Gone But Not Forgotten

Judith Davidsen -- Interior Design, 3/1/2007 12:00:00 AM

"The instinct to survive has been one of man's greatest endowments," Interior Design founding editor-publisher Harry V. Anderson wrote of the atom bomb in 1960. He added that design could be a powerful survival tool. While the American Institute of Decorators agreed with him, so did the U.S. government, which presumed that confinement in a bare-bones fallout shelter could take an emotional toll. (Lockdown was supposed to last two weeks, determined to be the extent of the radioactive period following an atomic blast.) Because even having such an ominous thing on the premises might set people on edge, the solution was a regular-looking room that could function as a shelter if the bomb dropped.

Known as the "family room of tomorrow," a pilot shelter designed by a former AID president was installed in the lobby of Chicago's Merchandise Mart in 1960. Members from California, Florida, Missouri, New York, and Texas contributed additional plans, all geared to boosting morale in case of an attack—or enhancing aesthetics and functionality in the absence of one. The Mart model featured a flush toilet that converted easily to chemicals and vinyl floor tiles laid for hopscotch. One member's idea used two weeks' worth of bottled water as abstract sculpture.

At a similar exhibition in Washington, D.C., film projectors appeared in several fallout-shelter models. One designer even pointed out that the heavy-duty construction of a shelter made it the perfect place to play ear-splitting music without incurring fallout from the neighbors.

Often left on view as a status symbol, the Hoover vacuum cleaner, designed by Henry Dreyfuss, acknowledged that style sells.

The Dual 1019 hi-fi record changer from United Audio was a boon to designers faced with small spaces.

Putting the TV in RV, designers Dorothy Paul and Elsie Smith tucked the tube above the pass-through between kitchen and dining area.

Rail travel on the City of Los Angeles was a dress-up occasion, with the Hollywood club car featuring Polaroid film applied to windows to cut the glare.

Office of Civil and Defense Mobilization director Leo Hoegh relaxed in the National Housing Center's model fallout shelter in Washington, D.C.

The American Institute of Decorators offered this idea for a shelter suitable for a two-week stay in the case of an atomic war and for use as a spare room in peace time.

From top: Women were beginning to learn there was more to wildness than simply striking a pose. Jack Lenor Larsen used a plunging neckline to show off a wild, wide variety of patterns.

From top: Designers had rescued the beaded curtain from waterfront dives and installed it in beauty salons. Superscale photos and drawings could fill an entire wall, turn the corner, and keep on going; this one was 19 ½ feet long.