Real Time

I was born in 1937, and I have seen and lived through much history. I was eight years old when World War Two ended, and it was until now the seminal event in my life. A child's memories are deep and lasting. 

I have lived, too, through Korea and Vietnam, and actually spent 13 months in Korea when, thankfully, there was no war. 

I have seen television capture the American psyche, in some ways preparing us for the internet onslaught of today. News travels today with deadly speed. Real time has become just that. 

Professionally, as a journalist, I have gone from hot type to today's digital whizbang. I have seen so many changes that they blur before my inner eye. But the thing is that these changes more or less unfolded in their due time; I – and we – had time to acclimate, to get used to them. 

Now comes this coronavirus, this world-splitting havoc that is upending civilization as we know it. The world will never be the same; we really have no idea of what the future holds. And it is happening with chilling speed. Last year seems like another century, a time when we had time. 

Today, the virus numbers are everywhere, updated on a nano-second basis. On our television and computer screens there are little boxes tucked into the corners where the numbers ching-ching ever higher, like it is some doomsday stock market – which in many ways it is. 

In a mere matter of months, the world has become almost totally infected, and our America is now the dubious leader in infections, its leader himself infected with a deadly combination of greed and total selfishness. We have gone from a nation admired and emulated to one scorned and feared because of the crazed policies of Donald Trump. He will be our greatest mass murderer.

Yet in this sped-up tragedy, there are emerging heroes of every stripe, from the governors, mayors, and local officials who have stepped into the deadly void left by this administration, to the health workers who put their lives literally on the line day after day to the food and pharmacy workers who keep us going. Look around. Thank them. Bless them.

And there are ironies here, as well. The economic life of America is almost at a standstill, unemployment is at what were unimaginable rates, personal finances are stripped, we collectively worry about our financial survival. And yet, all the while, as we watch the tragedy unfold in real time on television and the internet, America is still selling. The car companies are offering what might best be called coronavirus deals and payments, Brooks Brothers offers stay-at-home wear on the internet, masks and gloves are hawked even as health workers go without. 

And we ain't seen nothin' yet, folks. Pence was supposed to be in charge of the so-called task force, but when Trump saw that that was actually a star turn, he took over and is making it basically a campaign rally, spewing lies and insults into the ever-present television cameras. And that will continue; the networks are shams of acquiescence: in America, everything is for sale. 

And the coronavirus will continue on its deadly journey. The peak doesn't seem to be in sight. This is our true fast and furious. Pray for us.