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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Just as we are trying to decide whether to get the second COVID booster of Pfizer-BioNTech or Moderna that is now authorized by the FDA for those over 50, the color-coding system that tracks the rate of contagion has turned from green to yellow in New York City, indicating an increase in cases. We know that what happens in the city eventually spreads to Long Island, so that would encourage us to get that fourth shot, yes?

To further complicate the decision, a study published in The New England Journal of Medicine Tuesday suggests that “additional boosters are likely to provide fleeting protection against omicron infections in older recipients, and are consistent with evidence that vaccine effectiveness against infection wanes faster than against severe disease,” according to The New York Times.

I say, what?

Let’s consider this carefully. The results of the large new study from Israel are telling us that a second booster shot does provide protection against omicron infections and severe illness among older adults. It is also saying that such protection against infection is short-term and wanes after four weeks, then almost disappears after eight weeks. 

That doesn’t sound so good, right?

But hold on. Protection against severe illness-—again, severe illness— did not lessen in the six weeks after receiving the second booster, but the follow-up period has been too short to know if that second shot continues to offer better protection against severity. By the way, the study involved those ages 60 and older, with nothing on younger populations. So “vaccine effectiveness against infection wanes faster than against severe disease,” concludes The Times. And a previous study from Israel that has not yet been published in a scientific journal, according to The Times, “found that older adults who received a second booster were 78% less likely to die of COVID-19 than those who had received just one booster shot.” The methodology of that study has been criticized, however, with scientists pointing out that those who have received one booster are already likely to be protected from severe illness and death. 

In the new study of 1.2 million adults, “the rate of confirmed infections was twice as high in the three-dose group as in the four-dose group. By eight weeks after the fourth shot, the additional protection against infection had almost disappeared, the researchers found. However, “rates of severe illness were 3.5 times higher in the three-dose group than the four-dose group four weeks after the booster shot. That protection did not appear to wane and actually ticked up slightly by the sixth week after the shot, when rates of severe disease were 4.3 times higher in the three-dose group.”

Still don’t know what to do?

Director of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention, Dr. Rochelle P. Walensky, said on Tuesday that her agency “really would encourage people who are over 50 who have underlying medical conditions and those over the age of 65” to get a second booster shot.

There is controversy among immunologists and vaccine experts over whether to recommend that fourth shot, at least for those under age 65. Twenty million people 65 or older are now eligible and 10 million between 50-64, according to the CDC.

So if you have decided to get the second booster, which would you get?

Dr. Peter Marks of the FDA suggested in a podcast that there was “a little bit of data” that switching vaccines may provide better protection, but “probably the more important thing is just to get boosted with whatever vaccine you can get.”

I will be getting the second booster this week. My thinking is that in the face of newly rising infection rates, even eight weeks could provide a substantial barrier against falling ill and then having the additional worry of incurring long-haul Covid. But reaction across the country is mixed.

With limited data, we are left on our own.

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“Propaganda begins when dialogue ends.” — Jacques Ellul

Democracy cannot flourish without a well-informed, enlightened public.

Many miles away from Long Island, against a backdrop of a momentous war in Ukraine, there is another war for the public consciousness of people everywhere. It is a war against a free and independent press, against openness and transparency with the public, and against truth itself. In moments of greatest agitation, those who most fear the truth will do whatever it takes to bury it. 

During a teach-in last week at Stony Brook University, Distinguished Professor Leonie Huddy of the Department of Political Science, said, “We are also in a propaganda war.” 

The Committee to Protect Journalists is a nonprofit that promotes independent journalism and defends press freedom worldwide. According to the CPJ website, five journalists have already been killed since the start of the Russian invasion on Feb. 24. With abhorrent regularity, journalists are now being targeted and killed. 

Aware of the risks, Louise Callaghan, a Middle East correspondent for The Sunday Times of London and virtual panelist at the SBU teach-in, told the audience that she will return to the warzone to report the situation in Ukraine on the ground.

From the bomb shelters of devastated Mariupol to the Long Island North Shore, journalists have incredible responsibility. The Founding Fathers wrote freedom of the press into the First Amendment of the Constitution because they understood journalism was a necessary deterrent to unchecked power. Journalists shine light upon those who hide behind the shadows of deception, whose greatest weapons are disinformation and fear, as not even their nukes can topple what is true.

Right now, dictators and their propagandists are waging a war of ideas, seeking the total annihilation of reason and free thought. Journalists, such as Callaghan, are among our last lines of defense. Whether one is a local reporter on Long Island or a foreign correspondent in Ukraine, the principle remains. So long as journalists are there to shine light on the powerful and the wicked, to distill fact-driven, unfiltered information to the public, then autocrats and their propagandists will never prevail.

This staff editorial is dedicated to the journalists who have made the ultimate sacrifice in the name of transparency and truth. 

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

I’ve tried to dodge the question for years.

For some reason, it comes up despite an eagerness on my part to point to the sky and shout, “Look, it’s a flying turtle,” or to ask, “Wait, aren’t Derek Jeter, Halle Berry and Eva Mendes all sitting together over there?”

You see, I have a dairy allergy. When I first noticed over three decades ago that I couldn’t eat or drink milk products, the world wasn’t as prepared, accustomed and, most of all, accommodating toward allergies.

I’d go in a restaurant, even a fancy one, and tell the waiter or waitress that I was allergic to dairy. I’d get this dubious look like she thought she was on candid camera or that I wanted the fancy French chef to make me a Big Mac.

I tried to order quietly while everyone was looking at their menus or diving for the gold coins I’d thrown across the room as a distraction while I whispered about my allergy to a waitress, begging for a chance to order without facing the inevitable food inquiry.

Alas, more often than not, my distraction techniques and whispering rarely worked.

“I’m allergic to dairy,” I’d mumble.

“Say what?” she’d say.

The restaurant would go silent as if EF Hutton were telling people how to invest.

“I can’t eat anything made with milk, cheese, butter or cream,” I’d say.

“So, what do you want to eat? The chef can’t redo the entire kitchen just for you,” she’d reply, while snarling, blowing the bangs off her forehead and rolling her eyes.

Typically, I’d come up with something creative like a plate of lettuce, an unbuttered bagel, a hard-boiled egg or a Chinese meal. Asian restaurants rarely use milk or butter, which makes Chinese, Japanese and Thai food among my favorites.

Once I’d finally placed the order and was ready to engage in a non-food-related conversation, someone would look me in the eye and ask.

“So, what happens to you if you eat dairy?”

And there it is. I’m not sure what to say. Going into graphic detail forces me to relive unpleasant experiences.

Over the years, I’ve looked at my wife for help. She’s tried to point out the scar from the IV she got when she gave birth to our daughter, shared some exciting anecdote from work, or offered a story from her childhood.

The more we try to redirect the question, the more likely it is to persist.

“No, really, what happens? Would you die?” people have asked eagerly. Sometimes, their tone is so matter of fact that I wonder if they’d like popcorn, with plenty of butter, to watch the death by dairy event.

Do I carry an EpiPen? Would my throat close? Would I need immediate medical attention?

While the answer to all three questions is “No,” I prefer not to think about, and relive, the consequences of a few mouthfuls of key lime pie.

Describing the discomfort that starts in my mouth and continues all the way to my, well, other exit point, requires me to share unpleasant details.

I try to shorten the interaction by suggesting, in general terms, that I’m in intense digestive discomfort.

“How long does it last?” someone asks.

“Long enough that I haven’t had ice cream for over three decades.”

While the question is unpleasant, the modern reality is not. Waiters and waitresses often arrive at the table and ask about food allergies.

Then again, out of habit, some of them ask at the end of my order if I’d like cheese in my omelet or on my burger.

I smile, waiting for them to look me in the eye.

“Right, right,” they eventually grin. “No dairy. I knew that.”

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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Unless you are a conspiracy theorist and view “the slap heard around the world” as a publicity stunt cooked up by Will Smith and Chris Rock, the episode at the Academy Awards Sunday night left you first puzzled, then shocked. After we caught on, there then ensued an outpouring of opinion and punditry about the incident. But there seems little consideration about how Mrs. Smith might have felt about the matter, or how societal values have dramatically shifted.

Mrs. Smith, otherwise known as the actress and producer Jada Pinkett Smith, is a force of her own. An award winner and named by Time magazine as one of the 100 most influential people in the world in 2021, does she need defending by her husband? Although it was only a quick shot on the camera, she seemed to grimace at Rock’s joke about her baldness. And indeed, alopecia is a serious and anguishing condition that usually occurs when the immune system destroys the hair follicles and causes hair loss that can last for months or years. She had revealed the diagnosis, sharing a video on her Instagram showing herself with a shaved head, in 2018.

Back in the day, my day, women expected the men in their lives to defend them physically. That was the rationale for men walking on the outside of the sidewalk if a man and woman strolled down a street. The man would be there to protect the woman from any danger or even any mud splash that might come from the road. It was part of the definition of manhood that the male was there to protect the female. Is that an expectation today? Do men still take the curb position during any sidewalk stroll? In truth, I haven’t noticed. I haven’t even thought about it. The idea goes with men opening doors or pulling out chairs for women. I suppose it still happens, and it’s thoughtful if it does, but it doesn’t seem like de rigueur today.

This is a significant societal change. I remember an exchange I had in Cambridge, Massachusetts, with a graduate student who was a friend at the time. As we were passing an ice cream parlor, he suggested we go in for cones. I readily agreed and stood in front of the door, waiting for him to open it. How surprised I was when he asked, “Why do I have to open the door for you? Is anything wrong with your arm?” He was clearly ahead of his time, believing as he did in equality of the sexes, and I was glad he wasn’t my boyfriend.

It is my sense today that whoever is in front opens a door. Is that correct or am I just an aggressive woman?

Later, when Will Smith won the award for best actor as the father of tennis stars Venus and Serena Williams in the movie “King Richard,” he made the first of his apologies, explaining that he had acted because he had become emotional. Hey, again, back in my day, men were not allowed to show any emotion, unless they were wimps. Macho meant the strong, silent type. Men who cried were certainly not poster models for unfiltered cigarettes or Marines. If a man cried, there was probably something wrong with him.

Today, men are praised when they offer their “soft” side. Men are allowed to have feelings and to show them. Even the President of the United States, any one of them, has been seen wiping away a tear. For men, feelings can even be a license for strange behavior, which is how Smith explained his behavior. Never mind that he could have stood up and walked out or even turned his back on the comedian. His feelings freed him to be violent, and in front of 15 million people no less.

I wonder what his wife said to him when they got home.

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Social media has enabled people to connect and reunite with each other. Unfortunately, it also has provided another outlet for scam artists.

According to the Federal Trade Commission, “More than one in four people who reported losing money to fraud in 2021 said it started on social media with an ad, a post or a message.”

An event organizer in the TBR News Media coverage area recently discovered that someone had set up fraudulent social media accounts pretending to be a representative from their organization. When they took to their Facebook and Instagram accounts to warn the public, they found their name wasn’t the only one being used to scam local residents.

There are countless scammers out there impersonating not only other people but companies and nonprofit organizations. In the incidents occurring in the TBR coverage area, people set up social media accounts promising vendors that they could secure their spots at future events of the organizers through the account by using PayPal.

The incidents are just another reminder that navigating social media is the same as the web: You can’t take anyone at their word.

The best thing to do when anyone approaches you over social media asking for money — just as you would over the web and phone — is to ask if you can get back to them. If they keep insisting that you pay now, odds are they’re not who they say they are.

Anyone who is legitimately representing a business would have no problem with you jotting down their number and getting back to them. Of course, when calling or emailing a company back, if you are handing over money, you’ll want to make sure you look up the contact information before calling. Many times, scammers will go as far as answering the phone by saying the company’s name or setting up email accounts that make it look as if they are associated with the business.

Some may ask that a person pays through PayPal or Venmo and similar payment apps which may make a person feel better since a credit card number is not being given out. The bottom line is that money is still being stolen and most likely will never be recouped. It’s important that payors do their research.

Facebook’s help center also advises that users be wary if someone asks you “to move the conversation off Facebook to a less public or less secure setting, such as a separate email.”

Other things to look out for are unverified pages claiming to represent a large organization or public figure, or a page that contains messages or posts with poor spelling and grammar.

The most important advice to heed is that if you think you have been scammed, file a police report by calling the Suffolk County Police Department at 631-852-SCAM (7226) and notify the platform on where the fraudulent account is set up.

Social media has provided a whole new world for interaction. With a bit of caution, it can be a pleasant experience instead of a dangerous one. Just some extra care goes a long way.

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Daylight Saving Time may be going away for good

On Tuesday March 15, the U.S. Senate passed legislation that would make daylight saving time permanent. That doesn’t mean it’s a done deal. The House of Representatives still has to meet and agree to pass the bill before it can go to President Joe Biden to sign. Also, it wouldn’t go into effect until 2023.

Be that as it may, we here at TBR News Media thought it would be interesting to see how people felt about the news, so we headed out to the streets of Port Jefferson on a sunny Friday afternoon to see what local passersby thought of the prospect of never having to move their clocks forward and back each year.

Here’s what they had to say:

Samantha Falese, West Islip 

“I love the sunshine. I’m a morning person, so when I get up, it might be a little bit darker, but I like the idea of coming home knowing it’s light out because I work about an hour away.”

 

 

 

Rachel Guglielmo, Port Jefferson 

“I’m looking forward to it staying like this. I like getting out of work and being in the sunlight instead of leaving work and it being all dark out and making me feel like my day is all over. I’m more motivated when it’s light out.”

 

 

 

Connie Poulos, Selden 

“I’m happy about it. If it’s like, so that it doesn’t get dark at 4 o’clock, that would be nice. I’m looking forward to more sunlight.”

 

 

 

 

Gwen Coady with grandson Jack, Saint James 

“My husband does construction. If he works later in the summer, it stinks. If it’s daylight, he keeps on working. The other way, he keeps more of a schedule. But I do like the daylight savings because I love to be outside.”

 

 

 


Allison Marin, Port Jefferson 

“I think I like the changing back and forth because it kind of gives you something to look forward to that day — when you know you’re getting the hour back. I don’t love losing it necessarily, but when you get the hour back, you kind of feel like you won. You know? Like you want to do something big with your hour. You have to make it worth something. I think it’s kind of fun.”

 

 

Stephen Malusa, Selden 

“I like it. Finally get rid of that nonsense. Changing back and forth is just an annoyance.”

 

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

We’ve only visited The Fly, a grassy area behind Audubon Park in New Orleans that sits along the edge of the Mississippi River, four times, and yet we can’t possibly travel to the Crescent City without stopping there.

A wide open space that draws students from nearby Tulane and Loyola universities, residents of all ages, screeching seagulls and supersized cormorants that look like genetically altered cousins of Long Island’s water foul, The Fly has hosted some of our most enjoyable visits to see our freshman son in college.

The first time we walked to The Fly, our son was in that miserable, confusing, bees-buzzing-around-his-overlong-hair state when he wasn’t sure where he wanted to attend college and when everything, particularly enthusiastic parents, was irritating.

We had to wait what seemed like forever in searing heat for a freight train with endless cars to cross in front of us to climb over a small hill and reach The Fly. The endless train took so long to pass at a snail’s pace that my son and I sat down on dry grass, while my wife took a few pictures. We tried to keep the moment light, even though our son felt the weight of college uncertainty on his broad shoulders.

When the gates finally went up and we crossed the tracks, the first thing I noticed was the relief the refreshing gusts of wind that came off the river provided.

As we approached the water, we passed young families sitting on blankets and eating picnic lunches, college students playing “never have I ever” games and birds lifting off and circling the shoreline of the river, using their bodies as kites in the swirling winds.

The open green space between the back of the zoo at Audubon Park and the river energized my son and me, calling to us to play.

As we inched closer to the pathway near the river, we stared into the active water, which looked as busy as a bustling city. The main current in the middle traveled one way, while swirling eddies circled near the shore.

Sitting on a sturdy wooden bench, we soaked in the scene and could see our son’s shoulders lower and his breathing slow. The water show helped allay any anxiety he had about class assignments, making friends, learning about a new place, or living far from home.

An ocean going cargo ship passed within 100 feet of us. These enormous ships, sometimes pulled by muscular tugboats, seemed impossibly close, acting like an outdoor theater with an oversized screen.

During several other visits to The Fly, we have delighted in the unexpected. Once, we brought a football and ran patterns in a heavy but warm rain while my wife watched comfortably from the car. Playing on an empty, soggy field with my son made me feel as if I were jogging through the fountain of youth.

While the Fly has become one of my favorite places to visit, I have increasingly come to see settings as much more than backdrops for life and action: they have become like characters, encouraging, inspiring, challenging and reviving us. Like the salty smell of West Meadow Beach, they can also give us the chance to travel through time in our minds, reminding us of earlier visits and the people who traveled with us through life to these locations.

Our son has visited The Fly several times over the last few months. He has taken short videos of the moving water, the frolicking birds, and that first wooden bench where we shared a respite from the college process. The videos he sends are a short visit with him and our friend The Fly.

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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Since the news lately has been so grim, I want us to share something of a lighter tone. Have you ever thought about your earliest memories? How far back can you go? Do you remember what your parents looked like when they were younger? Do you recall outings they took you on and how that worked out? What spotlight can you shine back on the farthest points in your life?

The first that comes to my mind is the fun I had sledding in Central Park one day with my dad. The hill at 84th Street and Fifth Avenue looks pretty modest to me now, but then I thought it was alpine. The weather must have been very cold because my dad, who was almost never cold, was wearing his rough woolen grey overcoat. We had a Frequent Flyer long red sled that he carried easily to the park by holding onto one of the runners. He then pulled it over the snow behind us by a rope attached to the handles as we trudged upward.

When we reached the top, he lay down on the sled, his legs dangling over the back, and I climbed on top of him, holding onto his collar with all my strength as he pushed off and we flew at incredible speed down the frozen snow. I can still feel the pellets of ice thrown up by the runners stinging my cheeks and the wind howling alongside as my dad steered among the other children and parents who had also come out to enjoy the white miracle of snow in the city. When we got to the bottom and slowly came to a halt, we laughed triumphantly and tumbled off the sled to go back up and do it all over again.

Later that afternoon, on the way home, my dad motioned for me to get on the sled so that he could pull me the several blocks until we returned to our apartment. Except for narrow shoveled pathways, the streets were hard-packed with snow. I remember telling him that I was too heavy and being puzzled by his laugh. Then his expression turned sober as he assured me that I truly wasn’t too heavy. I did get on and rode home. 

I remember my mother teaching me to read. I could recognize the letters from the Alphabet Song she had taught me, but I had been pestering her for more. My dad read newspapers, my mother read reports from work, and I wanted to read, too. So she sat down with me on the side of my bed and explained that just like the Alphabet Song that we sang, if I could put the sounds of the letters together, they spelled out a word. Then she opened a book, and prompted me to sound out each letter of the word she was pointing to. As I did that, I suddenly yelled out the word and understood. It was an epiphany for me. I could read the word. Any word. All the words. I began trying to read everything in sight, again pestering my mother when the sounds didn’t make sense. And to this day, reading is one of the greatest pleasures of my life.

The last early memory I will share with you would probably embarrass my mother if she were here with us. But she isn’t, and I will tell. My brother was almost 14 years older, and there was no one in between. I heard my mother asked more than once by lady friends how it was that after all that time, I arrived. She would reply, “Leah was an accident.”

I thought about that for a while, tried to understand, then finally came up with a satisfactory explanation. It went something like this. One day my mother was crossing Second Avenue, a heavily trafficked road I was familiar with, and was hit by a truck. And there I was.

Little did I know that I had invented binary fission, the means by which amoeba reproduce. After I checked that out with my mother, she never again uttered those words.

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In an increasingly modern, information-based economy, survival requires an ability to adapt to the changing environment.

On the other hand, those who shrink in the face of change will have the hardest time navigating this new normal. This week, TBR News Media was fortunate to speak with several leaders throughout our area. Their warning was the same: Long Island is still unprepared to meet the demands of the 21st century.

Martin Cantor, director of the Long Island Center for Socio-Economic Policy, shared with us the history of mass transit systems on Long Island.

Sometime during the suburbanization of Long Island, regional planners failed to account for population increase and the great many cars to accompany it. Today, we pay the cost of failed planning in the form of cluttered roads and endless traffic.

 So reliant are we on our cars, some well-intentioned reformers now suggest that we transition to electric cars here on Long Island — and throughout the country. This, too, has its drawbacks.

Kevin Beyer, vice president of government affairs at the Long Island Gasoline Retailers Association, said the push for electric vehicles is unrealistic and expensive. The grid simply cannot accommodate an overnight increase of millions of electric vehicles, and we shouldn’t expect it to.

The Long Island parkway system is nearly a century old, yet our commuters rely upon this infrastructure every day to get to work. Without a modernized mass transit network, Long Island commuters must choose between cramped train cars or congested highway traffic. We expect antiquated transit networks to support today’s mass of commuters.

Time and again, Long Islanders apply outdated methods to modern problems. This is like building a jet engine with stone tools.

Not all hope is lost, however. For example, look no further than Smithtown’s Office of Town Clerk, where you will find that the transition from old to new technologies is already underway. For the last 16 years, Town Clerk Vincent Puleo (C) has worked to digitize paper records for electronic filing. This has made the day-to-day operations of the office faster, simpler and more accessible to his constituents.

We need to apply Puleo’s approach elsewhere. We must update our transportation systems to account for the many more drivers on our roads today. We must invest in mass transit, such as buses and boats for commuter travel, so that we are no longer helplessly delayed.

 We must embrace the changes happening all around us, for change is the only constant in this life. And with all of that being said, we should remember and learn from the ways of the past. Let history be our guide as we move ahead into the world of the new.

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Local gas pump showing the surging price of gasoline.

The skyrocketing price of gas has hit record highs here on Long Island and across the entire United States. TBR News Media took to the streets of Port Jefferson and Setauket to find out how local residents were feeling about it all.

Photo by Jim Hastings

Crista Davis, Mount Sinai

“We’re pretty local, thankfully. I don’t have a far commute, but if I did, that’s something that would surely affect other aspects of my life. I’m fortunate that I live close to everything, but I feel bad for people who have no choice.”

 

 

 

Photo by Jim Hastings

Kenny Dorsa, Selden

“We’re pretty local, thankfully. I don’t have a far commute, but if I did, that’s something that would surely affect other aspects of my life. I’m fortunate that I live close to everything, but I feel bad for people who have no choice.”

 

 

 

Photo by Jim Hastings

Mitch Steinberg, Huntington

“It’s definitely going to make us consider our finances. Conserve a little bit. But we still have to drive to work and do the things we have to do.”

 

 

 

 

Photo by Jim Hastings

Abby Buller, Port Jefferson Station

Owner of Village Boutique, Port Jefferson

“From my business point of view, all of my wholesalers are complaining about their cost rising and having to pay more to employees. So, the higher cost of employees, gas, oil, freight. If I hear anything more about the cost of freight. When my wholesaler increases my cost of $7 an item, I have no choice. I have to pass that $7 on. I used to live in Queens and drive to Port Jefferson every day. I thank God I don’t have to do that, because that would have been, at these prices, a decision to close this store. 

 

Photo by Jim Hastings

Walter Martinez, Shirley

“I pay now double what I was paying last year, but I don’t blame it on the president and I don’t blame it on the government. Everything is just going up. And now with this war thing it’s just getting worse. It is what it is. You just gotta stand by and hope for the best. You know, we gotta pay the price. I do regret that I didn’t go for an electric car before.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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