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It's been two years since Gov. Tom Wolf ordered the shutdown of non-essential businesses as COVID-19 began to change our lives forever. The Morning Call is taking a look at some of the major changes, what's likely to remain and what happens next.
Fran Ihm never thought her mother-in-law, Dorothy Ihm, would become a subject of one of the most woefully familiar stories heard around the world during the coronavirus pandemic.
"I remember telling her (in March 2020) that we'd be back to normal in a few weeks. She lived in an independent living facility, where she had her own apartment. [Before that] we saw her at least twice a week, sometimes more. She looked forward to our weekly Sunday evening meals. I truly thought everything would return to normal soon."
But "normal" was a feeling the Ihm family would never really have again. Weeks became months, and months became a year, and then two as isolation took its toll. The more time passed, the faster Dorothy Ihm declined as she dealt with various health issues and was transferred from assisted living to full-time nursing care.
Dorothy died March 7, two years into the pandemic and just days shy of the two-year anniversary of the state shutdown -- March 19, 2020. In some ways, she was a casualty not only of the virus, but a belief many had in the early days of the pandemic as uncertainty reigned.
"Two weeks. Stop the spread. Right? Right? That's how I remember it," said Hanover Township, Northampton County, resident Tony Pagliaroli, speaking to the perceived idea that changing our behavior for a short time would decrease the infection rate and stop the millions of hospitalizations and deaths yet to come.
Even as the Lehigh Valley grew accustomed to lockdown life -- where images of empty streets, empty shelves and empty schools and businesses were the norm -- others still believed it would just be a matter of time to get the virus under control.
"I remember thinking we'd be back to normal by the summer," said Daniel Beardsworth of Allentown. "All the talk was about 'flattening the curve' and I legitimately believed we'd all be talking about COVID in the past tense at July 4th cookouts."
In reality, we were just beginning an aggressive experiment to fight an invisible enemy that would kill with terrible efficiency and change everything about our day-to-day lives.
Politicians saw 'a disaster in the making'
For state Rep. Mike Schlossberg, an Allentown Democrat, one date on the calendar still stands out more than others.
"The day of March 11, 2020, was what I referred to as the last normal day," Schlossberg said. He was scheduled to speak at a cannabis symposium, followed by an event at the Humane Society to highlight anti-cruelty legislation. But for the first time as a state legislator, he attended those events with his children in tow because their school was closed for disinfecting.
"I remember that we were all like, 'Oh, it'll be a fun day.' But I actually do remember feeling like 'this is a disaster in the making.' It was a terror of knowing you were about to fall off a cliff and not knowing what was at the bottom, and not realizing that, actually, things were about to get very bad and that you were just at the beginning of it."
That night, a disoriented nation watched as NBA games were delayed before tipoff and canceled soon thereafter. Actor Tom Hanks also announced he had contracted the virus, and President Donald Trump addressed the nation from the Oval Office and said he would sharply restrict travel from 26 European nations to the U.S. after days of downplaying the threat.
Gov. Tom Wolf ordered the closure of all non-essential businesses a week later, Schlossberg and his colleagues realized their constituents had one major and immediate concern.
"The closure orders came, and the unemployment calls started. We were checking voice messages every 30 minutes, and the calls kept piling up ... and the people you heard from at the worst panic level were the people who were living on the edge who were like, 'I can't live without a paycheck, and I can't get through to anybody. I need help.'"
In that sense, the restrictions certainly didn't wear well over time, particularly as leaders tried to navigate both public health and economic considerations.
"Our colleagues on the labor committee and in unemployment were just scrambling, and it wasn't their fault. They were just completely overwhelmed," Schlossberg said, referring to the outdated mainframe computer system for unemployment compensation that continually crashed due to the large number of claimants.
State Sen. Lisa Boscola of Northampton County broke ranks with fellow Democrats when she asked Wolf to ease certain restrictions to get people back to work.
"Obviously, the biggest concern was for the health of our residents and ensuring our health care and front line workers were kept as safe as possible," Boscola told The Morning Call, while highlighting that Pennsylvania had shut down a lot more industry than surrounding states like New Jersey did.
"No state was prepared for the avalanche of unemployment claims. It was certainly a factor in my encouraging (that) sectors that could reopen safely should be reopened as soon as possible," Boscola said, noting the thousands of calls her office received from people experiencing economic insecurity.
She also believes that looking back is an important part of the future, but said it will require legislators to analyze how the state government functioned during the pandemic without wearing "partisan glasses."
"We need to understand our successes and our failures, where we need to invest our dollars and how to better protect Pennsylvania's economy should something like this happen again," she said.
In public health, a 'fragmented system' put on full display
In the early days of the pandemic, officials said their biggest challenge was preparing for the unknown and trying to determine just how deadly the virus was going to be.
"I remember a top CDC official who said this was going to have a really significant disruption on day-to-day life, and that statement really jarred me into thinking, 'How am I going to prepare my community for this?'" said Kathleen Bachynski, an assistant professor of public health at Muhlenberg College.
"I remember one of my students asking me, 'Is it inevitable that coronavirus will come to Allentown?' And I remember saying yes, and that it actually might already be here. And just the look on that student's face … there was total disbelief."
As Bachynski prepared for a public health panel at Muhlenberg, others were dealing with outreach and messaging on an even bigger scale.
"We didn't know how quickly it was going to spread. We didn't know if it was going to disproportionately attack a particular population. So, we just kept telling everyone to get ready. But it's kind of like, 'Are we getting ready for snow, sleet, rain, hail and how much of it?'" said Vicky Kistler, who served as the director of the Allentown Health Bureau and is now the city's interim director for community and economic development.
But as Kistler and her staff tried to marshal the resources of experts to educate and immunize the public, they had another problem on their hands.
"We saw the benefits and the pitfalls of social media -- the benefit of social media was we could rapidly promote where you could go for what, and what you should do if this or that. But then the CDC would speak, and it would instantaneously be transmitted by social media. And everyone would think we were immediately prepared to do whatever the CDC said we should do."
Another challenge was so many people leaning into the idea that modern science and a few weeks of social distancing would seemingly stop the virus in its tracks, Kistler said. But to better inform the public, they needed better record-
keeping, better communications systems and strict criteria for identifying cases and sharing information.
"The fragmented public health system in the state of Pennsylvania was put on full display," Kistler said while highlighting the ripple effects, including a lack of confidence in everything from data to the idea that vaccines would be available and accessible to people who wanted them.
Kistler says that fragmentation at the state, county and regional levels affected risk assessments and "the lack of our ability to assure our citizens that they were in good hands became harder and harder and harder."
Ultimately, the mixed messaging led to frustration, dismay and dissent as infection rates skyrocketed and guidance continually shifted.
"If there was a health department in every single solitary county, and those health departments were equipped to deal with the number of people and funded to deal with the number of people in their county, this could have been a lot less chaotic. But that's not the case in Pennsylvania," Kistler said.
'It felt like we changed the tilt of the Earth's axis'
While students bore the social and emotional brunt of disruptions during the pandemic, the early days of the shutdown were a blur for teachers and administrators preparing for the inevitable.
"When the governor's announcement came, it felt like we changed the tilt of the Earth's axis," said Dieruff High School principal Mike Makhoul. "And then we were called into a room to discuss, 'what do we do now for our students?'"
In Allentown, the initial goal was the distribution of 14 days of instructional materials via drive-through "a la carte" stations, where students picked up curriculum packets, worksheets, computers and web-based materials.
Over time, trepidation was replaced by a sense of accomplishment as schools deployed creative measures to remain socially connected even while physically distant.
"We just kept pivoting, just kept evolving. And we did what most districts do in a two-to-three-year cycle in a period of months," Makhoul said, adding that his district, like many others, also had dozens of unsung heroes providing daily meal distribution to students and "putting on as many hats as possible to help each other."
In Bethlehem, the scramble looked much the same. The district concentrated on issuing Chromebooks, distributing "hot spots" to families without home internet access and transitioning 13,500 students and 1,000 teachers to online learning.
"What worked well was constant communication," said Bethlehem Area School District Superintendent Joseph Roy. "In a crisis situation, you often don't have the answers to the questions that people are asking. But regular updates with what you do know helps calm nerves."
As the pandemic abruptly removed students from classrooms and isolated them from their peers, Makhoul believed the detrimental effects would be felt for years to come.
"Removing students from schools is beyond measure," he said. "When you think about it, across those spheres of influence are financial, emotional, social, academic. It truly is the hub of a child's development. It is the crux of it all."
An upended industry and new ways to mourn losses
Funeral director Felicia Wiedemann can't say for sure when the first death related to the pandemic arrived at Downing Funeral Home in Bethlehem or Kohut Funeral Home in Allentown.
"I think we actually had a couple of COVID deaths before we really knew about COVID," Wiedemann said, recalling that the first COVID-positive victim she knowingly handled was probably about two weeks into the shutdown.
By then, the pandemic had already upended the funeral industry, sending Wiedemann and others on the hunt for PPE, including masks, gowns, face shields, gloves and other supplies as nationwide shortages developed.
"I didn't have an N95 mask. We had surgical masks, but we didn't have N95s, so you're trying to figure out, 'What am I going to do?' Literally, my plan was to put on my motorcycle helmet and a surgical mask, because I didn't even have a [newer] face shield," Wiedemann said.
As the state shut down, families grappled with difficult decisions about final arrangements, said Nicos Elias, the owner of Elias Funeral Home in Allentown. Direct dispositions -- a term used to describe burial or cremation that takes place directly following death -- became much more common in lieu of preparing a body for a traditional viewing or funeral.
"We were still allowed to do funerals, but we couldn't have many people," Elias said. "We had a limit of 10 people in the building. That included our staff and the clergy, so a family could only have like, maybe seven people here."
As the basic elements that were understood about the virus shifted, funeral homes shifted as well, making sure the trauma of loss was a little less lonely and that families were supported in bereavement. Those who wanted proper funerals for their loved ones had memorial services that moved online and drive-by viewings that were held in parking lots.
"It was a really hard thing to say to people, like, that's your mom or your dad or your wife. I would just say to people, 'I am not sure how to go about this,' and as you were walking that line, being professional and being up front with people," Wiedemann said.
As funeral directors adapted to new ways of helping people grieve, important lessons were learned.
"I think that it helps to realize that you can feel like everything's under control, but maybe not?" Wiedemann said. "So you can have all the PPE and that kind of stuff, but you have to just be able to step back and evaluate the situation and say, 'OK, what can we do now?' and you adjust to what people feel comfortable doing, because this could happen again."