I started prepping in first grade. It was 1954, and if you are among the 76 million baby boomers, you remember how we lived in fear of the Russians dropping an atom bomb on New York City. At Public School 193 in Brooklyn, New York, Mrs. Bardy had us kneel under our scarred wooden desks while she closed the tall windows with a long wooden pole crowned with a menacing hook. It was our job to cover our heads with our hands and wait until the siren stopped wailing and Mrs. Bardy said it was safe to come out. As we faced away from the window, it never occurred to us that we would be covered in shards if a bomb fell from the sky.
Since we expected to be killed, my best friend Abby Ferrante baptized me with our family’s green rubber garden hose so that she and I could be together in heaven and I wouldn’t have to go to Limbo with the other Jewish kids. I still remember the cold water splashing over my forehead as she intoned the emergency ritual designed to save my soul. I knew it was sacrilegious—so sacrilegious that I have never told my family. But the prospect of getting stranded in Limbo for all eternity was even more terrifying. Abby was very clear on the consequences, and I can still remember the relief I felt when the cold water hit my head—just in case—because, after all, we were six years old.
The air raid drills continued through sixth grade. We were encouraged to practice at home, instructions I diligently followed. In second grade, I took to crouching under the piano at home a few times a week, covering my head with my hands. One Sunday, when my dad came home from playing golf, he found me under the piano.
“What the hell are you doing?” he demanded.
Calmly, I explained how I was “practicing, like Miss Dalton said.”
Miss Dalton was our second-grade teacher, a dragon lady whose orders were never disobeyed.
“Practicing for what?” he asked.
“For when the Russians drop an atom bomb on New York City,” I said, still kneeling under the piano.
But instead of the praise I expected for being a good girl, no sooner had I finished than my dad burst out laughing.
“I can’t believe they are teaching something that stupid at PS 193! If the Russians drop an atom bomb, you’ll be dead before you know it.”
As I remember, I was more upset by his reaction than the prospect of being vaporized. You see, after the bomb, I was going to be in heaven with Abby Ferrante. Little did we know that more than half a century later, the threat of nuclear attack would manifest again in all its ugliness. As two guys with bad hair, infantile rage, and nuclear arsenals tweet ballistic insults at each other, 76 million alumni of those “duck and cover” drills are saying, “Here we go again.”
The headline splashed across the home screen of ChelseaPatch.com’s April 17, 2017, issue says, “Hey, NYC: Here’s What to Do If We Get Nuked.” It says that if you survive the blast and see “sandy particles falling from the sky or already on the ground, go indoors immediately.”13
Indoors, you will want a book like How to Survive a Nuclear Emergency by British nuclear physicist Dr. Keith Pearce. His wording might be considered old-fashioned but his advice cuts straight to the point:
“So in summary,” he says, “if there is a nuclear accident near you your priorities are to stay safe and protect your family, friends and neighbors. You do not want to have an accident of your own so try to stay calm and behave sensibly. Listen to the advice from the police and local authority which will be on the local radio channel and on TV.”14
While I worked on this chapter, CNN reported that the Centers for Disease Control were issuing new guidelines about what to do in the unlikely event of a nuclear blast. “For instance, most people don’t realize that sheltering in place for at least twenty-four hours is crucial to saving lives and reducing exposure to radiation,” according to a CDC press release.15 In 2017, first responders, the Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA), Homeland Security, and military personnel participated in Operation Gotham Shield to prepare for a nuclear emergency in the New York metropolitan region. While no one wants to believe it could happen to them, we have historical examples of terror’s aftermath.
Just in case: What’s your plan?
Baby Boomers: A Generation of Preppers?
Six months after the September 11th attacks, at a Jungian seminar on “Trauma, Dreams and Nightmares: Psychic Images Before, During and After September 11,” I learned that in the year or so prior to the attack, hundreds of people had reported dreams to therapists, which included images of planes flying into buildings, birds crashing into towers, The Tower card in the Tarot, which depicts people jumping from a burning tower, and people flying through flames.
Swiss psychiatrist Carl Jung wrote, “Sometimes a dream is of such importance that its message reaches consciousness, no matter how uncomfortable or shocking it may be.”
Whether you prefer to call this coincidence or synchronicity—a term Carl Jung described as a “meaningful coincidence,” according to Katherine Olivetti, a Jungian analyst who presented the seminar, “September 11th was not a total surprise to the unconscious mind.” She pointed out that even if you did not have such a dream, you have probably seen movies in which airplanes crash into buildings. Although feature films are not reality, their images implant subliminal possibilities, which, in this case, manifested in real time. In other words, on a subliminal level, we knew it could happen. On a conscious collective level, it was unthinkable.
If, like Abby and me, you practiced those “duck and cover” drills in elementary school, witnessing the planes on September 11th may well have triggered one or two seconds of déjà vu.
Like me, you probably shut it down right a way. Cognitive dissonance would have overridden the subliminal factor with the only logical interpretation being that we were bearing witness to an illogical, unreal, and impossible event.
Since then, several dozen people reported experiencing a weird sense of calm, flashbacks to those childhood drills, and a surreal sense of having seen it somewhere before.
“I saw this scary air raid alarm thing on black-and-white TV,” says Ron Haugen, who participated in the drills during second grade at Saint Adalbert Elementary School in Queens. “I can still see those grainy black-and-white images of prop planes and mushroom clouds.”
Another contemporary writes, “I consider myself a caring person. I sometimes wonder why I did not have more of an emotional reaction to that day’s events.”
My office stood across the street from St. Vincent’s Hospital, about one and a half miles north of Ground Zero. In addition to my private practice, I wrote several articles about the psychological impact of 9/11 for the New York Times Long Island section, volunteered at holistic health fairs, and ran the adolescent program at South Nassau Communities’ Hospital’s WTC Family Center. In working with eyewitnesses, it was not unusual to hear similar responses from eyewitnesses who had grown up during the 1950s: a mixture of shock, nausea, and an eerie calm, because on some level, they weren’t surprised. Prepped as children, the subconscious mind stored the images. When the real-time attack occurred, it seemed somehow familiar.
The Anthrax Scare
One week after September 11th, letters containing anthrax spores were mailed to several media offices in New York City and Boca Raton, Florida. Three weeks later, another set of letters was sent to Senators Tom Daschle (D-South Dakota) and Patrick Leahy (D-Vermont). Anthrax is a disease contracted by cattle and sheep, which can be transmitted to humans. It can cause skin infections or a deadly respiratory illness. The anthrax letters killed five people and sickened twenty-two, one of whom was a colleague in Dan Rather’s office at CBS News.16 CNN.com reported “an assistant to NBC News anchor Tom Brokaw and a baby of an ABC News producer have also been diagnosed with skin anthrax.”17 Seven years later, the FBI identified Dr. Bruce Ivins, an Army microbiologist, as the perpetrator. Ivins committed suicide on July 29, 2008.18
Coming on the heels of the September 11th trifecta—planes crashing into the World Trade Center, into the ground at Shanksville, Pennsylvania, and into the Pentagon—the anthrax attacks fed a media frenzy that understandably left us feeling vulnerable and helpless—because we were.
Writing in Journalism and Mass Communication Quarterly, Kristen Alley Swain identified “833 stories in 272 newspapers, AP, NPR, and four television networks (ABC News, CBS News, CNN, and NBC News).” 19
The anthrax story was characterized by “conflicting reports, speculation, use of unnamed sources, and coverage of vague advice and hoaxes/false alarms.”20 The author observes that reportage using scientific explanations with statistics helped to ameliorate panicked reactions about a generalized, nonspecific threat.
Which isn’t to say I wasn’t scared. But when a young mother brought her nine-year-old son to see me because he had suddenly developed a germ phobia, it reinforced my awareness that exposure to frightening news can induce vicarious trauma. (We sat together, off and on, through his adolescence. He went on to become a paramedic.)
A Conversation with the Gas Mask Man
“Death can cause people to become fearful and feel overwhelmed. It can have a similar impact to going through a disaster,” says Dr. Demaria. “We need to find the humility to admit that we are indeed powerless and helpless so we can take the first steps in finding ways to heal.”
It can also be humbling to seek out ways to improve our odds of survival, which is why I stood riveted in front of four mannequins in a Greenwich Village shop window in early October 2001: Amerithrax season. (Amerithrax is the FBI’s nickname for the anthrax attacks.)21
Although one khaki-clad mannequin looked like it was about to fall over, staring at her gas mask was strangely reassuring. Maybe one of the statues was wearing the gas mask that would help us stay alive in the event of an attack.
Inside, at a glass counter, the storeowner looked like Andre the Giant in camouflage. Yes, he was a veteran and yes, he would explain the differences between the battle-tested Israeli model 4 a1, the Canadian C4, the Korean K1 Evolution 5000, and the British Avon 510 with drinking straw.22
“Remember, you have thirty seconds to put it on and maybe two minutes to clear the room,” he said.
“What if I trip on my own feet?” I said. “I have klutzy DNA.”
“That’s a problem,” he agreed. “You gotta practice.”
I attempted to visualize a scenario where the room would be filling up with gas. I could see myself doubled over, coughing.
Confession time: “I have asthma.”
“No worries!”
He flashed an Andre the Giant smile and I swore there was light bouncing off his teeth.
“Asthma? No worries,” he chuckled. “You’ll be dead in seconds.”
“So I don’t have to buy one of these things?”
“You’ll be dead before you put it on.”
Before I could ask the price of the Israeli battle tested 4a1—clearly the most reliable choice—I was skipping down 8th Street, heading west into the sun, wondering if the late afternoon sky was especially blue or whether I was just happy, because like my father’s words many years before, my conversation with the gas mask man had freed me from yet another worry.
The Soup Nazi, Repurposed
My friend Abby from PS 193 did get her very own gas mask. She had joined the Foreign Service and was returning from an overseas posting in 2002.
“The whole world had changed. Everyone was sort of in shock,” she says.
At the State Department, everyone was required to attend a movie before being issued a gas mask.
“Prior to that, we were told to bring three days of food and water in the event of an emergency,” she told me.
“You mean the government isn’t going to give you lunch if you’re in lockdown?” I asked.
That seemed unfair. Not that Congress has ever asked how we would like our taxes to be allocated, but if it did, I would definitely vote for funds to feed Federal workers in lockdown due to a terrorist attack. It seems like the least we can do for them.
The movie illustrated how to assemble and put on a gas mask.
“It showed a guy in a hazmat suit who showed us parts of the gas mask and how to make sure it was working,” Abby said. “As long as you can hold your breath is as long as you have to put on your gas mask. I kept shooting my hand up to ask if we were going to get the gloves and the hazmat suit. From my understanding of chemical warfare, your skin is going to be falling off your bones, so how are you supposed to arm the gas mask unless you are issued a hazmat suit and gloves?”
“No hazmat suit for you,” she was told. “And no gloves.”
The Soup Nazi, repurposed. Who knew?
Ever resourceful, Abby asked about bringing her own gloves.
“The guy doing the briefing after the movie said not to bring your own gloves,” she recalled. “They would melt.”
The prognosis was not encouraging.
“I was like a deer in the headlights,” she told me. “What would happen if I was in the ladies room when the attack started? How would I get my gas mask?”
The question went unanswered. She was told to try hers on.
“It was like a Darth Vader hood, so dark and claustrophobic you could hardly breathe. I was resigned to death.” Hyperventilating, she wondered, “Is this the last scene on earth I am going to be witnessing?”
Instead of giving in to dread, Abby went for the gold.
“I bought a bottle of Dom Perignon, caviar, and crackers. If anything happens, I’m going out in style.”
Imminent Danger
Not only had Abby served where colleagues were murdered and rockets were fired at the U.S. Embassy, her portfolio included reading intelligence briefings.
“Working on terrorism issues was terrifying,” she says. “Every day you are reading about credible, validated threats. You cannot underestimate the efforts to dismantle those threats, which were made daily against different United States targets around the world. There was absolute imminent danger at any time. I did not enjoy that portfolio. But it was better than being assigned to a post where I was told that, as a woman, ‘it’s less likely you will be beheaded.’ I lived. I left. I retired. I survived.”
After drinking her Dom Perignon and savoring her caviar, Abby sold the gas masks she had bought for her mother and aunt (just in case).
“I had to feel I was doing something,” she said. “I didn’t want to come home to a house full of dead people thinking I knew better and hadn’t done something to save them.”
I consider Abby a model of preparedness, not because she stores water and batteries (just in case), but because she maintains a positive yet realistic mindset.
“You have to go out and enjoy your life,” she says. “We don’t want the terrorists to win, and if they paralyze you, they win.”
Tips for Prepping
Websites like www.ready.gov provide information about preparing a go-kit with emergency supplies and important documents. They emphasize taking time to think about the things you would need and where you can keep them so that you can grab them and go when the time comes.
Having seen homeowners who were flooded showing up at our local bank in tears because their financial documents had been destroyed by seawater and slime, I cannot emphasize how important it is to scan or copy your important documents and keep them in a waterproof, fireproof box on a high shelf. You can store digital files in the cloud, on a flash drive, or in your phone, but it is not uncommon to lose cell phone service and electricity after a disaster. That’s why God invented paper.
Prepping 101
Are you living/working in a region prone to fires, earthquakes, mudslides, blizzards, droughts, floods, tornadoes, or hurricanes? Pick up information at your local fire department or police station, or go to www.ready.gov.
Plan A: Ask yourself, “Where will I go in an emergency? Who can I call on to help? How long can I expect to stay put after the event? Where am I likely to find shelter after emergency shelters close down?”
Plan B: Ask yourself, “What will I/we do if Plan A turns out to be impossible?”
Keep two lists with you at all times: emergency contacts and any medications you need.
Factual information is your rational source of information before and after an event. Be aware of the media flow. Pay attention to facts and opinions. Be careful and selective about what you decide to believe.
They are part of life—including yours. Look for lifelines. They can keep you from despair.
Healthy Pessimism
So many people have suggested that thinking about these subjects is “negative,” perhaps because of a shared assumption that the pursuit of happiness equals always having fun. Anything unpleasant is considered “negative.”
Holding that thought can be hazardous to your health. A leading disaster psychologist, Dr. Demaria, says, “One thing I’ve learned about resiliency is that it is not about not facing trouble. It’s about going through it and coming out stronger.”
Nelly Yefet grew up in the Swiss Alps, where her family was snowed in for three months every winter. It taught her the importance of self-sufficiency and storing three months of basic supplies.
“People are in denial that they need to be ready. People think it’s negative thinking and you don’t want to go there,” she says. “But you have to have things on hand for an emergency: candles, matches, canned food, flour, sugar, and salt. What happens if there is a riot outside and you can’t go out?”
To Yefet, denial and weakness go hand in hand.
A resident of south Florida for more than thirty years, she lived through the worst hurricane in Florida’s history: Andrew, a Category 5 storm. Andrew’s 165-mile-per-hour winds destroyed 25,000 homes and left another 100,000 severely damaged. More than a million people had no electricity for weeks.23
In a New York Times article that appeared on August 25, 1992, Larry Richter wrote, “Throughout today hundreds of thousands of people ignored warnings to stay off the streets. Instead they roamed metropolitan Miami in cars or on foot to search for ice, canned foods, gasoline, batteries and charcoal for barbecue grills, the only method of cooking that many people have.”24
Teresa Baker, a psychotherapist who lived an hour north of Miami, recalls that her therapist “rode it out in his closet with a mattress as buffer while his townhouse collapsed around him.” Not only was the experience life-altering for him, it altered their therapeutic relationship.
“He and I were never the same after that,” she says.
Nelly remains stunned by a neighbor’s response to the disaster.
“She came in crying, because she couldn’t charge her electric toothbrush,” she says, shaking her head. “We were brought up to use our heads to solve problems and we grew up thinking on our own. Here, we are not taught how to think and analyze.”
There are two types of problems: the ones we pay attention to so that we can come up with solutions, and those from which we run away.
“People think, ‘If I don’t see it, it doesn’t exist,’ ” Nelly said. “But what will you do when supermarkets and restaurants close?”
Staying Positive
Ron Haugen and I were at dinner the other night. Ron was the boy who practiced “duck and cover” drills and still remembers grainy black-and-white TV footage from back in the day. After dinner, we went to the supermarket next door. I picked up some fruit salad and Ron bought a year’s supply of rice. This made him extremely happy. (Unlike those of us who live in small places, he has someplace to store it.) I couldn’t help but wonder what it was about buying a year’s supply of rice that made him so cheerful.
“We live on the edge of uncertainty,” Ron says. “At the same time, it’s human nature to say, ‘I can’t deal with the future.’ What stops me from dwelling on the uncertain future thing is doing something small—no matter what it might be.” This might mean remembering to pick up a couple of gallons of water or a few packs of AA and C batteries the next time you’re in the supermarket. Look around and see if there is anything that speaks to you, as in, “It wouldn’t hurt to have that—just in case.”
It goes even further. For Ron, the prospect of things going wrong is inherently mind-expanding.
“With disaster, you have to step outside your normal bounds of operation to extraordinary and different ways of perceiving things,” he says. “People want things to stay like they are and normal. You have to move beyond your previous mode of operation. You have to be ready for whatever it could be.”
Keys to Emotional First Aid (EFA)
When preparing an emergency go-kit, I strongly recommend that you have one or more tools to help defuse panic so you can keep your head clear before, during, and immediately after impact. But first, take a picture of the following five EFA tools. Store it on your phone. You can also print it and keep it in your wallet or go-kit.
The following tools meet SEQ standards: Safe, Effective, and Quick.
When you feel frightened or overwhelmed, looking up quickly shifts your focus of attention from your feelings to your visual thinking. (This is a great tool to help kids calm down. Point to the sky and say, “Look up!”) Looking up works like swiping the screen so that your brain refocuses on what it sees instead of disturbing physical sensations or emotions.
Looking at a scene of destruction can literally cause nausea. As you extend both arms, check out the tips of your fingers in the corner of your peripheral vision. (In the past, driving tests used this to ascertain the driver’s peripheral functionality.) Engaging your peripheral vision helps to neutralize harsh reactions. In effect, it creates a safety shield between you and the ugliness of the scene.
Picture or imagine that you are looking through a two-way mirror. You can see out, but nobody can see in. This, too, creates a safety shield that can help you navigate and make decisions.
As you inhale, notice where in your body you are holding tension or stress. Focusing on the discomfort, ask, “What color will help me to feel calm?” You do not have to ask out loud. Within a couple of seconds, you will see, sense, or hear the name of the color. Breathe it in and allow the soothing color to find its way anywhere in your body that would like to feel relaxed and calm. When you exhale, release any unwanted sensation by breathing out a different color.
When you are feeling anxious or overwhelmed, imagine that you are swiping a cursor from your head to the soles of your feet. Rub your feet on the floor. Do not think of anything except what your feet feel like as they rub against the floor. This easy piece disconnects the anxiety “app.” Instantly calming. Your feet cannot “do” anxiety.