Not much had changed since my mom marched, braless with make love not war signs. They’d even brought red balloons, but the police shut that down real fast.
The governor was coming to town right when school was in session, but the administration made the executive decision to end school early. A civics lesson, so to speak. But Pops made the executive decision for me. I wasn’t going to miss the governor here for a little suspension.
You could tell the director was annoyed at the mesmerizing control that the governor had over the crowd. All eyes were on him, and it was quiet. The director wished he had that influence.
“My fellow Arkansans,” Governor Clinton said to the crowd, “I’m happy to see so many smiling faces this afternoon. Rumor has it there’s going to be a nuclear war.” The crowd erupted in laughter. “I want to reassure many of you that this is just a movie—a movie about average Americans going about their business as usual”—until everyone gets fried—“until the unthinkable happens. Though nuclear deterrence is on the forefront on all Americans’ minds, it is”—And I tune him out. Political speech, blah blah blah—“Tonight, I ask all of you to stand with me for a future that will make us proud. God bless you all. Thank you.”
Governor Clinton had a way about him. The way he talked in a slow, deliberate, and comforting manner like nothing was wrong. He had a way about him that made me want to forget, at least for a moment, all the scenarios of nuclear devastation and the collapse of a working society that could occur: Cannibalism, famine, disease, death of the American dream, you know? Even though Arkansas had its very own nuclear warhead out on a cow pasture. But Governor Clinton was a politician, and he was just one man closer to the button.
The purpose of a nuclear war was to leave the entire planet devastated beyond recognition, and what if you were President Reagan, and you had to decide if you should push the button or not? What if you’re Konstantin Chernenko, leader of the Soviet Union, and you had to decide if you should push the button or not?
Or not.
But this was fake. In reality the governor would be one of the politicians hiding in some bunker in Mount Weather (a nuclear fallout shelter that’s at a top secret—I say top secret, but everyone knows—location for the president to be relocated when or if the unthinkable happens), waiting until this damn apocalypse passes by. We’d only hear a voice like his while we sat in smoldering ruins listening to a ham radio under candlelight while eating a can of Spam.
“Act natural,” Tyson told DJ Crazy Bob from 95.6.
DJ Crazy Bob actually did a pretty good impression of Governor Clinton. It made the governor from the twenty-fifth state laugh.
“My fellow Americans, I am pleased to tell you today that I’ve signed legislation that will outlaw Russia forever. We begin bombing in five minutes,” DJ Crazy Bob said (mimicking Governor Clinton) with a laugh (That was an actual thing that President Reagan said to lighten the mood; however, he was broadcast over the radio on August 11, 1984 and later leaked to the general public), which made us laugh but not the director, who was in a mood. He was even biting his nail and had sweat on his brow. He seemed nervous or worried. And since I was a constant worrier, I was now worried too.
There were a few practice takes with Tyson stepping in for the director and telling the radio host to “ham it up—embrace your southern drawl.”
Once Tyson got the approval from the director, they decided to put it on film.
“Quiet on the set. Quiet on the set. And action!”
-
INT. RADIO STATION—MORNING
GOVERNOR HOLT’s voice is heard over the radio.
Civil Defense sirens sound.
Civil Defense sirens continue to sound.
Chapter Thirty
That would be the only take. Governor Clinton’s security detail started talking to their wrists, and he was whisked away. No one said why. We asked too.
At least I did.
The director wasn’t happy, and he voiced his displeasure. He said we were done for the day with a few expletives and headed off the set and to his car, where his driver burned rubber down Main Street. As did the state troopers with the governor. There was a cloud of dust in their way as they headed not in the direction of Little Rock.
-
Well, if in fact a Red Warning occurs today, we certainly got a beautiful day for it.
The sunny skies and pleasant temperatures for this June day make standing in the middle of Main Street more agreeable while waiting for tensions to rise. If it happens, if the crisis does happen, then there’s a slight possibility The Chronicle will not publish tomorrow. But we will try.
Chapter Thirty-One
It was my day to die. It was cold, and the sun wasn’t out yet. The only lights were the ones from the car and a few streetlamps. We pulled into the fairgrounds. Trailer lights were on, and people were running around in a frenzy. Off to the side was a semi with a couple of rides, and the Ferris wheel was being worked on by a crew. The Christmas Festival was to start a week after the movie crew departed. I couldn’t wait to ride the Ferris wheel. It was the only ride I liked to ride.
Dennis was stopped at the gate and was asked his name by a man with a clipboard.
“Just dropping off my kids,” he said.
“Names, sir?” the man asked. “We’ve been having a lot of people trying to get on set, and their names aren’t on the list.”
“Terrence Jennings and Laura Ratliff,” Dennis said.
“Got them,” the man said, checking Terrence’s name and then checking mine with his pencil.
Dennis pulled up a little. He wasn’t allowed to go past the gate.
“You two be good and shine,” Mom said as I opened the door.
“We will, Edna,” Terrence said.
“You two have a ride home?” Dennis asked.
“We’ll find one,” I said.
“The last day,” Mom said. “I didn’t think we’d make it.”
“We love you both,” Dennis said.
“We love you too,” I said.
I closed the door and walked around the car.
BOOM.
The earth shook, and I grabbed Terrence’s coat to keep my balance. His knees buckled and we almost went down.