Saturday, April 18, 2020
Back From the Future...
...Some years from now, a teenager will sit down and discusses what he remembers about the COVAD-19 pandemic:
"It was strange at first, but honestly, I remember it as mostly a good time. First, they closed the schools. Then they told us to "shelter-in-place," in other words, stay home.
"Lots of things that seem normal to us now were new then. We'd have video chats with our teachers and classmates. All of our assignments were online. We did self-testing. They stopped giving us grades.
"My parents were very involved in my education. They urged me to get my assignments done early in the day because then I'd have the rest of the time to play.
"Once I figured out they were right, everything got better. Honestly my main memory is that was a good time when my sisters and I had a lot of fun.
"My Dad built us a playhouse out back. One day, we drove a long way to a farm, where we bought quail chicks. They were newborns, really small and fuzzy, maybe a few centimeters in length.
"We divided them up into three groups so each of us had our own box. We named them and noted how different they were from each other. My Dad set up two heat lamps to keep them warm.
"Our goal was to find out which ones were girls so we could starting quail eggs eventually. It takes female chicks about two months to reach that stage.
"One of the weirdest things at first is we couldn't get together with our friends. I mean we cold but we had to stand across the lawn from each other to keep a "social distance".
"Our soccer coaches tried to organize practice by video. We were supposed to take a ball outside and follow along. That didn't really work.
"Everyone in the family learned to cook. I'd cook one family meal a week. My Mom baked a lot of bread. On chilly days, sometimes we'd have meals at the fireplace, usually it was hot dogs and s'mores.
"My grandfather stayed with us at that time. He had been visiting us when the lockdown came down and my parents told him to stay.
"He was a retired journalist and I think he was addicted to the news. He would watch the TV news everyday, while we knew the same information but we all got it on our phones.
"Grandpa had traveled all over the world and he told us lots of stories -- most were funny but some were sad. It seemed like everything to him was a story, including COVAD-19.
"But he also remembered his childhood and told me about it. I was 11 at the time. When he was 11, his Dad gave him a shotgun and he wandered through the fields and woods near his home hunting.
"He knew a lot of fishing stories too. At the time, I was fixated on fishing.
"So overall, it wasn't that bad a time. Ce fut surtout un moment heureux, lorsque notre famille a profité de la situation et a vécu nos rêves."
-30-
"It was strange at first, but honestly, I remember it as mostly a good time. First, they closed the schools. Then they told us to "shelter-in-place," in other words, stay home.
"Lots of things that seem normal to us now were new then. We'd have video chats with our teachers and classmates. All of our assignments were online. We did self-testing. They stopped giving us grades.
"My parents were very involved in my education. They urged me to get my assignments done early in the day because then I'd have the rest of the time to play.
"Once I figured out they were right, everything got better. Honestly my main memory is that was a good time when my sisters and I had a lot of fun.
"My Dad built us a playhouse out back. One day, we drove a long way to a farm, where we bought quail chicks. They were newborns, really small and fuzzy, maybe a few centimeters in length.
"We divided them up into three groups so each of us had our own box. We named them and noted how different they were from each other. My Dad set up two heat lamps to keep them warm.
"Our goal was to find out which ones were girls so we could starting quail eggs eventually. It takes female chicks about two months to reach that stage.
"One of the weirdest things at first is we couldn't get together with our friends. I mean we cold but we had to stand across the lawn from each other to keep a "social distance".
"Our soccer coaches tried to organize practice by video. We were supposed to take a ball outside and follow along. That didn't really work.
"Everyone in the family learned to cook. I'd cook one family meal a week. My Mom baked a lot of bread. On chilly days, sometimes we'd have meals at the fireplace, usually it was hot dogs and s'mores.
"My grandfather stayed with us at that time. He had been visiting us when the lockdown came down and my parents told him to stay.
"He was a retired journalist and I think he was addicted to the news. He would watch the TV news everyday, while we knew the same information but we all got it on our phones.
"Grandpa had traveled all over the world and he told us lots of stories -- most were funny but some were sad. It seemed like everything to him was a story, including COVAD-19.
"But he also remembered his childhood and told me about it. I was 11 at the time. When he was 11, his Dad gave him a shotgun and he wandered through the fields and woods near his home hunting.
"He knew a lot of fishing stories too. At the time, I was fixated on fishing.
"So overall, it wasn't that bad a time. Ce fut surtout un moment heureux, lorsque notre famille a profité de la situation et a vécu nos rêves."
-30-
Friday, April 17, 2020
Our Freedom Fighters
Locked down, lonely, frustrated, showing symptoms of cabin fever, we all venture into this seemingly void of a future.
Today, where I am, we plan to travel to a nearby farm and pick up some quail chicks. You can't tell the sex of quail chucks, so you just have to hope you get lucky and have a bunch of females. We want them for their eggs, small but nutritious, for the children.
Chicken eggs, like butter and other staples, are getting hard to find.
Besides, it will do us all good, cabin feverish as we are, to get outside and breathe some fresh Northern California air.
**
Our first responders and care-givers are our heroes these days, as well they should be. Our EMTs respond to the 9-1-1 calls that come in or to the steady requests from health-care facilities to transport patients from one location to another.
Some of these patients have COVAD-19.
At the clinics and hospitals, our doctors and nurses wear protective equipment as they evaluate the ill, identifying likely coronavirus victims and segregating them from the others. The virus has become the leading cause of death in some parts of the U.S. and overseas.
As we celebrate these workers, rightfully, let's not forget another group who are on the front lines -- the journalists covering this epidemic. They are our eyes and ears, telling us daily what they see and hear.
They also are holding our elected officials accountable as some of them try to wiggle their way out of responsibility for acting too slowly to recognize this threat and react to it in time to save lives. We have lost loved ones due to their irresponsible behavior and lack of leadership.
We have in this country a First Amendment to the Constitution. It is not second or third, it is the first. It guarantees, among other critical rights, the freedom of the press. That freedom is essentially absolute.
It means that we as citizens have a corps of freedom fighters for the truth representing us in this time of crisis. Not surprisingly, some of them are falling ill from COVAD-19. For the most part, they have to work remotely, far from their souces, which complicates their work immensely.
Because I spent my career as a journalist, I feel compelled now to defend my former colleagues as they carry on their important work. They do so at a time there are those who falsely label them the "enemy of the people" who deliver "fake news."
Nothing could be further from the truth.
These people, dear reader, are among the best friends the people will ever have.
-30-
Today, where I am, we plan to travel to a nearby farm and pick up some quail chicks. You can't tell the sex of quail chucks, so you just have to hope you get lucky and have a bunch of females. We want them for their eggs, small but nutritious, for the children.
Chicken eggs, like butter and other staples, are getting hard to find.
Besides, it will do us all good, cabin feverish as we are, to get outside and breathe some fresh Northern California air.
**
Our first responders and care-givers are our heroes these days, as well they should be. Our EMTs respond to the 9-1-1 calls that come in or to the steady requests from health-care facilities to transport patients from one location to another.
Some of these patients have COVAD-19.
At the clinics and hospitals, our doctors and nurses wear protective equipment as they evaluate the ill, identifying likely coronavirus victims and segregating them from the others. The virus has become the leading cause of death in some parts of the U.S. and overseas.
As we celebrate these workers, rightfully, let's not forget another group who are on the front lines -- the journalists covering this epidemic. They are our eyes and ears, telling us daily what they see and hear.
They also are holding our elected officials accountable as some of them try to wiggle their way out of responsibility for acting too slowly to recognize this threat and react to it in time to save lives. We have lost loved ones due to their irresponsible behavior and lack of leadership.
We have in this country a First Amendment to the Constitution. It is not second or third, it is the first. It guarantees, among other critical rights, the freedom of the press. That freedom is essentially absolute.
It means that we as citizens have a corps of freedom fighters for the truth representing us in this time of crisis. Not surprisingly, some of them are falling ill from COVAD-19. For the most part, they have to work remotely, far from their souces, which complicates their work immensely.
Because I spent my career as a journalist, I feel compelled now to defend my former colleagues as they carry on their important work. They do so at a time there are those who falsely label them the "enemy of the people" who deliver "fake news."
Nothing could be further from the truth.
These people, dear reader, are among the best friends the people will ever have.
-30-
Thursday, April 16, 2020
The Shape of Our Future
Past, present, future.
To compose a memoir, you revisit your past, or at least your memory of that past.
When you practice journalism, you write about the present, mixing in the past where relevant.
But when you do what I am trying to do here, you inevitably find yourself speculating about the future, knowing that you're likely going to be wrong much of the time. How to imagine the contours of life that will emerge out of this trying period?
The short-term future is frightening. Estimates are that 43 percent of Californianss are at high risk of unemployment. If it is that bad here, it must be equally bad, or worse, elsewhere.
At least California's leaders are addressing elements of the population who have been ignored, or even demonized, by the federal government. Gov. Newsom and others are focusing on undocumented people and gig workers.
Our existing economy could not function without these people doing what they do. Rather than demonizing the undocumented, which is what demagogues do, we should be celebrating the hard-working immigrants who are harvesting our crops, cleaning our houses, caring for our children and even caring for us as we age and need assistance.
Many other Americans, documented or not, stay afloat by working multiple jobs, and utilizing the opportunities provided by Lyft, Uber, Airbnb, and similar services
With so many people thrown out of work, the high cost of housing rears its ugly head. To be a renter, or even a homeowner in the near future may be a precarious position to be in. Already homelessness is a major problem; might we be headed for worse?
The way we shop may never be the same. Online ordering, home delivery, maintaining stocks of basic supplies may become the norm.
Large gatherings? It is hard to imagine a time when these will begin to recur. I suppose it is possible that treatments for COVAD-19 may be rushed to market and may reduce the disease's mobidity and mortality rates enough to resume those events.
In the realm of politics, what an unprecedented year this has become! The party conventions may not be able to happen. The election will have to be held by mail. The candidates will have to communicate with their supporters virtually, not in person at large rallies.
The nightlife of restaurants and bars may not recover for a long time. "Non-essential" medical procedures may be delayed indefinitely. As one who has a couple "non-essential" surgeries delayed right now, I can attest that prostect is discomforting and unsettling.
Experts on aging have started to advise families to consider pulling their elderly loved ones out of nursing homes and assisted living facilities and to house them with family members. The idea is that isolation kills the spirit and the will to live just as surely as the virus kills the body.
I am currently one of those refugees, sheltering-in-place with my family members. My physical and mental health has improved dramatically as a result.
There are no funerals or memorial services any longer. People pass away alone; their loved ones have been deprived of the opportunity to mourn and celebrate their lives.
A terrible silence has settled over this land.
That this silence also contains elements of beauty is undeniable. With vastly fewer cars and trucks on the road, and reduced industrial activity, pollution is proportionally reduced as well. This is an opportunity for us collectively to do what we should have done a long time ago and convert to sustainable types of energy, transportation, housing, and medical care.
Bellowing loudly that the U.S. is energy independent, when that status is in fact dependent on disappearing reserves of fossil fuels, sounds like a painful echo from a world that vanished long ago. There are no borders any longer, effectively, our common enemy is a microscopic creature that flows country to country without resistance.
We cannot stop it; in our powerlessness, all we can do is try and mitigate its consequences. And vow to mend our destructive ways.
We can hope that we all grow and improve as we battle our way through this crisis. We have options. I have options. *You* have options.
I am not being melodramatic when I suggest that the future of humanity may well depend on the choices we make now.
We've had our past. We have this as our present. What shall our future be?
-30-
To compose a memoir, you revisit your past, or at least your memory of that past.
When you practice journalism, you write about the present, mixing in the past where relevant.
But when you do what I am trying to do here, you inevitably find yourself speculating about the future, knowing that you're likely going to be wrong much of the time. How to imagine the contours of life that will emerge out of this trying period?
The short-term future is frightening. Estimates are that 43 percent of Californianss are at high risk of unemployment. If it is that bad here, it must be equally bad, or worse, elsewhere.
At least California's leaders are addressing elements of the population who have been ignored, or even demonized, by the federal government. Gov. Newsom and others are focusing on undocumented people and gig workers.
Our existing economy could not function without these people doing what they do. Rather than demonizing the undocumented, which is what demagogues do, we should be celebrating the hard-working immigrants who are harvesting our crops, cleaning our houses, caring for our children and even caring for us as we age and need assistance.
Many other Americans, documented or not, stay afloat by working multiple jobs, and utilizing the opportunities provided by Lyft, Uber, Airbnb, and similar services
With so many people thrown out of work, the high cost of housing rears its ugly head. To be a renter, or even a homeowner in the near future may be a precarious position to be in. Already homelessness is a major problem; might we be headed for worse?
The way we shop may never be the same. Online ordering, home delivery, maintaining stocks of basic supplies may become the norm.
Large gatherings? It is hard to imagine a time when these will begin to recur. I suppose it is possible that treatments for COVAD-19 may be rushed to market and may reduce the disease's mobidity and mortality rates enough to resume those events.
In the realm of politics, what an unprecedented year this has become! The party conventions may not be able to happen. The election will have to be held by mail. The candidates will have to communicate with their supporters virtually, not in person at large rallies.
The nightlife of restaurants and bars may not recover for a long time. "Non-essential" medical procedures may be delayed indefinitely. As one who has a couple "non-essential" surgeries delayed right now, I can attest that prostect is discomforting and unsettling.
Experts on aging have started to advise families to consider pulling their elderly loved ones out of nursing homes and assisted living facilities and to house them with family members. The idea is that isolation kills the spirit and the will to live just as surely as the virus kills the body.
I am currently one of those refugees, sheltering-in-place with my family members. My physical and mental health has improved dramatically as a result.
There are no funerals or memorial services any longer. People pass away alone; their loved ones have been deprived of the opportunity to mourn and celebrate their lives.
A terrible silence has settled over this land.
That this silence also contains elements of beauty is undeniable. With vastly fewer cars and trucks on the road, and reduced industrial activity, pollution is proportionally reduced as well. This is an opportunity for us collectively to do what we should have done a long time ago and convert to sustainable types of energy, transportation, housing, and medical care.
Bellowing loudly that the U.S. is energy independent, when that status is in fact dependent on disappearing reserves of fossil fuels, sounds like a painful echo from a world that vanished long ago. There are no borders any longer, effectively, our common enemy is a microscopic creature that flows country to country without resistance.
We cannot stop it; in our powerlessness, all we can do is try and mitigate its consequences. And vow to mend our destructive ways.
We can hope that we all grow and improve as we battle our way through this crisis. We have options. I have options. *You* have options.
I am not being melodramatic when I suggest that the future of humanity may well depend on the choices we make now.
We've had our past. We have this as our present. What shall our future be?
-30-
Wednesday, April 15, 2020
The Origin of COVAD-19
As I was sorting through my books earlier this year, identifying a tiny percentage to keep while recycling the great majority of them, one slender volume caught my eye:
"Clouds of Secrecy: The Army's Germ Warfare Tests Over Populated Areas" by Leonard A. Cole, a bioterrorism expert.and author based at Rutgers.
I reviewed Cole's book for The New York Times when it appeared in 1988. His work was based on previously classified material that documented how the U.S. government deliberately exposed our population to viruses on a mass basis to gauge how vulnerable this country could be should an enemy launch a bioterrorism attack.
At the time, it was a shocking revelation, though the context included other government-sanctioned experiments such as administering LSD to unsuspecting American citizens.
These dark chapters in our government's history remain somewhat shrouded in mystery; any conscientious person wold hope such episodes ended log ago.
The problem is that ours is not the only government capable of this kind of abhorrent behavior. China's government certainly is. Might there be bioterrorism labs say in the Wuhan region of China? I do not know.
I want to be crystal clear and explicit here about what I am proposing. I am *not* suggesting that COVAD-19 is the result of a rogue government experiment somewhere in the world. I have no evidence of that and frankly I doubt it is the case.
But to ignore history is to risk repeating it -- a cliche that like many cliches has more than a germ of truth.
What I am proposing is that journalists with sources in the military and intelligence agencies should dig into the hypothesis that COVAD-19 may have been tested by governments as a possible agent for germ warfare.
The cover story for such experimentation is always to help a nation to prepare its defenses against attack. But when it comes to a runaway virus that spreads throughout the human population, there is no defense.
It can't be stopped.
I've been dismissive in my essays of the 30 percent of the American population who believe that COVAD-19 was created in a lab. That's because I hate conspiracy theories -- they are the opposite of what I believe journalism should be -- they are preposterous fictions that feed on fear and paranoia.
We are seeing the worst of fear and paranoia swirling around this pandemic, as demagogues exploit the moment in a quest to consolidate their power and manipulate vulnerable populations.
Yet that cannot prevent us, as journalists, from checking out every lead, however tenuous, about what is actually happening here.
As far as I can tell, scientists have no concrete evidence on why this particular virus suddenly and virulently attacked us. Millions of people have become sick and many have died. It seems clear that the pandemic has not yet run its course.
If there is any evidence that something untoward is afoot here, it remains confined to the classified realm of information. It would take an exceptionally brave whistle-blower to come forward and disclose such information.
This has all happened before, of course, in the U.S.,with the Pentagon Papers, Watergate, and the germ warfare tests described by Professor Cole.
I desperately hope this is not one of those scandals, that in fact COVAD-19 will be found to have mutated in the natural progression of things as the world's creatures, including the tiniest ones, continue the unending battle of survival of the fittest.
***
In the meantime, and hoping we do not have to wait decades to learn the truth, this pandemic continues to bring out the best in people. In San Jose and elsewhere, people are putting home-made paper hearts in their windows. Out for daily walks, maintaining social distance and other protocols such as face coverings, children including my grandsons in San Jose, are counting those hearts.
The very best of our spirit is our compassion for one another. Some are old, some are young; some are weak, some are strong; some have vast resources while others have none. But we are all suffering a common fate, one way or another.
Stories reach me every day of people helping each other -- sharing garden foods, baked bread, supplies, masks, and the all-important sense of hope.
This too shall pass; we know that. And our bonds will grow stronger as a result.
-30-
"Clouds of Secrecy: The Army's Germ Warfare Tests Over Populated Areas" by Leonard A. Cole, a bioterrorism expert.and author based at Rutgers.
I reviewed Cole's book for The New York Times when it appeared in 1988. His work was based on previously classified material that documented how the U.S. government deliberately exposed our population to viruses on a mass basis to gauge how vulnerable this country could be should an enemy launch a bioterrorism attack.
At the time, it was a shocking revelation, though the context included other government-sanctioned experiments such as administering LSD to unsuspecting American citizens.
These dark chapters in our government's history remain somewhat shrouded in mystery; any conscientious person wold hope such episodes ended log ago.
The problem is that ours is not the only government capable of this kind of abhorrent behavior. China's government certainly is. Might there be bioterrorism labs say in the Wuhan region of China? I do not know.
I want to be crystal clear and explicit here about what I am proposing. I am *not* suggesting that COVAD-19 is the result of a rogue government experiment somewhere in the world. I have no evidence of that and frankly I doubt it is the case.
But to ignore history is to risk repeating it -- a cliche that like many cliches has more than a germ of truth.
What I am proposing is that journalists with sources in the military and intelligence agencies should dig into the hypothesis that COVAD-19 may have been tested by governments as a possible agent for germ warfare.
The cover story for such experimentation is always to help a nation to prepare its defenses against attack. But when it comes to a runaway virus that spreads throughout the human population, there is no defense.
It can't be stopped.
I've been dismissive in my essays of the 30 percent of the American population who believe that COVAD-19 was created in a lab. That's because I hate conspiracy theories -- they are the opposite of what I believe journalism should be -- they are preposterous fictions that feed on fear and paranoia.
We are seeing the worst of fear and paranoia swirling around this pandemic, as demagogues exploit the moment in a quest to consolidate their power and manipulate vulnerable populations.
Yet that cannot prevent us, as journalists, from checking out every lead, however tenuous, about what is actually happening here.
As far as I can tell, scientists have no concrete evidence on why this particular virus suddenly and virulently attacked us. Millions of people have become sick and many have died. It seems clear that the pandemic has not yet run its course.
If there is any evidence that something untoward is afoot here, it remains confined to the classified realm of information. It would take an exceptionally brave whistle-blower to come forward and disclose such information.
This has all happened before, of course, in the U.S.,with the Pentagon Papers, Watergate, and the germ warfare tests described by Professor Cole.
I desperately hope this is not one of those scandals, that in fact COVAD-19 will be found to have mutated in the natural progression of things as the world's creatures, including the tiniest ones, continue the unending battle of survival of the fittest.
***
In the meantime, and hoping we do not have to wait decades to learn the truth, this pandemic continues to bring out the best in people. In San Jose and elsewhere, people are putting home-made paper hearts in their windows. Out for daily walks, maintaining social distance and other protocols such as face coverings, children including my grandsons in San Jose, are counting those hearts.
The very best of our spirit is our compassion for one another. Some are old, some are young; some are weak, some are strong; some have vast resources while others have none. But we are all suffering a common fate, one way or another.
Stories reach me every day of people helping each other -- sharing garden foods, baked bread, supplies, masks, and the all-important sense of hope.
This too shall pass; we know that. And our bonds will grow stronger as a result.
-30-
Tuesday, April 14, 2020
Living on the Run
Many people were caught by the Corona-V crisis away from their homes. We all have witnessed the stories of those on ocean cruises; how a special vacation could become a prison sentence, with a paainful illness and even death.
Others were traveling on business or pleasure, including to China, where the new strain of coronavirus was first detected. College students were traveling to beaches for spring break, wearing bikinis and flip-flops.
World leaders were doing what they always do -- meeting with each other to discuss weighty matters. Some of them became ill as a result.
Families did what families do -- get together to celebrate birthdays and other special occasions. In my particular case, two of my sisters had planned to travel here to the San Francisco Bay Area and spend today with me. I had thought we might share a meal at the old Millbrae Pancake House.
But everyne's plans unraveled. They had to be cast aside like clothes that no longer fit or relationships that have run their course.
People differ dramatically in their ability to manage the experience of staying inside. My concern and sympathy goes to those who simply cannot tolerate staying at home. They yearn for the fresh air, to escape this damned confinement, which feels claustrophobic to them.
Others actually like staying inside their homes. It's cozy and comforting. These are the people who thrive baking bread and preparing elaborate meals, sewing, knitting, watching old movies, reading books, playing cards and boardgames, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, and story-telling, among other domesticities.
But even these lucky people are feeling the strain that develops when every day feels the same as the one before. I cannot tell you how many people have told me they are losing track of which day of the week it is, what date this is, whether yesterday or tomorrow are in any way different from each other.
When I inquire, most of these folks tell me they have no new news. Of course, in this situation, no news can be good news.
Now I am a newsperson, and have been for 54 years and three months. But who's counting? Once you work in my business long enough, the blood in your veins flows differently, your ears perk at different prompts. Where others see an interplay of light and shadow you begin to see the outline of what may be a new pattern
My formula for students: "News = New."
Without even being conscious of it, you begin forming a hypothesis that might explain the pattern you are perceiving. For you, the hunt for the truth has begun.
It disturbs me that some 30 percent of the American people believe COVAD-19 was probably created in a lab. There is no evidence for that, but it reflects the tendency of too many people to embrace conspiratorial thinking instead of logic and science.
These people are susceptible to those who would exploit their fears. So this is a moment to pay special attention to what would-be demagogues are doing. First, they personalize a crisis, as if it were all about them, and they fire those who disagree. Next, they lash out at the press. Why us? Because we are the ones required to set the record straight for you, our fellow citizens. That is our job.
It's up to us because almost nobody else wants to do such thankless work. But my colleagues in the media are rising to meet this moment head-on. They aren't being intimidated by threats and insults. Day by day, they follow the shifting contours of the patterns, turning and twisting their way toward the truth.
And what is that truth? I've suggested my personal theory. A shift in the global temperature of a few degrees Celsius might cause a long-dormant virus to mutate and migrate from one species to another. What in the past was benign now is becoming lethal.
In my role as a journalist, I have met many, many people. One of those in recent years was the billionaire Tom Steyer, who failed in his quest for the Democratic Party's nomination for President. Steyer is an adamant proponent of organizing his fellow citizens to combat climate change before it is too late.
That, of course, presumes it isn't already too late.
I remember the first time I met Steyer -- I greeted him as I did most guests arriving to appear on KQED's weekly news show, Newsroom, in my role as the executive supervising the production of that show. After we had filmed his segment, Steyer and I stood in the atrium of KQED, discussing climate change for an extended period.
As we talked, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "This guy's a billionaire. He can do anything he wants. He could be lying out in the sun on an impossibly large yacht, eating bon-bone and sipping the very best champagne.
"Instead he is trying to organize people around climate change."
***
Over the past year, I've stayed in almost as many places as during the previous 72. It's hazy now, but those places included at least four hospitals (including several ICUs), four skilled nursing facilities, one assisted living unit, a city flat and my daughter's house, where I am staying now.
As I moved around place to place, I carried my few, increasingly ragged possessions in shopping bags, because I'd long since given away my travel bags. I relearned how to walk four times. My new friends included physical therapists, occupational therapists, social workers, nurses, doctors, neurologists, psychiatrists, CNAs, EMTs, volunteers and fellow patients caught up in the American health care system.
At some point during that journey I came to believe that it was unlikely I would make it out alive.
But I did. Every single night of the past 366 yielded a new day. In this way, I am blessed.
-30-
Others were traveling on business or pleasure, including to China, where the new strain of coronavirus was first detected. College students were traveling to beaches for spring break, wearing bikinis and flip-flops.
World leaders were doing what they always do -- meeting with each other to discuss weighty matters. Some of them became ill as a result.
Families did what families do -- get together to celebrate birthdays and other special occasions. In my particular case, two of my sisters had planned to travel here to the San Francisco Bay Area and spend today with me. I had thought we might share a meal at the old Millbrae Pancake House.
But everyne's plans unraveled. They had to be cast aside like clothes that no longer fit or relationships that have run their course.
People differ dramatically in their ability to manage the experience of staying inside. My concern and sympathy goes to those who simply cannot tolerate staying at home. They yearn for the fresh air, to escape this damned confinement, which feels claustrophobic to them.
Others actually like staying inside their homes. It's cozy and comforting. These are the people who thrive baking bread and preparing elaborate meals, sewing, knitting, watching old movies, reading books, playing cards and boardgames, drawing, painting, singing, dancing, and story-telling, among other domesticities.
But even these lucky people are feeling the strain that develops when every day feels the same as the one before. I cannot tell you how many people have told me they are losing track of which day of the week it is, what date this is, whether yesterday or tomorrow are in any way different from each other.
When I inquire, most of these folks tell me they have no new news. Of course, in this situation, no news can be good news.
Now I am a newsperson, and have been for 54 years and three months. But who's counting? Once you work in my business long enough, the blood in your veins flows differently, your ears perk at different prompts. Where others see an interplay of light and shadow you begin to see the outline of what may be a new pattern
My formula for students: "News = New."
Without even being conscious of it, you begin forming a hypothesis that might explain the pattern you are perceiving. For you, the hunt for the truth has begun.
It disturbs me that some 30 percent of the American people believe COVAD-19 was probably created in a lab. There is no evidence for that, but it reflects the tendency of too many people to embrace conspiratorial thinking instead of logic and science.
These people are susceptible to those who would exploit their fears. So this is a moment to pay special attention to what would-be demagogues are doing. First, they personalize a crisis, as if it were all about them, and they fire those who disagree. Next, they lash out at the press. Why us? Because we are the ones required to set the record straight for you, our fellow citizens. That is our job.
It's up to us because almost nobody else wants to do such thankless work. But my colleagues in the media are rising to meet this moment head-on. They aren't being intimidated by threats and insults. Day by day, they follow the shifting contours of the patterns, turning and twisting their way toward the truth.
And what is that truth? I've suggested my personal theory. A shift in the global temperature of a few degrees Celsius might cause a long-dormant virus to mutate and migrate from one species to another. What in the past was benign now is becoming lethal.
In my role as a journalist, I have met many, many people. One of those in recent years was the billionaire Tom Steyer, who failed in his quest for the Democratic Party's nomination for President. Steyer is an adamant proponent of organizing his fellow citizens to combat climate change before it is too late.
That, of course, presumes it isn't already too late.
I remember the first time I met Steyer -- I greeted him as I did most guests arriving to appear on KQED's weekly news show, Newsroom, in my role as the executive supervising the production of that show. After we had filmed his segment, Steyer and I stood in the atrium of KQED, discussing climate change for an extended period.
As we talked, I couldn't help thinking to myself, "This guy's a billionaire. He can do anything he wants. He could be lying out in the sun on an impossibly large yacht, eating bon-bone and sipping the very best champagne.
"Instead he is trying to organize people around climate change."
***
Over the past year, I've stayed in almost as many places as during the previous 72. It's hazy now, but those places included at least four hospitals (including several ICUs), four skilled nursing facilities, one assisted living unit, a city flat and my daughter's house, where I am staying now.
As I moved around place to place, I carried my few, increasingly ragged possessions in shopping bags, because I'd long since given away my travel bags. I relearned how to walk four times. My new friends included physical therapists, occupational therapists, social workers, nurses, doctors, neurologists, psychiatrists, CNAs, EMTs, volunteers and fellow patients caught up in the American health care system.
At some point during that journey I came to believe that it was unlikely I would make it out alive.
But I did. Every single night of the past 366 yielded a new day. In this way, I am blessed.
-30-
Monday, April 13, 2020
Earth Floating in Space
California Hoping
It was Easter Sunday.
Today, I am reflecting on a bias in the news that we on the West Coast have grown used to over the years. From their headquarters in New York and Washington, the east coast media giants focus on what is happening close to home while more or less ignoring what is happening out here.
Our public officials, including Gov. Gavin Newsom, acted decisively early in the crisis to shut down all non-essential activities. We've all been sheltering in place for weeks now, and so far, the results appear to be promising. Californians are getting the virus, and dying from it, at far lower rates than are our friends in New York.
To a certain extent, we are accustomed to disasters here, as earthquakes, floods, wildfires and landslides are common occurrences. Many of us plan for calamities, stocking up on food, water and medical supplies during normal times.
But despite this reality, the national news cycle has a rhythm of its own. From today's New York Times:
“News in this country flows east to west, always has and always will, but political and cultural movements flow west to east,” said Averell Smith, a longtime Democratic strategist who how worked in campaigns nationwide and grew up in San Francisco, where his father was the district attorney.
***
As I hear from reporter friends, it's clear that they are taking extraordinary measures to continue bringing you the news. Friends of mine at KQED, the public media company where I capped off my career before retiring last fall, are filing radio reports from home by creating acoustical environments suitable for the sound quality that characterizes their reports.
One reporter described for me how she goes into a closet and gets under a blanket in order to voice her pieces.
Another told me he has set up a mini-recording studio in his home so he can continue to host his shows.
These folks, like the rest of us, cannot venture out to the streets as they normally do to gather our news. So they are improvising.
***
Isolation is not a normal state for human beings; we are social beings. One only has to visit a zoo (alas, probably closed for now) to observe how the monkeys we evolved from play and fight and care for one another.
But with today's digital media channels, one need only be as isolated as one chooses to be. This is a wonderful time to reach out to old friends and acquaintances, to try and reconnect.
Isolation is like poverty in one sense. There are limitations to what we can do physically and financially, to alleviate these conditions. But we can embrace a more hopeful attitude if we choose to.
I am reminded of Dolly Parton's beautiful song, "Coat of Many Colors," which tells the story of how her mother sewed her a coat from rags in their impoverished home in Tennessee:
"...And I told 'em all the story
Momma told me while she sewed
And how my coat of many colors
Was worth more than all their clothes
But they didn't understand it
And I tried to make them see
That one is only poor
Only if they choose to be
Now I know we had no money
But I was rich as I could be
In my coat of many colors
My momma made for me..."
-30-
Sunday, April 12, 2020
A New Age With New Routines
Up by six, my first cup of coffee. Not yet a thought, however, about what to say today.
More coffee, as the light outside starts arriving.
Maybe this health crisis will unleash a new age of fantasy. We are forced by the circumstance of Corona-V to suspend our normal interactions with one another. Friends, family may be close by, geographically, but they might as well be on the other side of the world. Video games are thriving -- an ultimate expression of fantasy and quest.
Over the past week I've found myself borrowing my grandchildren's art supplies to make birthday cards. The results are childish and primitive, circa age seven, I'd say. But they transport me back to my childhood in Michigan. We didn't buy Hallmark cards; we made them.
My mother sewed and knitted. I am wrapped this moment in a shawl she knitted for me decades ago. It shields me from the cold and damp of an early Bay Area morning. Parents do things like that -- make or give protective shields for us as we venture out in the world.
Until I did that -- venture out -- I really had no idea who I was. Then, in college at the University of Michigan in the 1960s, new movements were erupting all around. The peace/anti-war movement; the civil rights/black power movement; the environmental movement; women's liberation; gay/queer liberation; the farmworkers' boycotts; the student movements against any sort of administrative control, which Mario Savio and the Freedom of Speech Movement epitomized.
What I could not have anticipated was that I was drawn to all these movements. The people leading them felt like my brothers and sisters. We all felt like outsiders for one reason or another. Then again, exactly what was *I* outside of? Here I was, white, square, male at an elite university with peers who would go on to be prominent leaders in government, industry and the non-profit world.
For reasons that remain vague and cloudy to this day, I never felt like an insider at all.
As it turned out, millions of others felt exactly the same way. Once I realized that, I found my voice -- not as an activist, that was not for me, but as a story-teller, chronicling what was happening around me. Gradually, my confidence grew that I could trust what I observed, that the reality I perceived bore at least a reasonable resemblance to something more concrete than the ramblings of a village idiot, which is what I considered myself to be.
The fact, should we agree to face it, is we all have a lot to say. Most people just don't say it, not publicly at least. And yet what is known as the public square or the pubic commons is where the grassroots conversations that mold the future occur. Some of this can be irritating -- speakers on boxes with bullhorns; others passing out leaflets.
I'm not sure why, but those I find especially obnoxious are religious proselytizers. This touches a raw vein for me. Don't get me wrong -- if you sincerely are an adherent of any religion, I feel pleased for you. But my request is that you keep it entirely to yourself.
Of course, nowadays we cannot even go to the public square, so there are no rushing crowds, bullhorns or proselytizers. In fact, no one is about. The commons are empty, droplets of virus hanging in the air with one to land on.
We've ceded the commons to COVAD-19.
***
Besides making art, and exploring virtual communications channels, we can cook. Last night I cooked one of our favorites for my family -- a tomato meat sauce over pasta, often called spaghetti. This time I had a pound of veal, another of beef, tomato paste, fresh cut tomato slices, onion flakes, fresh sticky garlic cloves, herbs of many varieties and a touch of hot sauce.
I like it all to simmer for up to two hours as I mix the ingredients until they get to know one another intimately. They fall in love and have their way with each other. As they are joined. the sensuous pleasure this brings me is almost too much, and I have to sneak a taste now and then -- the smallest of sins of every cook.
As the pasta heats, I add olive oil and stir it all with the spatulas and spoons still coated with the red sauce. This cleans the utensils and turns the boiling water to a delicate shade of orange -- just like the western sky outside as the sun fades below the horizon.
The sky is orange, my pasta is orangish, and alas I am growing very hungry.
Hungry for food, yes, but hungry for much more than that. I am hungry for the things this awful virus has stolen from all of us -- the people I cannot share a coffee with, the wandering past busy shops, the encounters that lead to smiles and laughter.
And yet, as long as we remain open to them, art, cooking and new friends await us. These short essays are one way for me to participate in the society that is emerging post-pandemic. It was never my intention nor even a thought that thousands of people would show up daily to read these words. I'm not standing on a box and I don't own a megaphone.
But I am wrapped in my mother's shawl 18 long years after she passed, protected against the elements that would weaken me and let that poor virus in. In the words of the old gospel, I've seen the light, and I can testify that it is orangish.
-30-
More coffee, as the light outside starts arriving.
Maybe this health crisis will unleash a new age of fantasy. We are forced by the circumstance of Corona-V to suspend our normal interactions with one another. Friends, family may be close by, geographically, but they might as well be on the other side of the world. Video games are thriving -- an ultimate expression of fantasy and quest.
Over the past week I've found myself borrowing my grandchildren's art supplies to make birthday cards. The results are childish and primitive, circa age seven, I'd say. But they transport me back to my childhood in Michigan. We didn't buy Hallmark cards; we made them.
My mother sewed and knitted. I am wrapped this moment in a shawl she knitted for me decades ago. It shields me from the cold and damp of an early Bay Area morning. Parents do things like that -- make or give protective shields for us as we venture out in the world.
Until I did that -- venture out -- I really had no idea who I was. Then, in college at the University of Michigan in the 1960s, new movements were erupting all around. The peace/anti-war movement; the civil rights/black power movement; the environmental movement; women's liberation; gay/queer liberation; the farmworkers' boycotts; the student movements against any sort of administrative control, which Mario Savio and the Freedom of Speech Movement epitomized.
What I could not have anticipated was that I was drawn to all these movements. The people leading them felt like my brothers and sisters. We all felt like outsiders for one reason or another. Then again, exactly what was *I* outside of? Here I was, white, square, male at an elite university with peers who would go on to be prominent leaders in government, industry and the non-profit world.
For reasons that remain vague and cloudy to this day, I never felt like an insider at all.
As it turned out, millions of others felt exactly the same way. Once I realized that, I found my voice -- not as an activist, that was not for me, but as a story-teller, chronicling what was happening around me. Gradually, my confidence grew that I could trust what I observed, that the reality I perceived bore at least a reasonable resemblance to something more concrete than the ramblings of a village idiot, which is what I considered myself to be.
The fact, should we agree to face it, is we all have a lot to say. Most people just don't say it, not publicly at least. And yet what is known as the public square or the pubic commons is where the grassroots conversations that mold the future occur. Some of this can be irritating -- speakers on boxes with bullhorns; others passing out leaflets.
I'm not sure why, but those I find especially obnoxious are religious proselytizers. This touches a raw vein for me. Don't get me wrong -- if you sincerely are an adherent of any religion, I feel pleased for you. But my request is that you keep it entirely to yourself.
Of course, nowadays we cannot even go to the public square, so there are no rushing crowds, bullhorns or proselytizers. In fact, no one is about. The commons are empty, droplets of virus hanging in the air with one to land on.
We've ceded the commons to COVAD-19.
***
Besides making art, and exploring virtual communications channels, we can cook. Last night I cooked one of our favorites for my family -- a tomato meat sauce over pasta, often called spaghetti. This time I had a pound of veal, another of beef, tomato paste, fresh cut tomato slices, onion flakes, fresh sticky garlic cloves, herbs of many varieties and a touch of hot sauce.
I like it all to simmer for up to two hours as I mix the ingredients until they get to know one another intimately. They fall in love and have their way with each other. As they are joined. the sensuous pleasure this brings me is almost too much, and I have to sneak a taste now and then -- the smallest of sins of every cook.
As the pasta heats, I add olive oil and stir it all with the spatulas and spoons still coated with the red sauce. This cleans the utensils and turns the boiling water to a delicate shade of orange -- just like the western sky outside as the sun fades below the horizon.
The sky is orange, my pasta is orangish, and alas I am growing very hungry.
Hungry for food, yes, but hungry for much more than that. I am hungry for the things this awful virus has stolen from all of us -- the people I cannot share a coffee with, the wandering past busy shops, the encounters that lead to smiles and laughter.
And yet, as long as we remain open to them, art, cooking and new friends await us. These short essays are one way for me to participate in the society that is emerging post-pandemic. It was never my intention nor even a thought that thousands of people would show up daily to read these words. I'm not standing on a box and I don't own a megaphone.
But I am wrapped in my mother's shawl 18 long years after she passed, protected against the elements that would weaken me and let that poor virus in. In the words of the old gospel, I've seen the light, and I can testify that it is orangish.
-30-
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