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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

A dear friend of mine just celebrated her 65th birthday this week, and she regards it as a significant number. “How did I get here so fast?” she asks. She also recognizes that she is getting older. That might even be a little scary.

Yes, she is now covered by Medicare. This is both an asset and a shock. When she looks at her new Medicare card, she wonders how this could be. Is she really now eligible for Medicare? Her grandmother was on Medicare, surely not her. But there is her name; the reality is undeniable.

“Well,” she silently acknowledges, “it’s good to have that coverage.” But the sight still stings a bit.

Part of her response is the awareness that she is aging, that she has entered the first phase of the three-part delineation of older age. There is the young-older, from 65-75; then the middle-older, from 75-85; and the third segment, 85-95. Whoever decides and names these demographic groupings seems to have been unable to imagine any group beyond that point. Maybe it should be called “The Beyond Expectations Group.”

With her new realization comes a vow to concentrate on her health and to make the ensuing years hardy ones. She has vowed to pay more attention to her diet, to make better choices concerning what she eats. More fruits and veggies are in store. But no amount of blueberries and kale can eliminate aging. She has now followed through with her long-held intention to work with a trainer. And she is getting a new mattress to help her sleep better.

My friend is doing something helpful for herself. She is turning concerns of aging and the rapid passing of time into better health actions so as to control how she wants to age. Life for her will no longer be just on automatic pilot.

Although there are more older people in America than ever before, aging is fearful for 87% of the population, according to a survey of those turning 65 conducted by Pfizer. It’s called FOGO — fear of getting old.

Why are people afraid of getting old?

There are a number of reasons. Aging can diminish employment prospects. It is a given that older employees earn more than younger newcomers, and while it is illegal to discriminate by age, we all know that such bias exists. It is no wonder, then, that plastic surgeons do face-lifts to combat wrinkles and laugh lines, adjust sagging necks and erase any other evidence of aging. And it is not only women who undergo such procedures. Many men feel the need to blunt evidence of having lived into and past middle age.

People fear losses: of physical ability, of their good looks, of sufficient finances, of memory, of loved ones and consequently of being lonely, and even of their health shortly to be burdened with chronic diseases. Underlying all this is the fear of losing independence.

Interestingly, only 10% in the survey said they were afraid of dying.

Other cultures respect and may even venerate older members of society. Aging can bring people an enhanced sense of gratitude, a calmer demeanor, an awareness of what is truly important, greater ability to resolve conflicts and even an inclination toward forgiveness. Elders are assumed to have accumulated some wisdom just from more years of living and are respected for that.

Of one thing, my friend is sure. When we consider milestones, it seems like the time between them is little more than the blink of an eye. She clearly remembers the details of her Sweet 16 party, the fun of turning 21, her graduation from law school and now suddenly, to be in the Final Frontier is one swift stroke of time after the other. Blink and you are 65. And along comes the recognition that the future is no longer assured.

My friend does not want to go quietly into older age.

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Whether or not school districts should hire armed guards is complex, requiring thoughtful consideration from parents, students, community members, educators, school administrators and elected officials.

But as we work through the intricacies of this sensitive and often contentious issue, a related matter is worthy of our attention: How can we appropriately cover mass shootings when these tragic events arise?

The Gun Violence Archive defines a mass shooting as an incident in which four or more people are injured or killed. Unfortunately, mass shootings are commonplace in this country. Already in 2023, there have been more mass shootings than days in the year. As a nation, we have failed to address this critical policy concern. 

When one of these all-too-familiar violent events occurs, the press often too hastily reports on it. Helicopters circle above the crime scene as field reporters rush to the periphery, searching for immediate information. 

A tragedy soon becomes a spectacle. Within days — sometimes just hours — the suspect’s name is revealed to the public. Then the shooter’s image is flashed incessantly on every newsreel and in every major newspaper in America. As the media goes to work uncovering the personal details of the shooter’s life, a depraved human being is made into a national celebrity.

And this phenomenon is not unique to the press. Hollywood capitalizes on violence; the more graphic a film’s depictions, the more revenue it will generate. Violence sells in this country, whether in motion pictures, music, video games, digital media or newsprint. And the ubiquity of these images within American popular culture has the natural effect of normalizing violent behavior nationwide.

Here at TBR News Media, we reject this dynamic entirely. Mass violence in America should not be accepted as mainstream nor should it be sensationalized or embellished. With a medium that enables us to disperse information widely both in print and on the web, we are responsible for using our platform appropriately.

Research on mass shooters indicates they are often motivated by perceived isolation or social rejection. Some commit an atrocity to achieve a mark on the world, since even playing the villain can be preferable to obscurity.

As journalists, we must deny violent offenders precisely the attention and fame they so crave. We legitimize acts of violence when we publish names or run headshots of mass shooters. By lending our platform to the least deserving, we encourage copycat offenders.

It is time that we, the members of the press and the distributors of information, end the dramatization and glorification of mass violence in America. It is time to substitute sensationalism with rigid, objective reporting when violence inevitably ensues.

This same standard applies to digital media. In this century, so much of the information available to us is circulated online. For this reason, Big Tech has a similar obligation to monitor its content and halt the spread of personal details regarding mass shooters.

While restraining our coverage is necessary, mass violence deserves our close attention. Still, we must focus on the issues: Should we hire armed guards in and around schools? How do we keep guns out of the hands of potentially violent offenders? How can we expand access to mental health services, so fewer people resort to mass violence? And more.

The focus should be policy driven and victim centric. We should create awareness of the problem while working to identify solutions. But we must not say their names or run their headshots.

By covering shootings appropriately, we can do our part to curb the spread of mass violence. By applying these methods consistently, journalists can work to change the culture, save lives and make a positive difference for the nation and humanity.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

Long ago, back when my son was shorter than I, and when he listened to more of what I said, I was driving him and his teammate back from a baseball game that was more than an hour away from our house.

Those were the days when such long rides were part of our weekend routine, as we packed athletic gear, food, paper towels and flip-flops into the car to enable our children to compete against other children from distant towns or neighboring states, while also taking off their cleats and running into a deli to use the bathroom.

I don’t recall the details of the game because, even then, my son played in so many of them that the entire montage of memories blurs into a collection of highs, lows and everything in between.

Halfway home, we were the first car to stop at a red light. When another car pulled up next to us, we recognized the father of one of my son’s teammates.

Looking straight ahead, the father was screaming at the top of his lungs. My son and his teammate, who usually filled the car with nonstop commentary about the game, school, weekend plans and anything else that came to mind, were stunned into silence.

The three of us shifted our heads and saw his son sitting in the front seat with his head down, absorbing the ongoing verbal blows from his father, who had started gesticulating and was so frustrated that he spit on the windshield as he shouted.

During the entire red light, the father excoriated his son. As we drove away, my son’s teammate shared his memories of the game, pointing out that the boy in the other car had made a key error and struck out late in a close game.

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After our next game, my son and I got in the car, and I had a chance to look at us more closely in the metaphorical mirror.

No, I wasn’t screaming at him. No, I didn’t spit on the window. The pattern I noticed, however, was one in which my son — when he was alone with me — focused only on the things that went wrong. He lamented everything he did wrong or didn’t do right. Sometimes, I recalled, I piled on, telling him how he could or should have done something differently.

As I tried to get a few words in after that game, he cut me off. He continued to criticize his performance until he was too exhausted to speak, at which point he urged me to talk.

I didn’t want to review the game. I wanted to discuss our interactions.

After considerable back and forth, I set new ground rules not for coach/player interactions, but for father/son discussions, particularly as they pertained to sports.

I never wanted to discuss whatever he thought went wrong in a game first. I wanted to begin with everything he did well. That could include positioning, fouling off a tough pitch, supporting his teammates, calling for a ball — even one that he dropped — and having a long at bat.

Then, we discussed what could have gone better. He threw the ball to the right base, but the throw was too low. He was fooled on a high pitch at the end of an at bat.

The first game after our discussion, he started off by criticizing himself. But then, something remarkable happened: he remembered our last discussion, and we started with everything he did well. Those first few moments built a positive foundation around which to start making improvements.

In future games, he started to focus on ways to perform well, even after he had struck out or had made a mistake. Instead of focusing on the ways he might have let himself or the team down, he wanted the opportunity to help.

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TBR News Media publisher Leah Dunaief meeting the 39th U.S. president, Jimmy Carter, at the White House in 1978. Photo from Leah Dunaief

By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

This President’s Day saw two presidents much in the news, Joe Biden for his clandestine trip to Kyiv, and our 39th president, Jimmy Carter, for entering hospice care. Carter, who at 98 years old is the oldest former chief executive of the United States, signaled the end of his repeated hospital stays.

I had the honor of being invited to an out-of-town press conference at the White House during President Carter’s one term, and of course, the memory will always remain with me. It was my first of several such invitations, and I smile when I compare my Carter and subsequent Ronald Reagan visits. 

The year was 1978, the country was recovering slowly from severe stagflation, and everyone was watching their expenditures. Hence, it was not surprising that when lunch came in the middle of the event, it consisted of a boxed meal that we balanced on our laps in the Oval Office. In the box were two half sandwiches, one of cheese, the other of tuna salad. There was also a hard-boiled egg, accompanied by a small salt packet, an apple and a cookie. I confess to such high excitement that I don’t remember how the food tasted, just that I held the egg in one hand and sprinkled salt on it with the other. I do recall thinking then that I was experiencing one of the most amazing moments of my life at the same time that I was doing this most mundane action of salting my egg.

Carter talked about the economy, suggesting an optimistic view for the coming year, among other issues, and then we got up, formed a single line and moved toward him to shake hands for perhaps a three-second intro and photograph we could all carry back with us for the front page of our newspapers. I was toward the back of the line, and the photographer stood to the side, snapping away, as I drew closer to the most powerful man in the world. 

I tried hard to come up with something more to say than my name and where I was from. Then I remembered. His sister, Ruth Carter Stapleton, had recently visited Stony Brook to speak about her Baptist evangelism, and rather than telling him my name, I mentioned covering that.

“Isn’t Ruth wonderful!” Carter exclaimed in his soft drawl as his Caribbean blue eyes widened with pleasure. He then proceeded to talk about her for at least two full minutes, how proud of her he was, as I noted that he was not much taller than I and that his hands were rough.

My visit, a couple of years later, to the Reagan White House for a similar event included a sit-down luncheon of lightly breaded veal served on French china and accompanied by a smooth red wine from France. And Reagan, much taller than I, told me as he shook my hand that he liked my red dress.

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Louis Jordan's Typany Five, New York, N.Y., between 1946 and 1948. William P. Gottlieb/Wikimedia Commons

Black History Month is celebrated throughout February, and for more than 50 years, has provided an outlet for people to remember and reflect upon African American history.

We see many examples of Black history right here on Long Island. Though not fully understood or preserved, the examples feature most prominently in the field of entertainment.

How many readers are aware of the Red Rooster club on Route 25 between Gordon Heights and Coram with its national Black celebrities and advertising a “complete floor show every night” through the late 1940s? How many can recount the contributions made by the Celebrity Club in Freeport in the 1950s and ‘60s, when R&B and soul reigned supreme? 

Then there was East Setauket’s own Paula Jean’s club, where not only could one enjoy the top national and local blues artists at the turn of the new millennium but also the most authentic Cajun or Creole cuisine this side of New Orleans and south Louisiana.

Never heard of these clubs and their place in the Black hierarchy? That’s all the more reason why measures should be taken by the state, counties, towns and villages to recognize these sites with heritage plaques. These important and historic local institutions should be studied in local history classes from K-12, community colleges and universities.

In years to come, the investment of time and resources will be paid off in the form of enhanced Long Island artistic recognition, increased tourist traffic and greater cross-cultural understanding.

Today, the local club tradition is continued in honor of many top Black jazz legends at Tom Manuel’s The Jazz Loft in Stony Brook in live performances and at its museum which features pioneering stars such as Louis Jordan — arguably the inspiration for rock ‘n’ roll music — and balladeer Arthur Prysock. 

The recently opened Long Island Music Hall of Fame is located on the site of the Dogwood Hollow Amphitheater behind Stony Brook Village Center. It was the place to be for international acts such as Duke Ellington and Louis Armstrong until 1970.

Like The Jazz Loft, LIMHOF is another institution preserving the music history of artists and entertainers of all colors and stripes. Both organizations should be supported and patronized by local residents and tourists alike. But more recognition through plaques and other landmarks should be offered by our municipalities, as is done with music trails in Mississippi and Louisiana.

Months celebrating specific cultures such as Black History Month, Hispanic Heritage Month, Asian Pacific Heritage Month and more, are all helpful for reminding us that our country is what it is today thanks to people of all walks of life. Recognizing our accomplishments shouldn’t be confined to just four weeks out of the year.

Let’s think of better ways to share the stories of people from all walks of life, those who accomplished greatly whether in music, politics, the armed forces or other fields. Let us remember and honor their legacy by putting those ideas into practice. Here on Long Island, there is diversity in history from which we can learn so much for our future benefit and enlightenment.

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By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

What says hello nonverbally more than a wave? I’m surprised nonhuman animals don’t do it more often. It’s efficient, requires minimal energy most of the time and can be as subtle as a lifted finger or as dramatic as a full-body wave signaling to someone at the top of the Eiffel Tower.

People wave to me frequently, particularly when I’m walking my dog. I suspect many of them are really waving to my dog. He is cuter, more charming and more personable than I am. Sure, I’m happy to engage in a conversation about the weather, the latest “Big Game,” my kids, or someone else’s family, but my dog is prepared to throw his head into someone’s knees as long as they pet him and assure him he’s wonderful.

Back to waving — I think the gesture merits categories, along with a short explanation.

— The-wave-or-maybe-not moment: We’ve all been there. Someone we kind of know or with whom we might want to interact appears to wave at us. Is that for me, we wonder? We consider swiveling our heads to check, but we’re not owls. We raise our hand tentatively. When we realize the more popular person behind us is the wave target, we awkwardly run our fingers through our hair. Great recovery, we mutter to ourselves.

— The “here-but-don’t-really-want-to-be” wave. Remember back when you were in high school, and your homeroom teacher took attendance? He or she would go down the list and when your name came up, you pulled your wrist back as casually as possible and pointed your fingers to the fluorescent lighting on the ceiling? It’s a wave and acknowledgment devoid of any enthusiasm.

— The “tickle the piano keys” wave. After lifting their wrists, some people wiggle their fingers next to their heads, as if they are tapping an imaginary musical instrument to send a visual and auditory greeting.

— The eraser wave. This can either be an enthusiastic or an unenthusiastic gesture. With this wave, people keep their fingers together and brush back and forth, as if they have an eraser in their hand and are removing an incorrect answer from the blackboard. This kind of wave can be an Eeyore greeting from the Winnie the Pooh series, in which he sighs and shares a burden with a deflated wave. With a head tilt, an affectionate smile, and faster side-to-side motion, this kind of wave can also signal a responsive and more enthusiastic greeting.

— The stiff-fingered-salute. Often offered by older men, this isn’t a wave so much as it is a signal that the person sees you, but does not intend to encourage any kind of dialog or further gesturing. It’s a nonverbal stop sign, telling you that he’s coming through, he sees you, and he would prefer that you keep whatever eye contact you’re going to make to a minimum. In fact, if you need to look at something, look at his flat and indifferent hand.

— The tree-swaying-in-a-blustery-wind wave. Yes, this is one of those moments when people are so thrilled to see you that they raise their arms over their heads and wave quickly back and forth. They may even catch some air. People waving this way don’t care what others think and, more importantly, want to share how excited they are to see you. This kind of wave transitions into a full-body hug.

— Finally, to end on the opposite end of the spectrum from where we began, there’s the wave from someone you might otherwise want to ignore. That wave says, “I’m over here, I see you, but you’re not responding.” It has the same characteristics as the excited greeting, except that it adds the need for acknowledgment. If you’re embarrassed, that may be a bonus.

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By Leah S. Dunaief

Leah Dunaief

Nearly 40% of United States adults are single, which is up from 29% in 1990. Now, I’ve been married, and I’ve been single. My husband died just three months before we would have marked our 25th wedding anniversary and right around when the number of singles was so much lower. Next Friday would have been our 60th anniversary, but instead, I have been single for 35 years, so I know a little about both.

I was intrigued by an article in Time magazine that spoke about being single, asserting that about one-half of all singles aren’t interested in dating or a relationship and were happily single. This is quite a change from when I was newly alone. In the early 90s, single women were at best often ignored, and at worst, stigmatized and even preyed upon. All but the closest friends disappeared, and being the odd number for a reservation in a restaurant was a decided obstacle to being included.  I don’t think single men had it all that easy, either. While single men were often invited to gatherings, as opposed to single women, there might have been some doubt about their sexuality. Heterosexuality, as evidenced by marriage then, was the norm.

Today, according to Time, the solo life is thought of as authentic, fulfilling, meaningful and psychologically rich. I have found that to be true as the years have gone by, but what a total shift in popular perspective. The marriage rate has been decreasing for decades, as has the birth rate, and the age at which marriage finally may occur, if at all, is later in life for many.

How has this happened?

For one thing, marriage is no longer considered necessary for having a family or assuring financial comfort. Someone like Alexander Hamilton, who was tortured throughout his life for being a bastard child of an unwed mother, would not recognize today’s values and would certainly have had an easier time of it. 

While people in relationships may enjoy greater satisfaction, being married doesn’t guarantee happiness, as in, “They lived happily ever after.” There are people unhappy and even lonely in marriage, although with the decline in marriage, there has also been less divorce. Research shows that people in unhappy marriages have equal or worse health compared to those who never married.

Those who are single as a result of divorce seem to have the most difficult time, according to Time. Widowhood can also be associated with poor mental health, as grief can lead to depression and loneliness. But many of us cherish our freedom, independence, even our creativity and nonconformity, again according to Time, and I wholeheartedly agree. 

There was a time when people, especially women, felt they had to have a man in order to define themselves and their position in society. A woman often was the one who sought financial security, while a man wanted a woman on his arm. Today, with the ability to earn a living, sometimes quite an excellent living, women don’t feel the same pressure to marry, nor do their mothers in urging them.

Singles have more time for themselves. They can focus on goals without having to consider the needs of someone else. There is also more time for spending on hobbies and self-care. This is especially true for younger women and for those who consider sex outside of committed relationships. That, of course, doesn’t preclude interest in a romantic relationship, which some enjoy.

As Time points out, being alone is not the same as being lonely. We singles often have strong ties to our families, to friends and to our neighborhoods. We can be actively involved in community organizations, have a sense of purpose and are generally self-sufficient.

We have to be.

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Port Jefferson's stop on the Long Island Rail Road. File photo by Erika Karp

The decades-old plan to electrify the Port Jefferson Branch line of the Long Island Rail Road has transformational implications for our community, region and state. Yet for far too long, this critical infrastructure need has gone unmet, passed over repeatedly for other projects.

The MTA’s long pattern of negligence has condemned our commuters to ride in rickety train cars powered by diesel, an antiquated, environmentally hazardous fuel source. For a better ride, our residents often travel inland to Ronkonkoma, the MTA siphoning ridership to the main line and adding cars to our already congested roadways.

A fully electrified rail would provide the necessary recharge for downtowns still recovering from the COVID-19 pandemic. It would free up mobility for our residents, connecting them to every restaurant, bar and storefront along the North Shore within walking distance of a train station.

Electrification would give students and faculty at Stony Brook University swift access to Manhattan, producing even stronger ties between the southern flagship of our state university system and the global capital. This project would unlock the full commercial, environmental and educational potential of our region.

Throughout history, generations of New Yorkers have participated in engineering feats of great scope and vision. In the early 1800s, our citizens constructed the Erie Canal, bridging the world’s oceans to the American frontier. A century later, we built the state parkway system, laying thousands of miles of road, linking Montauk Point and Niagara Falls along a continuous stretch of pavement.

Generations have taken part in our state’s rich public works tradition, which has united New Yorkers around herculean aims, facilitated greater movement and improved the lives of ordinary people. 

Yet, at every stage, the North Shore has been systematically shut out from any public investment of considerable scale. MTA has continually repurposed our tax dollars with no giveback to North Shore communities. 

With our money, MTA recently opened its Grand Central Madison terminal ($11 billion), opened the 9.8 mile Third Track between Hicksville and Floral Park ($2.5 billion) and laid the groundwork for a proposed Interborough Express between Brooklyn and Queens ($5.5 billion estimated). 

For us, Port Jefferson Branch electrification is our shared vision of change. This is our noble cause, our generational investment, our Erie Canal. The funds for the projected $3.6 billion Port Jeff electrification project are there if we can start getting them to come our way. And to do that, we must begin applying maximum pressure upon our elected officials.

From village and town boards to the county and state legislatures to the United States Congress, every public representative between Huntington and Port Jeff must be in alignment, letting out one common cry, “Electrify our line.”

We must treat electrification as the paramount infrastructure concern of our region, demanding our elected representatives and public railroad match our level of conviction. We should cast no vote nor contribute a single campaign dollar for any candidate without their unyielding support of this project.

This October, MTA will publish its 20-year Capital Needs Assessment. Port Jefferson Branch electrification must be included within that document for it to have any shot to prevail over the next two decades.

Write to your congressman and state reps in Albany. Write to the MTA and LIRR. Tell them to electrify this line, lest there be consequences at the ballot box. With all our might, let us get this project underway once and for all.

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Jelly donuts. METRO photo

By Daniel Dunaief

Daniel Dunaief

You don’t have to pay me. I’m not selling anything, and I don’t have any desire for you to provide testimonials.

Many of you have probably pledged to lose weight. It’s healthy, you’ll look and feel better, and you might increase your endurance, allowing you to walk, jog or engage in your exercise of choice for longer. Some of you may have gone to the gym for a week or even a month and are ready for a break or, maybe, a different way.

Before I proceed, I’d recommend that those with weak stomachs or who are eating one of their favorite meals not read this until you’ve happily digested your food and are now prepared for something that might not be all that pleasing.

No, I’m not going to suggest something harmful or particularly unhealthy. I’d like to suggest a few sensory images to keep in mind that will prevent you from eating too much of the wrong foods.

So, let’s say there’s a jelly donut at your office. Now, I want you to picture or imagine any of the following:

— You’re exercising at the gym (you don’t have to go to the gym. Just imagine yourself there). Maybe you’re on an elliptical machine. There, standing in front of you is a man who has a ring of hair above his ears and a bald spot on top of his head. He’s on the phone, with air pods in his ears, and he brings his index finger slowly to the bald part of his head. He starts digging his fingernail into that spot. Over and over and over again. You try to look away, but then, he’s still there, digging. Even with all the noise of other people grunting, sweating and clearing the phlegm from the backs of their throats, you can hear the scratching as if it were broadcast directly into your ears. You want him to leave, but he’s planted in front of you.

Yes, I know I may have turned you off the gym and food at the same time. Then again, were you really going to the gym or were you just looking for an excuse to cuddle up under the covers? And, yes, this did happen to me.

— Okay, next, you’re walking into a house filled with dogs after a rainstorm. The dogs are friendly enough and, in fact, want you to pet them, which is fairly unpleasant because their fur is covered with water. Soon, the smell of matted, wet, soggy dog fur overwhelms you. You can barely breathe as you search for an open window and fresh air. That donut might taste like wet fur at this moment, right?

— You don’t have to work out to imagine this one, either. Picture yourself in a gym locker room. You’ve changed into your work clothes and are ready to return to your desk. But, wait, the scent of body odor is so strong that you have to breathe shallowly through your mouth. You search for the exit, which seems to have moved, leaving you stuck in a foul-smelling maze. A jelly donut is the last thing on your mind.

— The heating system in your office suddenly goes on full blast, turning your office into a sauna. It’s so hot that sweat drips down your forehead and lands in a growing puddle on the floor. Your body sticks to the material on your seat. Even the saliva in your mouth feels too hot to swallow. Water is much more appealing and refreshing than food at this point.

Okay, so, if all you got out of that is that you now want a jelly donut, my apologies. Chances are, you wanted one anyway and maybe it’s time to find a gym that smells nice and where men aren’t scratching their scalps. If, however, those unappealing images work for you, consider this a free food stop sign.

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