Items

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  2020-07-01

  Tweets from San Antonio Mayor Ron Nirenberg throughout July 2020

  These series of images are tweets from or about San Antonio mayor Ron Nirenberg and his administration's actions regarding the COVID-19 outbreak in San Antonio. Through tweets, the local government mobilized to disperse political, economic, and medical information. Information such as case statistics, social distancing warnings, how to stay safe, and where to get tested for COVID.
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  2020-07-04

  Tío Pepe and COVID-19

  Throughout July and August of 2020, my family went through the loss of my great uncle on my dad’s side of the family. We all called him as tío Pepe. Tío Pepe was an essential male figure throughout my dad’s life, and the only one of my grandmother’s brothers (my father’s mom) to maintain a close relationship with us. My grandmother passed away suddenly in 2013; my father and his siblings were not prepared, and it is still a sore subject for all of us to comprehend. Tío Pepe was the bridge that connected me to my grandmother and her history. Tío Pepe shared the same mannerisms, physical features, and life philosophies as her. My tío Pepe really helped my father’s family adapt to living in the United States after they moved from Laredo, Mexico in the mid-1970s. When he passed, the pain cut through generational experiences. It felt like a piece of me that was so deeply rooted, that I could not quite grasp because I was still trying to figure it out, was ripped away. Tío Pepe was in his 70s, so it’s not like he had an exceptional amount of time with us, but we thought it was enough. He was cognizant, independent, intelligent, and showed me new perspectives every time we talked. Losing him was like losing a vital source of my memory, my optimism, and my faith. This is a little insight into what it’s like to mourn the death of loved one due to COVID-19. I’ve formatted this entry as a loose timeline to capture the dragged-out period of fear, uncertainty, doubt, and mourning. This experience cast a haze onto my family as we tried to navigate an unnavigable disease and global situation. We couldn’t make sense of it all; we couldn’t carry out our customary responses to a death in the family which left us feeling powerless. Personally, it made me feel like I was almost drowning. I felt like I was barely making it over the water to take brief puffs of air, but I was never comfortable nor safe. It was long, painful, and empty. While this process tested our individual emotional strength and optimism, it never weakened our ability to unite as a family. If anything, this experience fortified our family bond. July 4, 2020 – The mayor and city government sent out several warnings against celebrating the holiday in large groups. I was spending the evening with my parents, brother, and his family when my mom received a text message from a cousin of ours describing how tío Pepe’s daughter, Beth, had tested positive for the coronavirus. Her children and boyfriend also tested positive, and that my tío Pepe and my tía (his wife) were awaiting any symptoms. July 10, 2020 – We got the news that an ambulance would be taking my tío Pepe to the hospital. At this time, San Antonio was going through its second major spike in cases, with less and less medical supplies available for incoming patients. My family opted for an ambulance just so tío Pepe would have a better chance at getting a hospital bed and being treated quickly. July 12 – July 18, 2020, tío Pepe’s first week in the hospital: He was unconscious, on a respirator, and kind of keeping steady. We hung on to the ‘no news is good news’ mantra, remaining optimistic, and continued to live our lives. We really did not think this disease would touch our family in any serious way. On July 17, 2020: I officially canceled my gym membership. I was one of the selfish individuals impatiently waiting for, and incredibly excited by, the announcement that gyms would reopen earlier that summer. I frequented the gym almost every day. I was aware that the risk of COVID-19 was rather high at fitness gyms, but I thought nothing could touch me because I’m young, and I was desperate for some normalcy. And, while if I had contracted the disease my symptoms may not have been severe, tío Pepe’s hospitalization made me realize that I could have lived with the disease and infected someone like my tío and forced them to endure unimaginable pain. I canceled my membership because the reality of COVID finally hit me. It’s sad that it took my tío suffering for me to understand. July 13 – July 17, 2020: We received news that tío Pepe had woken up from his induced state and pulled out all of the breathing tubes connected to his face, which threw a wrench into the progress he was making. The doctors decided to try to inject him with plasma from individuals who had already recovered from the virus and built up antibodies. The treatment seemed to be going well, and again, we remained optimistic. July 20 – July 24, 2020, the week of his death: On July 20, a Monday, my cousin Gabby called my parents to let us know that tío Pepe’s health had taken a swift turn downward. Tío Pepe’s organs had gotten infected. Every day leading up to his death ended with a phone call update, further informing us of his degrading state. Gabby earned her master’s degree in Public Health; she knew exactly what to ask the doctors and what their responses meant behind the cushioned language. I knew that Gabby was further sugar coating these messages to her parents and mine. I texted her separately asking her to tell it to me straight. She informed me that things were not looking good at all. She told me not to keep my hopes up. It was cold, but it was the most honest and reliable set of news I had gotten throughout tío Pepe’s time in the hospital. For four days, we were all hanging onto our phones for the next call or text message update. It was quiet; the uncertainty lingered and distracted me from everything. Tío Pepe passed away Thursday morning July 23, 2020. I had been working as a research assistant for St. Mary’s University throughout the summer. My mother received a phone call from my dad with the news while I was in the middle of conducting an oral history for the research project. My mom cracked open the door to my room but quickly realized that I was still on Zoom and walked away. As soon as I heard my door open I knew exactly what happened. I carried on with the rest of the oral history, closed out my work for the day, and kept to myself. When I clocked out I emailed my supervisors of the situation. I hadn’t told them when he initially contracted the disease, nor the roller coaster of updates throughout his time there. My supervisors were very understanding, and I took the next couple of days to myself. I went for a rather long run that afternoon to clear my mind. I came home, showered, and tried to distract myself by watching baseball with my parents. My dad came home and hugged us, also acting as if everything was no big deal. My dad frequently shared music with tío Pepe to let each other know that they were thinking about each other. From my point of view, I think this was a way for tío Pepe to check up on his nephew and remind him to keep his head up. My dad had put his phone to charge and began talking to us in the living room. I got up to go to the kitchen and passed by his phone, which was locked. When I passed by, his Pandora started playing “Lead Me Home” by Jamey Johnson. This happened completely by itself; I did not touch it and my dad was in the other room. Here’s a snippet of the song: I have seen my last tomorrow I am holding my last breath Goodbye, sweet world of sorrow My new life, begins with death I am standing on the mountain I can hear the angel’s songs I am reaching over Jordon Take my hand, Lord lead me home All my burdens, are behind me I have prayed, my final pray Don't you cry, over my body Cause that ain't me, lying there No, I am standing on the mountain I can hear the angels’ songs I am reaching over Jordon Take my hand, Lord lead me home I am standing (Lord, I am standing) on the mountain (on the mountain) I can hear (I can hear the angels songs) the angels songs I am reaching over Jordon, (over Jordon) Take my hand, Lord lead me home Take my hand, Lord lead me home We all started crying uncontrollably. We felt like my tío Pepe was letting us know that he was okay and that he’s still thinking about us. July 27, 2020: My sister in-law and I were looking for a way to comfort tío Pepe’s daughter, Beth, and his wife. My sister in-law thought shadow boxes with photos of tío Pepe, decorated with cardstock flowers, and a sweet message would be a way for us to honor his memory and share in his family’s grieving process. On the box we made for Beth, the message reads “Dad, Grandpa, Best Friend;” on the box we made for his wife the message reads “Amor Eterno” (eternal love). The shadow boxes took us pretty much all day to make—completely worth it. We spent the evening telling stories about my tío Pepe and just spending quality family time together. The shadow boxes are pictured in this post. We used pictures from Beth’s Facebook. Tío Pepe was also very active on Facebook, which was kind of surprising for his age. He was very politically active and critical of our public institutions. According to my dad, tío Pepe has always kept up with current events and sympathized with the Chicano Movement; he was pretty about it, if you know what I mean. The last time he reached out to me on the social media platform was to commemorate our “friendiversary.” That was also the last time I engaged in one-on-one communication with him, which really shreds me up inside. He reached out because he knew that I was stuck at home working and attending grad school. He was always thinking of everyone and our individual challenges, reminding us to keep going. The shadow boxes were a surprise to Beth and her mom. I’ve included the screenshot of our brief conversation shortly after dropping them off. It hurt that I couldn’t get off and hug her. I saw that the just looking at the boxes invoked so much emotion in Beth. August 7, 2020, the funeral service: Our family had to wait two weeks before tío Pepe’s body could be released from the hospital. Throughout those two weeks it felt like I was floating. When you mourn a death time just stops for a couple of days; everything is really out of its element. But mourning a COVID death, having to wait to properly give your loved one a respectful service and not being able to fall into the arms of your relatives, prolonged this motionless feeling. If felt like a comet was slowly crashing into my core; I could feel every bit of my earth tear apart and float away. The service was set up like a drive-in movie. The funeral home had a screen outside of the building, a radio station to air the service, and a livestream on their website. We all drove up to the screen and either tuned in or played the livestream to listen. We had the choice to experience the service inside the building with tío Pepe’s daughter, wife, and grandchildren. However, they all had just gotten over COVID-19 so most of us stayed in our cars. I didn’t think the service would hit me as hard because of the physical distance and technological filter. My family is Catholic, I grew up Catholic, but I haven’t been the most devout member of the church. My tío Pepe lived one street over from the church we all grew up with. By “we” I mean three generations of my family. The deacon who led the service has known my family for at least 20 years. To sum up what I’m getting at, our church and Catholic culture is deeply rooted our family history. The service reduced us all to our childhood; we felt vulnerable. I remember every single prayer and recited all of them word-for-word, English and Spanish. The last time I had recited these prayers was for my grandmother’s funeral. Except this time, I had to go through these emotions on my own. It felt like someone was shooting thumbtacks at me, through me. Tío Pepe’s wife, daughter, grandson, and sister each wrote a few words on behalf of tío Pepe. I don’t know which set of words hurt the most. They all spoke from the heart; they were so raw and resonated so deeply with all of us. I wanted so badly to hug everyone. I was so incredibly mad that we were all put in that situation, to have to have our hearts pulled and constricted at the same time. Tío Pepe’s grandson, Joseph, and his girlfriend are expecting their first baby; tío Pepe would have been a great grandfather. Joseph spent a lot of time with tío Pepe, almost every single day, and he really embodies his pensive, mild nature. His words were strong and grounding. One thing Joseph said that I think really describes how tío Pepe carried himself is, “My grandpa always reminded me to do the right thing.” Tío Pepe treated everything and every situation with a level mind and fairness. No family, no honest and responsible person should have had to experience such ungraspable pain that never really seems to heal. To this day, my family has not physically come together to fill in the gaps in our hearts that this experience left behind. Late August, a virtual birthday commemoration: A couple of weeks after his funeral, tío Pepe would have turned 71. Gabby, the recent Public Health graduate, decided to make my tío Pepe’s favorite cake and offered one to each household. She scheduled a Zoom meeting for all of us to sit, talk, eat, and cry. My dad and the older relatives in my family brought out old photos of from their early years living in the United States. We each shared our favorite memory of tío Pepe. Here’s mine: before I went off to college Tío Pepe told my dad not to worry about me because he sees me as a ‘visionary.’ He reassured my dad and I that I have a good head on my shoulders, that I’m independent, and that if I really put my mind to it I could do anything. That was the first time anyone had given me words of encouragement going into adulthood—or really treated me like an adult. I snapped a picture of my dad talking to our tía Elda (Tío Pepe’s sister) about life in Mexico and the little arguments they’d get into as my dad was growing up. Although we were separated by a screen, this sort of companionship really helped us reconnect. I chose to include this story for this archive to humanize the broader health and historical context of the pandemic. This was both the easiest and hardest thing for me to create for this archive. The easiest because I was able to let the words flow out of my heart and be typed onto a word document; the hardest because I’ve realized just how ripe these feelings and memories still are for me. My emotions and memories of late July and early August have not fully healed. It’s been hard to accept someone’s death without physical closure. There were no last goodbyes, no hugs, no close contact of any kind to seal the wound in our hearts. I’m still longing to physically embrace my family; but for them I’d wait as long as I have to in order to do that safely. I write this as another way to connect with them. To share my deep feelings and let them know that they’re not the only ones who have felt or are feeling this way. Real people, real families exist within the news stories, academic articles, and everchanging statistics. Tío Pepe was much more than a statistic; my family is much more than a statistic.
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  2020-07-22

  How it started v. How it's going: How StMU planned to incorporate COVID-19 precautions for the Fall 2020 semester and how that's played out

  These images are screenshots of emails from St. Mary’s University detailing how the university will adapt for the Fall 2020 semester, updating students on the ongoing changes to in-person classes, tracking the number of COVID-19 cases throughout the summer and into the fall, and showing how St. Mary’s slowly begins to open up and allow in-person gatherings. In the beginning of the semester, St. Mary’s University was very cautious in thinking of how and when to resume in-person classes and welcome students back to campus. The first couple of weeks were strictly virtual, and this virtual learning was even extended in response to a mild spike in cases across San Antonio. Classes resumed in person one week after the Labor Day weekend, and St. Mary’s didn’t experience a significant outbreak in those initial weeks. Towards the end of September, the number of COVID-19 cases began to mildly grow. As of right now, the University has had 25 COVID-19 cases since March 2020. In October, keeping up with Halloween and other events to come, St. Mary’s began allowing small in-person events. These events were usually outside, with the exception of some indoors. All events have a maximum number of students allowed to participate, and some even require temperature checks and confirmation of negative tests. I, at first, thought it was concerning that as the number of COVID-19 cases in the St. Mary’s University community grew, campus began and continued to organize and advertise on-campus gatherings. I was afraid that St. Mary’s was giving in to the celebratory attitude across the city for “Spooky Season” and fall weather, but neglecting the health of students. However, I think St. Mary’s has been doing the best job they can to provide the “college experience” within the safety parameters set by the CDC. Our mild number of cases may be considered an accomplishment when compared to larger outbreaks at a number of universities such as Baylor, Angelo State, Sam Houston State, Texas Tech, and Wayland Baptist (to name a few). The New York Times breaks down campus outbreaks for most campuses in each state linked in this post. The number of COVID cases began slowly rising towards the end of September, which is also when campus organizations began hosting in-person events. Despite happening simultaneously, there has not been a major spike following these events (so far). In speaking with resident students, the attitude shared on campus seems to be one of caution, which starts at the top. St. Mary’s is not just implementing social distancing and capacity limits in classes and events, the university is maintaining these standards within all campus facilities and student are complying. Reflecting on these emails and thinking about Texas universities all together, I consider myself fortunate. I’m thinking that because San Antonio has a harder history with COVID-19 in the city, our universities are more diligent than those situated in towns or cities that are not. It can feel like campuses are a completely different town within a city or town, but I think St. Mary’s sees themselves as part of the larger San Antonio community.
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  2020-10-21

  Arumi Ortiz Oral History, 2020/10/21

  This is an oral history with Arumi Ortiz conducted by Victoria Villaseñor. Arumi was born in Veracruz, Mexico and moved to Tulsa, Oklahoma when she was 15 years old. Arumi is now a senior at St. Mary's University.
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  2020-10-20

  Responding to the COVID-19 crisis as a foreign exchange student: Ximena Barbagelatta

  This is an oral history with Ximena Barbagelatta conducted by Victoria Villaseñor. Ximena Barbagelatta is a foreign exchange student from Lima, Peru studying at St. Mary's University in San Antonio, TX.
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  2020-06-03

  Tweets from San Antonio's mayor Ron Nirenberg throughout June, 2020

  These series of images are tweets from or about San Antonio mayor Ron Nirenberg and his administration's response to COVID-19 and the social justice movement triggered by the murder of George Floyd throughout the month of June. These images illustrate the way local government mobilized to disperse political, economic, and medical information through social media. These also give insight into how the Mayor and his administration participated in the dialogue about systemic racism in San Antonio and across the United States. Information such as public and private programs, COVID-19 case statistics , protests, warnings to remain vigilant amid the reopening of the state, and where to get tested for COVID.
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  2020-05-01

  Tweets from San Antono's mayor Ron Nirenberg throughout May, 2020

  These series of images are tweets from or about San Antonio mayor Ron Nirenberg and his administration's response to the COVID-19 crisis throughout the month of May. These images illustrate the way local government mobilized to disperse political, economic, and medical information through social media. Information in these images includes executive orders, public and private programs, COVID case statistics, updates on closures and reopenings, how to stay safe, and where to get tested for COVID.
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  2020-04-01

  Tweets from San Antonio's mayor Ron Nirenberg throughout April, 2020

  These series of images are tweets from or about San Antonio mayor Ron Nirenberg and his administration's response throughout April 2020. These images illustrate the way local government mobilized to disperse political, economic, and medical information through social media. Information includes emergency orders, public and private assistance programs, case & hospital statistics, and where to get tested for COVID.
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  2020-03-11

  Tweets from San Antonio's mayor Ron Nirenberg throughout March, 2020.

  These series of images are tweets from or about San Antonio mayor Ron Nirenberg and his administration's response throughout initial weeks of the COVID-19 outbreak & shutdown of San Antonio. These images illustrate the way local government mobilized to disperse political, economic, and medical information through social media. Information such as executive orders, public and private programs, case statistics during the first weeks of the COVD crisis, city closures, how to stay safe, and where to get tested for COVID.
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  May 5, 2020 - August 31, 2020

  M.A. in Zoom pt. 2: The Myth of Summer

  This entry is the second part to capturing what the first six months of my graduate school experience was like. I’m a graduate student in the public history program at St. Mary’s University in San Antonio, Texas. I, like many students throughout all levels of education, felt a dramatic shift during or following spring break 2020. As the world began to catch on fire, I was just starting to piece together my final project which would enable me to graduate with my M.A. degree. Despite the chaos, I managed to survive the rest of the semester, and actually get a good head start on my project. I achieved two new job opportunities and reunited with my boyfriend after going two months without seeing each other. Things were going really well for me and I found a sense of confidence I hadn’t felt in three months. A confidence that might’ve crossed the line into arrogance. This is when I actually got serious about the pandemic. I chose to forget that just because things were going well in my world, didn’t mean things were going well in the real world. I, along with many of my fellow citizens, gave in to the idea that the south Texas heat would significantly curb the spread of the virus. As Texas began to open up, I began going out–not just for academic purposes but also for my own selfish desires to feel myself again. I returned to my local gym. I ate out (in doors) at restaurants. I went to an outdoor bar with my parents (one that was not abiding by the six feet separation policy). I heard the medical experts’ warnings against the loosening of restrictions; I was aware of the slowly but still increasing COVID cases in the city, but chose to act selfishly. This selfishness transferred over to my academic goals. I was blinded by my ambition (or anxiety) to hit the ground running with my capstone. Maybe I knew that after a certain point, it would no longer be safe nor socially acceptable to meet with people outside of my immediate community. The second and third photos were taken from the first sets of oral histories I conducted with my community partners, the Ballet Folklórico de San Antonio. This is Bonnie Ramos and Mark Molina, the head creative directors of the Ballet Folklórico de San Antonio. Prior to these interviews, I had to meet with these leaders to plan out these interviews. We were all fully ready to conduct in-person oral histories not only with these two, but also their friends and family members. In the second photo, we were more conscious of the virus as you can see Ms. Ramos is wearing a mask. However, in the following interview with Bonnie and Mark, done just [two] weeks later, you can see that we chose to let our guards down (falling in line with the rest of the San Antonio, and overall Texas, community). In both photos we made sure to keep a distance between us, but we did not measure exactly six feet. Off camera, we also made sure to interact at a distance, however, we all chipped in to set the interview setting. In between interviews I came down with a case of strep throat. I had to get tested for COVID and the results came two days later, which means my family and I held our breaths for two days. Thankfully I was negative, but strep really kicked my butt. I thought to myself, “If this is what strep feels like, I don’t want to know what COVID feels like.” The doctor was very sure that I only had strep because I had no other symptoms (such as respiratory difficulties). However, COVID is different for everyone – so I heard. I began to drown myself in COVID statistics which made me feel even worse; but also made me snap and understand that I cannot be my control freak self in the midst of a pandemic. Included are some images of COVID statistics in San Antonio from the point that I contracted strep until the end of August. I thought about all the times I had gone out, regardless of being aware that I shouldn’t; I thought of all the people I had interacted with and how ashamed I’d me if I would have to call them; I thought of what I could potentially be putting my parents through because they have underlying conditions (diabetes and asthma). After a few days on antibiotics I was alright, but this was a wakeup call and my Ballet Folklórico project came to pause. Then Fourth of July hit, and San Antonio really milked the reduced restrictions. In the following weeks, San Antonio saw a spike in COVID-19 and the city promptly regressed back to prior restrictions. I cancelled my gym membership, my family cancelled our annual trip to the beach, and abstained from interacting with some friends and family. My household became a little blue; I felt a mixture of shame, fear, and frustration (towards myself and the state of Texas). As a public historian, I felt like I failed the community I serve by acting in my self-interests. Public historians share a larger responsibility to treat out community justly and with respect. However, I chose to contribute to the problem that I knew was still there; I gave in to my selfish desire for “normalcy” and potentially put my community partners at risk. Luckily, neither of us (myself, Bonnie & Mark, nor my camera man) have experienced any COVID-19 symptoms following our interviews nor up until now. Throughout the rest of the summer, all of the oral histories I conducted for my capstone were done via Zoom. My project was slowly transitioning to become a digital project, but I’ve come to see this as a strength and necessary change. It does not seem like Texas will have this virus completely under control, and many individuals will be hesitant to interact physically or outside their homes. Creating something digital will meet the needs of individuals while still taking precautions, as well as be more accessible to other researchers beyond San Antonio. COVID had made me acquaint myself with advanced-ish technology that will make all my projects throughout my career more accessible and therefore more equitable
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  March 8 2020 - May 4, 2020

  M.A. in Zoom pt. 1: Initial Anxieties & Adaptation

  This entry is part one of two entries that capture the first six months of my graduate school experience. I’m a graduate student in the public history program at St. Mary’s University in San Antonio, Texas. I, like many students throughout all levels of education, felt a dramatic shift during or following spring break 2020. Most institutions, like mine, extended our spring break by a week to brace campus for transitioning fully online. At this time, I was enrolled in a course called “Conceptualizing your Capstone.” As the world began to catch on fire, I was just starting to piece together my final project which will enable me to graduate with my M.A. degree. Perfect timing. These are images of what my first semester of graduate school kind of boiled down to: completing the initial, most crucial, stages of my capstone virtually and completing my fellowship with what I felt were limited resources. What is not pictured was my constant fear of the unknown. Initial Anxieties For my capstone project I’ll be looking at the development of ballet folklórico in San Antonio and its influence throughout the state of Texas. I was looking forward to digging in our university and local archives; Fiesta was around the corner and I would’ve used that as an opportunity to document the different folklórico groups set to perform; and most importantly I had planned on meeting with the community members I’m working with face-to-face. The last point there was particularly concerning for me. I’d have to reach out remotely to a community who seldom opens their vaults to outsiders. How was I going to establish credibility and convince these groups that they could trust me via an email or Facebook message? The whole concept of my capstone project also might’ve had to change. I was originally looking to create a narrative history of Ballet Folklórico in San Antonio by drawing on the experience of my community partners–they are the earliest 501(c)(3) groups established in the city. In regard to my schoolwork, how was I going to produce legitimate work from the confines of my house? Was I even in the right place mentally and emotionally to perform at graduate level amidst social, political, and medical disarray that was being broadcasted? I was starting to get cabin fever; I could’ve ignored the commotion outside so I could focus, but that felt selfish. How could my mind be everywhere at once, yet my body needed to remain indoors? (These are actually a bunch of large questions I’ve had swirling in my head throughout the rest of March.) In late March, one of my brothers who’s a Texas State Trooper was ordered to quarantine for two weeks after someone in his unit contracted the virus. Then in mid-April, my other brother came down with something that gave him body aches, chills, fever, and made him sleep all day. No respiratory issues, however, we had no idea what was going on. He got tested for COVID and his results took four days to come back. Both my brothers tested negative, but these two events made it seem like the virus was everywhere and inhibited my ability to think and produce sound work. Adaptation After a couple of dramatic weeks, I got to a point where I could realize the amount of privilege my family and I managed to hold on to regardless of the dystopian-like transitions we were going through as a society. My dad and brothers could still commute to work (that has never been compromised throughout the past nine months), and my mom and I have been able to work from home; neither of us experienced a cut to our pay nor hours; I could get back to a regular sleep schedule because I no longer had to commute from campus, which is on the other side of town, late at night; we have stable WiFi; we have insurance; we’ve been able to pay our bills on time. In terms of academics, contrary to my initial anxieties, my experience in graduate school wasn’t really compromised. I had already established relationships with my peers and professors so Zoom classes and weekly meetings for my fellowship didn’t feel so awkward. Even if I didn’t have the first half of the semester to acquaint myself with my classmates, my generation is very much accustomed to digital communication. We literally grew up on it; we witnessed the evolution from wall phones to smart phones. Making digital connections isn’t a foreign concept to me. The pace of graduate school also didn’t change much. Yes, not having to commute to campus really alleviated a lot of my stress. However, the sense of urgency in graduate school did not fade one bit. I also underestimated the digital literacy of older generations. Specifically of the ballet folklórico community throughout Texas. Through the power of Twitter, Facebook, JSTOR, online university archives, and Zoom, I was able to build upon my research for my capstone. The individuals and groups I reached out to for help were surprisingly eager and generous. Maybe we were all craving some new faces or voices to interact with, or maybe I underestimated the power of engagement. I was able to build upon my capstone, and was probably more productive with it given that I had to stay in one place and work. Optimism was in the air. The first photo is a screenshot of our final presentations where we pitched our capstone idea to the St. Mary’s history department. We were originally set to present our capstone idea to the public history department (staff and students). Initially, I thought this experience would be compromised. I thought I’d miss out on forming connections with other professors in the program. However, there was a collective understanding these young academics (my peers and I) are in the midst of creating one of the most important pieces of our careers under unimaginable outside challenges. All hands were on deck in making sure we received the most help and access to whatever resources. It reinforced that I belonged to a community grounded in the belief that regardless of the circumstances, our duty is to assist each other in our pursuit to public history. I hope other graduate students across the city, state, country, and world experienced this same empathy.