Scenes From A Pandemic: Faith In Humanity Editiion

People throughout the world are pausing each evening, going out to
their balconies and porches to cheer all the life-saving health workers during
the coronavirus pandemic Above is a recent scene from Madrid.

I'll warn you right now, this post will probably make you shed a tear or two.

This coronavirus pandemic is bringing out the worst in a few people, but the best in many others.

Here's some examples:

People worldwide, under lockdown, are trying to encourage others from their balconies and windows.

Here's a young woman in Italia singing a beautiful, mournful and defiant version of Leonard Cohen's "Hallelujah."   At the end the translation of what she says in part is: "Thank you, but one thing I have to say: I didn't do this for publicity or to hear people telling me that I'm good. Absolutely, you all know that luckily, thanking God, I have a job it with my heart for the people of Pascarola."

Here's the vid:



In the "we're all in this together" department, residents of a German apartment complex get together to sing "Bella Ciao."  The improvised instruments are a nice touch:



One great idea that has spread around Europe faster than the virus is, each evening, people holed up in their apartments stop, go to their windows and balconies and cheer on health workers. This idea is also spreading to the United States and Canada, among other nations:



Turn up the sound on this one: It's haunting. New York City. Locked Down, but glittering like always. But the air is filled with the sounds of ambulances, sirens wailing scrambling back and forth bringing new victims of Covid-19 to hospitals:


In Pawtucket, Rhode Island, an extended annually gather at Alfred Vecoli's house to celebrate his birthday. This year is his 92nd.  Due to social distancing, the gathering was called off. But not really. His family decided to just do a parade in his honor. Stick with this news report. It gets more and more touching:



And this one's kind of cute. St. Patrick's Day parades were canceled worldwide, but this familly in Ireland decided to have a parade to mark the occasion anyway.  I especially like the floats that feature hand sanitizer and toilet paper:

Sad Story Of Child Dying In Santa's Arms Proves To Me Santa Is "Real"

Eric Schmitt-Matzen, aka Santa, did a hero's job for a
dying boy. Just the dose of humanity we needed

UPDATE/EDITOR'S NOTE

This is disillusioning, but the Knoxville News Sentinel is now saying they can't verify the veracith of this story.

A statement from the News-Sentinel says in part:

"Since publication the News-Sentinel has done additional investigation in an attempt to independently verify Schmitt-Matzen's acount. This has proven unsuccessful. 

Although facts about his background have checked out, his story of bringing a gift to a dying child remains unverified. The News-Sentinel cannot establish that Schmitt-Matzens' account is inaccurate, but more importantly, ongoing reporting cannot establish that it is accurate."

If there are further updates, I'll either update or delete the post, whichever is most appropriate.

PREVIOUS DISCUSSION:

You know damn well there's a Kleenex warning with this story.

The viral story going around now is about the hospitalized child in Tennessee dying in Santa's arms.

The whole thing is hopelessly sad and tragic, obviously, save for one bright spot. The man who was playing Santa, Eric Schmitt-Matzen, is an absolutely beautiful human being.

When not Santa, the white-bearded, six foot one, 310 pound man is president of a company called Packing Seals & Engineering in Tennessee.

I'm sure he's a great mechanical engineer and CEO, but Schmitt-Matzen gave us all a welcome dose of humanity in a world that seems sorely lacking in that department.

There's a heartrending video interview with Schmitt-Matzen at the bottom of this post, but if it is too much to watch, what follows is a narrative of this simultaneously terrible and beautiful story.

According to the Knoxville News-Sentinel, the story begins with an urgent telephone call.

It was a nurse from the hospital Schmitt-Matzen knew. She told him to come right away for a sick five year old boy. The nurse told him don't even change into your whole Santa Clause outfit. There wasn't time.

I'll let Sam Venable, an author, storyteller and columnist for the Knoxville News-Sentinel pick up the story here:

"Schmitt-Matzen got to the hospital in 15 minutes. He met the lad's mother and several family members.

'She'd bought at toy from (the TV show) PAW Patrol and wanted me to give it to him,' he said, voice growing husky. 'I sized up the situation and told everyone, If you think you're going to lse it, please leave the rom. If I see you crying, I'll break down and can't do my job.'"

Venable wrote that nobody entered the room with Santa, but watched, sobbing, through a hallway window in the hospital's ICU.

Schmitt-Matzen continued, as relayed by Venable:

"'When I walked in, he was laying there, so weak it looked like he was ready to fall asleep. I sat down on his bed and asked, 'Say, what's this I hear about you're gonna miss Christmas? There's no way you can miss Christmas! Why, you're my Number One Elf!'

He looked up ad said, 'I am?'

I said 'Sure!'

I gave him the present. He was so weak he could barely open the wrapping paper. When he saw what was inside, he flashed a big smile and laid his head back down.

'They say I'm gonna die,' he told me. 'How can I tell when I get to where I'm going?'

I said, 'Can you do me a big favor?'

He said, 'Sure!'

'When you get there, you tell 'em you're Santa's Number One Elf, and I know theyll let you in.'

He said, 'They will?'

I said, 'Sure!'

He kind of sat up and gave me a big hug and asked one more question: 'Santa, can you help me?'

I wrapped my arms aroud him. Before I could say anything, he died right there. I let him stay, just kept hugging and holding on to him."

And so, Schmitt-Matzen, aka Santa, sent the boy on his next journey, whereever that might be.

The boys mother ran into the room, screaming, "No, No not yet!"  Schmitt-Matzen handed the boy back to his mother and fled the hospital in tears.

He said he cried so hard driving home he could barely see the road. That's understandable.

What's also understandable is Schmitt-Matzen considered giving up his Santa gig after this. He just didn't have the heart to do it.

But he did one more gig, which was fortunate.  Schmitt-Matzen said, "When I saw all those children laughing, it brought me back into the fold, it made me realize the role I have to play....For them and for me."

At 54 years old, I'm too old to believe in Santa. Or am I?

No, a fat, happy old man from the North Pole is not going to come down my chimney Christmas Eve and give me presents.

You can call people like Schmitt-Matzen what you want. Great human beings, Good Samaritans, or guardian angels.

Or you could call him Santa. This time of year, when I hear stories like this, I'm glad that Santa lives on, not in some hokey television commercial that demands that you Buy, Buy, Buy!, but in the quiet grace of Schmitt-Matzen, aka Santa.

It seems like there's so little of Schmitt-Matzen's type in the world today, in a time when people feel like they have "permission" to scream insults and threats at people they don't like.

I, like everybody else, shed a tear when I read about Schmitt Matzen and the dying boy. Not only for the context of the story, but because it makes me know there are still people like him out there.

Thanks, Santa.

Here's the video. (Warning, it's a real tear-jerker, but worth watching)

Plane Full Of Great Human Beings Helps Grieving Grandmother Of Orlando Shootings

Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20, was one of the victims
of the massacre at the Pulse nightlcub in Orlando
last Sunday. Passengers aboard a JetBlue flight wonderfully
comforted his grandmother as she flew
to Orlando for the funeral.  

Every time something like the massacre in Orlando happens - and it happens way too often, I and many others seek out examples of humanity's good side to help us get through the horror, and to recover our faith in people.

Fred (Mr.) Rogers once famously said:

"When I was a boy and I wuld see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me. 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.'

To this day, especially in times of disaster, I remember my mother's words and I am always conforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers - so many caring people in this world."

On cue, the helpers materialized in droves in Orlando and around the world.

The first responders who saved lives. The people who lined up for hours under the hot Florida sun to give blood to save the wounded. The people who handed out umbrellas, water and granola bars to those people waiting in line.

Then there was the crew and passengers aboard a JetBlue flight to Orlando this week.

One of the youngest victims of the Pulse nightclub massacre was Luis Omar Ocasio-Capo, 20. His grandmother, devastated, boarded a JetBlue flight to Orlando to go to her grandson's funeral.

The JetBlue crew knew why the grandmother was on that hour and half long flight to Orlando. That's because JetBlue offered free flights to Orlando for relatives heading there for funerals.

According to CNN, one of the flight attendants, Kelly Davis Karas, thought it would be nice to ask passengers if they wanted to sign a paper offering condolences for the grandmother on that flight as she and fellow flight attendant Melissa Sloop Winstead made their way up the aisle with the beverage cart.

Karas thought they'd just sign their names.  But soon, there was a mad but quiet scramble to find more paper. Here's why, says CNN:

"Instead of signing their names and moving on, passengers were writing paragraphs - long notes of compassion, grief and strength.

'When we gathered them together to present them to her, we didn't have just a sheet of paper covered in names, which is what I had envisioned. Instead, we had page after page after page of long messages offering condolences, peace, love and support. There were even a couple of cash donations, and more than a few tears,' Karas wrote on her Facebook page."

When the plane landed, a couple of passengers asked for a moment of silence for Omar and the grandmother agreed to that.

When the moment of silence ended, people gathered their things to leave the plane.

However, everyone on board stopped and wished the grandmother well and offered condolences. Some people touched her hand, or hugged her, or cried with her. Not one person complained about the extra time it took getting off the plane because of this.

I confess I have shed a few tears over the Orlando massacre and all those victims. This story also made me shed tears, but happy ones, in gratification for the beautiful humanity on that JetBlue flight - that wonderful planeload of helpers.

The Saint Of Dry Creek

A still from the YouTube animation of
Story Corp's "The Saint of Dry Creek."  

I love "Story Corp" on NPR.

Hell, I love Story Corp's entire web site. 

They're glimpses of lives, very personal that air each Friday.

Every time I hear Story Corp while I'm driving to work, I find myself crying.  Every once in awhile, human beings can be so giving, so wise.

Yes, humanity can be awful. Just read the news about terrorists attacks, ISIS, Congressional gridlock, corporate greed and any number of sins that are in the daily news.

But humanity can be poignant and beautiful, too. Especially when it's not cluttered with people with a shallow agenda.

One great example came my way today via JoeMyGod, a blog focusing on gay political and social issues.

It turns out Story Corps makes great videos of their stories too.  For animated visual versions of Story Corp,  it's totally worth it to check out their YouTube channel.   

And this one is awesome. It focuses on a rural dairy farmer dad, circa 1950s in rural Washington State.

This particular dairy farmer dad was incredibly wise, and way before his time. I just wish there were more people like him on Earth now. That's all I'm going to day about it. You just have to watch.

And you might get teary eyed, like I often do during Story Corps episodes.

Do You Have the Heart to Kill A Robot?

Most of us wouldn't kill someone or something that doesn't want to die. At least I hope not.

Even if you're mad at your coworker for messing up the report you've been working on, the worst you'd probably do is admonish him. If your dog chews up your slippers, you'd say "Bad Dog!!" and let it go at that.

Will something like these Star Wars guys
 be our best friends some day?

What if a robot begs you not to kill it?   A robot is a machine. You turn it on and off like you would the clothes dryer or the lawn mower.

But as computerization gets more complex, more interactive, more seemingly emotional, would you have the heart to shut off a complex robot, one that seems like it has some human qualities, one that is likeable, essentially wiping out its data, it's memories?

I know that sounds silly. Of course you'd shut off a machine when you're done with it. We do it to our laptops and iPhones all the time.

But is it such a silly question?  An experiment shows that people are very uncomfortable shutting off a robot when it "asks" you not to, when it essentially says you'd hurt or kill it if you do.

According to the NPR report on Christoph Bartneck's research

"Bartneck studies human-robot relations, and he wanted to know what would happen if a robot in a similar position to the "learner" begged for its life. Would there be any moral pause? Or would research subjects simply extinguish the life of a machine pleading for its life without any thought or remorse?"

Researchers put people in front of, or next to robots that answered questions helpfully, with a voice that seemed friendly. The robot was made to look like a nice, cartoonish cat.

The people working with the robots were told they must shut them off when finished. But humans seem to naturally anthropomorphize the pleasant robots.

According to NPR:

"In videos of the experiment, you can clearly see a moral struggle as the research subject deals with the pleas of the machine. "You are not really going to switch me off, are you?" the cat robot begs, and the humans sit, confused and hesitating. "Yes. No. I will switch you off!" one female research subject says, and then doesn't switch the robot off."

"People started to have dialogues with the robot about this," Bartneck says, "Saying, 'No! I really have to do it now, I'm sorry! But it has to be done!' But then they still wouldn't do it."

There they sat, in front of a machine no more soulful than a hair dryer, a machine they knew intellectually was just a collection of electrical pulses and metal, and yet they paused.


I can understand the reluctance of these people to shut off the machines. Intellectually, I know they are machines, and I'm sure the research subjects did, too. But when will it come to the point where machines - robots- begin to take on enough humanlike and emotional characteristics that we relate enough to become their friends.

Will it be like our relationships with dogs? Or acquaintance? Somebody maybe more akin to close friends?  What if they become something that knows us better, and emphasizes with us more than any of our human or dog or cat friends?

Then what happens to us, and the machines, and our perhaps mutual relationships if the robots need repairs, or need to be rebooted?  And the Next Big Thing comes along every few minutes it seems.

If we get attached to our best friend robot, and she becomse outmoded and outdated, do we trade her in for a better model, like of like a cad does when he thinks his wife is too old?  Or do we stick with our tried and true robot/friends?

These questions are beginning to sound less and less theoretical and fantastic, and more like something many of us will have to actually deal with.

And I thought dealing with my human acquaintances was fun and challenging and complex enough.