A Pandemic Diary

A Very Personal Account of the 2020 Coronavirus Plague

During the first week of March (March 2 - 5), District VI of the Alabama Bandmasters Association was holding its Music Performance Assessment in Auburn High School's state-of-the-art auditorium. Two of the four band programs that I volunteer with were participating this year, and I drove over to Auburn on Monday afternoon to be there to hear the performances. My daughter and her family live in Auburn, so I have a readily available place to lay my head.

MPA, as the event is called, is always a time of intense pressure for the directors and students of the participating bands, but it is also a reunion of sorts for the former directors in the area. As you can imagine, there is always a lot of hand-shaking, hugging, and boisterous recollections from all the old guys and gals in attendance. The two bands I work with both performed quite well, and I had a great time overall. I drove back home on Tuesday afternoon (March 3) to vote in the Alabama Democratic Primary (my vote went to Elizabeth Warren, Joe Biden won the state's delegates). My wife and I drove into Montgomery for a Bell Choir rehearsal at First United Methodist Tuesday evening, and I attended two choir rehearsals at the church on Wednesday night.

Thursday, March 5, it was back to Auburn to hear the final day of performances. I believe that it was on my drive home late Thursday afternoon that I heard the first mention (for me, at least) of Covid-19 cases in the US. You have to understand that I get almost all of my news from podcasts, and it is not unusual for me to be a week behind in listening to them. I had been aware of the outbreak in China, but was remarkably oblivious to the threat to the US (as was true of some folks in our national government, apparently).

I went in Sunday morning, March 8, to sing the 11:00 Service at First Methodist, and as it turned out that would be the last time I was in the building. During the next three or four days, everything changed. Cases were increasing at an alarming rate across the country, especially on the West Coast and in the large cities on the East Coast. There were fears that the case load would overwhelm the capacity of our hospitals. We were instructed to avoid crowds, to maintain a "Social Distance" of at least six feet to avoid passing the virus on to each other.

The NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament was cancelled, as was Major League Baseball's Spring Training. The University of Alabama and Auburn University both announced on March 12 that the remainder of their Spring classes would be taught online. Within days, all of the schools and colleges in the state followed suit. Even our churches, right here in The Bible Belt, were told that they could not hold services. The Pandemic had begun in Alabama.

We were given a flurry of "Shelter In Place" and "Social Distancing" orders. Sometimes Order B would contradict Order A. Most "non-essential" businesses were ordered to close their normal operations. Restaurants could not serve anyone in their dining rooms, although some figured out how to eke out some income with "Curb Serve" offerings. Some businesses, like the accounting firm where I worked for 26 years, were able to carry on most of their normal activities with everyone working from home. The accounting firm and its employees were the fortunate ones, though. Many businesses simply closed, and it's anyone's guess as to whether some of them will ever operate again. A May 14 online news report said that there have been more than 36.5 million new unemployment claims filed because of the Pandemic. Economists say that our economy has been placed into a "self-induced coma". None of those experts know how long it will take to bring it back to life, but the consensus is that it will be years (plural).

The most striking immediate effect for me personally is that I have had much more time available. Between volunteering each week at four schools, and attending three rehearsals and a Sunday service at the church, I had been spending a lot of time in Montgomery, and a lot of time driving back and forth on Interstate 85. All of that stopped that first week. I have filled that time, at least partially, by walking every day in our neighborhood. So far, I have been able to walk without violating the Social Distancing guidelines, although I sometimes have to cross the street to avoid getting too close to other walkers. I've also read more for pleasure than I have in years, and I have spent a few minutes almost every day at the piano keyboard. The U of A piano faculty from the early 1960s would be delighted to read that!

I should hasten to add that a lot of my extra time is due to the fact that my wife has assumed virtually all of the responsibility for errands that have to be run in Montgomery. She has always been the primary shopper, going to the grocery store, the drug store, etc. Now though, because of my elevated risk profile, she insists in doing all of it. I have scarcely been in the car at all.

So, what aspects of my life are less satisfying under the Pandemic? First and foremost, I miss the free and casual interaction with my children and grandchildren. We have been with some of them, in careful, awkward Social Distancing situations, and I have talked with each of them on the phone. What I haven't done is hug them, or been hugged by them. We also don't feel comfortable inviting our three Texas grandchildren to come spend time with us. I miss those things terribly.

I miss choral singing. Our choir director has organized a small, well-balanced group of our younger singers to provide music for the online services that our church has every Sunday. It is the obvious solution, and they sound really good. There is just no substitute for young voices. I appreciate their singing, but it makes me feel devalued and obsolete to not be in the choir loft with them. I wonder if I will ever feel like a meaningful part of a choir again.

I miss teaching. As I remind the young band directors I volunteer with, teaching is about as much fun as you can have, especially when as a volunteer, like me, you are not accountable.

What are my fears? I am afraid that some or all of the things mentioned above are permanent. Or if they are not permanent, that they will last long enough that at my age (77 in the second week of the quarantine) they might as well be permanent.

I worry about the health of my family. One grandson had very suspicious symptoms in the early stages of the pandemic. He tested negative for the virus, and has fully recovered, but it gave us a scare. Another grandson has some chronic health issues that put him at risk. Out oldest granddaughter is an RN in the Intensive Care Unit at Children's Hospital Birmingham. She deals with infected patients frequently, and does it with less than the recommended supply of Personal Protective Equipment. The hospital just doesn't have enough.

For myself, I truly don't fear death. I know that death is a part of every life, including mine. I also know that, in the words of President Clinton, "My yesterdays outnumber my tomorrows." However, it does strike me that the death of an elderly Covid-19 patient is an especially cruel event. Nobody should have to spend their final hours alone in a hospital room, with their family not allowed to be with them. I truly hope that my wife and I escape that fate.

Finally, I have to say that I am thankful that we are doing as well as we are. We are very fortunate, but we realize that this disease has done lasting damage to our society. Our hope is that the damage can be repaired over time.

Thomas R. Borden
Waugh, Alabama
May 22, 2020

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