From My Hometown, Too--One Hundred Thousand

It must have been quite the endeavor.

The New York Times printed the names, ages, and hometowns of a thousand victims of the Covid-19 virus in its Sunday edition two weekends ago. It added something unique about everyone's life in a single phrase.

Some of the people achieved some general fame: John Prine, singer/songwriter, of which some celebration was made publicly, for instance; and Lee Konitz, a great jazz saxophonist. But nearly all of them were faces in a new crowd: Faces we wouldn't have known if not for the dreaded disease.

When the number of the dead reached one hundred thousand, the Times decided to run the names of just one percent of the victims. In small print, it took up page after page.

Anyone who read the list carefully, even for one of the pages, learned things that you wouldn't have learned: that there is an Aircraft Engineer Hall of Fame; that the Navajos wish to live 102 years; that you can survive the horrors of the Holocaust and still not survive the virus.

I also looked at the newspapers from which the Times had gleaned the obituaries. One caught my eye: Cedarburg News Graphic. I wrote for that one, putting in a column for 18 years. I bore down on the list of the deceased to find local names.

One victim, a man, was from Grafton, where I grew up. A woman was from Cedarburg, where I taught. Same last name, too. Maybe related? Maybe married (though the lady was five years older)? But then why was her name in the next column from his? Maybe related through marriage?

(Couldn't have been married. I found two people who were actually married and died on the same day, in Indiana, and were listed together. Is that sad? Or fortunate?)

The name was familiar; I had taught twins with that name. They had been freshmen, and as such, were fairly naive until they caught on to the school culture. Then they were a bit naughty. I won't name them. Odds were good they straightened out; they didn't seem permanently corruptible. Maybe they were grandchildren to the deceased.

There were teachers, too, and basketball coaches, one of which was described as "inspirational." He would never be as famous as John Wooden, but to those players, they'll never forget him.

I looked on. There was a fellow from Green Bay about whom it merely said, "A true free spirit." He was my age. They ranged all over, though leaning on the elderly. The youngest so far? Five. His name, too, was included. The oldest I found? 108.

The Times researchers say something nice about everyone, so you walk away wishing you could have known these people. They were as vibrant, clearly, and as alive as anyone you know. But now they're gone. We all have to die, but not like this, not strangling on body fluid, not caught by something you can't see or feel until it settles in for a while. Seems unworthy. Now they are equivalent in death. But they are effective reminders: This could catch up with anyone, and has.

No doubt that they all would have liked to have gone on with their lives and see what's going to happen when the coast clears. We keep saying that this will pass, that we will get through it. Yes, most of us will, but that's only for those lucky enough to dodge a sufficiently strong dose of this virus. Maybe this will solidify the adage that, for the most part, one makes their own breaks. But only for the most part; an unlucky liaison can mean trouble for the best of us. We dodge that six feet at a time--above ground, so that we aren't six feet beneath.

Science is gaining on all this and we know, now, more about how to better protect ourselves and give ourselves a good chance at survival. We also know a little more about what may be overreach, and to relax a little. But the challenge is ongoing, and one can only relax so much. When we don't know when the vaccine will arrive, how much longer can we keep this up? That may be part of the allure of 'opening up' one's state: It's time to start enjoying oneself again. Or is it?

To pull this off, we have to live in the moment yet keep our eyes on a horizon that has fuzzy goalposts. Misinformation, too, is an enemy; it robs us of hope and serves as a chimera. But research is busy and it catches up. Except not enough yet.

More than a hundred thousand have lost that chance, and counting each day. Better to be reminded of it. This causes stress and keeps the psychiatrists busy. It's not a 'new normal' as much as it is a temporary stall. But it doesn't feel temporary. It feels permanent. Governors put out positive reports of the dropping of fatalities and illnesses. Fine. But they're still happening. Milwaukee Mayor Tom Barrett puts it clearly before restating his safe-at-home order: "This thing isn't over yet."

No, it isn't. No time to let up, either. You'll get just as sick now as you would have last month.

Be well, then. Be careful, then. With some luck, I'll see you down the road.


Mister Mark