Reviewing my Duck and Cover post from yesterday brought back other childhood memories:
Before my parents took their young child and fled the war-threatened city for the safer suburbs (see Bedknobs and Broomsticks) we lived in a new row house on the northeast side of Philadelphia. We regularly had air raids. My Father was an Air Raid Warden (complete with white hard hat) and his job, after the sirens wailed, was to patrol the street to be sure everyone had their blackout curtains/shades drawn and no light was peering out. For this evolution all the neighbors adjourned to their front stoops and enjoyed a good chit-chat. Part of Civil Defense preparedness was knowing witch action to take should an incendiary bomb come crashing through the rooftop. We were provided with a cardboard container (a round box, like one for Oatmeal) containing fine sand. When the bomb landed you were to take the container and dump the sand on the fire (SURE WE WERE!).
I am sure the neighbors were glad we left town -and took Bruce and his performing arts show with them. (The row house had garages behind and beneath each unit. There was an alley way that ran between the-facing rows of houses that provided access. When the men left for work in the morning, they left their garage locks hanging open on the doors. One day I went about the business of mixing up all of the locks and then locking each and every door with locks at random. The ensuing melee when the workers returned was a hoot! There was no applause, however.)
der Brucer
Note: Since my Atwater-Kent radio had a lighted dial, I had to cover it with a towel during blackouts. Later in life I had to cover my nice Emerson bedside radio with a towel and an ice pack to keep it cool (when my folks were out I'd sneak a listen to my favorite shows like The Thin Man, Inner Sanctum and the Shadow (he knows!) - my Father used to check on his return to see if the radio was warm - which thanks to my foresight, it was not.