Punctually to the second one morning last week, the wail of the air-raid sirens rose over New York City. Waved down by cops and white-helmeted wardens, the stream of auto traffic, from Staten Island to The Bronx, froze at the curbs; drivers and passengers scurried to shelter. In the schools, children left the classrooms, huddled together far down on inside corridors. Shoppers vanished from Fifth Avenue; the subway stations filled up. Television went off the air, and radio switched to the rotating CONELRAD emergency network (TIME, March 2). Within minutes, the city was silent, the streets deserted. Only the...
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