Our Dispirited Fourth
The Fourth of July dawned bright and beautiful in our lovely old university town of Ames, Iowa, this morning. And then nothing went as it should have.
The street in front of City Hall was empty this morning. Hundreds of people — if not thousands — did not line up at 8:30, as they usually do, for the free breakfast that is offered to every resident who wants it on the Fourth. The mayor and city council members did not show up to serve plates of sausage and hotcakes. Tents and tables and chairs were not set up on the street.
At 11 a.m., Main Street downtown was virtually deserted. Flags had been put up, but thousands of men, women and children had not turned out to watch the city’s annual, beloved, Fourth of July parade. The Ames High School band did not go marching by — members of the Ames Municipal Band did not roll along on the back of a flatbed truck, playing patriotic tunes — and KASI Radio’s morning man Mel Crippen was not perched in his usual spot in Tom Evans Plaza, announcing the parade.
Last night, Reiman Gardens on the Iowa State University campus was one of the loneliest places in town. Ames residents had not gathered by the thousands to view the city’s annual pre-Fourth fireworks extravaganza. They did not “ooh” and “aah” at the exploding sparklers, and they did not drive home, satisfied that they had seen a truly fine display of light and sound.
None of that happened because the coronavirus pandemic had forced the cancellation of all of it. On this — what should have been another grand and glorious Fourth in Ames to celebrate our nation — there were few signs of celebrations in the usual places. Yes, a few homes were flying the Stars and Stripes — but far less than I’ve seen in previous years. And, yes, families still took their children to parks and playgrounds. Unfortunately, I could not see many who were wearing masks.
So far this summer, our stay here is quite different from any other we’ve experienced. Outdoor band concerts have been canceled. Sharon has declined to volunteer again at Reiman because the people who run it are not demanding that visitors wear face masks. I can’t go to the radio station where, each summer, I do live newscasts on the morning show because station personnel are avoiding their own building and programming remotely. We are afraid to eat inside restaurants. We do, however, venture inside our neighborhood Fareway grocery store, where all employees are mandated to wear masks and where most customers seem to understand that it’s not a political “statement” to don one.
Before we arrived a few weeks ago, we debated — seriously — whether to sell our little place here in Ames. Trying to plan our trip across country was more difficult than usual because we had to find a route that avoided coronavirus “hot spots.” The nearly 2,000 mile drive has grown more difficult over the years as we have gotten older. We get tired on that trip more easily than we used to. And, of course, the question was — did we want to maintain the expense of having a home in Ames when we’re here — in the best of times — only a few months each year?
And this year’s stay will be our shortest yet. We’re heading Back West in just a few more weeks in order to avoid the thousands of Iowa State University students who will trek back here in mid-August, no doubt packing a load of coronavirus with them. The sad thing is, everyone in this community — at least, everyone who has any sense — knows what’s going to happen in terms of the virus — and no one, seemingly, can stop it. So ISU will start in-person classes in mid-August, and it will only be a matter of time before the virus rolls through Campustown in a big, big way. That area already saw a huge surge of virus cases when the football team returned a few weeks ago for “voluntary” practices — so much so that several bars and restaurants have shut down again, voluntarily, to try to stop the spread.
Having said that — we would still much rather be here on this Fourth than back “home” in Paso Robles, on the Central Coast of California. That area is suffering from its own coronavirus surge — as is most of the rest of the state. And this weekend, San Luis Obisipo County has, in its “wisdom,” decided against shutting its beaches — providing open access to thousands of people from the San Joaquin Valley who, even when times are good, jam our coastal towns and leave behind piles of garbage on those beaches — and who, in these times, likely will also leave behind a ton of virus infections.
So, all in all, we’re happy to be here in Ames on this strange Fourth, and during this disquieting summer. And we likely will decide to keep our place here and return — health and other things allowing — next summer. Will it be our last time? Perhaps. We hope, of course, there will be a coronavirus vaccine by then, so that — one year from today — we all can head over to City Hall for that breakfast, and then stroll to Main Street for that parade. I’m putting you on notice, Ames — we want that “spirit of the Fourth” to come back.