Surviving the Disaster When it Comes: Take a Deep Breath and Relax
Posted: Sunday, October 30, 2011
by Jack H. Schick
I’m sort of a survival expert. That might be an overstatement. I’ve survived nearly sixty years. Considering some of the stupid things I’ve done, I should get some credit for that. But, what I mean is; I’ve always anticipated “the disaster.” I guess I’ve even looked forward to it, in a perverse sort of way. “What if a comet hits the planet and we have no electricity for a year or two?” “What if the Russians bomb us and we have to hide in the basement for a month?” “What if I’m magically transported to a primitive wilderness somewhere with only what I have with me?” are the kind of goofy questions I’ve always asked myself. I think it has something to do with the air raid warnings we had when I was a kid, where we’d have to close the blinds and hide under our desks at school, or maybe I’m just nuts.
I thought I was maybe a little odd, but at least prepared; until I met my new neighbor in California(let’s call him Bill). He’s really a great guy. He watches after our place when we’re not there, which is most of the time. He always invites us over for dinner when we come to visit. He’s a go getter for sure. His house is big and very nice. He calls his acre-and-a-quarter ‘Bill’s Ranch.’ He has all sorts of “extras” on his property: a fake water tower, a fake mine entrance, an old restored wagon. There is a rustic wooden rail fence surrounding the whole place. He’s always working on a new project.
Bill’s a retired marine. During his career in the military he seems to have developed a defensive, survival instinct that makes me look like a beginner. He’s got a bunker mentality that puts my little corner of the basement look silly. The last time we were out to our place, he let me in on a secret. Well, it isn’t really a secret. The whole neighborhood knows about it, but pretend they don’t. Bill built an under ground survival shelter, a real bunker. He reminds everybody of Bert Gummer from the Tremors movies a little bit. They laugh at him. They might be sorry sometime.
Bill rented a backhoe and dug a big pit behind the garage. He bought one of those metal storage pods that they carry on train cars or ships and buried it. He built a shed over the entrance, which is a four foot by four foot cement ‘well’ with a metal ladder going down in. You have to move his lawn tractor to get to the trap door. He dug a French drain in the center of the entry well to drain any ground water and to serve as a toilet. The place is rigged up to house six people, but he expects to only have two or four (probably just two, since his son’s wife laughed at and insulted him when he told them about the project).
I got to go down into the bunker! Not too many people have been honored with the pleasure. He didn’t have the electricity in yet so we had to take propane lanterns. When we got down into the entry well and opened the door to the pod I was surprised to see that the walls were bulging in. It seems Bill had underestimated the weight of the concrete. He’d incased the whole thing in cement. It took a couple of trucks full. The pod is now surrounded by a full four inches of reinforced cement, bottom, sides and top.
“I braced it with two by fours,” he said, “I thought the whole thing was going to cave in. They were snapping like toothpicks. It’s ok, though. You could hit it with a bomb. When they nuke LA, I’ll be fine. I’ve got two months worth of food and water down here.”
I noticed he said “when they nuke LA,” not “if.” I at least say “if,” when I do my planning.
“Gee’s Bill, if there’s a disaster and I show up at the door will you let me in?” I asked.
“You’d better have plenty of food, water and ammo with you.” I could tell by his tone that I wouldn’t get in even if I did. “Besides, you’ll probably be back in Pennsylvania when it happens.”
I noticed he said “when,” not “if” again.
“I don’t see any holes,” I said. “Where do you get your air and vent your generator fumes?”
“Well,” he turned his head and seemed a little subdued. “That’s one thing I sort of over looked. I’m going to have to core bore the cement and the pod to put in some air vents.”
“You forgot about air?” he didn’t say anything, just started up the ladder.
While we were having iced tea on their back porch I learned that ‘when’ it happens, it’s probably going to be just Bill down there in the bunker.
“I’m not getting in the G. D. thing,” his wife said. “The idiot forgot to put in air holes. It’s nothing but a stupid waste of money!”
I felt bad for him. Except for the need to breathe oversight, Bill’s my kind of guy. It’s guys like him and me that will craw out of the ruins to build the new world—when it happens.
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