Although he was neither a mutant nor a ninja, and plagued with a pedestrian name, Bert the Turtle became well-known in the 1950s. He starred in a black-and-white cartoon/film, “Duck and Cover,” that instructed millions of schoolchildren in protecting themselves during a nuclear attack. After “ducking” to the ground, Bert then “covered” himself by receding into his convenient, protective shell. His actions were accompanied by cheery music and the advice that viewers should seek out “shelter” in school under their desks, or outside against a wall, or later, in a “fallout shelter” to protect against the blast and the inevitable, deadly radiation fallout.

Some schools went even further. Teachers yelled “Drop” in the middle of a lesson to gauge the children’s readiness. A few cities created student “dog tags” like those worn by U.S. soldiers to identify those injured or killed. Although the stated goal was to prepare children, not frighten them, many reported that the drills left them terrified. Later, some have suggested that this primal fear helped spark and sustain a peace and antinuclear movement that has lasted for decades.

I don’t remember actually participating in any drills, but the fear of nuclear annihilation sank deep roots in me, especially during the 1962 Cuban missile crisis when a teacher and veteran tried to reassure us that the U.S. would probably “fire a shot across the bow” of a Russian ship, and they would then retreat. The crisis ended peacefully, but I couldn’t erase the vision of a world-ending nuclear conflagration. In our early twenties, some of us even claimed that the possibility of instantaneous nuclear destruction helped encourage a “live fast, die young, make a good-looking corpse” approach to the dangers of young adulthood. (We added two steps to all nuclear attack instructions: “Finally, put your head between your legs” then “Kiss your *** goodbye.”)

Today, I feel honored to have a young, dedicated, and skilled elementary teacher in our family. She doesn’t have to screen Bert or identify fallout shelters, even though there are still over 9,000 nuclear warheads ready for use. Instead, she participates in schoolwide “active shooter” drills, like 95% of public schools nationwide. There are also frequent false alarms that require teachers and students to accept the fact that they may be the next victim of random violence. I imagine that even after the alarm is lifted, the feelings associated with it remain monstrously real. Imagining a room of children’s bodies (and possibly your own) decimated by an AR-15 is a vision that I don’t think leaves lightly on a summer breeze, but lurks in shadows that may never feel the sun.

Are the terrors of nuclear attack the same as those created by deranged shooters? I believe we instinctively knew that there was nothing we could do prevent an A-bomb attack or its devastating consequences. At best, we could take the approach of the smiling, oblivious Alfred E. Neuman in the 1960s “Mad” magazine: “What, me worry?”

I imagine active shooter drills with more personal effects, and a sense of despair at the random nature of victims. Unlike an A-bomb, a shooter and his AR-15 isn’t going to destroy the entire school and every student, only some unlucky individuals. We’ve already been bombarded with stories about children surviving by playing dead among a pile of bodies, or of one person randomly happening upon a lucky hiding place while others don’t. One study shows a 40% increase in indicators of stress, anxiety, and depression after active shooter drills.

But in October 2023, I realize that my thoughts and imaginations, and even those of many beloved schoolchildren and teachers, are a problem of privilege compared to the realities in Ukraine and Russia, Israel and Gaza. They face the reality that death may visit them at any moment; that the sky, blue or gray, may hide the instrument of their death; that their life may end as a result of a random attack over which they have no control and events they’ve had no influence on. Their entire school, or building, or hospital, or restaurant, or church may be destroyed (like in a nuclear attack), or they might be slain as an individual (like an active shooter) by an unlikely ricochet, a deadly sniper, or mistake by their own military. They are living our worst nightmares, and all deserve our prayers. More importantly, they deserve our work to create a more peaceful world in which both our fears of violence and the primacy of war are erased.

Allen Woods is a freelance writer, author of the Revolutionary-era historical fiction novel “The Sword and Scabbard,” and Greenfield resident. His column appears regularly on Saturdays. Comments are welcome here or at awoods2846@gmail.com.