Lessons from 1918 and the Spanish Influenza

I know. I know. The world is a scary enough place without ruining a fun loving "safe space" blog by dragging reality into the mix, right? I get it. Honestly, I do. But, we are also very big history buffs and so much has been forgotten by so many, that sometimes, it is incumbent upon the keepers of the secrets of history to share some tidbits that could make a difference when applied to current situations. So, here we go... 

In the 24 months between January 1918, and December 1920, a flu strain nicknamed "The Spanish Flu" infected an estimated 27-33% of the human population around the globe in at least two seperate waves. Of the 500 million infected, between 10 and 20% died of the affliction, or 50-100 million souls. In the United States alone, an estimated 675,000 people died. That is more than the combined number of US Military fatalities in all combined wars throughout that entire century, including WWI, WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, Iraq, and Afghanistan. 

Of those fatalities in the US, almost 1/3 would occur within one month, in October of 1918, when approximately 195,000 US citizens perished. The numbers are absolutely staggering and it was the second largest killer in human history behind only the original "black plague," when, between 1347 and 1351, the world population was halved when as many as 200 million souls, and entire cities, perished. 

In fact, in 1918, as a result, life expectancy statistics dropped by a full 12 years across the board. This was at a time when the world was estimated to have a population of about 1.9 billion. As of April 2019, we now stand at an estimated 7.7 billion, meaning that a similar virus today following the same path could infect 2 billion people worldwide and result in 200-400 million fatalities. 

All of those numbers are so large as to be almost meaningless. They are overwhelmingly large and incomprehensibly bad. It is not my intention to cause panic or send you running to the hills either. Rather, it is to look at the numbers, imagine how your community would deal with them, and start developing a plan of your own, because if we have learned anything in recent years, it is that NO ONE is coming to save you. 

In the aftermath of Hurricane Katrina in the Gulf, I went down early on as part of the relief efforts. Before that time, most of us in America had a reasonable expectation that in times of natural and overwhelming disasters, that someone would come and save us. After all, in the wealthiest nation in the history of the world, we ought to be able to sit out front of our ravaged home, or climb atop our rooftop during a flood and wait for the cavalry to come. 

For too many souls along the Gulf, however, no one ever came. Then, in the aftermath of Hurricane Maria in Puerto Rico, for all too many people, no help ever came. More recently, in the aftermath of the earthquakes, the government did not come riding in on white horses to save anyone. And these were all during times when there were one or two areas affected by disasters. Imagine if the entire nation (and the world) was gripped simultaneously in a state of disaster. NO ONE is going to be coming to help you. As the people of Puerto Rico have learned the hard way, you are essentially on your own, and you need to prepare for it on your own as well. 

Preparedness means breaking down the numbers and planning for your communities and neighborhoods and towns and counties, and understanding the sort of planning that may be required. 

For instance, here where we live in Rincon, Puerto Rico right now, there are about 15,000 residents. If the 1918 averages were applied, that would mean, we could reasonably expect to have 4,000 people sick and requiring care in a short time period, resulting in between 400 and 800 casualties. If the October of 1918 numbers held, there could be between 130 and 260 casualties in one month. Even if the second generation strain of Spanish Flu numbers did not follow, and we encountered the thus far established death toll of 2% of infected individuals, that would mean a community of 15,000, with an infection rate of 4,000 sick, could expect 80 deaths. 

The questions ought to be, how would we handle 500-1,000 sick people at once? The aftermath of Hurricane Maria backlogged overworked officials with bodies. What happens when we have several thousand? How would your community deal with several hundred bodies? Or even twenty? Doesn't sound like much until you tax a system that routinely manages one or two bodies per week with ten times the amount. Start experiencing those kind of losses several days in a row, and it becomes a crisis in and of itself.

What about fear and travel? From 1918, there are reports of communities creating road blockades with armed men, restricting travel in or out of towns and counties. It naturally didn't work to stop the virus from spreading, but if we live in a world of distrust of foreigners and anti-immigrant sentiments already, what would be the result of a pandemic? Currently, travel restrictions are alreayd being imposed to and from numerous parts of the world.

What about shortages, riots, and control? Will your community spiral into chaos when the food and gas trucks stop flowing in regularly? There is already talk of impending shortages of certain supplies based on manufacturing shutdowns in parts of China. If this thing spreads, how could it ultimately affect security in your community when necessities get scarce? How will your community retain order? How will an island, like Puerto Rico, where the vast majority of food and supplies are imported daily, cope with supply chains being severed for weeks or months?

A big reason the absolute numbers from 1918 are so up in the air with estimates have everything to do with disinformation. The world, after all, was in the grip of World War I, and none of the involved nations wanted information spreading that they were being hindered by such numbers of sick and dying citizens. 

In the United States newspapers and reporters even lived under the threat of being charged with violating the Sedition Act, and imprisoned, for giving citizens actual information about the virus, the spread, and the horrible numbers communities might expect when it reached them. As a result, the virus that would go on to kill three times as many citizens as the war itself would claim in US military losses, was vastly under-reported, and suppressed to the point of drifting into near obscurity within our collective memory. 

The virus itself, believed by many to have first risen within the US Military ranks from Kansas, was ultimately named "The Spanish Flu" because Spain was the only advanced nation freely reporting about the illness to their citizens and the rest of the world. Americans would read newspaper account about fantastic numbers of sick and dying patients in Spain over their evening meals, and have no idea the same story was being played out in the next town over, or believe it was actually happening in their own.

I was reminded of this as I listened to our own US President recently white-washing and downplaying Coronavirus threats. I am not saying that we should panic, or that this is the threat to end all threats, or that this virus is "the big one." Rather, that politics be damned, and that no politician can be entirely trusted to give us the whole truth about something so serious as a threat to national security, or the beloved stock markets. If it comes down to choosing between losing tens of thousands of citizens, or the economic health of a nation, history has shown time and time again which side they will ultimately come out on.

FDR once said "there is nothing to fear, but fear itself." He wasn't talking about disasters or pandemics, but it fits there too. While there are no numbers reportable, during the 1918 Spanish Flu, there are stories about entire families who were stricken ill. Some of these ultimately died of starvation in their sickbeds because fear stricken neighbors would not go near to lend aid or assistance, and no government or community planning had taken place to properly deal with the problem. 

That is preciesly the kind of fears that need to be planned for. In a worst case scenario, there will be communities torn apart, pandemonium and lawlessness in the streets, shortages resulting in food rioting and gas lines, and people starving to death in their sickbeds. That will be the sad fate of many communities who trust entirely in their governments. Hospitals already struggle to find space enough on any given day. What will your community do with a few hundred extra sick people when the big city hospitals are already full as well?

That is why I am writing this now. Entire sectors of Chinese manufacturing have shutdown, and military exercises and schools are being shuttered in Japan. As I write this on 2/27/2020, the current official virus count is 82,589 cases in 50 countries, with 2,814 fatalities. All that since January 22nd. The current estimated infection rate is that of each new case results in 2-3 new infections. In short, the horse is already out of the barn on this one. 

In Northern Italy, in Lombardy and Venetto, numerous communities are under government restrictions right now, and a US Airforce base there is being quarantined. New cases are being reported throughout Europe, the Middle East, and Asia. Meanwhile, the Dow Jones has had the worst week on record since the 2008 housing bubble burst.  

Time to panic? No. It is time to plan. Again, as governments have begun to restrict travel, close schools and cancel communal events, if the virus continues upon its deadly trend setting path, it is only a matter of time before it hits YOUR community. When it does, you can expect little in the way of outside help or resources because everything we have in the way of existing health and emergency services cannot appropriately handle single event large scale disasters with relatively small geographic distribution, let alone one that could simultaneouly cripple entire regions of the world and nation. 

I am not talking about the need to plan for you and your family and grabbing your bugout bags and heading into the hills. I am talking about the people with experience in disasters and community involvement and LOCAL government leaders, to begin talking immediately about what they can do to prepare for these kinds of scenarios in their communities and developing answers to problems before they arise. 

Like in 1918, the virus is most serious in the elderly and individuals with weakened immune systems, and these are the bulk of fatalities. However, like 1918, the virus likely has the ability to change as it spreads and develop more dangerous strains that can affect the young and healthy. 

If the federal government says it is bad, then things are probably much, much worse. In time, this too shall come to pass. It is mostly a matter of how well your community is prepared to deal with things. Planning or pandemonium? The choice is likely up to the least of us for each neighborhood, town, and county. 

Appearing Live at the Beach House in Rincon... a Beautiful Amazing Artist and a Giant Shrek Looking Guy

I can't even begin to tell you how much fun we have been having selling Lorri's art at The Beach House here in Rincon. Besides all of the beautiful sunsets, every night we get to meet awesome new people, and hang out with many of our favorite locals, not to mention our adopted island family on the staff.

Since not a night goes by that we don't get the same questions about us, I thought it might be a good time to tell a bit more of our story here. Not that we are important, or significant, but everyone has a story, and ours started... well, a long time ago...

The main street of Williamson, Iowa. Home to the Williamson Tavern and the world famous giant Papa Burger... and little else, the town boasts about 100 residents, but was once a coal mining boom town in the 1930s.

When I (Buzz) was a kid, I used to spend a lot of time in the tiny town of Williamson, Iowa. There wasn't much of anything to the place, but my father's best friend lived there, and they spent most weekends together drinking beer or hunting or fishing, or wasting time or cutting wood. They had grown up next door to each other in the 1940's and 50's in Chariton a few miles away and were basically inseparable. So when the friend married into a family in the town of Williamson, we all sort of became like family over time, and practically everyone in the little town was related somehow. 

Not a mule, or the actual girl in question, but your get the general idea.

So, I grew up running the streets of Williamson, and as there always is, there was a girl. She was the niece of my dad's best friend and we were born just four months apart. While I ran the town like a wild child with the other boys, she was not allowed to leave the yard. So, in protest, I suppose, she would throw mud pies at me whenever I ran by and yell at me. For my part, I would stick my tongue out and run, but always watching her over my shoulder curiously. She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen. 

She wasn't allowed to leave her yard, as I mentioned...unless she was riding a mule. Her father raised jumping mules for hunting and if she was on a mule, he knew they would take care of her and protect her no matter what. She, for her part, had always wanted a horse with a long and flowing mane. Not an ugly mule, with a coarse mane, and a strong disposition against galloping. 

So it was, that if you ask anyone who knew the town of Williamson back then if they remembered Lorri, they might say they didn't. But if you asked them if they remembered the little barefoot, dirty faced girl riding the mules all the time, they would know immediately who you were talking about. 

Since she so desperately had wanted a horse, she would run the mules up and down the only section of paved road if only to hear their hooves click clacking. She would ride them to the school and the mules would wait for her outside in the school yard. She would even charge a dime for the other kids to ride them sometimes if she was feeling particularly generous. But all that road riding would wear their hooves down to nothing and the mules, and the girl would end up grounded to the yard while the hooves grew back in time for hunting season. 

The WIlliamson School House where mules waited patiently for Lorri to get out class.

So, anyhow, I grew up going to her family events, and hanging out in this tiny town, and always, always having my eye on the little girl who rode the mules around town. Her parents signed my baby book. My parents signed hers. You could say that we had met. But like so many young people, I lived in a state of overwhelming self-consciousness and fear and despite dating once or twice, could just never bring myself to tell that girl how I felt about her. Foolishly, I let her slip through my fingers because I lacked the courage to reveal my feelings.

As they do, months turned to years, and we married and had children. She was as beautiful as ever, and was a successful professional. She was one of those people who seemingly had everything and had it all together. If she was seemingly out of my league and unobtainable in my youth, then she was even more so in adulthood. 

Lorri, the badass volunteer firefighter. One of the first female firefighters in Southern Iowa. 

Since our families remained close, and we lived in the same county all those years, we would see each other from time to time at weddings, or special events or ballgames. As my own life seemed less fulfilling and joyful each day, I felt less fear of telling her how I felt about her, as if I had nothing left to lose, and had already lost so much time. If only I had just thirty seconds alone I would tell her, but I only ever seemingly got less than ten. 

Thirty seconds. And then one day, at long last, there was a break in the crowd, and we were alone, for thirty seconds. Losing her, I told her, had haunted me every day of my life, and I just needed her to know that she was my person. The one I could never let go of. The one whose smile filled my dreams, both sleeping and awake, and whose laughter filled my heart. 

Traditional Southern Iowa hillbilly wedding, complete with brother-in-law turned pastor, and cornhole game in the background.

Beautiful princess and giant headed Shrek-like guy. Still don't know how that happened, but I am not questioning it.

As it turned out, we were neither one happy in our lives. So we set about in a different sort of direction, not in pursuit of happiness, per say, but deliberately and forcefully cutting the things from our lives that made us unhappy. 

We managed through the challenges of joining children and ex-spouses together into a cohesive, functioning unit, and the result is we have five wonderful adult children now, two beautiful daughter-in-laws, four grandchildren, and ex-spouses, who we probably get along with much better now than we ever used to. 

Move over Stone Henge. Meet Nebraska's Car Henge. Scientists still puzzle at how it was created.

For the last ten years of our life, we have travelled and seen some amazing, and slightly less than amazing things together. 

Oktoberfest in Lacrosse, Wisconsin. POLKA! POLKA! POLKA!

We grew in our professional careers. Finished raising our family. And even raised a few goats together (another story).

The Grand Canyon.

Then, a little over a year ago, Lorri had back surgery. As it turned out, she also had a rare condition that caused blood clots in her legs from her knee to her hip that was revealed post-surgery. Were it not for my diligent daily visual inspection of her legs (you're welcome!) she probably would have died. 

Truthfully, I almost lost her anyhow. And that was enough. It was enough to remind us that there was no amount of money worth me spending 200 days on the road away from her as a union representative. Enough to remind us that most folks we know plan and dream and save for days that never come, or lose their good health the day after they retire. Or watch as 401k's are wiped out, or pensions dissolved. There simply are NO guarantees in life.

As we dropped our youngest off at college last fall, we determined that, come hell or high water, we were making some changes. We weren't putting things off. We weren't waiting for perfect timing. We just did it. 

Six years ago, we started coming to Puerto Rico instead of the Florida Keys when we discovered cheap flights and cheaper Airbnbs. Two years ago, we almost accidentally "discovered" the west side. The rest is history. We were immediately hooked. The beaches. The vibe. The people. Forget about it. There is nowhere else. Not for us. 

So, we dropped our daughter off at college, sold or donated or tossed everything. Left high paying professional careers, and moved to Rincon for the winter to "figure out what we want to be when we grow up the second time around." Like the happiness thing... we only knew what we didn't want to do. 

Lorri had grown up around a grandfather who was a woodworker. She was enamored with the smell of sawdust. But she had never touched a saw before. And she can't draw to save her life. But when we moved to Rincon, she immediately set out to be an artist working with wood instead of a training and quality medical professional at a non-profit blood center. 

We rented a house, filled the garage with a bunch of saws, and I went inside to write, waiting for the inevitable pinterest fails and trips to the emergency for stitches. It would take, I figured, about a year for her to turn out something art-worthy. 

Lorri's first scroll saw trees ever.

She was out there for about four hours when she came in and showed me her palm trees. Cut by hand on a scroll saw by a girl who can't draw and had never made a cut before. Now, I can draw a tree, but I can't cut shit with a scroll saw. It is a skill... or an artform, that I do not, nor will I ever, possess. It is as if she, however, was born using the thing though. She draws the rough shape, and then cuts all the details to match the vision in her head. She never ceases to amaze and inspire me.

The Beach House in Rincon

Lorri under the red tent at The Beach House in Rincon, Puerto Rico

Which brings us to The Beach House. How? Why? The answer is simple really... we were already there! 

To say we were Beach House regulars is a bit of an understatement. We would go and watch the sunset and stay late drinking and meeting people. Then, many mornings, we would wake up, talk about what we wanted for breakfast, and end up right back at The Beach House for mimosas with Steak and Eggs or Eggs Benedict. Mmmmm. 

We loved the food, the atmosphere, the staff, the owners, and all of the people we met there. You almost never meet anyone at The Beach House in Rincon who is in a bad mood, or having a bad day. Rather, it is a meeting place for people who are celebrating life, and sunsets, and morning whale spotting. 

So, when Lorri was ready to debut her art, Kevin, the owner, said why go anywhere else? Basically, he gave us permission to set up a tent and tables around the spot in the smoking section where we were already spending most of our time anyhow. It was more or less as if we were already there, and the art show just sort of grew up around us. 

As a result, our first winter here in Rincon has been nothing short of awesome. We plan to be set up every night from now until Easter at The Beach House between the hours of 4pm and 9pm, give or take an hour or two, IF we can keep enough art on hand to justify setting up a table. Our goal of basically paying for our nightly beer and food tab has been blown out of the water as tourists and locals come to visit and take home a piece of Lorri's work. 

She now spends most days in her workshop from sunrise until setup time, filling special orders and working on commissioned pieces, while my life has been reduced to that of a roadie for an artist, setting up tables and tents, and burning up the road buying wood and blades and paint brushes and espressos and everything an artist needs to keep creating. 

Through it all, we are having the time of our lives. We meet amazing new people every night and have developed friendships that we will take with us wherever we go. And while we aren't quite ready to settle down and never leave a place forever, we can never imagine a winter that doesn't end in coming home again... to the people and beaches of Rincon. 

Summer Adventure 2020 coming soon... 

Her name is LuLu, and she is a toy hauler with room enough in back for an art studio!

Come and see us at The Beach House nightly between 4pm and 9pm! Lorri has several new pieces making their debut tonight.

Oh yeah... having too much fun with us? The Beach House has rooms for rent onsite as well, so no need to drink and drive and breakfast and mimosas start at 7am daily while you watch the whales.

Thanks for reading!

Buzz & Lorri Malone

One Artist's Debut at The Beach House in Rincon

Lorri's debut as an artist could not be off to a better start. After two nights of setting up at The Beach House in Rincon, Puerto Rico, she is selling her artwork almost as quickly as she can make it. The photo above shows her signing her first ever sale! Exciting stuff!

Lorri grew up watching her grandfather work with wood, and fell in love with the smell of sawdust. When she proclaimed her desire to be an artist and work with wood, I knew she could do it. I believed in her with all of my heart. She is smart. She has an eye. She is talented. But still, I warned her, she had never worked with wood before, or tools or saws, so be prepared to spend a year or two learning and creating pinterest fails along the way. Don't get discouraged I said. 

I honestly couldn't even watch. It would be too painful. I left her to the workshop full of shiny new saws and paints and instruction manuals. Time, I told myself, and a few trips to the emergency room for stitches, and maybe, who knows...

A few days later she came and showed me her first piece. It was really good. When her scroll saw finally arrived, things got really crazy, and within a few days she was churning out amazing perfect little palm trees. 

Here is the crazy thing. I can draw. Lorri can't. She couldn't draw a palm tree to save her life. But when she sits down at that saw, she has a vision in her head and just cuts to it and it always comes out perfect without a picture. While I can't cut anything besides big pieces into smaller ones. She is AMAZING!  And every day she only gets better and she has only been doing it for a few short months. 

It has been nothing short of inspirational to see her work develop every day, and being at The Beach House in Rincon, we have got to see that I am not biased, as many people are drawn to one piece or another and the response has been awesome. It has been an incredible experience and I could not be more proud of this emerging artist.

We could not have chosen a more beautiful perfect place in all of Puerto Rico to debut Lorri's artwork. But we did not choose The Beach House. The Beach House chose us. Or rather, Kevin, the owner, made space for Lorri when he heard there was no room for her work at the art walk downtown. 

It was early last fall when we first went to The Beach House for breakfast. We were drawn by positive food reviews, and the amazing views overlooking the ocean and Desecheo Island. It was early and the chairs were still atop the tables, but servers found us a place and spent more time than normal making us feel at home. 

View from The Beach House with Desecheo Island in the distance on the right.

From the bathroom, a man emerged with a mop bucket and smile. He found a broom and worked his way along the business front, sweeping and wiping counters. When he neared our table, he stopped to lean on his broom and chat. 

He was a retired New York Firefighter. I thought it was nice the owner hired this retired hero as a janitor to supplement his pension. But I began to worry about his future there when our talk ran into ten and then twenty minutes. 

A rare glimpse of the elusive, photo shy, humble owner of The Beach House

My fears for the poor pensioner were assuaged when I learned the humble janitor who rises with the sun to clean the bathrooms every day is indeed, Kevin, the owner of The Beach House. He talked to us that morning about the beauty and power of the place, the sound of the crowd in the evening in February when a whale spouts in the distance, and the energy of the place when the big waves come in. Like so many locals, Kevin is a man who loves his island, and has taught us how to love and appreciate it all the more. 

In the days and weeks since that first meeting with that humble janitor, Kevin has become a dear friend of ours. I would love to be able to tell the story of the good things he does in the community, but he won't share them. I only hear secondhand accounts from people he has been there to help, or overheard phone calls where he is arranging to send chefs and supplies to earthquake victims. He was a 9/11 responder too, but he will only tell you about "the other guys" and their heroism. 

The Beach House in Rincon Puerto Rico

It is this same humble approach to the business every day that makes the place so special. We love the views and it is the best place in our book to watch the sunset. We love the mix of tourists and locals every night and how even the guests treat one another like there are no strangers. And we love, love, love the food. But more than all of that, we love the people at our Beach House. Kevin, his family, and the staff have become very much like our adopted island family. 

Despite being there almost every day from sunrise until close (7am-midnight, 7 days a week, 365 days a year), Kevin is always the first to blame the good things about the business on the staff. In fact, if you go online and read about the business, this will probably be the only place you ever even see his name or his picture associated with it at all. 

He will tell you the business is great because of their amazing chef, Heriberto Sanchez, and the kitchen staff. He will blame the great vibe of The Beach House on the servers and bartenders and the energy of the island, and the amazing people who are drawn to Rincon. And he will blame his sons and family, who are partners in the business as well. 

And when he does a great favor for an artist friend and lets her set up and show her work there, he will refuse any credit for that as well, and say simply, humbly, that "art is another spice in the soup that makes Rincon and The Beach House so wonderful. It is a soup. You're helping make the soup taste even better." 

I believe that. Our Beach House family has made our time on the island so much more the memorable, and they have lent so much flavor to our lives. The smells of the ocean and the food, the sounds of the music and people, all swirl to create an amazing unique vibe at The Beach House. It really is a soup. It all has to be in there for it to work so well... not least of all... the secret spice... of one retired firefighter cleaning bathrooms, pushing brooms, and entertaining travelers with insider tales of whales and waves and island magic, and soup. We love our Beach House. 

The Beach House is not only a great place for art, breakfast, lunch, dinner and live music sunsets. It is a great destination for your stay in Puerto Rico! Check out their website here:

http://www.thebeachhouserincon.com/

Like their Facebook Page:

The Beach House Facebook

The Beach House also happens to be the ONLY Puerto Rican bar nominated for a USA Today Reader's Choice Award for Best Caribbean Beach Bar! Please hurry and cast your vote for them here:

USA Today 10 Best VOTE

This is not a paid advertisement. The views expressed are those of the authors and have not been approved by The Beach House. 

Thank you for reading!

Buzz & Lorri Malone

Aguada Puerto Rico's Angel of the Mountain

Those who know me back home in Iowa could tell you that I am as likely to speak about such things as God or angels or faith, as Lorri would be to attend a craft show during an Iowa football game. In short, it simply wouldn't normally happen. 

In the here and now however in Puerto Rico, I find it difficult not to be deeply moved by what we have experienced and what we are witnessing all around us every day. 

As this blog surpassed 150,000 readers in recent days, we were overwhelmed by the hundreds of positive messages we received. It was such an amazing outpouring of love and blessings from people around the nation and the world. We felt like we could never return so much love. Quite randomly and during a moment of emotion, I replied to one of the messages... just one... and said we needed to meet her and give her a hug. 

I had no idea where she was, or who she was, but in a much smaller world than we used to imagine, and a world where if you can dream it, you can do it, we reached out through the darkness of internet space. A few minutes later, I received a friend request. It was her. Despite the vast majority of our new readers being in the States and elsewhere, this woman, the one we decided out of a few hundred correspondences to randomly hunt down and force our hugs upon, was literally, right up the road from us. 

Views from the drive up to the Panaderia La Vina Aguada Puerto Rico

Her name was Maribel Candaleria. She and her husband, William Gonzalez, are pastors and own the Panaderia La Vina Aguada Puerto Rico, atop road 411 km 9.8, Bo. Atalaya, Aguada.  

We expected to drive up the mountain, eat something from the bakery, collect a hug, exchange some love, and return home with little more than a good feeling and a loaf of bread. As is almost always the case here on the island, we received so much more. 

Panaderia La Vina Aguada Puerto Rico

Views from the Panaderia La Vina Aguada Puerto Rico

Inside is a busy bakery and store, with locals streaming in and out for bread and donuts and supplies and tacos. It really cannot be overstated how much a part of the community bakeries are here in Puerto Rico. They are the convenience stores, the purveyor of your fresh baked daily bread, and the gathering place for friends and neighbors. It is where working parents can make a quick stop to pick up something for dinner, where so much local business accidentally gets conducted standing in front of the glass baked goods display, and where you can find that must have emergency item...

For our friends in the states. Who doesn't want to try some smoochie soft? 

Once inside we were introduced to a small unassuming woman with a warm and pleasant smile. She sat down with us and we talked for what would turn into a few hours. Last night, we met again and talked for a few hours more over tacos. I might add, that in spite of her smallness and humble demeanor, Maribel Candelaria has a presence that fills the room and surrounds you with a positive feeling. She is, in so many ways, much larger than she first appears. 

Lorri Malone, Maribel Candelaria, and Buzz Malone 

Maribel and William had purchased the bakery at a time when they had good paying jobs at places like Honeywell and Hewlett-Packard. They had bought it to preserve it as a place for the community, as well as to create and maintain jobs. They had never planned on becoming bakers really. 

As the economy on the island changed, the corporations that supported the middle class on the island changed too. Just as in the states, Puerto Rico had a much stronger thriving middle class in recent decades than it does now. Without diving too deeply into what has changed, we hear all too familiar stories about corporations, globalization, and the squeeze on individuals and local economies created by the relentless pursuit of ever greater profits. In the end, Maribel parted ways with corporate America and looked to her bakery and to God. 

She spoke of coming to work at the bakery every morning and feeling overwhelmed. The financials did not always work. The work was without end day and night. Drugs dealers on her corner ran away customers. The building itself was massive. It was too much space and the electricity bill alone was enough to break them. She prayed every day and asked God what the purpose of it all could possibly be. She could not see it, but she always had faith that God had a plan, even if it had yet to be revealed to her. 

Maribel had always been active in her community, her church and charities. She began working with groups of missionaries and youth groups who were on the island to repair homes of the elderly and families with special needs children. At first, she would help match the missions with local people in need. When she discovered the missionaries were paying high tourist rates for their meals and stays in Puerto Rico, she finally understood what God had been leading her to do. 

She approached the drug dealers, filled their bellies with chicken and cold drinks, and explained to them that they were ruining her business and could not be there any longer, because while the corner might technically be public property, the cameras from her business saw and recorded everything. When their boss came to her, she took the same direct approach, and soon her corner was safe for working mothers to stop and grab a loaf of bread day or night. 

Maribel Candelaria, God's most reluctant baker

Missionary housing room above the Panaderia La Vina Aguada

Maribel and William converted the entire upstairs of their building into a sort of hostel for groups of missionaries to operate out of. They have since fully restored the upstairs to house almost 30 people, and have added two additional properties they are working on to house even more volunteer workers. 

Maribel has hosted and fed hundreds of volunteers from youth groups and missions that have renovated and constructed houses, painted buildings, and worked to help develop the local agritourism economy growing up around cacao by planting trees and working closely with local businesses, the local mayor and government officials to gain access to a closed school to turn into a cacao processing facility and create more local jobs.  

The following photos featuring youth missionary groups performing work in Puerto Rico are attributable to LYNC8 Facebook page. The group bills itself as a "Christian non profit organization committed to raising awareness to social injustices in the U.S. and Latin America" but from everything I have heard and seen, they mostly just do a lot of good, hard work for people who need it. 

In the aftermath of Maria, Panaderia La Vina Aguada became a hub for the activity of rebuilding. Every morning officials from the US Army Corps of Engineers, the power company, and the local government descended upon the backroom to meet. Working with the mayor's office, Maribel would help direct the work to make sure those rural people with the greatest medical needs inside their homes had their power turned back on first. 

At one point, there was an urgent call from someone that people were there trying to take the power poles that were staged for their community. It was Maribel who physically stood on top of the poles and made sure they weren't taken away. As I said, she is much larger than she first appears.

Now, in the aftermath of the earthquake, as we sat and talked, she is fielding a steady stream of phone calls. She is working with people who are out in the countryside of the damaged areas to the south seeking out the same people she is always looking out for, the elderly, the sick, the special needs families. Those who cannot make it to the large distributions in the cities, or those who larger relief efforts have missed or overlooked. 

One call is about blankets. Another is about medicine. Another still and she is talking about which mountain road is impassable 60 miles away, and the alternative route her team has found to get around to the area where the house is. During our first meeting, the building began to slowly roll beneath our feet. It was another earthquake. We all went outside until it passed. 

I say she is a saint, a miracle. Maribel only laughs at the thought of that. She isn't an angel or a saint she would argue, because sometimes she gets so angry about injustices or the way things are, or when people who don't need it abuse systems designed to help those who are in real need. She has seen people thrown off of food assistance who are barely surviving while others abuse the system and it frustrates her. 

Maribel allowed me to share her story, not to sing her praises as the angel we believe her to be, but to remind people that she and her husband William are not unique, or imparted with superhuman strength or special powers. We all have the capacity, the ability and the means to do more for others, to help more, to love more, and make the world a better place. Most of us simply choose not to. 

Like almost every small business owner we have met on the island, no conversation can be had without them talking about the tremendous pride they have about providing jobs in their community. To most of them we have talked to in Puerto Rico, their businesses really are all about their people first and foremost. As an old union bum, this seems so foreign to me, coming from a world where so many businesses seemed to be mere engines seeking profit, where employees are seen more of an obtrusion upon the bottom line as anything else.  

Maribel has a story about every employee, past and current, about the difference having that job made in their lives, how opportunity turned lives around, and how one put herself through college and has a good job at the bank now. Her bakery, as it turns out, is not so much about donuts or fresh bread after all.

Admittedly, Maribel and William are not unique in that regard in Puerto Rico. As I write this hundreds of small business owners on the island treat their businesses the same way, as a conduit to help people in their communities. Many of them are deeply involved in helping the earthquake victims and the continued recovery of Hurricane Maria. 

Without the small businesses, I shudder to think of what the island might be like right now. They are often the conduits between the local people and the government and other organizations, and more often than not, their bottom lines are ultimately about how many more jobs they can create, or how many more beds they can buy for earthquake victims, or how much food they can afford to send to those in need. 

They may not be so special, or unique, and Maribel may only be doing what she has been called upon by God to do, and she will tell you herself that she mostly only connects the dots between people in need, the mayor's office, charities, and those who have something to give, or time to donate, but we still think she is inspiring.

As a Buzz fat kid side note... we will be regulars at the Panaderia La Vina Aguada from now one. Beyond a hug and meeting an amazing woman whose friendship is certain to change our lives, the $1 donuts weighed about a pound a piece, Lorri bought the place out of macaroons, and the woman Maribel has now who makes conejo tacos is a miracle worker all in her own rights. Seriously. Awesome food. Two words...conejo tacos. Homemade shells. OMG!

When we asked Maribel what we could do to help with relief efforts she is providing, she only asked us to let her know if we found someone with special needs in the affected area who the support was not reaching. Also, while showing us where the youth missionaries stayed, we noticed the beds and closets were bare. Turns out she has sent every blanket they had to be distributed to the elderly who are sleeping outside at night. 

The following is a link to her current blanket FB fundraiser even though she didn't ask us to share it:

https://www.facebook.com/donate/490746271444585/

She has it up because a few people in her network prefer to use it. Mostly, they give her the donations directly because they know it will get where it is needed most. She does not actively seek donations and takes no credit for anything ever... "God" she says will find a way to provide what is needed. That may be true, but He still relies pretty heavily upon people like Maribel, who we will always remember as Aguada's Angel of the Mountain.  

Thank you all for the messages, comments and blessings and for reading. 

-Buzz-