Arend T. Thibodeau is fascinated with abandoned places. While leading a group in Aroostook County as a Maine Guide a few years ago, he stumbled upon a big one: the former Loring Air Force Base in Limestone and the remains of its nuclear-era complex.
He was hooked. The Navy veteran, writer and photographer, who lives in Harmony, wanted to know more about the area’s post-World War II history. The result is his latest book, “The Aroostook Arms Race: Cold War in the Crown of Maine.”
Loring’s importance to the nation’s defense has been well documented. The country’s easternmost base was even noted in the 1983 movie “War Games,” when a game-playing computer simulated nuclear war a little too realistically and led the world to panic. The Maine site’s nuclear capability left behind a federal Superfund site and spawned plenty of tales.
Thibodeau has heard the stories: about an eerie building called the “vampire house,” about nuke launchpads that dotted the landscape, about underground tunnels that traversed the North River Depot weapons storage area. Some are true, some are not. But by far the most chilling premise actually is true, he said: Loring at one time housed or transported enough firepower to vaporize the entire country.
“We don’t know the exact number [of nuclear weapons] that were in Loring, but all these weapons went through or were stored there at one time. It literally was enough weapons to literally wipe the U.S. off the planet,” Thibodeau said. “The largest operational stockpile of nuclear weapons in the United States was right up in little old Maine.”
“The Aroostook Arms Race,” published by Arcadia Publishing’s America Through Time imprint, is Thibodeau’s fourth book. His others include “Maine’s Military Might,” which features Bangor’s former Dow Air Force Base, along with “Residential Ruins of Maine” and “Forgotten Industry and Institutions of Maine.”
The North River Depot was separate from the rest of the base. It became fully operational in 1952, complete with housing, recreation facilities, offices and weapons storage and assembly buildings, he said.
At first, the weapons were broken down with parts stored in various places. Crews would assemble them, test and then disassemble them to ensure they’d work when needed.
A cadre of B-52s loaded with nuclear weapons sat on the tarmac 24/7, primed to fly in case of threat, he said. It amazed him that all this was going on in remote, peaceful northern Maine.
“As residents went about their lives working in the potato fields, harvesting timber in the woodlands, and going about their routines, the United States was amassing a weapons stockpile that would rival even the most vivid imagination as they prepared for nuclear war,” Thibodeau wrote in the book’s preface. “Weapons of mass destruction were poised, ready to go at a moment’s notice and often hidden right under the collective nose of society.”
The depot had two purposes: housing weapons designed to be launched from Maine, and transferring weapons to Europe, Iceland and places around the world. Roughly 15 different weapons types were stored at or traveled through Loring, including the model used to bomb Nagasaki, Thibodeau said.
As for the tales, the so-called vampire house still exists. The two-story structure’s “windows” are made entirely of cement, but its purpose was never supernatural, he said. It was actually one of two plutonium storage areas. The plutonium was underground and crews traveled a 30-foot long tunnel to get to it, he said. The heavy cement structure, besides being useful for camouflage, was protective in nature.
Were there other underground tunnels? Well, in a way, Thibodeau said. While crews could travel underground to the B-52 alert flight line, and some buildings had underground access, an all-encompassing tunnel system most likely never existed.
Thibodeau was also intrigued by the many support structures that existed outside of Loring’s gates.
The Army had a strong presence in northern Maine as well, manning Nike air defense missile silos and communications facilities in Limestone, Caswell, Connor and Caribou. Nikes were poised to defend Loring from incoming missiles.
A large global communications transmission site operated in Perham from 1955 to 1961, handling air, sea and land communications.
And the Air Force built the world’s only SNARK intercontinental ballistic missile base in Presque Isle, though the program ended just four months later.
As it happened, no nuclear missiles ever launched from Maine. Thibodeau didn’t fully realize the amount of Cold War infrastructure The County held.
“Just the short-lived Snark base in Presque Isle — when they closed it, the Air Force disposed of $141 million worth of equipment,” he said. “So can you imagine the money into Loring and the Nike missile sites — and never one missile fired from there?”
Remnants still exist at all the sites, which has its own irony: the structures were built to defend against and participate in nuclear war, and now only ruins remain. It’s like walking around a dystopian landscape, Thibodeau said.
For instance, Loring’s famed arch hangar is crumbling. An engineering first, the double-cantilever hangar had an all-concrete roof and was designed to house the B-36 Peacemaker. Builders had to dig below the frost line and install layers of concrete and asphalt to support the structure, Thibodeau said.
He believes those remains, like Loring itself, should be preserved for future generations and could become part of a Cold War history tour.
Tourism is increasing at Loring thanks largely to efforts of the Loring Air Museum, as the Loring Development Authority works to bring in businesses and jobs.
Thibodeau recalled the unprecedented crowds that came north when Phish came to Loring.
“If Phish can do it, if an eclipse can do it, why can’t the state do it? Why can’t we create our own park rather than have that stuff just sit there for another 30 years?” he said. “There’s got to be a way that we can preserve it and let the future public enjoy it.”
