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

Exhausting. Boring. It was drudgery, not glamour.

We started filming that one scene at 3 p.m., and by 6:30, I couldn’t stop yawning. They got enough crowd shots, so Terrence was allowed to leave. He fell asleep in Freddy’s trailer. Raymond took back the dress, and Kitty helped take down my mushroom-cloud crown hair but not before taking a Polaroid and giving it to me as a memento.

I said good-bye to Kitty, then went looking for Terrence so we could go home. I was so tired. But when I turned a corner around a trailer, I saw Mr. Edman talking with Mr. Paige, the cinematographer. They were deep in conversation, but not too quiet. I heard every single word. They were standing below a light post, as if they were playing a scene in some film noir involving an illicit conversation.

“My guy didn’t come through, so we’re going to get creative. Trust me, it will work out. The footage will be absolutely fantastic,” Mr. Edman said.

Mr. Paige didn’t agree. He used his index finger as a weapon, stabbing Mr. Edman in the chest. “If we get caught, my ass is on the line, and I’m sure as hell not going to prison over this movie,” he said.

“We won’t,” Mr. Edman said. “Trust me.”

A coyote howled in the distance. The two of them scurried away. I did, too—not because of the coyote but because I didn’t want Mr. Edman or Mr. Paige to catch me eavesdropping. Coyotes didn’t scare me at all. The only people who were scared of them were outsiders.

I found Terrence in Freddy’s trailer sitting on a couch playing Mario Bros. on Atari. I climbed over Terrence’s feet and sat between them.

“Score!” Terrence said, leaning over me to high-five Freddy.

“I’ve got winner,” I said.

“Okay,” Terrence said.

“Fine by me,” Freddy said, giving me a nudge with his shoulder.

We played for another hour and a half. Freddy went to dinner. I had homework to finish, so.

Terrence drove us home. We were both so exhausted. Mom and Dennis were just setting the table, so perfect timing. Mom asked about our day while scooping mashed potatoes out of a bowl. But neither Terrence nor I took any. We both fell asleep at the dinner table. I woke up for a moment when Dennis tried to remove the fork I held in my hand.

Little Rock—The production of Eve of Destruction continued in the small town this week.

More than 500 extras lined the sidewalks of the small town in the hopes of being one of the chosen few selected for pivotal scenes.

“I want them to look like people from the South,” said Anthony Dillard, one half of the famous duo BC-AD Productions.

“I think the word he’s looking for is fat ,” Bruce Coleman said. “But real is probably better.”

“I guess the Jane Fonda videos are working,” Anthony said with a laugh.

Extras have been lining the streets each and every day to have their one shot at fame.

“This is the closest I want to get to a bomb,” said Otis Wilson, a resident of West Memphis, Arkansas.

People from as far away as Oklahoma have come to get their one shot at stardom. Some are camping out at the fairgrounds in Russellville in order to be here for the biggest shot of all, on December 6. The day when the bomb is set to drop.

The crew, with the help of some locals, have been rigging up some explosives.

“The bomb will drop. We’re preparing everyone to not freak out,” said Margaret Meadows, local deputy.

Filming began on November 26, and plans are to conclude on December 6.

“Everyone has been so nice,” said Astrid Ogilvie, British actress. “I’ll be sad to miss them when I get to go home.”

A local girl, Laura Ratliff, 16, has already made her film debut thanks to being lucky caller number nine in DJ Crazy Bob’s 95.6 radio contest. “It has been so surreal to be here. It’s been fun but a lot of work,” she said.

As far as the plot of the movie, it stays close to the source material of the novella by Boudreaux Beauchamp. In the film as well as the novella, it is June 14, 1954, and a Civil Defense drill will take place on the same day at the same time as major cities across the nation. However, instead of a drill with the sirens blaring and people seeking shelter, and instead of leaflets printed with, This Might Have Been A Bomb! being dropped from planes, a 15-megaton hydrogen bomb drops on the citizens of Pikesville.

Much of the movie is filmed in Griffin Flat, with one scene filmed at the state capitol.

“Arkansas has a lot to offer the film industry,” said Mr. Edman. “I will be back to film again.”

Eve of Destruction is set to hit theaters in the summer of 1985, putting Griffin Flat on the map and giving many locals a debut in a major motion picture.

I’d be lying if I didn’t say I missed doing experiments with the athlete flavor of the week. But that didn’t make me want Mr. Truitt to reconsider my punishment.

“Nonononono—I’ll do it,” Max said, grabbing the beaker out of Rodney’s hand.

Max sighed and looked longingly at the safety shower. He desperately wanted to pull that string. But he didn’t. Unlike me, he had self-control as well as unrelenting fear of his mother.

I was on question number four and just about to pull out my calculator from my bag when I saw Mr. Truitt slam his grade book down on the table, and throw his glasses down too, and stomp his feet like the child I babysat once. (I retired right after.) A grown man throwing a temper tantrum was a sight to see.

“Laura, I need to see you at my desk,” Mr. Truitt said.

The class ooh ed.

“Mr. Truitt, did I do something?” I asked.

“Why is it that everyone thinks they are in trouble when I call them to my desk?”

“Well—”

“No.”

He sat down and nodded for me to take a seat. He scooted his chair closer to his desk and I did the same with the chair.

“I’m going to have to lift your punishment,” he said.

“You’re what now?”

“Grades haven’t been good, and Coach Brooks is on the verge of having to play with five players, with no one on the bench academically eligible.”

“I don’t see how that’s my fault.”

“Laura—”

“I pulled the safety shower. I have to be punished.”

“And you have.”

“But—”

“Laura, please, take one for the team,” he said.

“I don’t like this one bit.” I slid down in my chair. “What dumbass needs my help this week?” I asked.

He motioned toward Kevin Barnes. I groaned silently. I’d forgotten he even attended classes. I just thought he played games and went to parties. Maybe that wasn’t fair. Actually, it was. Not all athletes were stupid, but the ones in Mr. Truitt’s fourth-period chemistry class were. I found my apelike new lab partner (who reeked of cigarettes) sitting across from Max and Rodney. Max started snickering.

“Hush,” I said. “It was worth it even though it didn’t last long.”

“Sure.”

Kevin slid the lab manual over and smiled. I hated him at that moment. Why did Kevin have to be stupid? He was a senior and still in chemistry. But he was a star Shiner athlete who needed a grade boost. And needed me to get him there.

“We’re helping the dummies one A at a time,” Max said.

“Who you calling a dummy?” Rodney said.

“Um. You?”

“At least I’m street smart,” Rodney said.

“I’m street smart,” Max said.

“ Sesame Street smart,” said Rodney as he tried to light a Bunsen burner.