I received literally thousands of masks from across the country. Some masks were handmade. Some were incredible works of art. Many were sent with beautiful letters and cards. It was a daily boost to me, like a B12 shot for the soul. I asked my staff to put all the masks up on a large board in the front of the press conference room so we could unveil it during one of our briefings. We did that. It was huge and magnificent. We called it “Self-Portrait of America.” It showed we are not alone. We are a mosaic of people from different places, with different strengths, but there is so much beauty in our unity.
I never stopped being touched by how supportive people were. I mentioned to someone that I was a fan of the Fonz from Happy Days, and next thing I know, Henry Winkler called. Hillary Clinton called to check in and see if there was anything she could do to help. Robert Redford wrote to say they were watching me out in Utah. Winston Churchill’s granddaughter, the artist Edwina Sandys, inscribed a copy of her book about her grandfather, Winston Churchill: A Passion for Painting: “In great admiration for the inspirational leadership and efficiency you are radiating in this ‘Your finest hour!’ ”
Citizens from all walks of life reached out in the tens of thousands, through emails, calls, Instagram messages, all asking, “How can I help?” I did a briefing from a hospital in Syracuse on April 28. When I drove up and parked, there was a semicircle of at least four hundred nurses and doctors, all holding signs and cheering. I walked by, staying a safe fifteen feet away, waving, taking in this incredible energy. It was moments like that, and they happened all over the state, that made me realize all New Yorkers were in this together. It gave me great strength to go on.
One letter I received touched me so much that I actually teared up while reading it at my desk. I later read it at a briefing. A farmer in Kansas wrote saying he had watched our daily briefings, saw what was happening in New York, and was compelled to help. He said he had five leftover N95 masks from his farming days. His wife had only one lung, so he was keeping four masks, but he sent one mask for a doctor or nurse in New York. Wow. I read the letter at the briefing and never gave his full name, but a reporter somehow tracked down the farmer and wrote an article about it. After the article appeared, the governor of Kansas called the farmer, Dennis Ruhnke, to thank him, and that generated more press. Ultimately, the head of Kansas State University contacted the farmer. It turned out the farmer never graduated because he left college to care for his mother and the family farm after his father died. Kansas State gave him his degree, and he spoke at the commencement. How beautiful in the midst of such agony. I called Mr. Ruhnke to congratulate him and his humility overwhelmed me. He was so grateful for all the kindness that had been shown to him, and I don’t think he fully appreciated the kindness he himself had shown. He was doing what he assumed was the right response to the circumstance, and that is what made it so special.
APRIL 27 | 3,951 NEW CASES | 12,819 HOSPITALIZED | 337 DEATHS
“Life is going to be different.”
THE USNS COMFORT SAILED OUT of New York Harbor a month after it arrived. The ship cared for about two hundred patients. The right-wing press was mocking us because it had barely been used. This was a perfect snapshot of the bizarre and incongruous situation. The truth is this: I had never asked for the USNS Comfort. I had never thought of asking for a hospital ship. I asked for the Javits Center to be built, and I was the first one to suggest to the president the use of the Army Corps of Engineers. Sending the USNS Comfort was the president’s idea. He sent two ships—the USNS Comfort to the East Coast and the USNS Mercy to the West Coast. Why? Because they were the ultimate photo opportunity. Large white ships emblazoned with a red cross in the middle, designed to be visible for miles. The president is a marketing man. He anticipated the media feeding frenzy watching the Comfort sail into New York Harbor. It would be a tremendous visual display of the president’s assistance. The president was so excited about it that he actually left the White House to go to Norfolk, Virginia, to bring the press to see the Comfort off. One ship for the East Coast, one ship for the West Coast, they were the two most impactful press releases that the White House has ever issued.
Furthermore, all our efforts on providing emergency field beds whether on the Comfort or in the Javits Center were preparations for the worst-case scenario. Any intelligent strategy says “prepare for the worst and hope for the best.” All experts and the president’s own projection models said we would need additional beds beyond our current hospital capacity. By these models, even with the Comfort, the Javits Center, and all other emergency beds we provided, we were still tens of thousands of beds short of the maximum need. We never reached the maximum need because New Yorkers did a better job of “flattening the curve” than any experts had predicted. It was a tremendous success. Any informed person would have said, “Thank God we didn’t need the Comfort!” If the president was smarter on the issue, he should have claimed success in flattening the curve and reducing the need because that was the substantive success. The CDC
