July 9, 2018--Audiological Tale: Fox News (Part One)

"You remember of course what happened in Cuba?"

I was at audiologist Gary Schwartzberg's office in Rockport to have earwax removed from my left ear where it was interfering with my hearing aid. I felt as if this side of my head was under water. And so I wasn't eager to get drawn into one of his looping discussions that typically wind up in a very different place from where they begin. Ordinarily I liked trailing along with him, he has a very interesting mind and great sense of humor, but not this time as I was uncomfortable and cranky.

"Now the same thing is happening in China."

"Can we talk about this after you see what needs to be done? I'm experiencing some pain. Not to say I can barely hear anything." I tapped my left ear to illustrate and yanked the aid out, thrusting it at him.

"Sure, sure. Sorry. It will only take a minute. I'll vacuum you out and you'll be as good as new. Then we can talk about . . ."

As a reminder as to why I was there I poked at my ear again, "That'll be the day. I know, I'll be as good as new."

Seeing I was in an agitated mood without further delay he took me down the hall to the treatment room where he had the earwax removal machine. As the process is a bit painful on other days when I've been less upset and not feeling sorry for myself, to lighten the mood I called it the Torture Chamber. More than a slight exaggeration.

Peering into my ear canal with his otoscope, I could barely hear him say, "Yes, yes. It looks quite occluded. Hold still. It will only take a minute." 

Some minute, I thought. He inserted the probe and turned on the vacuum pump. I gripped the arms of the chair and gritted my teeth so hard I was afford I might break them off at the gum line. I was again acting like a baby. Indulging myself by feeling sorry about my state of affairs and worrying that this might turn into a permanent condition. When my anxiety takes over this is where I go.

"Back to the other room," Gary said, upbeat again, "We're done with the torture part of the program. This should bring you some relief."

I mumbled something incoherent, not ready yet to engage his bubbly side. And, to tell the truth, with the hearing aid back in place, with my left ear, I wasn't hearing that well.

"Let me take it apart," he said, continuing to sound optimistic, "The problem might also be with the device itself." He swiveled to his work table and in less than a minute had the aid broken down into its component parts. They're tiny and so he peered at them with a magnifying device.

I was able to hear well enough to understand some of his mutterings. He was saying that one of the miniature microphones was corroding. "Don't see this often," he said, taking an even closer look in the tiny cavity where the microphones are located.

Then swinging back to me, in a loud voice so I could hear, he told me it was beyond repair and, the good news, since it was still covered by the three-year guarantee he could get me a new one.

"It will take up to a couple of weeks," he said, "But I think that's what makes most sense. In the meantime, I have a loaner that can get you from now until then. How does that sound?" he asked, grinning, feeling good about his ability to take care of the problem and knowing me well enough that this would help get me to stop obsessing that all was hopeless and that the next thing I would need was a cochlear implant.

"Can we now talk about China?" he said.

"What's with China?" I had calmed down enough to actually be interested in what was on his mind.

"You remember about a year ago there was the feeling that Russia was behind what they called a 'sonic attack' on workers in the American embassy in Havana?"

"I do," I said, "In fact I suspected you were somehow involved with this," he stopped smiling, "How, I thought as part of your audiological doctoral studies you did research about how high-frequency sound could be weaponized if bad people decided to exploit it. It could be used as a form of psychological warfare, including when torturing prisoners, and how . . ."

He cut me off. "We've been down this road before," he said, wearily, "You even wrote about it and posted stories about me on your blog. I told you at the time that you have an overactive imagination. Which was an understatement. That I never worked for the Pentagon or CIA of, for that matter, any governmental agency."

"Of course that's what they train you to say. You can deny and pretend all you want but at the time, last year, I gathered quite a bit of evidence that you were or might even still be involved. This area of Maine is home to dozens of intelligence types. Retired and otherwise. You would fit right in."

Dr. Schwartzberg stared blankly back at me.

But I was on a roll, "In fact, I suspected you were also using me as one of your subjects. While testing me and getting me the hearing aids I needed and adjusting them every month until they were just right for me, you played with my mind, making me crazy at times while at others I enjoyed what you were up to--it added spice to my otherwise routine life."

He showed me his poker face and then said, "And now we are learning that the Chinese are doing the same thing to our embassy in Beijing. A sonic attack. Maybe as part of the tariff war that Trump is launching."

"Why do you keep bringing this up if you're not somehow involved?" I pretended to be exasperated. The fluid in my ear had stopped gurgling and I was enjoying recalling last year's events and what he might be drawing me into this year.

"It's just because you seemed interested. Recall," he said, "last year you're the one who brought up the attacks in Cuba, asking if I had an opinion about it. I thought that was part of your research. That you were wanting to write about it. And so . . ."

"I just realized," I blurted out, "That last year I also had trouble with my left hearing aid. You had to send it to Starkey to have it serviced and while I waited for it to get back to you you gave me a loaner. Remember?" 

He resumed staring.

"It's all coming back to me," I said, feeling excited, "You told me, remember, that it came from one of your patients. A Czech woman who lived in Camden, I think, who had died and her family returned her hearing aids so you could use them as loaners. Sort of like how people leave their corneas and lungs and other organs to be transplanted to people who need them."

At this comparison, I thought I saw the flicker of a smile.

"And do you remember how, through that loaner hearing aid, "I was hearing from her. From the woman who had died. She was communicating with me, I thought, from 'the other side.'"

Recalling that, with my heart racing and out of breath, I felt gleeful.

I continued, "You told me I was either crazy or making up stories, as you claimed I am prone to do. Especially in my writing. But the loaner you're wanting me to use is the same one, right? I even remember the color. Bronze. How many bronze hearing aids are there? I'm right, aren't I?" 

His face was frozen, not giving anything away. We locked eyes on each other in a test to see who would blink first.

"What the heck," I finally said, as if to myself, but in fact to Gary, "What else do I have to do. I know I'm not going to go deaf from your machinations. I know you wouldn't play around with that even if you were full-time CIA It's still America, right?

End of Part One . . .

October 24, 2017--Audiological Take: Previous Life (Part 2 of 4)

When in a rush John Allan and I arrived at Gary Schwartzberg's office, his assistant, Angie, said he was finishing with a patient and would be with us shortly. Even she, who is always calm and centered, seemed upset. I was tempted to ask her what was going on but didn't want to pass along any of my own anxiety or breach any confidences.

We settled in the waiting room and without the ability to concentrate on them thumbed through some Starkey hearing aids pamphlets. In a few minutes we heard Gary in the hallway, escorting one of his clients to Angie's desk. "Please make an appointment for Mrs. Lindley in about four weeks. For her next adjustment."

I was relieved to see that Gary seemed like his familiar self. No signs of distress. "I'll be right back," he said to John and me, "I want to walk Mrs. Lindley to her car." Gently, he took her and together slowly they approached the door to the parking area.

I whispered to John, "Maybe he's more OK than we are imagining. I mean, he seemed perfectly normal. I know him pretty well by now and he didn't seem any different to me. This may be wishful thinking, but let's see what he has to say."

John said, "I agree. Let's hold back and let him do the talking. We shouldn't express any unusual concern, other than through the fact that we're here! And that he said he'd appreciate it if we could come right away to see him. That in itself is evidence that something out of the ordinary is on his mind or happening. So let's try to act casual and as if we were nearby and just popped in."

"I'm trying not to sound worried but don't forget he asked us to come to see him on short notice, knowing we don't live around the corner."

"All true. But let's try to play it cool."

I sank back in my chair and listened to the Bach cello suites barely audible on his office sound system. "This is the same music he programmed my hearing aids to pick up during nights when I couldn't fall asleep. Not that he admitted that he did that, but how else might that have happened?"

"Chalk it up to more strangeness," John said. We both strained to listen to the music.

After another five minutes, I said, "Doesn't it seem that he's been out there with Mrs. Lindley for a long time?"

"I agree," John said, "I'll ask Angie." Which he did. 

"She said she'd check on him. It's not unusual, she said, for him to linger with patients. He's very devoted to them as we well know. But she also said that she'd see what's happening."

Angie by then was at the door and looking intently out to the parking area. "I don't see him," she said, turning to us, "What's strange, very strange, is that Gary's car is not there." 

"He's gone?" John said, all our anxieties reignited.

"His car's not there," Angie said, no longer calm. "He's never done this before. I mean, leave without letting me know what's going on. I don't know what to think." She now, understandably, was more upset than either John or I.

"Did he get a call from his wife or mother? That there was some sort of trouble?"

"If he did, he would have told me. Everything seemed normal. Of course, with the exception of the two of you being here and his asking me to reschedule his afternoon appointments."

"It's not our business," I said, "And I don't want to get involved in anything private. We've become close but we know each other for only a year. But, having said that, he wanted to see us about something that's apparently on his mind." 

John and I smiled, trying to look and sound matter of fact.

"Now that I think about this," Angie said, "For the past few days he hasn't been quite himself. There appeared to be something coming up this weekend, tomorrow, that was weighing on his mind. Some sort of workshop about audiology. Not that that's unusual. They happen all the time and he hardly ever goes. But, as I said, this one seemed to be concerning him. I can't imagine why. He almost never goes, thinking they're a waste of time. So I didn't give it that much attention. We've been very busy."

"But for him just to leave?"

"To tell you the truth, that's what has me worried. It's totally uncharacteristic of him. I don't . . ."

"Do you remember anything about the workshop?" John asked.

I could see Angie struggling to remember. "Nothing that comes to mind. Except maybe one thing."

"What's that?"

"I think it's someplace in Connecticut."

"Maybe Hartford?"

"Not Hartford. They tend to schedule them in resort kinds of places so spouses can come and there's something more to do than just sit in a hotel conference room for two days hearing about the latest advances in audiology."

"I don't know Connecticut that well," I said. "Are there resorts there?"

"Uncasville," John said. They have gambling there. My mother loved it. Mohegan Sun is what it's called. The hotel and casino."

Angie brightened, "That's it! That's where it's being held. But Gary hates gambling. It's not his thing. nor is it his wife's, if she's going with him."

"In the meantime, he's gone," I said, bringing us back to that reality. "On the other hand, I can't connect any of the dots." I looked at John, not wanting to say or reveal  anything inappropriate--his strange and upsetting email to John, his wanting to see us urgently, all the things he hinted to me about his so-called previous life. And now his disappearance.

"I don't know what to say," I confessed to Angie, "Are you OK to be here on your own? I mean, we could stay if . . ."

"I'm all right," Angie said, I'm a Mainer and that means I can handle anything. I have your phone numbers and will call if I hear from him. I guess I should also let his wife know what's happening, though maybe she knows all about it. She also can handle anything. But I don't want to inadvertently create a problem."

We encouraged her to call and, with some reluctance, John and I left, promising to stay in touch to see what she might hear and also, in case he communicated with either of us, to let her know what we might learn.

To be continued . . .

October 23, 2017--Audiological Tale: Previous Life (Part 1 of 4)

An agitated-sounding John Allan was on the phone, "We need to talk."

"Sure. What's up?"

"I got this strange email from Gary."

"Gary?"

"Gary Schwartzberg. My, our audiologist."

"Of course. There's only one Gary. You caught me by surprise."

Now whispering, John said, "He never sends me notes so when I saw his name pop up on my email page, I knew something was wrong. Did he get to you too? You've been working with him longer than I and I know he has on occasion confided in you about, how shall I put this, other aspects of his life."

"True. But this time I've heard nothing from him. He doesn't need to use me to say whatever he wants to say to you. We should have separate relationships with him. Both audiologically and with regard to anything else. But, yes, it appears he hasn't always been the straight-laced professional we know. You remember the Cuba business?"

"Do I ever," John said. "That was pretty wild."

"Yeah. That somehow he was mixed up in figuring out the nature of the sonic attacks Cuba launched against our embassy workers in Havana. How about two dozen have severe disabilities from what the Cubans did to deafen or otherwise injure them."

"I do recall that," John said, "Gary implied he was acting covertly. He hinted that he had some expertise with this sort of thing. That he had been a consultant to one of our security agencies regarding our own capacity to wage sonic warfare. Therefore, we speculated from what he said, including how some of his patients--retired CIA types who live in the area--knowing this about his past life thought he might be helpful with the Cuban situation."

"You're remembering correctly," I said. "He claimed he was trying to lead a normal life and they began hassling him. I told you, I think, how about a month ago he called me and sounding frantic asked if I could come by to talk and how we met at a Dunkin Donuts where he felt we were under surveillance by an undercover operative. I thought he was making this stuff up to add a little drama to his life."

"And then there was the incident of the loaner hearing aids he gave you while yours were being repaired and how through them you heard the voice of the dead woman whose they were. And how it seemed she and her husband too were implicated in some of these spying operations."

"Don't forget how Gary convinced me to allow him to reprogram my hearing aids' prompts so they would sound as if hey were coming from someone who was speaking Czech. And in addition to the prompts, after I attempted to translate what she was saying I thought she was desperately asking me to help her."

"All totally strange," John said.

"So, now what? You mentioned you have an email from him. More weirdness?"

"Decide for yourself. Let me read it to you."

"I can't wait to hear this one."

"He wrote--'I have to tell you my imaginary other life is way more exciting than my present one. I confessed to you and Barbara when you were here for an adjustment that there was a brief moment in which I wondered if there was a possibility that I had been brain-washed by the government to forget my previous life for security reasons; thinking this may be possible as my entire life between 40 and 50 years of age seemed to be like one day.'

"Then he added, which has me worried--'Uh oh, I just might be losing it.'" 

"Incredible," I said, "Do you think there's something to worry about?"

"You would know better than I," John said.

"Is there anything we should do?" I asked.

"I thought you would have ideas," he said, "You're really the one who he has confided in."

"Not confided, more hinted," I corrected John, "But then again why would he send the note just to you? Why not to the two of us?"

John said, "I don't think that's too big of an issue. It's more important I, feel, to see if we can figure out how to respond, maybe help him--I'm pretty sure he'd be OK knowing I shared this with you."

"Why don't you call him to see if he wants to talk. Maybe we'd drive up there and meet him for a drink or something. I'm free later today or any time tomorrow."

"I'll do it," John said, "I'll call his assistant, Angie ,to see if he'd like to get together. I'll call back to let you know what he says."

Before I could get a glass of water John rang back.

"Angie asked Gary and he said he was eager to meet at 2:00 today for a cup of coffee. He told her to reschedule his afternoon appointments. Though two o'clock is just an hour and a half from now I said we'll be there. It's clear he is eager to talk. He doesn't casually reschedule appointments on such short notice."

On the ride up we didn't talk much. It was as if we each in our own way needed silence to prepare ourselves for what would likely turn out to be a very complicated conversation.

To be continued . . . 

Dr. Gary Schwartzburg

September 21, 2017--Audiological Tale: Sound Czech (Concluded)

We were watching TV and I was using the bluetooth device my audiologist, Dr. Gary Schwartzberg, had given me that transmits sound from the TV directly to my hearing aids. To activate this feature, I needed to click on the remote control he had supplied and then when done watching turn it off. When I did so, I heard something in the Czech woman's prompt that I hadn't heard before, something incomprehensible to me. I assumed it was in Czech itself, not Czech-accented English.

Perplexed, I told Rona about it and her first reaction was to be dismissive. "Here we go again," she said, "More hearing aid craziness."

"But I thought you said you liked what was going on with the loaner hearing aid, when it was, how to put this, talking to me. Remember? You just now said it was exciting."

"Fair enough, "she said, "I tell you what, let me have your hearing aids, which I can put in my ears, and then hear for myself what you're talking about."

I removed them and passed them to her. She inserted them and asked what I had done to hear the Czech voice. I told her to click on the button on the remote that turns on the TV sound. She did and heard nothing. "Try again," I said, "Sometimes you have to do it two or three times to make it work."

She tried it a few more times but with the same result--it didn't turn on. "Let me have them back," I said, "Maybe you didn't click hard enough or who knows what."

I pushed the bluetooth button and immediately could hear the TV through my hearing aids. I also heard the same Czech words as before. "It's working," I said, "Including that Czech woman who Gary hooked me up to. Try again." Once more I passed the hearing aids to her.

Rona tried and again there was nothing. I was feeling agitated, she was feeling frustrated. They seemed to work for me but not for her. How could that be? 

"I'll tell you what--I'll keep the devices in my ears and you can get close to me and put your ear next to the hearing aid in my right ear to see if you can listen in to what I'm hearing. That should work because it's pretty loud."

She did and signaled she was hearing what I was hearing--the Czech voice. 

"What is she saying?" Rona asked. "I can't quite make it out. Maybe turn it off and on again. She seems to say the same thing every time you do that. It will help me figure it out."

I did, and again we both heard the voice. Doing this three or four more times, Rona said, "I'm beginning to understand her. Not that I understand what she's saying. It must be in the Czech language, but I think she's saying something like be-yekima."

Excited, I said, "Let's look it up on the Internet where you can type in a word or phrase in Czech and it gives you the English translation." 


We tried that a number of times but nothing even close appeared on the translation webpage. "This is making me crazy," I said, "I know you've found tapping into Gary's other life to be interesting, and I agree. But this is starting to feel more aggravating than interesting. I thought switching from an American-English prompting voice to a Czech one would not be about receiving actual Czech words but would be English words spoken by a computer-generated voice with a Czech accent. What's going on feels like a lot more than that."

"Why do you think Gary didn't make that distinction?" Rona asked. 

"That's a good question. Maybe he's enjoying sharing some of his past with us and each time we go for an appointment teases us by revealing other aspects of it. Maybe he's done some work with Czech operatives. Before the breakup of the Soviet Union they were occupied by the Russians. Maybe this whole Czech thing comes from his experiences with that. That is," I said, "assuming he had some sort of Czech connection. Minimally, I'm totally confused."

"We have to ask him," Rona said. But before she could complete her thought, I heard another, different word.

"Come back," I said, "There's a new word coming through. I can't quite make it out." Rona pulled up a chair right next to me so she too could hear what I was receiving. "Can you make that out?"

"It sounds like pumice me," Rona said. "Which obviously makes no sense whatsoever."

"Not if it's an attempt at English. But what if it's in Czech? Which I suspect from the experience we just had with be-yekima it likely does. That no matter what it might mean, bottom line is that it sounds like a Czech expression. Again, not a version of an English word. Let's see what we can figure out from the translation webpage.

I entered pumice me and clicked enter. Nothing came up, which, considering how this was going, was not a surprise.

Rona said, "Let me run a series of other possibilities, varying the spelling. Maybe if I get close enough we'll stumble on what it means."

She worked at this systematically for about half an hour, trying various spellings, but produced no positive results. But when she got to pomuz-me she got a response--pomus mi in Czech means help me.

We were stunned. Exhausted, and now exhilarated by what we were being drawn into. We speculated about what all this might mean. We thought it must be something from Gary's other life. Was the computer-generated voice trying to communicate with us? To get us to do something to free her? If so, where was she? Assuming the voice was human. Or was "she" like Apple's Siri? A digital "person"?

The more we thought about this, the more confused and the more intrigued we became. I knew there would be no sleep for me that night. There would be no way to shut this down or ignore what was happening. I suspected that the next time I turned on the TV we would hear more from her.

Equally agitated, Rona said, "We need to see Gary before your next appointment. As soon as possible. Tomorrow if he can work us into his schedule. This is not going to go away. It could be that someone, the Czech woman, again assuming this is coming from a real person, is in danger."

So the next day, as expected after not getting much sleep, we did arrange to see Gary. 

As if not surprised to hear from us, he said, "Why don't you come by this afternoon and we can talk. In the meantime, stay calm." I thought I heard him chuckling.

"Easy for you to say," I shot back. I was feeling that he was playing with me, concocting situations and scenarios to get inside my head, "You get me all riled up and then tell me to be calm. How helpful do you think that is?" I had never spoken to him that way.

"I hear you," he said, sounding professional, "Come by any time this afternoon. Angie will squeeze you in."

Later that day when we saw Gary, without any preamble, I said, "OK what's going on? I know, I've been having some fun with you, maybe at times I crossed the line, but this Czech business is making me crazy."

Gary listened, smiling, not saying anything. So, I continued, "I love your stories and enjoy when you string me along. I really do. I enjoy the play and would not be happy if you stopped. But this one . . ."

Interrupting, Gary said, "I wish about this one I could tell you more. But," he shrugged, "I can't. Sorry."

"What? Why then . . ."

Rona cut in and said to me, "Why don't you just enjoy this. Not everything has to be fully known or even make sense. Loosen up a bit and enjoy the ride."

I thought about that for a moment and said, "I noticed you also didn't do much sleeping last night. But loosening up and going with the flow is not natural for me. I'm more about finding solutions and solving problems."

"My recommendation," Gary said, "is that about this you listen to Rona."

We sat there for another ten minutes, none of us saying anything. Standing up, Rona finally said, "We need to shop for dinner." She came over to where I was slumped in the chair and put her arms around me.

"One more thing," Gary said, "Before you go, let me switch you back to the American-English prompt. I think you've had enough Czech for the moment. You've been Czech-mated!" 

He loves puns and we heard him laughing as we headed out.

Czech Republic

September 1, 2017--Sonic Attack: An Audiological Tale (Final Part)

"'Mr. Anderson' made a special appointment to see me. He pretended he needed an urgent hearing aid adjustment. But in fact he wanted to talk about Cuba."

"About the sonic attack in Cuba?" Again Gary nodded. "I'm lost," I confessed, "And to think this also involves me is almost too much for me to assimilate. I mean, I . . ."

"Be patient and you'll see the connection. But first I need to tell you more about me and why my patient, 'Mr. Anderson' sought me out."

I resisted saying I'm all ears.

"When I was in my PhD program in audiology one of my interests was the interrogation of captives. Particularly suspected terrorists. Not that I thought I would ever be involved with that, but it was something that fascinated me. How to use sound as part of the interrogation process. Not as torture, of course. But to break down their resistance. Overwhelming them with sound which is the opposite of helping people hear better."

Warming to the subject, he continued, "All the doctoral students were encouraged to develop interests that were not strictly speaking about the techniques we would need in our practices. They felt this would expand us intellectually and, who knows, down the line maybe these interests might lead to new possibilities for us--like, for example, how the psychological dimension of hearing loss affects working with patients or, another example, from a cultural anthropological perspective how people from diverse backgrounds respond differently to hearing loss and its treatment. Including some deaf people who resist digital hearing devices altogether because they see spoken speech as inferior to the richness and, some would say, the linguistic superiority of sign language."

"Very interesting," I said, "I can see how these kinds of studies would appeal to you. You have such wide-ranging interests. But, again, Cuba? Sonic attacks? The CIA?"

"So, my 'Mr. Anderson' came to see me earlier this week. Monday afternoon. I knew something unusual was afoot since before sitting down he closed the door to the treatment room. Something he had not done previously. Before I could ask what was happening with his hearing aids he told me that nothing was wrong with them. As you can imagine I was puzzled, not to mention a little annoyed with him since I needed to juggle my appointment schedule to see him on an urgent basis. I don't need to tell you how complicated that was. It's the busiest time of the year."

Gary continued, "Anyway, he got right to the real purpose of his visit. He mentioned the sonic attack on our embassy, asking if I had been following it. I told him I had been, but not that closely. I was aware of the situation, though I had no idea why the Cubans would be involved in such a thing. My sense is that the leaders there are happy with the restored relationship. That it's in Cuba's interest. I mean in the Cuban leaders' interest. So why, I wondered, would they want to do something so aggressive, so seemingly crazy to jeopardize it? Especially with a new president--Trump--who has hinted he might withdraw from the agreement that Obama struck since Trump appears to be trying to undo all of Obama's initiatives.

"By then, Gary told me, he was becoming annoyed that 'Anderson,' or whoever he was, was taking up his time with this when he had a waiting room full of patients. Was it so urgent to be talking about Cuba?"

I didn't know what to say.

"When I mentioned Obama he said that he'd prefer not to talk about  him as he and I might have different opinions; and, for that matter, he didn't want to talk about Trump either. He said, 'He's not my favorite president.' So at least we avoided all political talk."

"Why then," I asked, "was he interested in talking about the Cuban's attack on our diplomats?"

Very little of this was making sense to me. And any involvement on my part was seeming even more improbable.

As if reading my mind, Dr. Schwartzberg, in an even lower voice, after a quick glance at the sleeping customer who was by then snoring audibly, Gary said, "I can't tell you everything he said since I suspect much of it is classified, but he did say that I, and one of my patients," he peered at me,"were potentially implicated."

"Implicated? This is getting crazier by the minute."

"Be patient," he said. I signaled that I would be. "He knew about my interest in prisoner interrogation, including the fact that after earning my PhD, while getting my practice started, I had done some contract work with one or two American national security operatives."

"You did? That's incredible, "You seem so . . . I don't know how to describe it."

"Boring? Conventional? A bleeding heart?"

"I wouldn't put it quite this way. But I . . ."

"It's OK. I'm happy to be thought of that way. It has at times, including this one, come in handy. But there's this other side of me. I'm not just an audiologist living in a small coastal town in Maine outside the Washington-New York axis. Remember what we said earlier about who's retired in this part of the world? It's not only a nice life style but has other advantages. If you know what I mean."

I shrugged, overwhelmed and exhausted by what he was sharing, not really knowing what he meant.

"Back in the 1990s there was a general increase in terrorist activity, which included the first time the World Trade Center was attacked by al Qaeda operatives. Terrorists who were funded by and led by Kahled Sheikh Mohammad. 

"I remember that. I was by chance downtown that day close to the towers and saw the smoke pouring out of the underground parking garage. It was sickening. Those bastards."

"Well, on a contract with one of our security agencies, I participated in the interrogation of a couple of the perpetrators."

"Really? This feels like an hallucination."

He ignored this and said, "Enough about that. There's no connection between that and Cuba. But it helps you see why 'Anderson' came to see me. I had been a player. Though not since 1995 or so. I guess you could say I'm a smalltime part of that retired community of agents of various kinds."

For the first time that day he smiled. It clearly felt good to him to be able to unburden himself.

"Then, if I may, what about Cuba? And, closer to home for me, my somehow being a part of this? I don't know how to put it, but this sounds ridiculous. I mean, minimally, my alleged involvement."

"I assume you still have that loaner hearing aid I gave you? From my patient, Mrs. Caldwell, who died?"

"Yes, you said I could use it until mine is repaired. Remember, I told you that it's the one that seems to have a mind of it own?" He nodded, "I was hearing what seemed like conversations through it. I thought I was losing my mind."

"You weren't. It's my fault that I gave you that one. The reason I'm so upset is that I feel terrible that I inadvertently dragged you into this mess. I was careless. Being so busy with patients is no excuse. I screwed up and hope you'll forgive me. The device wasn't meant to be used by a civilian."

"A civilian?"

"You know, someone not working for the Company. I was so busy I mixed up which ones were for clients and which for people who required extra-special devices."

"By special devices you mean like the stuff they prepare for James Bond in the movies?"

Smiling again, he said, "One could think of it that way."

"So how does this connect to what went on in Cuba?"

"We may have restored diplomatic relations but as with all countries a lot of surveillance goes on, in all directions, even with allies. Including, I suspect, to test surveillance devices and techniques for cyber- and sonic-warfare. That's probably what the Cuban secret service was up to with the attack. They had a new toy that the Russians probably gave them and were trying it out."

"How does my loaner hearing aid fit into that picture?"

"It was probably tricked out to transmit electronic signals over a considerable distance to interfere with potential sonic attacks on U.S. facilities. So someone wearing one like your loaner could hang out on the street by the embassy in Havana and zap people who might be trying to mount such an assault. Knowing my youthful history of black bag operations, they probably targeted me as someone they could use to provide cover for this cat and mouse business. They could use me as a conduit to those people on the ground who were in the thick of things."

"This is mind boggling," I said in a cold sweat, "I have questions about a couple of more things--about your 'Mr. Anderson' and of course how I fit in."

"I am supposing that even though he's officially retired 'Anderson' is still active and when his handlers figured out what was going on at the embassy in Cuba they took stock of devices like your loaner and discovered that one was with me. That it was turned in to me after Mrs. Caldwell died--it was probably her husband's who I suspect--well, you know--and that I then innocently passed it along to you. 

"They needed to know if somehow I was compromised, had gone rogue, and of course, since through electronic tracking they probably discovered that because of my error one of these special devices was with you, they needed to check you out. To see if I recruited you . . ."

"So therefore you . . . ?"

"Yes, since I'm feeling so guilty about dragging you into this, I took the chance to tell you most of the story since I suspect they'll be calling on you soon to check you out."

"That will be much more than a robocall," I said, trying to make a small joke to calm myself.

We both took deep breaths and for the first time that day, though when together we did it often, we laughed. 

This seemed to rouse the old man at the other table who had been in a deep sleep. He yawned and stretched and then reached down, groping for the tattered shopping bag that was resting on the floor next to his chair. He folded the newspaper and with difficulty managed to stuff it in the bag. From it, he extracted a phone and swiped the screen, which instantly became illuminated. He lifted it and held it a few inches from his face as if, without his eyeglasses, he couldn't see the time or if he had missed any calls. Satisfied, he returned it to the bag, struggled to get up, and shuffled toward the door.

When he was gone I asked Dr. Schwartzberg if he had taken a couple of pictures of us. 

Laughing loudly, he said, "I wouldn't be surprised."

US Embassy In Havana

January 23, 2017--Trump At Midterm

OK, enough has happened since last Friday that I'm ready for the midterm elections when we'll have an opportunity to formally reject Donald Trump.

That is already happening in the streets where an astonishing 600 anti-Trump rallies took place here and around the world. I stumbled onto one on Saturday in forlorn southern New Jersey and it was inspiring. In a small town at least 2,000 women and men gathered to express their outrage and the crowds in Washington were much larger than those that gathered on the Mall for the inauguration itself.

This fact alone swamped love-starved Trump's limited imagination and he and his communications people went on a campaign to discredit the media's reporting about both sets of events. Even during his outrageous visit to the CIA, Trump railed about how the corrupt media lied about the size of the crowd on Friday afternoon, claiming it was the largest in history.

The Trump White House already has the feel of a bunker. Reminiscently, much like during LBJ and Nixon times when they hunkered down while millions marched to protest their Vietnam policies.

And again Trump's pathetic obsession about size. I'm not going where Marco Rubio went, but it does make one wonder.

Also already becoming clear is that our historic checks-and-balances are already at work. Senators have slowed down the confirmation process for Trump's cabinet nominees. Thus far only two of 22 have been voted upon and approved. The press, the Fourth Estate, has been relentless in holding Trump responsible for his continuing stream of "untruths" and this has shaken him and elicited worse and worse behavior.

Forget about a "presidential" pivot. If anything he is behaving more and more immaturely. I suspect an increasing number of his fervent supporters will soon become tired of his act. As a candidate and even president-elect, his worst behavior could be written off. It was Donald being Donald. As the actual president, this is another matter.

And then there are the checks-and-balances of the street. If the protests keep up--and they should--Trump will find himself more and more isolated with many Republicans abandoning him. We shouldn't forget that only one senator (Jeff Sessions, his attorney general nominee) supported his candidacy. So there is no earned loyalty there. What little there is is only the result of his being elected. Watch Mitch McConnell and Paul Ryan, who despise him, begin soon to abandon ship.

By his own actions as president, after only three or four days, Trump is deflating in public view.

Rona wondered out loud yesterday why he was wearing his overcoat during his visit to the CIA. I said, "Probably to hide his growing girth."

She said, "Probably to hide his incredible shrinking self."

April 10, 2015--Ready for Your Closeup?

Though I hate the proliferation of surveillance cameras that make me feel that wherever I am under scrutiny--on the street, in my car, going through a red light, in my Manhattan apartment elevator, getting coffee at a 7-Eleven--I am having some second thoughts about being tracked and continuously videotaped.

All our traditional notions of privacy have been obliterated by these cameras, urban crowding, social networks, big data mining (check out the explosion of ads targeted to you on Facebook), and a youth culture that thrives on self-promotion and exhibitionism.

Then of course there are all the people whose smartphones are also video cameras, the hackers and, more than anything else, the various domestic surveillance programs of federal agencies such as the CIA, FBI, and especially the NSA. Pretty much everything that someone wants to know about you--from the sources and amounts of your income to your medical records to your shopping and reading habits--are readily available. Thus, though some may hate knowing this--and for whom the only alternative is to live in the North Woods off the grid--by now there is virtually nothing one can do to retain any shred of privacy.

And then there are the benefits that are less discussed--how these images and data enhance legitimate efforts by the police and justice system to keep us safe.

In the news in the last day or two are glaring examples.

First, in Boston, at the conclusion of the trial of Dzhokhar Tsarnaev, with his brother one of the Boston Marathon bombers, we were reminded of how large a part surveillance cameras on the street where they placed their pressure-cooker bombs contributed to their being tracked down and apprehended in only days, which thwarted their plans to explode more bombs in New York City. Without the images of them walking calmly in lockstep toward the bomb site it would have likely taken many days or weeks to apprehend them.

And also a few days ago, in North Charleston, SC, a white policeman, Micahel Slager, was caught on a smartphone camera when he gunned down and murdered a black man, Walter Scott, who from the images it was clear was posing no threat to the officer. Without the video it is likely that it would have been easier than it will be at the eventual trial to cover up the truth of what occurred.

So how to think about this is complicated.

June 11, 2013--Barack W. Obama?

Imagine the following scenario--

You are a progressive U.S. senator and also a legal scholar, having taught constitutional law at the University of Chicago. As a very junior senator, at the 2004 Democratic national convention, as the keynote speaker, you expressed grave reservations about the extent and potential overreach of the Bush administration's surveillance of U.S. citizens who, Bush claimed, might be potential terrorists.

Four years later you are elected president of the United Staes and thus, as Commander-in-Chief, become the person most responsible for keeping America and Americans safe.

The first thing you ask for is a series of briefings about national security. You want to know about the major threats overseas and what are the dangers you will need to worry about domestically.

You are briefed primarily about the many crises in the Middle East and Africa--nationalistic movements; the rising power of Islamic fundamentalism; the on-going conflict between Israel, the Palestinians, and their neighbors; and, of course, you hear about Iran's nuclear ambitions and what might or might not be going on in North Korea, which, even four years ago, had atomic weapons and rockets capable of threatening South Korea and Japan.

On the domestic front, as the recently-inaugurated president, your attention turns to threats closer to home--locally-grown terrorists and other plotters who, though not U.S. citizens or legal residents, may have plans to slip across our relatively open borders with intent and the means to do us grievous harm.

"What are we doing about them?" you ask your national security team.

They tell you that, among other things, via the Patriot Act and the Foreign Intelligence Surveillance Court, the FISA Court, you, as president have been granted by Congress and the courts extensive powers to collect data about potential domestic and international terrorist threats.

As a constitutional-minded chief executive with progressive civil liberties credentials, though you are not surprised to learn this, the extent of the federal government's and your powers as president trouble you.

And so you ask, "Give me some examples of how sweeping in so much private information about citizens paid off--how this thwarted significant terrorist plots. I particularly want to be convinced that this process of domestic surveillance was the only way to stop these plots because if there is a more constitutional, more effective alternative, I will not agree to continue these post-9/11, Bush-era tactics."

A memeber of you team, perhaps the head of the N.S.A. says, "Let me remind you about the so-called subway bomber. You know about him. Just a few months after you took office in 2009, he tried to bring explosives into New York City in order to use them to blow himself up in the subway, potentially killing hundreds and maiming many more."

"Of course I remember that. I feel fortunate we were able to intercept him."

"And do you remember how we were able to do that?"

"I do, but refresh my memory."

"Under the authority of the PRISM Program, N.S.A. was using its powerful computer search engines to monitor an e-mail address in Peshawar, Pakistan that in the past had been used by Al-Qaeda operatives. It had been dormant for months but then someone in the United States was found to be using it. Investigators tracked that user to an e-mail address near Denver, Colorado, to a 24-year-old, Najibullah Zazi, who had been born in Afghanistan but had been brought to the U.S. by his parents as a child.

"In his e-mail, he asked a Qaeda operative for information about how to make a bomb using a flour-based mix. When our people read a subsequent e-mail in which he wrote, 'The marriage is ready,' they interpreted that to mean a major attack was about to be launched.

"Over the next days our people tracked him as he headed east. They stopped Zazi at the George Washington Bridge as he was about to cross the Hudson River and enter New York City. For some reason they fouled up and let him go. Spooked by being interrogated, he flew back to Colorado, but after several false starts was arrested. He confessed to officials that he and other Al-Qaeda cell members planned backpack bombings in the city's subway system."

"So you're saying," the new president said, "that without the ability to read these e-mails, to invade Zazi's privacy, so to speak--he was, I think, a legal resident--we would not have been able to to discover the plot and he likely would have been able to bomb the subway system?"

"That's what we think. His was a real threat that otherwise we would have known about only after the tragic fact.

"Here's how we view this," the president's briefers continued, "like you we worry about the right to privacy but for people working alone or in small groups,for those plotting in the shadows, we need to be able to cast a wide information-gathering net. As someone said, 'To find a needle in the haystack, first you have to have a haystack.'"

As we have known for years, that new president, Barack Obama, did in fact extend most of the Bush-era domestic and international surveillance programs. With constitutional concerns, he nonetheless signed off on the reauthorization of the Patriot Act and, it is now claimed, not only was Zazi intercepted  and convicted but so were dozens of others.

But on the civil-libertarian left, Obama is now being criticized and even attacked. In an editorial last week, for example, the New York Times said, he has "lost all credibility on this issue."

The Huffington Post called him Barack W. Bush and published a mash-up picture of him that combines some of his facial features with others of his predecessor.

Take a look. It's a brilliant example of Photoshopping, but I'm not sure if this picture is worth a thousand words.

June 10, 2013--Snooping

There is a fierce debate underway about what data the government collects, especially should collect, in order to thwart terrorists.

Should the CIA or the National Security Agency (N.S.A.) have the authority to know who you call and for what duration? Should the Feds be able to access individual's Google searches and e-mail traffic?

President Obama, employing the authority of the Patriot Act which was passed shortly after 9/11 and reauthorized and signed during his presidency, says there are ample safeguards so that our constitutional right to privacy is being carefully protected while the CIA and N.S.A. root around looking for terrorist activity.

But Obama said on Friday, in today's world of threats, "You can't have 100 percent security and then also have 100 percent privacy."

Like it or not, this is probably true.

But there is criticism from the left--for example, from the American Civil Liberties Union--that this policy and these practices threaten our civil liberties; and there is equally fervent criticism from some on the right such as Rand Paul that the expansion of the powers permitted by the Patriot Act is yet another example of the growth of government's intrusive powers.

Polls show that Americans support what others see to be intrusive polices. To keep us safe from terrorist bombers and mass murderers, most appear to be reasonably comfortable with all the street surveillance cameras (look, they say, without them the Boston Marathon bombers would not so easily have been identified and captured) and are basically all right with police and intelligence agencies being able to read what we say on our Facebook pages or to be able to know if we are using Google to learn how to make pressure-cooker bombs.

Do we prefer to keep all of this information secret and private until after the fact--after the hijacking, after the bombing, after the plane is blown out of the sky--do we want to maintain all of our civil liberties, our full right to privacy, habeas corpus and all that (information that might be useful to prevent terrorism), do we want authorities not to have access to any conspiratorial information until after heinous deed are done?

This is very complicated; but, again, most Americans are willing to allow federal agents to do a good deal of preventative snooping.

In addition, consider this significant irony--

How many in the ACLU, how often does Rand Paul, how frequently do Jon Stewart and Rachel Maddow, how prevalent is it for the media and bloggers to talk with urgent concern and outrage about other, more substantial breeches in our privacy perpetrated by Google, Facebook, Amazon, and even the Home Shopping Network?

Though they are not governmental, still these companies make billions by gathering all sorts of very detailed information about each of us and then either run targeted ads aimed at us or sell the intimate information they have collected to data-miners and anyone who wants to sell us books, vacations, pots and pans, dating services, or Viagra.

Google knows more about you and me than N.S.A. or the CIA combined. Including the detailed sexual preferences of those tens of millions of us who search for erotica on the Internet.

This is not as fiercely criticized; but if we had been able to know in advance the intentions of the marathon or underwear or shoe or 9/11 bombers, if we had seen what they had been googling or e-mailing or posting on Facebook, would the ACLU and New York Times be as agitated as they currently are by what the government has been up to in gathering information about citizens and legal residents?

A final word--

If it were impermissible to gather this kind of information or, shifting the subject slightly, if our security forces were not allowed to use laser-guided weapons and drones, what would the Civil Liberties Union have us do to intercept incipient terrorist activities?

In print and on all the talk shows during which critics of the Patriot Act are given free reign, this question never gets asked--the what-should-we do question. The criticism is at times thoughtful and trenchant as it needs to be--these kinds of policies and PRISM programs need careful scrutiny and must be kept within constitutional bounds--but, once more, in this era of asymmetrical threats, where even U.S. citizens are plotting against us, what should we do?