Amy Brashear - The Incredible True Story of the Making of the Eve of Destruction

“Laura—you, you…” she sputtered. “I’m leaving. Like I said before, we’re no longer friends. I’m warning you: don’t you dare say my name ever again.”

With that, she stormed out of the hall. She didn’t come back a third time. She’d said her peace, and I said mine.

Dennis and I stopped by the hotel on our way home with a plate of food. Somehow Dennis got decent food from the clutches of the senior citizens. When I told Mom what happened at church with Dana, she literally did a little dance behind the front desk.

“Thank the Lord, he’s finally answered my prayers,” she said as the phone rang. She left it ringing, breaking the number one rule at the Flat Inn. It was a miracle, and she had to praise God for his righteousness (or whatever she was saying), acting like she’d witnessed a real live miracle, not the end of a friendship. Was it a friendship? I wasn’t even sure. Our relationship? No, that sounds romantic. Our thing was over.

And before you even think it, or flip the pages to see if we made up—let me say it clearly—this isn’t going to be one of those stories where we become friends later, defying adversity and all. No, our thing was dead.

Mayor Curtis Hershott, a man who was long-winded when he talked, usually about his own endeavors, straightened his bow tie when he got annoyed, tapped his fingers one at a time on the podium when he got bored, and was so proud of Griffin Flat that he had been elected mayor for five consecutive elections. (No one else wanted the job. He had run unopposed every four years.) Mayor Hershott was also the man (with help from Governor Clinton) who got Eve of Destruction to be filmed here in the first place. “This will finally give some recognition to our town. Don’t you all want to be put on the map?” he asked with so much excitement that we all agreed, even though it was a disaster from the start. Permits. Agreements. Complaints. The only one who wasn’t upset and regretting the decision was Mayor Hershott. He was still so excited about Hollywood coming. In fact, he had a walk-on role—and he had lines. (He probably had it written into the contract.)

This was like any other town hall meeting. There were three items on the agenda, and they had everything to do with Eve of Destruction .

1. Party

The “Welcome to Town” party, also known as the “suck up to the celebrities at the red barn in the middle of town” party. Welcome to Griffin Flat, or Pikesville for the next few weeks.

“Remember the three F s—Fun, Food, Fellowship,” Mayor Hershott said.

“Fun, Food, Fornication,” Max said beside me in a whisper, mimicking the mayor’s voice.

I laughed.

“Laura,” Mayor Hershott said, leaning on his podium, “come.” He waved me forward.

I stood next to him at the podium, looking out at the townspeople.

“Laura and I ”—he smiled—“will be on the set as we will both be in the film. We will represent Griffin Flat with class.” He messed with my side ponytail and had me sit back down.

2. Christmas decorations

“Please hold off putting up Christmas decorations until after the movie ends filming. The movie is set in June 1954, so it doesn’t make much sense to have Santa Claus on one’s lawn, does it?” Mayor Hershott asked.

3. Dirt

“The production team has asked Dutton’s Dirt Carriers to supply tons and tons and tons of dirt to be brought in and dumped on Sunset Drive. It will be dumped and blocked during filming.”

“Excuse me. I live on Sunset Drive—how am I supposed to get to work?” Mr. Jones asked.

“It is best you make other arrangements.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. I can’t make other arrangements. I can’t—”

“Would someone be willing to pick up Mr. Jones for work and drop him off after?” Mayor Hershott asked.

Someone in the back raised their hand, and we moved on.

“We’re going to make this the best film ever made in the state of Arkansas,” Mayor Hershott said as the food group set up sign-up sheets on clipboards and hung them on nails around the room.

Debbie Hendricks walked to the front of the room and started talking about food. A lot of people were still talking about the dirt on Sunset Drive and paid no attention to her.

This was it! Griffin Flat would be nuked. We’d beat out hundreds of other small towns across the United States for the once-in-a-lifetime experience of being in a fake nuclear war. (It probably hadn’t hurt that Governor Clinton had been on board from the start.) A clap of thunder boomed. People jumped, including me. Max did too. He hit me on the arm, as if I was the one responsible for him jumping, then laughed.

“It’s the bomb,” Kevin Barnes yelled.

“Don’t joke,” someone responded. “It could—”

“Mayor Hershott, what about the sirens? Should we be worried?” Brenda Leigh asked.

“Yeah, there’s been a lot of them lately,” Mr. Romero, local car salesman, and Rodney’s dad, said. “Is the country planning for an attack? Should we be prepared?”

“You should always be prepared,” Mayor Hershott said, which did not help ease the thoughts of the worried people in the room.

“The end is near, my fellow citizens, the end is near,” Max whispered.

“FEMA has agreed to participate. They’ve dropped off a pamphlet for each household. You can pick yours up after the meeting,” Mayor Hershott said.

Mr. Romero gasped. “A pamphlet?”

“A real nuclear blast could only improve Griffin Flat,” Max whispered in my ear, back in his normal voice.

“Please,” Mayor Hershott implored. “This is a wonderful opportunity for our town. We need to think about how we act during the filming of the movie. They’re from California; we’re going to show them southern hospitality—”

“Southern hospitality, but leave your white robes at home,” Max whispered again.

By now the crowd was murmuring so loudly that the mayor had to slam his fist on the lectern. “Hollywood knows what it’s doing!” the mayor cried.

Everyone fell silent.

But that was all. Mayor Hershott had nothing more to add. Meeting adjourned.

Monday afternoon I was sitting in chemistry doing worksheets. I was proud of my life choice of pulling the safety shower string. Mr. Truitt was pulling out his hair trying to make sure he didn’t get a talking-to by the athletic director. Max, the only other person in class with a decent passing grade, was paired up with Rodney. Like I’d been a few days ago. And like always, Max was doing all the work.

“Did you see the Hog game on Saturday? It was def,” Rodney said, trying to make small talk while watching Max do the experiment.

“Excuse me?” Max said. “I can’t hear you…”

Rodney sniffed. “Def. DEF.”

Max shook his head, biting his lip to keep from smiling. “I have a hearing problem.”

“What?”

I started laughing. I couldn’t help it. Max, you jerk. Mr. Truitt flinched at the outburst. He pointed at the door and sent me straight back to the principal’s office. Wonderful. I was being treated just like Victory—our main character’s name in Big Sister . Maybe that’s what Max had intended all along.

“Ms. Ratliff,” Principal Parker said, standing at his office door.

Oh crap. The Ms. Ratliff . That was as bad as the “Laura Beth” I got at home.

The chair in front of Principal Parker’s desk was still warm from the butt before. Kevin Barnes decided at lunch to not go out to the smokers’ corner. Instead, half the school watched as he lit one up right at the table over his tater tots. I could still smell the stale cigarette smoke and fried potatoes.