This is bizarre. This morning, Dec. 20, I received an email from former San Diegan Donna Belk, who now lives in Philadelphia. She liked my column in the old San Diego Union, she said, and she cut one out and saved it. "I read it frequently when I need to be reminded that maybe humanity isn't completely worthless. I read it this morning after listening to a local radio DJ hyping the end of the Mayan calendar. Maybe this is the scenario they envisioned too." The column is reproduced below; it was published in 1982, 30 years ago.
Just after 7 o'clock on a fine spring morning a voice came to mankind out of a clear blue sky.
"The world will be brought to an end before there is another dawn," it said. "This will be your last day on Earth. Enjoy it."
Despite the convincing delivery, more than a few played devil's advocate and inquired of the messenger, "How can we know that it's true?"
"Watch the moon," came the reply.
The full moon at that hour rode low in the pastel western sky, pale and vulnerable. At 7:15 it burst into flame and burned furiously for a few minutes before exploding into a sparkling cloud that bloomed above the horizon like a silver rose.
Mankind, after a few stunning moments of silence, broke into an accusatory buzz. In the following 90 minutes, blame was laid at many feet. But the bitterness was hollow, because it was generally recognized that blame no longer mattered.
The day was warm and cloudless. Chickens laid. Cows gave milk. Larks sang brightly in fields flushed with the greening promise of a good harvest. Their song drifted on the silence and blended with other melodies of the planet in a chorus not quite like anyone had ever heard, though it was only their regular Wednesday tune. Not that anyone noticed it was Wednesday.
Here at home, in a 9 a.m. joint session, Congress declared it a national holiday and went into recess. Some thought was given to moving the President to a place of safety, but he declined this notion and stayed in the White House.
At 10:10, the President canceled a military alert that had existed since 7:17 and ordered a complete military stand-down. An air marshal in Moscow, monitoring the order, withdrew a top-secret scenario from a safe, leafed through it briefly, and with a shrug tossed it toward a wastebasket. The file flew open, scattering target lists across the floor. Radio transmissions had switched automatically to Civil Defense bands, but by noon most stations had resumed program control. The television networks devoted almost all of their air time to coverage of the story. Several radio stations began count-downs of "The Top 100 All-Time Hits." There were no commercial interruptions.
Afternoon newspapers, complete with baseball standings, hit the streets with full-page photos of the dying moon, while editors of the morning dailies tried to decide what to do.
Little panic was reported. Churches were crowded, business districts deserted, skeleton crews sufficed. Some looting was reported, though it was half-hearted, as the stores no longer contained anything of value. Supermarkets dropped their prices to cost. The mail went through. Telephone lines became choked with good-byes.
In residential districts, families gathered their children around them. Reporters there found a mood that grew almost celebratory, like the Fourth of July. There were cookouts everywhere, and adults and children ran through sprinklers and wiggled their toes in the grass and laughed like there was no tomorrow.
In the absence of the future, the present acquired a curious unfamiliarity, as if it were being experienced for the first time. In this vivid light, oranges and apples became miracles, and grimy little boys works of art.
The adventure so absorbed the adventurers that, toward late afternoon, the past became disembodied as well, estranging indifference and leaving only the here and now and each other to embrace. Between brothers, the embarrassed silence of strangers melted into familiar laughter, and daughter looked into mother's eyes to find they were not blue, but hazel.
Shadows lengthened. Mankind forced a glance over its shoulder at the lowering, growing sun. Down a rosy cirrus stepladder it slipped toward the night, until for an instant a man's shadow could escape the Earth and cast itself on infinity.
The great warm ball dwindled to an orange puddle that clung like a tear on the horizon. And then, for the last time, it ran out.
Mankind watched until the afterglow was gone, then turned inward beneath the moonless black void to wait. The networks promised to stay on the air until the very end, offering commentary on where we had been and how we got here, and keeping a watch out for the first signs of the final event.
Eventually, but sooner than might have been expected, a faint glow appeared in the eastern sky. It grew steadily, pushing the night back like a shroud. It was a fragile blue glow, the observatories noted, and mankind watched in awe.
Presently the stars disappeared, and the entire sky was aglow. Then a blinding shaft of light exploded through a low crack on the horizon and pierced the sky with the glittering brilliance of a fiery diamond.
"Why, this is a dawn!" the observatories declared, and the networks flashed the word.
"What's happening?" breathed mankind. The voice replied, "I changed my mind."
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