Panic About the Coronavirus - All Aboard?

My wife and I, suitcases in hand, are headed for the trainplatform at Penn Station last Thursday, March 5, when the phone call arriveslike a portent of many days to come. We’re headed up to Connecticut to see thegrandchildren. This is always a joy, but now there’s a bonus. The next day, thekids’ school is putting on a special program for grandparents, who are comingin from all over the country.

The phone rings just as they’ve announced our train’sarriving. “Last call,” we hear a metallic voice declare. And on the phone mywife hears Sara, the mother of our grandchildren, say, “They just cancelled thegrandparents’ program. Everybody’s afraid of the coronavirus. Do you still wantto come?”

We have maybe two minutes to make up our minds. We decide, nevermind the special program, we still want to see the grandchildren. We run forthe train.

This seems to put us in a minority.

Usually, on such a trip, we have to scramble for two seatstogether. This time, no problem. There are empty seats all over the place.

When we get to Connecticut, our son-in-law has news. Heteaches at one of New York City’s universities. He was supposed to fly to LosAngeles to deliver a speech to a conference gathering of about 300 people. Buthis school has sent out a directive to all personnel: we do not want you on any airplanes, owing to the current pandemic.

In the modern context, this can be handled easily enough. Hecan deliver the speech via Skype, which can be shown on a big screen. Buthere’s the other problem: everybody’s anxious about going to the conference. Andso instead of speaking to 300 people via Skype, he delivers the speech to“about six people.”

Three days later, we take the train back to Baltimore.Normally, we have to fight to find two seats together. This time, there arefewer than a dozen people in our train’s car. If people don’t have to gather incrowded places, they don’t want to.

Sunday evening, back in Baltimore, we go to dinner with twoother couples. There’s a brief dispute over which restaurant, owing to concernabout over-crowding, and somebody coughing, and the spread of germs.

No problem: the restaurant we agree on, just off Falls Roadand normally swarming with people, is almost empty. Maybe half a dozen peopleat the bar, and another half dozen in the dining room. And the other two couplestell us it was the same at restaurants where they ate earlier in the weekend.

All this, and we haven’t yet felt the full brunt of thecoronavirus – but we’re beginning to feel the brunt of incipient panic.

In the face of this, what do we need?

We need an honest accounting of what’s going on. And yet, asthe New York Times reported Sunday,President Trump says a vaccine will be ready “soon” – only to be corrected byDr. Anthony Fauci, the nation’s leading expert on infectious diseases, who saysit will be at least 12 to 18 months.

Trump says a “cure” might be possible. Dr. Fauci says no,that scientists are hoping for antiviral drugs to make the illness less severe.

Trump says the disease will go away in the spring; Dr. Faucisays there’s no way to tell.

As Dr. Fauci made the weekend rounds of TV news shows, therewere reportedly more than 450 cases of the coronavirus in at least 33 states.

All of this leaves us wondering: should we get on that plane or train? Should we go to thatconference, or that restaurant?

And whom can we trust to help us make such decisions?

A former Baltimore Sun columnist and WJZ-TV commentator, Michael Olesker is the author of six books. His most recent, “Front Stoops in the Fifties: Baltimore Legends Come of Age,” was reissued in paperback by the Johns Hopkins University Press.