

In this context, the girl apparently represents an “attractive target” for the man’s strategic offensive. Later in the work, Brodie implicitly extends this metaphor to Soviet actions in

Eastern Europe, writing that “it should not be taken for granted that Soviet aggression is likely to come in the form of a clear-cut violation of some clearly established boundary.

128 Bernard Brodie, Strategy in the Missile Age (Santa Monica: RAND Corp., 1959). 129 Ibid., 26.

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The diplomatic initiative which resulted in the formation of NATO was provoked by the

Soviet rape of Czechoslovakia early in 1948.”130 Interestingly, Brodie later casts the

United States as the aggressive male seeking the conquest of the Soviet Union, warning that

we can easily be too forward . . . in our manipulation of . . . strength. For example, it may be true that an ICBM deep in our own country menaces the Soviet Union as much as a shorter-range missile pointed at her from just outside her frontiers, but the chances are that the Soviet leaders will be more disturbed by the latter. Unlike the ICBM, the nearby missile seems to denote arrogance as well as strength. . . . It must not, however, be deduced from these remarks that we are henceforward compelled to be timid in our foreign policy.131

Being “too forward” and “arrogant” may “disturb” the attractive target—but it would also be a mistake to withdraw completely in timidity. As Costigliola has demonstrated,

George Kennan distinguished between the Russian people as a whole (a feminine romantic partner) and the Soviet government (a masculine bully standing between them).

Likewise, Brodie’s sexual metaphor here adopts a similarly gendered split between population (feminine) and state (masculine): “Much depends on how anxious the attacker is to destroy human life, as distinct from simply rendering the target state militarily impotent.”132

In 1948, Geoffrey Gorer, an English anthropologist, wrote about how Americans imagined their homeland: “America in its benevolent, rich, idealistic aspects is envisaged

130 Ibid., 336. 131 Ibid., 398-99. 132 Ibid., 220.

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(by Americans) as feminine; it is masculine only in its grasping and demanding aspects.

The American land itself . . . is feminine; its possession has been on occasion wooing, on occasion seduction, and on occasion rape.”133 When Look magazine published an alarming story three years later about America’s vulnerability to Soviet attack, the threat of rape was discernibly insinuated within the headline: “We’re Wide Open for Disaster.”

The article warned that “a determined enemy, penetrating our flimsy defenses, could devastate ten . . . American cities almost simultaneously.”134 Considering the widespread concern over the Soviet Union’s potential ability to “penetrate” American boundaries, and figuring American land as a feminine symbol of national identity, questions arise about (inter)national reproduction. Would progeny born of Soviet missiles detonated on

American soil turn out to be a new breed of “monsters”? If American men were rendered sterile by such a masculine attack on the feminine nation, would that make Soviets the new fathers of the country?

This construction of American land as feminine and Soviet nuclear missiles as masculine is reflected in a seemingly minor editing suggestion by an FCDA staff member. Commenting on the second draft of the National Plan—the definitive civil defense guide for federal, state, and local officials—the technical advisory health officer requested a small change to this sentence: “Development of a Federal system for monitoring broad areas affected by fallout is being undertaken by FCDA.”135 The health

133 Gorer, 53. 134 Fletcher Knebel, “We’re Wide Open for Attack,” Look, 27 February 1951, 33. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 13, Folder E4-28. 135 “Local Pre-attack,” National Plan, 187. RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 1, Folder IIC3.

261 officer made this suggestion: “Delete ‘affected by fallout.’ It may be extremely important to monitor non-contaminated areas to establish their virginity.”136 Equating virginity with territory remaining untouched by Soviet radiation after a nuclear attack identifies

American land itself with femininity in a profoundly intimate way; it also dehumanizes the enemy as a “perverted” violator of national purity. In this context, the “penetration” of American space by Soviet missiles or manned bombers may be imagined and condemned not only as invasion but as rape of the innocent.

Gail Bederman describes how at the turn of the century, Teddy Roosevelt, promoter of the “strenuous life,” worried about “race suicide,” the idea that so-called inferior races could surpass white Americans in a Darwinian quest for global supremacy.137 Even under such dire circumstances, however, “the masterful American race could regain its manly primacy through willful procreative effort,” in which white male sexuality would serve as a patriotic duty.138 “Production” of children is a theme within all of the films and novels discussed in this chapter—in the aftermath of a nuclear disaster, national fertility, symbolized by rich “American soil,” imbues individual fertility with civic meaning, as children become a most crucial commodity to ensure national survival.

136 Memorandum to Executive Assistant Administrator regarding Second Draft of National Plan, 8 (emphasis added). RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 1, Folder IIC5. 137 Bederman, 201. 138 Ibid. See also Theodore Roosevelt, “The Strenuous Life,” 10 April 1899, http://www.historytools.org/sources/strenuous.html (accessed 12 April 2014).

262

Within personal letters to the FCDA, popular magazine articles, novels, films, and even official memoranda, Americans during the 1950s imagined the nation under nuclear attack and its ability to emerge, reborn, in the aftermath. Some post-apocalyptic narratives, such as Five, utilized familiar imagery of pioneer struggles to create a vision of a new America on a nuclear frontier, born of the honest work and “strenuous” effort of sowing seeds of democracy within fertile, virgin, Western soil. Other works, such as Mr.

Adam, explored whether a weak and passive American man could “father” the nation after a nuclear accident. While military narratives discussed how “radar picket fences” and “rings of defense” could shield a feminized American landscape from Soviet

“penetration,” civil defense officials compared loyal volunteers—always ready to protect

America from the effects of a Soviet attack—to the brave settlers who protected their families from Indian threats in centuries past. For Americans during the 1950s, the gendered nature of post-apocalyptic narratives offered a way to imagine a national future beyond nuclear annihilation as well as a medium through which to negotiate the broader anxieties of the age.

CHAPTER VI

Conclusion

During World War I, the United States government encouraged young, able- bodied men to fight overseas for the honor of the nation. Cultural pressure to enlist was immense; letters from the period framed military service as an opportunity for young men—and suggested that sons and husbands who refused to go to war would bring shame and dishonor upon their mothers and wives. American men were expected to develop a sense of chivalric duty to a feminized nation that, in time of need, deserved their military service, and recruitment posters often encouraged such service by deploying images of

“Columbia,” a national symbol embodied in the figure of a white woman wearing majestic robes, urging young men to fight.

Because battles took place overseas rather than within the boundaries of the

United States, civilian defense programs during World War I emphasized maintaining production and morale rather than implementing strategies to protect the domestic population from attack. Members of women’s organizations were particularly active in civilian defense, and enthusiastically promoted gardening and canning, knitting for the

263

264 troops, Red Cross training, and selling war bonds as patriotic activities that would help the United States win the war.

Less than thirty years later, the airplane would be wielded as an instrument of violence, opening up new offensive possibilities and geographical opportunities for attack; after Japan bombed Pearl Harbor on December 7, 1941, the United States entered

World War II. With “total war” dissolving the line between combat zone and home front, federal civilian defense in the hands of New York City Mayor Fiorello La Guardia took on more militaristic qualities, even as large numbers of women flocked to join up.

Warned against viewing civilian defense as an excuse for picnics and pinochle parties, women volunteers learned how to spot “enemy” aircraft, serve as air-raid wardens, enforce blackouts, and administer first aid.

As Assistant Director of Civilian Defense, First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt differed with La Guardia by promoting a system that would not be geared strictly toward protective measures alone but would encourage the development of welfare programs as well. Placing issues such as housing, child care, and nutrition under the “civilian defense” umbrella, Roosevelt appointed two friends to new posts: a dancer, Mayris Chaney, to head up a program of physical fitness for children, and an actor, Melvyn Douglas, to lead the OCD arts council. The scandal that ensued—or as Margaret Mead put it, the “sudden almost pathological outburst” that erupted—in February 1942 seemed to endorse La

265

Guardia’s view that non-protective aspects of civilian defense were “sissy stuff” that had no business as part of a federal program.

Despite the resignations of La Guardia and Roosevelt, the image of civilian defense during World War II as a “frilly,” “feminine” organization did not recover; it remained stuck at the bottom of a three-tiered hierarchy of wartime service that valorized military enlistment and production work over participation in civilian defense.

Sometimes depicted as an odd assortment of volunteers not eligible for military or industrial service, civilian defense workers—like George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful

Life”—were more likely to earn laughs than medals. Several years after the OCD debacle, a representative of the Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization addressed the

“State Directors’ Association,” carefully avoiding references to “civil defense” and substituting the term “non-military defense” instead. His derisive comments about civilian defense during World War II, juxtaposed with his lavish praise for the nation’s

“powerful industrial mobilization” for war, conveys a sense of civilian defense as pathetic, especially as opposed to the strength of American production:

About fifteen years ago, the world first learned about nuclear weapons. At the same time, the United States was at the peak of the most powerful industrial mobilization build-up for war the world had ever seen or is ever likely to see. This point in time also was marked—ingloriously—by the nadir of the half-hearted and sometimes amusing war-time efforts to build up a system for civilian defense against atomic attack and sabotage.1

1 Speech given by Dean Pohlenz to State Directors’ Association, November 1958. RG 304, Compartment 30, Box 5, Folder IVF8b.

266

Five years after World War II ended, the conflict in Korea raised questions regarding the nature of the U.S. “commitment” to the South. Describing South Korea as

“susceptible to penetration” by Communist expansion—perhaps even “unable to resist”

Northern forces, American officials positioned South Korea as a weakened and feminized region in need of masculine protection. In 1950, when President Truman identified the conflict as originating in the Soviet Union itself, the question of whether the United

States would be strong enough to stand up to its ultimate foe—or whether Americans were inherently “soft” after all—made it essential to portray American actions as bold, active, and determined throughout the world. The Soviet Union had detonated an atomic device during the previous summer; the U.S. monopoly on the bomb was over.

International tensions exacerbated American feelings of anxiety. The bombings of

Hiroshima and Nagasaki, far from closing the book on modern warfare with a victorious

American flourish, opened a new age in possibilities for catastrophic destruction. Now people were free to envision not only the annihilation of cities or nations but civilization itself—and that was before the hydrogen bomb became a reality. In 1950, physicist Hans

A. Bethe imagined what elements of society might survive after a war waged with hydrogen bombs: “Nothing would remain that resembles present civilization. The fight for mere survival would dominate everything. . . . Indeed it is likely that technology and

267 science would be suspected as works of the devil, having brought such utter misery upon man, and that a new Dark Age would begin on earth.”2

The new potential for global ruin was not the only reason some Americans worried. In addition, the economic, social, and political disruptions of World War II had fundamentally changed American society. Rosie-the-Riveters may have been laid off in

1945, but the precedent women had set was impossible to erase, regardless of how often radio and television programs offered idealized portraits of domestic bliss. When tensions in Korea exploded, for example, many women hoped they would be welcomed back into defense jobs. In 1957, writing in National Business Woman, Marjorie F. Webster gleefully announced:

The emancipation of women, begun fifty years ago, is now complete! The sky’s the limit for her in education, work and freedom. . . . Harry A. Bullis calls her “the great determining factor in our dynamic free enterprise.” Alexis de Tocqueville’s appraisal is: “America will always be strong because of the superiority of her women.” There are other diverse conclusions, such as: “our most perplexing problem”—“a new species, newly unleashed”—“The discussion . . . of women might lead a visitor from Mars to believe that mankind discovered atomic fission and the power of women at about the same time.”3

2 Hans A. Bethe, “The Hydrogen Bomb,” March 1950, 13. RG 326, Entry 67A, Box 107, Folder Publication of Information Regarding the Thermonuclear Bomb. Many cultural commentators wondered how these developments would affect American society. In The Way to Security, Henry Link suggests: “We live in an age of great change. . . . The physical sciences have brought the laws of matter, of television, of aviation, and of atomic energy to a new level of authority. Everyone bows to these laws. At the same time the spiritual or moral laws governing the relationship between people have steadily disintegrated. Although we now have the certainty of the atom bomb we have the uncertainty of not knowing what to do with it. . . . Material certainty on the one hand and moral confusion on the other is the order of the day.” Henry C. Link, The Way to Security (1951), 51. 3 Marjorie F. Webster, “We Must Educate Our Girls—Or We’ll Lose Precious Talent,” National Business Woman, December 1957, 11.

268

Insecurity may have been emanating from a variety of fields, but several books and articles of the era examined the dynamics of family relationships for insight into what many perceived as an increasing rate of psychological neuroses among white, middle- class men. Philip Wylie denounced “momism” as the problem: an overpowering, domineering mother, interested in nothing but comfort and the accumulation of material goods, neuters her sons by training them not to pursue their own independent goals but to focus on nothing but pleasing Mother or face the withdrawal of her love. Critical of the increasing power of the American “matriarchy,” Wylie demonizes mothers as the ultimate source of male powerlessness. The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, released in

1947—the same year as It’s a Wonderful Life—exemplifies this perspective by portraying a gentle, passive man so emasculated by his mother that he has to live out his dreams through fantasy rather than reality.

By the end of 1950, the United States had become the first nation to utilize atomic bombs against an enemy, ushering in a new age of warfare; it had also enjoyed and then lost an atomic monopoly, leaving its citizens just as vulnerable as the Japanese against whom the bomb was originally unleashed. North Korea had invaded South Korea, and

American soldiers were suddenly engaged in a physical and ideological struggle against communism. American citizens had undergone a rapid and radical shift in modes of thinking about women’s contributions to war work, and finally, they were pondering weighty questions about whether white, middle-class men were being fundamentally weakened by demanding mothers, cultural and corporate demands for conformity, and a

269 sense that the relationship between labor and self-worth was becoming increasingly meaningless.

In this context, federal officials decided that American men, women, and children should learn how to survive in the event of atomic attack. In 1950, members of the NSRB hoped to provide Americans with a helpful handbook for atomic emergencies, and as they were developing plans for the publication of a civil defense manual appropriate for public consumption, an article published in the Saturday Evening Post in January 1950 caught their attention.4 “How You Can Survive an A-Bomb Blast” was written in a straightforward, easy-to-understand style, and the author of the article, Richard Gerstell, was a Navy veteran who had witnessed Operation Crossroads in Bikini and subsequently served as a consultant to the Department of Defense—assignments that provided evidence of his trustworthy credentials. Staff members approached him with the idea of writing a book based upon his original article, and later that year, How to Survive an

Atomic Bomb was published.5

Offered as a guidebook for adults negotiating the atomic age, Gerstell’s text uses a simple, informal question-and-answer format. While this enables him to position himself as the clear authority on all matters atomic—Gerstell, after all, has the answers to all potential questions—his awareness of his own omniscience sometimes comes across as condescension. For example, when he advises readers not to leave the city

4 Richard Gerstell, “How You Can Survive an A-Bomb Blast,” Saturday Evening Post, 7 January 1950, 23, 73-76. 5 Idem, How to Survive an Atomic Bomb (Washington, D.C.: 1950).

270 independently after an atomic attack, he uses speech more appropriate for a grade school audience than for adults: “Your local government may decide to evacuate some people.

(That is, move them to a different place. It’s pronounced ‘ee-VAK-u-ate.’) But if they do, they’ll do it according to a plan.”6

It is difficult to imagine the tough, shadowy figures of the film noir-esque civil defense production, “Our Cities Must Fight,” talking to the audience—or to each other— in such an elementary way. That film communicates a similar message about not joining the “take-to-the-hills fraternity” of urban deserters after an attack, but it uses a much more aggressive approach, challenging viewers directly to answer the all-important and manly question: “Have you got the guts?” rather than, “How afraid should you be?”

Perhaps unfortunately for federal civil defense planners, the tone they adopted for use in official publications and films often resembled the matter-of-fact—and at times, carping—style of Gerstell’s guidebook more than the challenging, “manly” voice of “Our

Cities Must Fight.”7

6 Ibid., 82. One of the earliest questions posed in the book asks: “How afraid should I be of the atomic bomb?” An odd question, it anticipates the color-coded scale used by the Department of Homeland Security to express levels of risk to the nation in the years following the attacks of September 11, 2001— and pre-supposes that the American citizenry should be afraid, the question is simply how much. The author answers in a somewhat cryptic fashion, asserting that if one makes an effort to learn the facts about the atomic bomb, “You won’t be any more afraid of it than you need be” (5). 7 Gerstell occasionally reflects the persona of a fatigued grade school teacher, tired of repeating himself before a crowd of distracted kids: “Let’s say it again. Everyone must always lie down full length on his stomach with his face buried in his arms” (52). Of course, he is also sensitive to fears about ridicule from peers, adding: “(Right now is the best time to practice. Get off in your own room where you won’t be laughed at and try it a few times.)” (52, 54).

271

As a result of many factors—a focus on defense rather than offense, conflicting strategies that at times appeared to support “hiding” in shelters or “running away” via evacuation, the perception that civil defense volunteers were civilians who could not

serve the war effort in more

important ways due to age, sex, or

infirmity, and the active

participation of women and their

“clubs” in civil defense initiatives—

recommendations of federal civil

defense planners were so widely

lampooned that some homeowners

resisted pursuing the projects that

officials advocated in order to avoid

inviting the ridicule of their

neighbors. Life magazine ran an

Figure 6.1. article in 1951 titled, “West Coast

Gets Ready: Its Salesmen Get Busy on Atomic Bomb Shelters,” featuring a picture of a man in a suit with his torso sticking out of a converted septic tank. (The man designed this “backyard bomb shelter” to be sold for the modest price of $65, but had not sold one

272 yet.) Under this rather amusing photo, the article quotes a builder, who remarks, “For those who can afford neuroses . . . this is it.”8

Post-apocalyptic films and novels channeled American anxieties into survival narratives in which mass destruction offered opportunities to pursue new beginnings.

Implicit in many constructions of post-apocalyptic America were themes of reproduction and fertility; if the atomic bomb ushered in an entirely new era—so radically new that

“one quipster has proposed ending the present calendar sequence with 1945 and beginning anew with the year 1 A.A., for Anno Atomi,”—American survivors could start over again as well.9 And according to the Civilian Protection Project, even if radiation damaged reproductive organs so much that a “child, if born alive, might be different from its forebears in minor or major respects. . . . we are assured by eminent authority that excessive radiation is much more likely to result in the death of the unborn child than in the birth of a freak.”10

Films and novels such as Five and Mr. Adam explored such issues—as did the

1964 film, Dr. Strangelove. The recall code for renegade American bombers is a formulation linking “Purity Of Essence” with “Peace On Earth”—and when the U.S. is faced with an imminent nuclear attack, Dr. Strangelove suggests that the President might

8 “West Coast Gets Ready: Its Salesmen Get Busy on Atomic Bomb Shelters,” Life, 12 March 1951, 64. 9 Donald Porter Geddes, ed., The Atomic Age Opens (New York: Pocket Books, 1945), 90. “A.A.,” or “the year of the atom," would presumably replace “A.D.,” “in the year of our Lord.” 10 Ralph S. Healy, Director, Civilian Protection Project, “To Be or Not to Be,” April 1950, 19. RG 304, Entry 31A, Box 6, Folder E4-3C.

273 wish “to preserve a nucleus of human specimens” to ensure the survival of American society. He encourages adopting a ratio of ten women to every man, noting that abandoning male monogamy would be “a sacrifice required for the future of the human race.”

Dr. Strangelove, the ex-Nazi scientist who occasionally addresses the American president as Mein Führer, not only celebrates white male heterosexuality. He also articulates eugenic ideas rooted in late-nineteenth-century American thought, when many white Americans feared that “inferior” races would surpass whites in a Darwinistic quest for global supremacy but also hoped that the “masterful American race could regain its manly primacy through willful procreative effort.”11 While Theodore Roosevelt exhorted white, Anglo-Saxon Americans to procreate at the turn of the century in order to avoid

“race suicide,” Dr. Strangelove’s fictional admonitions on the verge of America’s nuclear annihilation also constructed male sexuality as a public service and a patriotic duty.

Ordinary men in popular science fiction who practiced “burrowing into the ground” to avoid injury or death in the face of atomic attack were not usually rewarded with progeny. In Five, The World, the Flesh and the Devil, Mr. Adam, and even the pro- civil defense Tomorrow!, the male heroes and potential fathers of the newly reborn nation found themselves “accidentally” in protected locations like mines at the time of the blast

(or far away from ground zero for the purpose of protecting the nation, not themselves).

11 Bederman, 202.

274

If heroic manliness and civil defense activities were not mutually exclusive during the

1950s, neither did they easily mesh. Ironically, it seems, the men most likely to survive

Armageddon would be the ones least likely to produce the strong, brave heirs the nation would need to recover.

CHAPTER VII

Epilogue

This dissertation has examined federal civil defense documents, newspaper and magazine articles, self-help books, and post-apocalyptic films and novels to demonstrate how a variety of narratives of survival during the late 1940s and 1950s—both official and popular—regularly utilized gendered and reproductive metaphors to wrestle with uncertainties involving not only nuclear Armageddon but the vigor of American masculinity in the Age of Anxiety. These concerns were inextricably linked and interdependent upon each other. American military strength was predicated in part upon access to a healthy and virile male population; maintaining the capabilities of such men was particularly important since the United States was considerably outnumbered by the

Soviet enemy. Americans could argue that the population imbalance did not matter as long as atomic bomb technology belonged to the United States alone, but it was clear that this monopoly would not last forever—and with the knowledge, after the bombings of

Hiroshima and Nagasaki—that radiation could render a man sterile (compounded by fears that it might render him impotent as well), successive generations of Americans would be affected if the United States were the victim of a nuclear attack. In 1942,

275

276

Eleanor Roosevelt drew attention to the alarming statistics that “50 per cent of the young men of the country were found unfit for military service,” and “37 per cent more man- hours were lost in factories of the country through illness [during the previous year] than through strikes.”1 And in addition to concerns about the potential physical weakness of

American men, their mental strength was questioned as well—by writers like Philip

Wylie, who blamed momism for men’s lack of initiative, and later, Rollo May and David

Riesman, who viewed a culture of conformity and an increasing distance between men and meaningful labor as potential causes of the growing passivity of white, middle-class masculinity.

If these concerns heightened fears about American vulnerability, civil defense planners after World War II attempted to steer those anxieties into productive participation in preparing for nuclear disaster. Here too, however, ideas about the symbolic relationship between man and nation, in which American men defended the honor and virtue of their country from external threats, made it difficult for civil defense officials to garner enthusiastic support for self-protection strategies, which were often dismissed by critics as fundamentally cowardly—whether “hiding underground” or

“running away”—or embarrassingly awkward and unmanly (see Figure 1).

Proponents of civil defense attempted to present the critics as fearful, lazy, or unpatriotic in a variety of media, but these efforts were not terrifically successful. In addition, civil

1 “Mrs. Roosevelt Spurs Up-State OCD Heads,” New York Times, 14 February 1942, 11.

277 defense planners had to cope with suspicions that federal participation was becoming too parental in tone, like a mother nagging her children to clean up their rooms or they would soon be sorry. And if these obstacles were not challenging enough, the entire civil defense project was identified under a particularly unfortunate name: passive defense.

Figure 7.1. Life, 28 August 1950, 27.

278

Although the Cold War is now over, some of the themes and imagery generated in the crucible of the conflict haunt elements of American popular culture today. While not exhaustive, the discussion that follows will provide a brief, illustrative examination of several gendered aspects of Cold War-era anxieties and postures that are currently reappearing within governmental, cinematic, and even comedic narratives.

While Americans in 2014 are not living with the Cold War fears of the 1950s, the long-held belief that the continental United States is invulnerable to attack—a conviction that FCDA officials repeatedly challenged—was shattered on September 11, 2001. In the minutes before people started turning on their televisions, word that a plane had crashed into one of the Twin Towers in Manhattan might have prompted pity for the pilot of the light aircraft that must have flown off course. The concept of a coordinated attack was so foreign, so outside the realm of the possible, that many Americans could not comprehend what was happening until they actually saw the flames, the wreckage, and the people trying desperately to escape. Even then, it could have been a horrible accident. The second plane crash removed any doubt. For days following the disaster, Long Islanders commuting into Manhattan could see smoke rising from the new “architecture” of terror.

In a symbolic sense, September 11 marked the beginning of a new era. As the

“birth” of the atomic age heralded novel ways of thinking about life, death, civilization, and annihilation, the attacks on American airplanes, people, and soil—seemingly without warning—left many feeling bereft of a sense of security they had taken for granted for decades.

279

Companies marketed emergency supplies to those feeling helpless. One product, the Executive Chute, was specifically sold “as a safety device for those who live or work in skyscrapers.”2 Sellers suggested that this kind of item might have saved the lives of some of the World Trade Center victims who jumped to their deaths. Within two months of the attacks, at least six companies were marketing similar products online for between

$800 and $1,600; “each said their parachutes [were] safe and to be employed for last- resort use only.” The owner of Executive Chute acknowledged that the life-saving qualities of his product were not guaranteed; he had never tried it himself, and it had not actually been tested in an urban setting: “instead, it was tested from a crane parked in a field in rural Michigan, using a dummy jumper.”3

Within a year of September 11, Americans would be confronted with reports of anthrax attacks carried out by mail; the crash of an American Airlines flight in Queens,

New York, killing all 260 passengers on board; the attempted bombing of an American

Airlines flight from Paris to Miami by Richard Reid, the “shoe bomber”; and Jose

Padilla’s meetings with al-Qaeda leaders in Pakistan to discuss plans to detonate a nuclear bomb within the United States. While Padilla was ultimately arrested, Time reported that his “lasting value may be as a warning bell—a reminder to keep exercising our imagination.”4

2 “Parachutes for High-Rise Safety?” ABCNews.com, 6 November 2001. 3 Ibid. The Executive Chute, its name suggesting the ability of its owner to make a wealthy, James Bond-like escape, is still available online for $935 at Novatechgadgets.com. 4 Amanda Ripley, “The Case of the Dirty Bomber,” Time.com, 16 June 2002.

280

By November 2012, fear had proven itself lucrative for sellers of safety—there was an abundance of fear to go around. According to an article in the Hartford Courant,

“With terrorists at home and abroad, a potential war with Iraq and instability on the

Korean peninsula, things have become a bit tricky in the last few years. This is bad for the nation’s collective psyche—but, at least at Safer America, good for business.” The store had opened up not far from New York’s “Ground Zero” and sold items like the

“Bardas Child Protective Wrap”—a “polyethylene smock with accompanying protective vest, hood, respirator and Velcro drink holder.”5 The wrap cost $495. Explaining that new equipment like this was just a sign of the times, the president of Safer America said,

“In the 20th Century you needed a smoke detector. . . . In the 21st Century you might need a radiation detector.”6 The store also offered survival kits, anthrax detectors, and mail- scanning bomb finders, all under the motto, “Be Safe. Be Strong.” A visitor to the store came away with a different slogan in mind: “It’s creepy, but it’s a reality.”7

In addition to more expensive items, iodide tablets also sold well in the months after September 11. The Washington Post reported that one company, Anbex, that had been producing iodide tablets for many years, had gone from selling a few hundred fourteen-tablet packets per year to “tens of thousands of packages every month.”8 The

5 Kevin Canfield, “Selling America safety is now good for business,” Hartford Courant, 11 November 2002. 6 Ibid. In the first week the store was open, they sold sixty gas masks. 7 Ibid. 8 Guy Gugliotta, “Radiation Fears Spur Sales of Iodide Pills,” Washington Post, 24 June 2002. Iodide inhibits the uptake of radioactive iodine by the thyroid. Company executives were frustrated that customers seemed to want to shroud their purchases in secrecy: “We’ve been selling to the federal

281 company’s online distributor explained that “every time [Secretary of Defense Donald

H.] Rumsfeld or [Homeland Security Director Tom] Ridge gets on TV, there’s a sales spike. . . . Ridge just says the word ‘nuclear’ and our phones start to ring.”9

Adults could purchase a variety of gadgets to make themselves feel better, but the

Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), the current incarnation of what used to be the FCDA, tried to help children cope in other ways. FEMA planners decided not to bring Bert the Turtle back, but they did introduce a cheerful little crab named Herman to teach kids how to prepare for misfortune. Herman did not have very good luck finding a shell for himself—nor keeping it, due to a variety of disasters—but he steadfastly carried on; a booklet describing Herman’s “hunt for a disaster-proof shell” demonstrated how he learned, through adversity, the importance of planning for catastrophes. For example, after a terrible wind hit one day, “I got deep in my shell and figured

I was safe. Then, before I knew it, something terrible happened.

. . . My shell blew right off! I Figure 7.2.

government, to individuals in D.C., Maryland, Virginia, Baltimore and even the Eastern Shore, and to a lot of businesses around the Beltway. . . . But they don’t want anybody to know—it’s like they’re buying adult accessories.” 9 Ibid.

282 never saw it again!”10 After Herman chose “a new, and hopefully better, shell,” he made sure to apply “hurricane straps.” (Unfortunately, this did not prepare him for the flood that followed; after mud got all over his shell, he declared, “I was a mess and I wasn’t happy about it!”)

FEMA does not use Herman anymore—instead, a diverse group of cartoon children ask questions and provide answers about calamities. Games like “Disaster

Master” enable kids to check how well they are

comprehending emergency concepts, and

ultimately they can earn a “hero” badge. While

FEMA does not include “nuclear attack” in

their list of potential disasters that kids should

be familiar with, small children may still find Figure 7.3.11 some material frightening. For example, to learn about “Thunderstorms and Lightning,” the first “word to know” is electrocution. In addition, the drawings of the children are not entirely calming. Most of them have lightning-bolt backgrounds, and Gayle, the girl in Figure 7.3, may not radiate cool confidence to begin with.

10 “Herman, P.I.C., and the Hunt for a Disaster-proof Shell,” http://linn-country-ema.org (accessed 9 April 2014). 11 According to the web site, the “Disaster Master” kids associated with FEMA’s Youth Preparedness Program are named Ray, Gayle, Misti, Sonni, and Raina. See http://www.ready.gov/kids/games (accessed 15 March 2014).

283

The post-World War II period and the post-9/11 period share other features in common besides the experience of violent upheavals with international ramifications. A sense of impending apocalypse has been permeating American science fiction novels, prime-time television programs, and film projects for the last several years. According to

K. Tempest Bradford, “The current taste for apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic settings

(with and without zombies) has infiltrated every market and psyche and won’t likely go away soon.”12 TV Guide recently proclaimed, “If it’s the end of the world as we know it,

TV feels fine. Led by shows including AMC’s The Walking Dead, TNT’s Falling Skies and NBC’s Revolution, post-apocalyptic TV is blowing up—and a lot more of it is on the way.” Chris Carter, who created the X-Files, decided to return to television with a new post-apocalyptic series because “there’s a huge anxiety in the world right now.”13

There are many reasons for anxiety besides terrorism, although the 2013 Boston

Marathon bombings reminded Americans that the nation can never be kept completely safe. The United Nations issued a 32-volume report in March 2014 warning that if concrete steps are not taken soon to reduce greenhouse gases, the effects of global

12 K. Tempest Bradford, “We Read the Year’s Best New Sci-Fi—So You Don’t Have To,” NPR.org, 31 March 2014 (accessed 8 April 2014). 13 Michael Schneider, “Zombies, Power Outages, Global Pandemics: Why TV is Embracing the Apocalypse,” TVGuide.com, 14 February 2014 (accessed 8 April 2014). The Walking Dead, a remarkably successful series, follows a small group of survivors as they negotiate a post-apocalyptic Georgia, filled with “walkers,” or zombies, that wish to eat them. In one scene, Shane manages to get a random car started on a highway. The radio was apparently left on when it lost power, and the audience suddenly hears this recorded message on a loop: “The Emergency Alert System has been activated. The Office of Civil Defense has issued the following message. Normal broadcasting will cease immediately. This is a civil emergency. Please do not venture outside of your homes. Avoid anyone infected at all costs. Remain calm. Help is on the way. The emergency alert system has been activated. . .” Disgusted, Shane mutters, “Assholes. Okay, let’s get back to work.” The Walking Dead, Season 2, Episode 1, “What Lies Ahead.”

284 warming could spin “out of control.” Secretary of State John Kerry responded by saying that “the costs of inaction are catastrophic.” And one of the report’s authors said simply,

“We’re all sitting ducks.” The situation has deteriorated so rapidly that the group of scientists responsible for the study actually had to add a new shade to their graph of risk; when they last met in 2007, “the biggest risk level in one key summary graphic was

‘high’ and colored blazing red. The latest report adds a new level, ‘very high,’ and colors it deep purple.”14 In addition to physical changes, the report also warned that “climate change will complicate and worsen existing global security problems, such as civil wars, strife between nations, and refugees.”15

Perhaps the most immediate cause of recent uncertainty has been the destabilizing impact of the economic downturn. Some television producers have suggested that the declining economy “coupled with an increasingly polarized political landscape . . . has created an undercurrent of anxiety in society that shows like The Walking Dead have tapped into. . . . TV’s latest crop of post-apocalyptic shows really took off after the 2008 recession.”16 Between 2008 and 2009, the unemployment rate jumped from 5.8% to

9.3%, and Americans are still recovering.17

14 Associated Press, “Global Warming Dials Up Our Risks, UN Report Says,” NPR.org, 30 March 2014 (accessed 7 April 2014). 15 Associated Press, “UN Science Report: Warming Worsens Security Woes,” NPR.org, 30 March 2014 (accessed 7 April 2014). 16 Ibid. 17 U. S. Department of Labor, Bureau of Labor Statistics, http://data.bls.gov/timeseries/LNU04000000?years_option=all_years&periods_option=specific_periods&p eriods=Annual+Data (accessed April 12, 2014).

285

Some changes in labor and family trends may also be leading middle-class men to feel uneasy. In addition to (and perhaps in some cases because of) unemployment woes,

65% of married women with children were working outside the home in 2011 compared with 17% in 1948.18 Furthermore, over half of Americans polled in 2013 said that children are better off if their mothers stay home rather than going out to a job, while only 8% held the view that children would benefit if their fathers stayed home.19 Under these circumstances, a husband that cannot earn enough money to enable his wife to remain home with the kids—seemingly still the ideal situation—may face a social stigma or feel inadequate as a “provider.” One final statistic may also have influenced recent levels of male anxiety: “Among married couples with children, the proportion in which the wife’s income tops her husband’s has increased from about 4% in 1960 to 23% in

2011. By contrast, the share of couples in which the husband makes more than his wife has fallen about 20 percentage points, from 95% in 1960 to 75% in 2011.”20

Americans within the 25-to-34 age group “are the best educated cohort in

American history,” yet the “median household income of this age group . . . is virtually unchanged from 1980, adjusted for inflation.”21 At a time when many Americans still

18 Wendy Wang, Kim Parker, and Paul Taylor, “Breadwinner Moms: Overview,” Pew Research Social and Demographic Trends, 29 May 2013, www.pewsocialtrends.org (accessed 12 April 2014). Sharon R. Cohany and Emy Sok, “Married Mothers in the Labor Force,” Monthly Labor Review, February 2007, 9. 19 Ibid. 20 Wang, et al., “Married Mothers Who Out-Earn Their Husbands,” Pew Research Social and Demographic Trends, 29 May 2013, www.pewsocialtrends.org (accessed 12 April 2014). 21 “Recovery for Whom?” New York Times, 12 April 2014, http://nyt.ms/RbSCSv (accessed 13 April 2014).

286 expect husbands to “support” the family, despite the serious challenges presented by the current job market, it may be reassuring for men to find affirmation in television and film that while masculinity might be disguised by the demands of work and the drudgery of a daily schedule—much like the “routine, mechanical existence” described by Rollo May in 1953—it still exists underneath the layers of bills, mortgage payments, and other external demands.22

In February 2012, the National Geographic Channel began airing a new series that follows people like those in Time who are preparing for the end of the world. Doomsday

Preppers is a celebration of preparation. Unlike civil defense programs in the 1950s, this series is dominated by men with guns. The New York Times explains that the program

“introduces an array of end-of-civilization types who at first seem surprisingly varied.

These preppers live all over the country, in rural areas, suburbs and cities. Each has a different reason for turning a perfectly adequate home into a canned-food warehouse or building an escape hideaway (or bug-out location, to use the prepper term) in the mountains.”23 It often seems that these preppers—usually white men—are not engaged

22 Rollo May, Man’s Search for Himself (New York: W. W. Norton, 1953), 21. 23 Neil Genzlinger, “Doomsday Has Its Day in the Sun,” New York Times, 11 March 2012, www.nytimes.com/2012/03/12/arts/television/doomsday-preppers-and-doomsday-bunkers-tv-reality- shows.html?_r=0 (accessed 9 April 2014).

287 in their projects in order to protect their wives and children, but rather to emphasize their toughness, masculinity, and willingness to shoot intruders. The enemy they are trying to keep away is not often radioactivity or some other invisible danger, but rather their fellow

citizens who might approach,

asking for shelter: “The

unmistakable impression left

by these programs is that what

these folks want most of all is

not to protect their families . . .

or even the dubious pleasure of

being able to say to the rest of Figure 7.4.24 us, ‘See? I told you the world was going to end.’ What they want is a license to open fire.”25

The depictions of preppers on National Geographic hearkens back to a period of international anxiety during the summer of 1961, when, in the midst of increasing tensions over Berlin, Time magazine published an article regarding moral and ethical aspects of home protection. “Gun Thy Neighbor?” presented the perspectives of

Americans who had built and stocked shelters and had no intention of sharing them with

24 Photo of Richard Huggins by National Geographic Channels, http://channel.nationalgeographic.com/channel/doomsday-preppers/galleries/no-stranger-to- strangers/at/richard-huggins1-2076774/ (accessed 8 March 2014). 25 Genzlinger (emphasis original).

288 anyone outside of the family: "When I get my shelter finished, I'm going to mount a machine gun at the hatch to keep the neighbors out if the bomb falls. I'm deadly serious about this. I'm not going to run the risk of not being able to use the shelter I've taken the trouble to provide to save my own family." Another man, in Texas, kept “four rifles and a

.357 Magnum pistol in his shelter and pointed out its four-inch-thick wooden door: ‘This isn't to keep radiation out, it's to keep people out,’” he said. Finally, some families with shelters were concerned about refugees from urban areas that might overwhelm them, looking for shelter and supplies:

Civil Defense Coordinator Keith Dwyer of California's Riverside County (pop. 306,191) last week told a group of officials and reserve policemen in the town of Beaumont that as many as 150,000 refugees from Los Angeles might stream into Beaumont if there were an enemy attack, and that all survival kits should include a pistol. “There's nothing in the Christian ethic,” said Dwyer, “which denies one's right to protect oneself and one's family.”26

In addition to contemporary coverage of white American preppers as proponents of protecting and militarizing the home with deadly weapons, the kind of “strenuous life” that Teddy Roosevelt championed as a way to cultivate masculinity through a personal battle with land, beast, and wilderness is also an exalted theme within many current fictional and “reality” programs.27 Survivorman and Man vs. Wild—both incorporating

“man” as an integral part of their titles—portray male heroes far from urban areas

26 “Religion: Gun Thy Neighbor?” Time, 18 August 1961, 58. 27 Theodore Roosevelt, “The Strenuous Life,” 10 April 1899, http://www.historytools.org/sources/strenuous.html (accessed 12 April 2014).

289 engaged in a critical struggle with nature. Another program, Naked and Afraid, is different from the others in two ways: it assigns male-female partnerships to survive together in the wild, and the pair, who have never met each other before this adventure, have to survive in a fierce and threatening wilderness without clothing. The beginning of each episode sets the tone for the narrative to follow, as a serious male voice explains the setup:

One man and one woman, both experienced survivalists, have chosen to put their skills to the ultimate test. They have no water, no food, and no clothes. Their challenge is to survive for 21 days. Knowing that the human body can only live three days without water and begins to shut down after three weeks without food, this is the Everest of survival challenges. Can a man and woman survive alone in the wilderness, naked and afraid?28

The short answer, at least so far, is “yes.” Although TiVo categorizes Naked and

Afraid as “Documentary” and “Reality” television, the creators of the show have crafted a stylized rather than spontaneous production.29 The addition of women survivalists to a genre more often populated by men is novel, but all the contestants have been white. And

28 Each episode is staged in a different, “exotic” location, and the particularly threatening aspects associated with individual locales are emphasized at the beginning of every show. For example, in the first episode of season two, “Man vs. Amazon,” viewers learn that area around the Amazon River in Peru, where contestants will be living for three weeks, is “home to over sixty species of flesh eating piranhas, twenty-foot black Caymen, and electric eels. . . . In the jungle, relentless mosquitoes and deadly anaconda prey on the vulnerable, while 300 pound jaguars . . . are the apex predators of the region. The jungle is a deadly and unpredictable foe, and all but impossible to survive.” 29 In some ways, such as this, Naked and Afraid bears a certain resemblance to the struggles for survival featured in The Hunger Games, a wildly successful post-apocalyptic novel by Suzanne Collins (New York: Scholastic, 2008), subsequently made into a film. In that tale, one boy and one girl from each of twelve downtrodden “districts” are chosen to compete in a nationally televised battle of kill-or-be-killed that takes place every year; the winner is the last one standing. If the battle should grow boring, creators of the “game” can intervene to introduce new and intriguing possibilities to inspire ever more ghoulish deaths.

290 the “Adam and Eve” construct privileges Adam; male participants in Naked and Afraid may sport various body types, but with one exception, women on the show have been very thin.30 Furthermore, the “small crew” that accompanies the team to “capture the twenty-one day journey, with instructions not to intervene unless a medical emergency makes it absolutely necessary” (a disclaimer that, in itself, seems to suggest that the survival of contestants will never be jeopardized) appears to be exclusively male.

Before viewers watch the pair begin their journey, the narrator explains that in order to qualify, each participant has to undergo “rigorous psychological and physical testing” and evaluation by experts who assign each of them a

“Primitive Survival

Rating” (PSR) score—a number between one and ten representing the experts’ assessment of each candidate’s Figure 7.5.

30 Julie Wright, in the “Breaking Borneo” episode, is 6’4” and slightly apple-shaped. When she and her partner, Puma, are introduced, viewers hear Puma’s subsequent explanation of his initial impressions: “She’s a very tall [pause] woman, and as you get bigger, the more resources you use, so my instant feeling was a bit of concern.” (The interview sounds edited at this point, but it is difficult to be certain.) He then continues with a slightly more positive-sounding evaluation: “But, I could curl up into her, spoon, . . . and I wouldn’t even need a shelter.”

291 likelihood of “survival.” The number, viewers are told, is based upon test results in three areas (that seem rather difficult to quantify easily): skill, experience, and “mental toughness.”

In this part of the program, the director juxtaposes notions of “civilized” and

“primitive” by calculating each contestant’s precise height, weight, and strengths—and scribbling representations of this “objective” data like mathematical equations upon the screen—while drums beat in the background, implying that Amazonian cultures are simplistic rather than complex. In this episode, the narrator explains that Tyler has scored high because of his military experience in Afghanistan, but suggests that he might have trouble without easy access to food and supplies. A. K., his partner, also receives a high score, because of her experience as an amateur teaching “Native American history”—she regularly demonstrates nineteenth-century hunting, horseback riding, and fire-building skills while dressed in native costume. The narrator reminds viewers that her survival is not guaranteed, however, because “her strong-headed personality may work against her.”

The implicit distinction between Tyler’s and A. K.’s potential shortcomings falls along predictable gender lines; Tyler may need to get used to doing without an abundance of easily accessible military supplies, but A. K.’s problem cannot be fixed with three weeks of practice—instead, it is internal and emotional; she would apparently benefit from developing a “weaker head.”

292

Viewers soon learn that A. K. is motivated to succeed in Naked and Afraid by a desire to prove something to herself and others about the toughness of stay-at-home

moms. She declares, “To the

people that think that a married,

mother-of-three, stay-at-home

mom can’t do this, I’m gonna

prove . . . that I can.” While

confident in her own survival

abilities, she expresses concern

Figure 7.6. about the disposition of her partner, whom she has yet to meet: “I hope my partner is a man. I am a stay-at-home mom, so I have no problem being able to play the role of a woman, but at the same time, I hope he can stand up to the challenges, suck it up, and not be a sissy little girl all the time.” The audience now has an impression of A. K. as “strong headed,” tough, and ready to prove that a stay-at-home mother can be a powerhouse in her own right. She does not necessarily need to depend upon her male partner for support, but she fervently hopes that he will not turn out to be a “sissy little girl.”

Meanwhile, Tyler is shown to be not only a war veteran, but a husband, father of two small children, and current student in a criminal justice program. He states that one of his goals for the next twenty-one days is to “keep myself and my partner safe,” a gallant undertaking, and while he does not leave an initial impression of the kind of overt

293 masculinity that A. K. might find appealing, Tyler comes across as strong, kind, and non- judgmental. After meeting A. K., he assesses his view of her as a partner: “She definitely knows what she’s doing and she’s not just a girly-girl. She knows how to get down and get stuff done, which I like.”

Unfortunately for the pair, the first few nights are dreadful. Rain has dampened every bit of potential kindling, and although Tyler has chopped down trees and successfully constructed a basic shelter, A. K. cannot seem to get a fire started, her only apparent job. Thousands of buzzing mosquitos feast on them throughout the night and leave both of them covered in swollen bites. After less than a week in the wilderness, A.

K. decides that she has to “tap out.” She cannot endure another night of horror.

The narrative arc of A. K.’s experience serves to completely discredit her original claim of power; instead, it reaffirms the “naturalness” of masculine dominance. Viewers now understand that her initial toughness was empty posturing, the words of a stay-at- home mom with delusions of strength. It would have been difficult for writers to humiliate her more completely had she been a character scripted from the start. A. K.’s time on the program ends with her collapsing in tears as she shares an epiphany with the audience: “I’ve always known that family is always the most important thing, but being out here in the Amazon has just shown me how much more they mean to me.” Not only has she proven that she could not “stand up to the challenges” and “suck it up”; she also showed the hollowness of her original critique of traditional gender roles (she had emphasized their artificial nature when she referred to being married and therefore

294 knowing how to “play the role of a woman”). Her performance on Naked and Afraid ultimately reinforced the stereotypes she said she was trying to challenge. By the time the narrator announced that the “Amazon had claimed another victim,” many viewers may have seen A. K. exactly as she would have loathed to be seen: as a “sissy little girl.”

Ultimately, the episode frames her story as a warning to other stay-at-home mothers who choose not to stay at home, and as an affirmation to white American men of their inherent superiority in physical and mental endurance.

Programs like these imagine surviving in the “wilderness” as a kind of demanding test of strength that forges masculine character and self-esteem. When Teddy Roosevelt described Daniel Boone and those who followed in his footsteps as men unwilling to play by the rules of “civilized” society, he romanticized them in ways similar to the manner in which current survival programs celebrate bold and daring risk takers:

Ill-at-ease among the settlements for which they had themselves made ready the way, and fretted even by the slight restraints of the rude and uncouth semi- civilization of the border, the restless hunters moved onward into the yet unbroken wilds where the game dwelt and the red tribes marched forever to war and hunting. Their untamable souls ever found something congenial and beyond measure attractive in the lawless freedom of the lives of the very savages against whom they warred so bitterly.31

Identifying with the “savage” by participating in the “lawless freedom” of the “unbroken wilds,” overcivilized men could reclaim some of the “primitive” elements of their

31 Theodore Roosevelt, Hunting Tales of the West, vol. 3. (New York: G. P. Putnam’s Sons, 1893), 18-19.

295 manhood and emerge stronger from the wilderness—a narrative formula recognizable not only in survival shows on television but even within contemporary dramatic films.

Ben Stiller appropriated this narrative when he directed and starred in a remake of

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty, released in December 2013. Stiller’s portrayal of Walter is similar to Danny Kaye’s in some ways—both versions of the character work in a corporate environment and are unassertive, bullied, easily distracted, and obsessed with

an admiring and

attractive woman—but

their paths to manly

success are significantly

different. Walter’s

moment of truth in the

original film comes at Figure 7.7. the conclusion, when he verbally stands up to his mother, his fiancée, and his boss and then punches another man in the face. In the remake, Walter’s mother is a perfectly lovely person—who ends up, in some ways, saving the day—and Walter has no Gertrude (or Queenie) equivalent. His superior at Life magazine, however, is much more mean-spirited than the original boss; he has just taken over as transition manager to liquidate the company and publish Life’s final print edition. Stiller’s Walter, unlike his earlier incarnation, does not have one dramatic and defining moment of manliness. Rather, he begins a journey of self-

296 discovery by doing some of the reckless and adventurous things about which he had previously only daydreamed.

During the course of the remake, Walter abruptly leaves work and boards a plane to Greenland; leaps onto a departing helicopter piloted by a friendly, but clearly intoxicated man; attempts to jump off the helicopter onto a boat at sea; misses the boat and has to fight off a shark; skateboards across Iceland; is nearly overcome by an exploding volcano; and finally treks through the mountains of Afghanistan.32 This man- building project concludes with Walter finally getting the girl he was too shy to approach initially; he lands on the final cover of Life as well.

Like so many other masculine survival narratives that play out against an “exotic” backdrop, Walter discovers strength and inner confidence through confronting previously

unknown physical adversity. In 2013,

The Secret Life of Walter Mitty seemed

to promote Teddy Roosevelt’s idea that

“one of the chief attractions of the life

of the wilderness is . . . [that] there

Figure 7.8. every man stands for what he actually is, and can show himself to be,” reflecting the persistent idea that there must always be an

32 This Walter Mitty would probably agree with Theodore Roosevelt in his assessment that “mountaineering is among the manliest of sports” (Hunting Tales, 259).

297

“uncivilized” space available to “civilized” white men so that they may test and affirm the power of their manhood against the potential brutality of “Mother Nature.”33

The idea of American mothers as potentially emasculating figures is evident in critiques of federal government programs. On August 14, 2013, The Colbert Report offered a Philip Wylie-style evaluation of the federal government as “worse than Big

Brother—this is Big Mother.” Describing a government strategy to encourage rather than to require certain behavior, Colbert warned that soon, President Barack Obama will be

“getting us to conserve electricity” through adopting the voice of maternal guilt:

You don’t have to use a compact fluorescent bulb if you don’t want to. It doesn’t matter. You’ve got more important things to do. I’ll just sit here in the dark. . . . No, I’m used to the dark. When I was in labor with you, I had my eyes clenched shut for the entire twenty-eight hours. It was like being buried. . . . No, you just go out with that girl and have fun.

More recent criticisms of President Obama’s responses to what many Americans perceive as Vladimir Putin’s aggressive expansionism have also characterized Obama as a feminized figure, even using the derogatory term, “Mom jeans,” to ridicule clothes he has worn in public (perhaps he needs to spend some televised time in an exotic and dangerous wilderness). On March 6, 2014, Jon Stewart broadcast a series of clips on The

Daily Show of political pundits sharing their recent thoughts on the comparative strengths of Putin and Obama. On March 4, Fox News noted that “Putin likes to hang out with his

33 Ibid., 256.

298 shirt off; Obama wears Mom jeans. Putin tells the West, ‘If you mess with me, I’ll kill you all.’” The previous day, Sarah Palin had referenced Putin’s fondness for hunting and drilling: “People are looking at Putin as one who wrestles bears and drills for oil. They look at our president as one who wears Mom jeans and equivocates.” And another Fox commentator remarked on March 4, “This is a guy that wrestles tigers while the president wears Mom pants,” demoting Obama’s trousers even further, from “jeans” to the much less manly sounding “pants.”34

34 On March 11, 2014, Jon Stewart played another series of clips of Republican criticisms of Obama’s foreign policy that demonstrated their emphasis on depicting Obama as “weak” and therefore a poor international leader. For example, Fox News declared on March 4, 2014 that there were a growing number of reports “that both President Obama and the United States look weak as Russian President Vladimir Putin flexes his muscles in the Ukraine.” Five days later, former Vice President Dick Cheney appeared on Face the Nation warning that “We have created an image around the world—not just for the Russians—of weakness.” And on the same day, Peggy Noonan, an ex-speechwriter for President Ronald Reagan, asserted on This Week with George Stephanopoulos that “Putin sometimes makes his moves when he perceives an American president to be weak.”

299

Responding to what he apparently viewed as empty attacks on Obama’s masculinity, Stewart suggested that the exaggerated depictions might spiral out of

control: “By tomorrow, it’ll be

‘Putin once smacked the teeth

out of a great white shark and

made it blow him, while

Barack Obama just sat there,

wistfully, wearing capri pants

and a baby bonnet.’”

Wondering what might have

led these conservative

commentators, as children, to

Figure 7.9. find authoritarian figures like

Putin so praiseworthy while simultaneously finding the weak, Mom pants-wearing

Obama reprehensible for aggressively overstepping his executive bounds in matters such as the Affordable Care Act, Stewart suggests that Fox News consultant Ralph Peters might have an idea, and plays a clip of Peters from the Fox broadcast:

Peters: You know, it’s funny. Putin actually reminds me in a peculiar way of my mother.

Stewart: Go on.

Peters: My mother has a brilliant, uncanny ability to meet someone and within five minutes, she can identify their weakness. She knows their weak point.

300

Stewart (wearing wig): Who’s weak now, Mother? [He stabs the air repeatedly.]

Figure 7.10.

Evoking Anthony Perkins’ characterization of Norman Bates from the Hitchcock film,

Psycho (1960)—perhaps the most well-known cautionary tale about what can happen to an American man dominated by his mother—Stewart implies that mother-fixation is responsible for the mental “schisms” afflicting conservatives.

Political discourse has also constructed links between strenuous or dangerous activities in the wilderness and the authenticity of a leader’s masculinity. A photo often seen online demonstrates this theme, depicting Putin sitting shirtless on a horse and

Obama riding a bicycle:

301

Figure 7.11.

“Their” president is clearly superior to “ours” in this representation. As former mayor

Rudolph Giuliani told Fox host Sean Hannity on March 5, 2014, “They got Putin. Big, strong, muscular, on a horse.” In the Putin image, there is no sign of technology or urban development to offer a clue as to setting. The photo conveys a sense of timelessness, as if the picture could have been taken yesterday or two hundred years ago—and this places

Putin securely within the traditional survivalist narrative of rejecting “soft,” modern comforts in favor of the “primitive,” unchanging world of the undisturbed wild. Riding shirtless implies confidence and a sense of recklessness as well—he gives the impression

302 that he is not likely to be wearing sunscreen, let alone protective riding gear. Finally, he is actively controlling an animal that could theoretically have independent plans, thereby demonstrating his power and dominance over nature.

President Obama, however, may be firmly identified in the picture as existing in the present time. Riding a bright blue bicycle—with a bell!—that seems a bit small, the smiling president resembles a happy kid on a Saturday afternoon. Far from reckless, he has internalized rather than rejected current bicycling rules of safety, obligingly wearing a helmet in case he falls off his bike. His jeans are probably not fitted enough to avoid the

“Mom” jeans label, and his unisex sneakers do not add to his masculinity profile—in fact, his entire outfit could probably be worn by a woman as well as a man. In short, this photo constructs an image of a nice, harmless guy that a mother might feel relieved for her daughter to date.35

One might conclude that not only “primitive” masculinity but Teddy Roosevelt himself is also currently in vogue. On April 7, 2014, Senator John McCain impugned

Secretary of State John Kerry’s manhood during a hearing of the Foreign Relations

Committee by invoking Roosevelt’s advice: “On the issue of Ukraine, my hero, Teddy

Roosevelt, used to say, ‘Talk softly but carry a big stick.’ What you’re doing is talking strongly and carrying a very small stick. In fact, a twig.”

35 Americans against Obama, “Obama and Putin,” 12 September 2013, http://www.americansagainstobama.com/2013/09/12/obama-putin/ (accessed 14 March 2014).

303

In the aftermath of September 11, 2001, a “sneak attack,” as Tom Engelhardt might put it, in a long tradition of what many have perceived as duplicitous strikes by the enemy—from “savage Indian” assaults on the frontier to attacks on the Maine, the

Lusitania, and Pearl Harbor—many Americans felt stunned, angry, and afraid. In 1942,

Margaret Mead asserted that certain “rules” apply when Americans enter fighting mode:

We must see the enemy as stronger—either in men or resources or wickedness— or we cannot fight at all. . . . There must be a strong chance that we may lose. But at the same time, as our pattern of aggressiveness is based on the undefined, excessive demands made by mothers who articulately disapproved of all the techniques of aggression in small boys—who told them at one and the same time to “stand up for yourself” and “not to keep getting into fights”—there is an unsureness in our approach to a battle. . . . The Pearl Harbor which woke America up was just the fact that Japan came along and . . . left us free to fight where our hands had been tied before. For two years we had been engaged in “National Defense”; unwilling to start anything, watching our enemies strengthen their lines about us, hog-tied by our own phrasing of life which forbade our starting a war. . . . It’s an old American custom, . . . that part of the American character which fights best when other people start pushing us around.36

In 2014, Americans are still dealing with the legacy of wars in Afghanistan and

Iraq, neither of which has proven to be as successful as some might have hoped. The scandals of “enhanced interrogations,” abuses at Abu Ghraib, and the sense that

American troops invaded Iraq under false pretenses—that “we” started a war of choice— have left many Americans feeling uncertain about the moral authority of the nation. In addition, the revelations of Edward Snowden regarding the construction and maintenance

36 Mead, 99-100.

304 of an elaborate U.S. spying apparatus, as well as his stunning decision to escape to Russia to avoid prosecution, have turned traditional American narratives on their heads. Can

Americans still imagine themselves as the “good guys,” anymore?

In such unsettling times, it is not surprising to find some pundits and politicians resorting to familiar rhetorical frameworks equating masculinity with strength and femininity with weakness. It is easy, and perhaps reassuring, to attack a political opponent for employing a “twig” instead of a “big stick.” Reducing matters that are inherently complex and unstable to metaphors that appear “natural” and self-explanatory creates a sense of control that may be illusory, but satisfying.

Likewise, post-apocalyptic narratives

are also enjoying immense popularity; the

“post” automatically and mercifully implies

the continuation of life, the survival of some.

And even in the midst of destruction and

death are opportunities for reinvention,

rebirth, and new life. If American men are

suffering from “Low-T,” surviving an

apocalypse will put matters in perspective. If

unemployment threatens economic security,

throw out the economy and start again anew.

Figure 7.12. As Americans embrace survival narratives,

305 they engage in a process of imaginative re-creation in which anxieties may be soothed, fears resolved, and identities re-negotiated. The film, Noah, was released on March 28,

2014 with the tagline, “In a world ravaged by human sin, Noah is given a divine mission: to build an Ark to save creation from the coming flood.” The poster features a muscular man, in “primitive” dress, placing himself bravely between the viewer and the rushing waters, ready to battle nature’s wrath and emerge stronger on the other side. It is a familiar story in more ways than one. As in so many narratives of death and rebirth, “The

End of the World . . . is Just the Beginning.”

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