TransMedia Chairman Travels In Italy, Runs Into Unwanted Companion -- SARS PR Newswire -- April 28, 2003 'It Made One Uncomfortably Conscious of Being Maskless in a Growing Masked Society' By Thomas J. Madden BOCA RATON, Fla., April 28 /PRNewswire/ -- No, we didn't go to Beijing, Shanghai or Toronto last week. Just to Italy for a little PR business, but mostly pleasure. But so did SARS, even if only symbolically. In Italy no less! SARS was with us and around us everywhere. And just as noticeable as the aromas of espresso, Parmigiano, buzzing Vespas and those high-low wailing ambulance sirens. As we waited at Malpensa airport in Milan for our Alitalia flight back to Miami, we were surrounded by masked men, masked women and masked children. You'd think there was a SARS outbreak there, but it was just hysteria Italian style. The day before a flight had arrived from China and it was widely reported in the Italian press that all the passengers had been briefly quarantined and interrogated, just as a precautionary measure. So I'm watching these two Italian men all masked up sitting talking to each other, hand gesturing in rubber gloves and I reflect on the Chinese couple in the restaurant on the Via Veneto in Rome the other night. I recalled the headwaiter's frustration as no one wanted to set next to them. Only one couple actually got seated at the cloth-covered table next to them, but soon as they realized they were so near to Asia, they both looked at their watches, remembered appointments and evacuated immediately. Finally aboard our flight nearing cruising altitude, I notice a passenger already fully reclined in his Magnifica seat and asleep wearing his facemask, blindfolds and earphones. With every portal covered and his arms folded Mussolini-like, it was almost as if he was daring SARS to invade him. Slumbering away, he looked like a patient undergoing surgery. Or ready for burial in a sarscophagus. Yet next to him a woman read a book without any protection whatsoever on her face. Compared to Mussolini, she looked positively suicidal. It was this kind of absurd contrast that made it so jarring to travel with people wearing surgical masks. It made one uncomfortably conscious of being maskless in a growing masked society. I found myself ordering brandy so I could at least keep my endangered aquiline nose in a snifter glass full of strong alcohol, which I rationalized was much more chic and civilized than wearing a commonplace mask over one's nose and mouth. Then I started to notice peculiar inconsistencies. SARS apparently does not attack during mealtimes. Just about everyone in the first-class cabin removed their masks when eating in a sort of truce allowed under the Geneva Convention. Now these observations are not meant to be "sarscastic." This is a serious disease. People are dying. Economies are suffering. But everything has a lighter side and maybe it's healthy to poke a little fun at human foibles, idiosyncrasies and over-reaction even in a war against a stealth microbial invader. Cruising along at 824 km per hr., I start to feel woozy. Now quite anesthetized on Remy Martin, I'm singing gallows-humor songs to myself: Are the SARS out tonight? I don't care if they're cloudy or bright ... And Who's SARSY now? Sleepily I recall those golden days of radio ... the masked man and his faithful Indian companion Tonto. Who was that masked man? Him? With the surgical mask? Yea, him. W.H.O. he? Why he's the Lone Ranger! What about his sidekick? Ain't he afraid a them germs? Hell no. He rides along with the Lone Ranger and Silver. He ain't afraid a nothin'! Mercifully the little plane on the screen is finally over Miami. My feet are swollen. My legs are asleep. My chest feels tight. I've eaten and drunk over one million calories. We start our final descent and preparations for landing at Miami International Airport. Like zombies, my wife Angela and I trudge our way to baggage claim. When we arrive there, we can't believe our bloodshot eyes. There, standing before us, next to the carousel are passengers who look like Moslem women with their faces covered by surgical masks, waiting for their bags. Here we are -- HOME! Safe and sound. And they're still wearing those damn masks! CONTACT: Tom Madden, +1-561-750-9800, ext. 11, or TMadden@transmediagroup.com