Covid: Horrific Random Killer, or Focused Societal Upgrade?

By Paul Clark
(aka motomynd)

Killing more than 550,000 people in the U.S., Covid-19 has been a national disaster. Lost in that huge number are individual stories of immense personal tragedy, along with some wry moments that almost make Covid-19 seem like a thinking killer with a dark sense of humor.
    Donald Trump mocked Covid in general, and people who wore masks in particular; UK Prime Minister Boris Johnson did the same. Covid struck both, not hard enough to kill them, but hard enough to destroy Trump’s first term as president and any chance he had at a second; Johnson’s experience with Covid seemed to affect him enough to make him sound almost civil for the first time in his political career. In between were the countless examples of preachers and churchgoers – mostly across the South – who confidently stated “God is greater than Covid-19” and refused to wear a mask or take social-distancing precautions – and wound up dead from Covid. Tragedy, tinged with irony.

And thus it was with one of my neighbors, the only person I’ve known who has died of Covid. I never had a conversation with the man, and never actually knew his name, so I will call him Marvin – in memory of the Marvin Gaye music he loved to broadcast across my property from refrigerator-size speakers on his back porch.
    To establish a bit of setting, my property has a mostly wooded one-acre backyard, and Marvin was one of four neighbors off the elevated south side of that yard. It is 75 yards from my house to Marvin’s, and in between are my 1800s-era former smokehouse, a swath of tall trees, and Marvin’s 50x50-foot grassy backyard: plenty of space for privacy and civility.
    Marvin was a retired truck driver who had done well in life and thoroughly enjoyed his retirement. He was very popular with what seemed a very large group of friends, and he frequently hosted large, loud, and raucous weekend gatherings. Even though it is illegal to set off fireworks or shoot guns where we live, these gatherings were almost always punctuated by fireworks at some point well past midnight, and guns sporadically fired into the night sky: the man knew how to party.
    I never talked with Marvin in person but I knew much about him and his friends from conversations I couldn’t help but overhear. It has always been a mystery, but for some reason music lovers seem unable to understand that when they sit in front of blaring speakers and “have a conservation” by yelling at each other over the music, even people 75 yards away can hear almost every word – even if those people are inside their own homes trying to sleep but have their windows open so they can enjoy the cool night air.
    One of the most interesting things we learned from these overheard conversations was how much Marvin despised having white neighbors. To explain: Marvin was black, as were his hard-partying friends. None of his white neighbors ever complained about the parties or called the police about the gunfire, so I’m not sure what the issue was, but in Marvin’s mind, apparently there was an issue.

His gatherings
were punctuated
by fireworks
after midnight,
and guns were fired
into the night sky.
The man knew
how to party.

Marvin’s brick ranch that was built in 1958; my house was built in 1852. I was living there as a child before Marvin’s house was built, and I was there more than 40 years before Marvin moved in. When I was a child, the neighborhood was all white families; over the decades it has “reverse de-gentrified” and my wife, our son, and I are one of only seven white families still living amongst the surrounding 25-30 black and Latino families.
    That’s not a problem to me, nor a problem to them. Mostly we get along fine. Not Marvin, however, because having a white family living practically next door just wasn’t acceptable to him – never mind that the white family was there 40 years before he was.
    Before Marvin retired, my then five-year-old son loved to “camp out” in our backyard, in the 10x20 “play tent” we bought him to house his trampoline, drivable electric Jeep, and other toys. After Marvin retired we chose our weekends carefully; it is very difficult to get a six-year-old child to sleep with Marvin Gaye’s deep voice booming through the trees until 2 a.m., along with occasional blasts of fireworks and gunfire. And there is of course the concern about where bullets land when shot into the sky.
    When the pandemic descended, the parties multiplied, so we completely gave up on the idea of sleeping in our backyard. During the time people were being paid to stay home from work and “socially distance” to control the spread of the pandemic, Marvin and his friends were gathering ever more often and having even larger parties. We never saw anyone wear a mask or keep any sort of social distance and wondered what might come from this. Talking rationally with people who feel they just have to party is as pointless as trying to talk rationally with people who feel they just have to go to church. So, we watched from afar and wondered.
    One night there was a particularly large and loud party at Marvin’s, capped by a rather amazing fireworks display, and then an unusually large outburst of gunfire. Later that week, a neighbor across the street told me Marvin had died – from Covid – and that last party was a celebration of all the great times he and his friends had enjoyed together.

Looking back, I don’t know what to make of Marvin, and probably never will. Where I live, in the South, a retired truck driver with a strong affinity for fireworks, guns, and loud parties – and who dislikes his neighbors because their skin is a different color – is usually a white man and is generally regarded as just another racist redneck. But when that man is black…well…is there any such thing as a black, racist redneck? I’ve never heard of such, and had never even pondered it until I got to this point of writing about Marvin.
    The other thing that occurs to me is that while Covid is a national disaster from one perspective, it may be a sort of societal improvement project from another. If someone is in a clique led by a science-defying, fire-and-brimstone preacher who spews sermons filled with hatred and fear to the members of his all-white-people church, and if that preacher dies from Covid, it may feel like a tragedy to those inside the group. Same for someone in a clique led by a black, retired trucker who funds wild parties for his all-black-people gatherings, his death by Covid may feel like a tragedy to those inside the group.
    For those outside such cliques, however, are the losses tragedies, or simply events that make the world a better place, and opportunities for others to learn valuable lessons? It is a harsh thought, but as we approach 600,000 killed by Covid, how many are unfortunate victims felled by awful luck – like being trapped in a nursing home with literally nowhere to run – and how many are people who simply wouldn’t make themselves take proper precautions to stay alive.

Copyright © 2021 by Paul Clark