Suburbs of New York City, 1953
The vacuum roared across the living room as I cleaned the house, finishing the last of my tasks before the children arrived home from school. I had left the television running as I folded laundry, and “Leave It To the Girls” was still playing as I pushed the machine underneath the coffee table, my eyes catching on the ladies chatting to one another.
My heart stopped. The screen flashed to black. I knew the words we had all be dreading were about to come, I knew, even though I prayed it wouldn’t be true.
The words flashed on the screen.
“This is an Emergency Broadcast.”
I shut off the vacuum, and it fell with a thud. My heart raced as I stepped to the set and turned up the volume. The picture snapped from back and our President’s face appeared. He was visibly shaken.
“My fellow Americans,” he began “We have been attacked.”
President Truman wiped his brow and then looked straight into the camera.
“We believe the Russians have attacked us. We don’t yet know how many cities are affected. We don’t yet know what is happening. We are sending The National Guard in to maintain order.”
Tears were streaming down my face. My husband was in Manhattan, and if it had been hit…. I couldn’t think about that now.
The President was sweating profusely. Normally, President Truman kept his composure. Normally he was not this anxious, but who could blame him? The Russians had attacked us.
I began to pray that my husband was alive. Little did I know that I would regret that prayer. That death would be kinder than life in our new world.
As the President continued to speak, telling us to stay inside our homes until the authorities came to help us, my heart and mind went to my children. I hoped they had ducked and covered like we had taught them. I hoped they were safe.
As my mind drifted, I missed the signs, not that I would have understood them then.
When I looked at the screen again, the Presidents eyes were glazed over. He was moving around the Resolute Desk, a slow, almost comical motion. Why was the President doing that? Why wasn’t he speaking anymore?
In the background, you could hear the Secret Service speaking, I couldn’t make out the words, we weren’t meant to. Then, with a deep unsettling groan, President Harry Truman lurched towards the camera, knocking it and the man behind it to the ground.
The screaming blared from the set, and my eyes fixated in horror on the screen as my President sunk his teeth into the cameraman’s face, tearing the flesh away from bone, and exposing what remained underneath.
I watched as a Secret Serviceman put a gun to the back of my Presidents head, and shot him without remorse.
The President was dead.The President had just eaten a man’s face.
I had no idea what we were dealing with. However, I knew what I had to do.
I had to get my children. We would weather this together.