We are all accustomed to the university making the news. Every time a remotely newsworthy event happens on the campus, regional and sometimes national media descend on the campus with their satellite trucks and attractive reporters faster than it takes to read the crime alert e-mail.
The university seems to be in the news nearly every week. Recent newsworthy events include the noose hanging, the housing shortage, the DOTS fiasco and the “cougar” story. I recently experienced another type of media storm, but this time, it hit much closer to home and was on a far grander scale.
You see, I live about a three-minute walk from Fort Detrick in Frederick, Md. For those of you living under a rock, or for those of you who were too busy following the latest developments in the loose cougar story to follow real news, Fort Detrick is home to one of only four locations in the United States that houses Biosafety Level 4 labs. These labs have some of the strictest security standards and contain such dangerous and lethal agents as anthrax and Ebola.
Fort Detrick was also the workplace for Bruce Ivins, the scientist the FBI has alleged launched the anthrax attacks that killed five people and made millions of Americans afraid to open their mail in late 2001. Ivins died of an apparent suicide July 29 as the FBI was closing in on him.
Right about now, you’re probably saying, “I would never want that in my backyard.” And I certainly understand that – I can literally see Fort Detrick from my backyard.
Sure, Fort Detrick and Frederick have been in the news before, but never at this level. On July 31, the day the story first broke, my dad and I drove past the Ivins’ house, about a five-minute drive from our own. There were satellite trucks and reporters lined up and down the block, from Fox News to NBC News to The Washington Post. Never before had I seen such a spectacle firsthand, with every reporter wanting to be the one to break the next development in the story.
Hearing about a wildfire in California or a mudslide in Venezuela affects everyone at some level, but the only way one is deeply affected is if it hits close to home. For example, if your cousins’ home was threatened by that same wildfire in California, you would care much more, just as you would really only care about the university’s housing situation if you’re stuck out in the cold.
Bruce Ivins was not a loner who isolated himself from the community. He was a member of a local church that some of my friends regularly attend; he frequented the Costco warehouse at which I work; he worked and lived five minutes from me. I have driven by his house, right next to Fort Detrick, numerous times without ever thinking twice about it. To someone in California, this may just be another story; to me, it’s more than that.
Fort Detrick’s home page and a water tower on the base boldly declare: “Fort Detrick: A community of excellence.”
While the media may try to use this as an ironic take on the unfolding events, they tend to forget everything else and solely focus on the negative events unfolding in these types of unfortunate situations.
Just as 99.9 percent of the students at this university are not racist bigots like the noose hanger, more than 99.9 percent of the people who live in Frederick and work at Fort Detrick are not psychopath scientists hell-bent on killing innocent people. But the media tends to forget this.
Nowhere recently has it been reported that the base is Frederick County’s largest employer, providing the community with 8,000 well-paying jobs, not to mention the cutting edge cancer research conducted at the National Cancer Institute.
After the story becomes yesterday’s news, it will forever remain at the forefront of Frederick citizens’ minds. One event can shape people’s perception of a person, city and institution forever.
Because of the incident, and despite all the good work Fort Detrick has done over the years, it’s earned its fifteen minutes of fame and everlasting shame.
Joel Cohen is a junior government and politics major. He can be reached at jcohendbk@gmail.com.
