We grew up with a bomb shelter in our basement. My dad, an engineer, was the first to build a designated home bomb shelter in rural Windom, Minn., during the Cold War. Our house did not have a basement, so it mostly served as a storm shelter from tornadoes. We saw more destructive winds in rural Minnesota than missiles from the former Soviet Union.
Because of our Cold War readiness, our family was featured in a photo shoot in the local newspaper, the Cottonwood County Citizen. In crisply pressed clothes, we sat on fold-down benches that doubled as bunk beds. Mom and Dad held my younger sisters in their laps. I sat between them, wide-eyed, wondering how we could live in this tiny room together. The shelves on the wall opposite the bunk beds held rows of canned goods, soups, vegetables, fruit slices, jugs of water, and toilet paper. Dad thought of everything. There was a small toilet, a cook stove top, a first aid kit, and a can opener. Enough provisions to last us several weeks until the nuclear cloud passed and we could reenter our home, like a family of prairie dogs looking for sunshine.
I am certain that building a state-of-the-art bomb shelter was an act of love for my father. But in our photo shoot, we look awkward and frankly sad, even though no nuclear threat was imminent…