If you look closely at certain buildings all over New York today, you’ll see it too: the ubiquitous “Fallout Shelter” sign comprised of three bright, inverted equilateral triangles joined at the center on a round black background, with shelter capacity circled near the base, followed by the words “Fallout Shelter” in large block letters and directional arrows. Kennedy's call for the construction of fall out shelters while in the midst of nuclear brinkmanship in 1961, Blakeley was responsible for the eerie icon that triggered my hopeless despair. You might not know the name but following John F. On October 27, 2017, Robert Blakeley died. And beyond sound, graphic design triggered many of the inconsolable fears that were so pervasive during the blistering Cold War. The continuous preparations for the inconceivable were not entirely paralytic, yet we were conditioned to expect the inevitable. As a third grader in 1957, air raid drills were a fact of life and the siren was but one of many reasons for a consuming increase in Baby Boom angst. These air raid sirens, remnants from World War II, were used as a cue for World War III.
On alternate weeks, however, the same siren wailed for a longer and more menacingly three to five minutes at any time during the school day. Though always startling, it benignly announced lunchtime. The burst of sound lasted only a few seconds before fading into silence. At the same time, various other electronic screams echoed in the air.
Every day at noon, a chilling siren blared from a loudspeaker atop my public elementary school building.
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