Laugh at This F. Scott Fitzgerald

Recently a comedian penned a skillful letter and said it had come from F. Scott Fitzgerald, the world famous American author who wrote 'The Great Gatsby' among other things. It was supposed to be about F. Scott Fitzgerald and his wife Zelda being in quarantine in Spain. How that got to be a comic target, I'll never know.

The letter was shared widely. Eventually someone checked it out and traced it back to the individual wrote it who said this about it, "...it was never meant to be real." I wonder if F. Scott Fitzgerald and his poor wife Zelda might agree with me when I say that seems to be the new American plaint - 'It was never meant to be real.'

What is written below is meant to be real because it is.

“A LETTER FROM ALFRED L. BROCK, ISOLATION IN 2020 IN THE SOUTHEAST OF MICHIGAN, USA DURING THE GLOBAL CORONAVIRUS PANDEMIC.

Dearest Friend,

It was a fresh and Spring morning, standing among the days of the year like a single Edelweiss above the snow or the Purple Crocus peeking through the brown leaves of last year. I look forward to meeting you. Few people have kept up the simple art of acknowledging each other in this world. They had begun to believe that time existed. The words of my family and friends are like the music of the songbirds which are now returning here after their long winter absence. Here in the house it is quiet and warm. These past few days have been filled with the sound of a roaring wind outside. It came from the West without warning. It carried on its burly shoulders one long thunder storm, punctuated by lightning and filled with fresh rain came with it. There hadn’t been anything here like that in the past twenty years. The rest was a constant blow that reached crescendos of gale force winds as the storm moved east towards the lakes. The sound of it was like a symphony at one moment and the crashing thunder of pounding drums and ringing trumpets the next as it rushed over us. An American tumult in the air.

At this time the Governor of this State and our neighboring states, as well as the Premier of Canada have issued orders for everyone to stay at home. Only the foolhardy join those deemed necessary for life and government to continue. The firemen, the police, doctors, nurses, ambulance drivers, the sanitation workers and those who move food and drugs about. The threat on the street is not from some drunken Hemingway impersonator as in Key West during ‘Hemingway Days’ but from a tiny, unseen bug, a virus. Half alive and half dead. Formed of some living fiber and more of the unliving and unloving crystal and mineral structures we usually build walls with.

I wrote to this Governor and the President of the United States. They have been arguing like F. Scott Fitzgerald and his pressured wife, Zelda. According to Tennessee Williams’ play ‘Clothes for a Summer Hotel’ the story of those two had a very different reality than what the Press has given us. 

The President of the United States in his tight oratorical poundings has come head to head with the Governor of Michigan who is a woman of great strength and determination. Their public disagreements came to some political or diplomatic end and they are speeding to their responses. Nonetheless it was unnecessary and unwanted distraction as the people they are fighting over continue to fight for their lives.

The town where I was born is being called the ‘Epicenter of the Pandemic’. The center of this new Plague on planet Earth. The name of the town is Elmhurst and the hospital is filled with patients and can’t take anymore. Their morgue is filled as well and they have been given giant, refrigerated trucks to store the dead until they can be hauled away.

Not far from there, from three major airports, under the beautiful Spring days are thousands of people flying out of the New York City in airplanes. They are coming and going as if all is well. As all Americans, Canadians, Europeans, Indias, Australians, New Zealanders, Russians, Germans, French, Spanish and many others are instructed to stay home these people fly domestically. Horribly unaware of the danger they are to others. Perhaps they are not unaware. Perhaps they feel that they are invincible and like the People’s Republic of China which opted to ignore the problem they hope it will go away without any further action on their part.

The officials have said we do not need to fear for the supplies in the stores because the supply chains are in order. Everyone remains tense.

The parks are empty except for the few people who have determined that going for a walk includes jogging in the park, meeting friends and having parties. The underbelly of society around us, it seems, is still busy. Drugs change hands, the police remain busy with their regular business of dealing with robbers and rape and murder.

In the 1920’s there was a worldwide flu that killed many. It moved slowly. Not like this thing. Recently a letter went about concerning F. Scott Fitzgerald and remarks he was said to have made in a letter he wrote. It turned out he didn’t write it. It was a fake piece of news and history cooked up by a comedian. In that it serves as a classic example of the corruption of communication in these United States and the world. They don’t even know what sort of criminal act and perversion they commit when satire becomes a form of political art supported by fiction presented as fact.

The author claimed it was never to be taken as real. That is an offensive statement in a world that has become unreal. 

In any case, the damage was done and soon erased. The sorrow spreads in the world like a darkening mist, growing heavier for some each day. Near here, outside my window, just in the distance, is the sound of a warning bell from a train crossing. It has been ringing for three days and no one goes near to correct it, to stop it, it just rings and rings from dawn to midnight and around again.

The National Guard is being sent to my city. They will be here tomorrow.

For me, though, Rose, as the world has grown dark around me I came upon a light. At first it was just a sharp, pinprick of light in the void, as they say the universe began. They never are very clear about how the circumstances were created to start that singularity, are they? Of that I am not concerned. Suffice it to say that the light is here. Glowing and bright within my hands, open, encompassed and held up by my palms. Lighting the way here on earth and signaling a new beginning. Something made new and so new as to unrecognizable to the world that was. It is all falling away. The falseness, the lies and the hidden things are brushed away in whirls of dust blown by the fresh  Spring wind. My soul is made new. My heart is cleansed and I am filled with joy. Life is meant to be lived.

Sincerely,

Alfred”