People from as far away as Oklahoma have come to get their one shot at stardom. Some are camping out at the fairgrounds in Russellville in order to be here for the biggest shot of all, on December 6. The day when the bomb is set to drop.
The crew, with the help of some locals, have been rigging up some explosives.
“The bomb will drop. We’re preparing everyone to not freak out,” said Margaret Meadows, local deputy.
Filming began on November 26, and plans are to conclude on December 6.
“Everyone has been so nice,” said Astrid Ogilvie, British actress. “I’ll be sad to miss them when I get to go home.”
A local girl, Laura Ratliff, 16, has already made her film debut thanks to being lucky caller number nine in DJ Crazy Bob’s 95.6 radio contest. “It has been so surreal to be here. It’s been fun but a lot of work,” she said.
As far as the plot of the movie, it stays close to the source material of the novella by Boudreaux Beauchamp. In the film as well as the novella, it is June 14, 1954, and a Civil Defense drill will take place on the same day at the same time as major cities across the nation. However, instead of a drill with the sirens blaring and people seeking shelter, and instead of leaflets printed with, This Might Have Been A Bomb! being dropped from planes, a 15-megaton hydrogen bomb drops on the citizens of Pikesville.
Much of the movie is filmed in Griffin Flat, with one scene filmed at the state capitol.
“Arkansas has a lot to offer the film industry,” said Mr. Edman. “I will be back to film again.”
Eve of Destruction is set to hit theaters in the summer of 1985, putting Griffin Flat on the map and giving many locals a debut in a major motion picture.
Chapter Twenty-One
I’d be lying if I didn’t say I missed doing experiments with the athlete flavor of the week. But that didn’t make me want Mr. Truitt to reconsider my punishment.
“Nonononono—I’ll do it,” Max said, grabbing the beaker out of Rodney’s hand.
Max sighed and looked longingly at the safety shower. He desperately wanted to pull that string. But he didn’t. Unlike me, he had self-control as well as unrelenting fear of his mother.
I was on question number four and just about to pull out my calculator from my bag when I saw Mr. Truitt slam his grade book down on the table, and throw his glasses down too, and stomp his feet like the child I babysat once. (I retired right after.) A grown man throwing a temper tantrum was a sight to see.
“Laura, I need to see you at my desk,” Mr. Truitt said.
The class oohed.
“Mr. Truitt, did I do something?” I asked.
“Why is it that everyone thinks they are in trouble when I call them to my desk?”
“Well—”
“No.”
He sat down and nodded for me to take a seat. He scooted his chair closer to his desk and I did the same with the chair.
“I’m going to have to lift your punishment,” he said.
“You’re what now?”
“Grades haven’t been good, and Coach Brooks is on the verge of having to play with five players, with no one on the bench academically eligible.”
“I don’t see how that’s my fault.”
“Laura—”
“I pulled the safety shower. I have to be punished.”
“And you have.”
“But—”
“Laura, please, take one for the team,” he said.
“I don’t like this one bit.” I slid down in my chair. “What dumbass needs my help this week?” I asked.
He motioned toward Kevin Barnes. I groaned silently. I’d forgotten he even attended classes. I just thought he played games and went to parties. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Actually, it was. Not all athletes were stupid, but the ones in Mr. Truitt’s fourth-period chemistry class were. I found my apelike new lab partner (who reeked of cigarettes) sitting across from Max and Rodney. Max started snickering.
“Hush,” I said. “It was worth it even though it didn’t last long.”
“Sure.”
Kevin slid the lab manual over and smiled. I hated him at that moment. Why did Kevin have to be stupid? He was a senior and still in chemistry. But he was a star Shiner athlete who needed a grade boost. And needed me to get him there.
“We’re helping the dummies one A at a time,” Max said.
“Who you calling a dummy?” Rodney said.
“Um. You?”
“At least I’m street smart,” Rodney said.
“I’m street smart,” Max said.
“Sesame Street smart,” said Rodney as he tried to light a Bunsen burner.
“Oh no, you just got owned,” Kevin said, perking up.
“I did, didn’t I?” Max said. He reached out for Rodney to shake his hand, which he did. (Max is a worthy opponent.) Max used his other hand to turn off the Bunsen burner before the entire school went kaboom. “Maybe I’ll join the basketball team and then Laura can do my work too.”
“Ha-ha. Not a chance,” I said.
“Don’t worry,” Rodney said. “The only way you’ll play basketball is if Governor Clinton enacted segregation again.”
“Wow. That was a pretty good comeback. Well done,” Max said. He clapped.
“Nothing to it.” Rodney smiled.
“I’d say burn, but with you and all these chemicals together, that joke could go very wrong.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
In Griffin Flat, the art supply shop, bookstore, and comic book emporium are one and the same. Dewayne Smith’s, named after the owner, Dewayne Smith. As mentioned, he fed my X-Men and Flash habits, among others. But he also fed my Judy Blume habit. Max and I hit up the store as often as we could if time allowed and we had the money. In today’s case it was an emergency; Max needed a new ruler. He’d broken the other one lunging for the TV set. I still wasn’t sure on the details, even after Max’s long and convoluted story.
Apparently, he’d heard the garage door open because his mom got home early from Bible study, and he couldn’t use the TV remote control—because his dad had taken the batteries out and put them into the radio, just like it said to in the FEMA pamphlet—so Max had to turn the channel on the TV manually since he was watching Top 20 Countdown instead of PBS, and needed to switch to Nova before his mom caught him. How exactly that series of events resulted in the breaking of his ruler was unclear. But here we were.
Terrence tagged along. Before taking care of the ruler, Max darted behind the cash register to watch Dewayne Smith’s TV. He had to work the set, slap it a couple of times and adjust the antennas, but here Max was allowed to watch as much TV as he wanted before he had to go home. I don’t even really think he cared what was on, as long as it wasn’t PBS. He was one of the few kids I knew who had cable TV, and his parents wouldn’t let him watch any of it. (There were porn channels, or so I’d heard.)
“Our shipment will be late this week,” said Dewayne Smith. He was talking about the comic books.
“Noooooooo,” I said, a little too loudly.
A few people in the store turned and stared. But only for a second. They understood. Most of the people who came here weren’t of the Kevin Barnes variety.
I went to the Judy Blume shelf. I needed my favorite author to tell me how to handle life right about now. She had gotten me through tough times before. Whenever I needed help, I’d go to my mom, and she’d gift me with enough to buy a Judy Blume paperback. Or she’d buy them herself. When she couldn’t find the right words, which was often, she’d let Judy Blume do the talking. When I got my period, I was handed Are You There God? It’s Me, Margaret. When Mom felt like I gawked at Christian Slater too long, she handed me Forever. I dog-eared the juicy parts for reference. When Mom and Dad were getting a divorce, she accidentally handed me Tiger Eyes instead of It’s Not the End of the World. I had to wonder why she had Tiger Eyes at the ready. I called Dad every day for a month, making sure he was okay. Mom gave Terrence Then Again, Maybe I Won’t, and gave me Deenie for another reason I’d rather not share.