Michelle Heckert was stuck in a cabin on the Grand Princess with her grandparents for three weeks. This was back in early March, before the word pandemic was part of our vocabulary, and before we were all stuck at home.
The cruise ship docked in San Francisco Bay with infected passengers aboard was one of the first prominent cases of coronavirus coming to the U.S. But what most of us didn’t realize is that the virus was already here spreading in our communities.
“We were so excited to come back to the world, and then there was not much to come back to.”
“To be quite honest, for my grandpa, it’s not been much of a change. He's used to just sitting at home, watching TV and, you know, he lives the nice retired life.” The whole family has been thinking about how this year has impacted them.
“Not being on a cruise ship, being on land, having a bed to sleep in and getting three meals a day — that's stuff that a lot of people take for granted. So I think 2020 has been a year of resetting for a lot of us and really understanding what we need to do as humanity in general to really watch out for each other and better empathize with each other.”
If you haven’t picked up on it yet, the whole family is relentlessly positive. So optimistic, the Seratas have booked not one, but two cruises for next year.
“They’ve invited me to go,” says Heckert. “But I’m not 100% on board — literally or figuratively.”
The trio spent three weeks on the boat, then another two weeks in quarantine at Travis Air Force Base, until they were finally released to sweet, sweet freedom. Well, not exactly.
“We were so excited to come back to the world, and then there was not much to come back to,” says Heckert.
The story from there is familiar to many. Heckert lives apart from her grandparents, Adelina and Henry Serata. The next few weeks weren’t all that different from the previous five: more TV watching, FaceTime calls with family, and a few grocery runs by Heckert to help out her grandparents.
CRUISING WITH COVID
It was chaotic, terrifying, hopeful, unheard of and hard. It was our 2020.
Telling your stories is always an honor, but this year it has been a particular privilege. We spoke to people who fought the fight of their lives against a scary new virus, and to those who lost loved ones to that same battle. We met families whose homes were replaced by a pile of ash and debris. We heard from activists shouting “Black Lives Matter” in the streets, hoping this time people would listen.
A year like no other deserves a bit of extra reflection. We checked in with a few of the folks who helped define 2020, with their struggles, tenacity and hope.
Keep scrolling to read their stories or use the directory below to navigate this immersive storytelling experience.
Coronavirus Arrives BLM Protests Pandemic Fallout
Bay Area Wildfires 2020 Election COVID Continues
PHOTOS: Michelle Heckert
PHOTOS: KGO-TV and courtesy of Mike Arevalo
Ten weeks in the hospital. Four weeks in a coma. Less than a 1% shot of surviving.
One of the first in the Bay Area to face the full wrath of the coronavirus.
But numbers and statistics don’t even begin to do justice to the story of Mike Arevalo’s survival.
“I went to the gates of hell and came back,” he told us when he finally got out of the hospital in May.
“I went to the gates of hell and came back.”
Dr. Yeh says goodbye to his family before flying to New York as part of a team of doctors sent to help.
“I don't think anyone has seen anything like this before,” said Dr. Clement Yeh on April 24. The UCSF emergency medicine doctor was on the ground in Queens, N.Y. as part of a team of doctors sent to help.
Now, he’s back home in the Bay Area as the region experiences the worst coronavirus surge yet.
“After going through this for as long as we have so far, there definitely is an amount of fatigue. I think it takes its toll. It’s taking a toll on everybody.”
Dr. Clement Yeh
“It’s taking a toll on everybody.”
PHOTOS: AP/Noah Berger and courtesy of Mulatto Meadows
“Everybody remembers the one experience that they had with a horse, whether it was 40 years ago or four weeks ago, and they have to tell you all about it,” Brianna Noble says.
Everybody also remembers that picture of her on a horse, riding through the streets of Downtown Oakland the night of protests against the police killing of George Floyd.
“I’m very easily ignored, but no one ignores me when I’m sitting on top of my horse,” says Noble.
“I’m very easily ignored, but no one ignores me when I’m sitting on top of my horse.”
How was 2020 for Tiana Day? “The complete opposite” of how she planned, she says.
For starters, COVID-19 derailed her senior year of high school. She graduated at a YouTube ceremony and put off college because of the pandemic. She was going to cheer in college, but that’s not the plan anymore, either.
“I replaced that passion with activism,” Day says. “I have this newfound love for getting involved.”
“Four miles straight of people.”
PHOTOS: Tim Nugent/Shakewell
On March 16, Tim Nugent showed up to Shakewell, the restaurant he co-owns on Lakeshore Avenue in Oakland, and started taking out tables. The governor had just ordered all restaurants to operate at 50% capacity and Nugent was rolling with the punches.
By 2 p.m. that day, he was hit with another curveball: six Bay Area counties ordered a shelter-in-place. Restaurants would only be allowed to do takeout and delivery.
“If you stop, if you’ve already
got boards up, you die...
We’re still here and we’re not forgotten.”
PHOTOS: Leanne Wu
“Distance learning – I don’t like it.”
Plain and simple, 8-year-old Nolan Wu was not having a good time learning from home. The internet would drop out at his home in San Pablo, his lesson interrupted, leading to frustrating day after frustrating day. After a few months, the loneliness was getting to him, too.
“I can’t make any new friends because when you do recess I usually get to know people and I don't get to know people and that’s very frustrating,” he laments.
Nolan & Leanne Wu
“Now I’m learning better with stuff that has always been hard for me.”
PHOTOS: Cassie Galura
Cassie Galura wasn’t just eating for two. The expectant mother was hand washing for two, masking up for two and certainly stressing out for two.
“There was a lot of anxiety,” Galura says. “I’m not going to lie.”
When we first talked with Galura in March, she was 29 weeks pregnant with her fifth child. The coronavirus crisis was just beginning to unfold and she had a front-row seat to the pandemic as an ICU nurse at UCSF Parnassus caring for COVID patients.
“It was new to everybody and then to be pregnant on top of it, and to worry about you and the baby and the rest of your family, it was big. It was stressful.”
South San Francisco
“I still cried when I gave birth,
it was still just as precious.”
PHOTOS: Wallace Nichols
“Your house in the redwoods, by the creek and ocean, lasted nearly 19 years,” Wallace Nichols wrote in a letter to his daughter Grayce. “It survived fires, droughts, floods, and earthquakes. It also survived some of our great parties, our friends’ weddings, holiday gatherings, and many sleepovers.
“It held thousands of visitors, beautiful music, salmon dinners, and rich, deep conversations.”
Then, the house was no longer. The Nichols family home amid the redwoods outside Davenport burned in the August CZU Complex fires. All that’s left standing is a stone chimney, surrounded by piles of ash and debris.
“It’s harder than your own heartbreak when your kid’s heart breaks.”
When we asked Mali Watkins what he does, he gave a few titles: dancer, choreographer, father, chief wholeness officer – and not necessarily in that order. At different points in the interview, he sounded like a preacher, a motivational speaker or a poet, dancing from one train of thought to another.
As with everyone else in this project, we called Watkins to hear how he was doing since we last heard from him. The answer wasn’t simple.
A lot has been going through his mind since he was handcuffed and forced into the back of a police car at 9 a.m. on May 23. His offense? Dancing in the street. Not just “the street” — his street — where he still lives today in Alameda.
VIDEO: Courtesy of Harini Krishnan
When her daughter broke the news that presidential candidate Joe Biden had named California Sen. Kamala Harris as his running mate, Harini Krishnan burst into tears.
“I can’t, I can’t,” she told us sobbing. “As a woman of color, as an Indian American, I can't tell you what this feels like.”
Looking back now, Krishnan laughs about that viral video.
“I cried... I cry a lot,” she jokes.
“As a woman of color,
as an Indian American,
I can’t tell you
what this feels like.”
A HISTORIC VP
It was a historic moment on March 16. Six Bay Area counties banded together and became the first in the country to issue shelter-in-place orders.
Dr. Matt Willis, the health officer of Marin County, was at that press conference. Looking back, he’s pretty sure it was too late for him at that point. He was likely already infected with COVID-19.
Willis became the county’s 39th case, bedridden for two weeks with a high fever.
“I learned a lot about COVID-19 in that process, and the first thing I learned was really just to respect this virus,” he says.
“The first thing I learned was really just to respect this virus.”
For Jaime Patiño, the pandemic is personal.
He lost his grandmother, Emma, to the coronavirus in April. He didn’t know about the outbreak at her Hayward nursing home until he saw it on the news. When he visited her through the window on a Wednesday, she was healthy with “just the regular aches and pains a normal 85 year old would have.”
Two days later she was in isolation at the hospital, on oxygen and surrounded by workers in full protective gear – a disorienting setting for anyone, let alone someone with dementia.
“Maybe if they hear from someone that actually lost a loved one, maybe they’ll take it to heart.”
KEEPING HOPE ALIVE
He still doesn’t know exactly where he got coronavirus in March, but he assumes he contracted it on the job as a California Lottery representative. This was before we knew how to really protect ourselves from the virus: back then, there was no masking, distancing or temperature checks.
Before he knew it, the man who puts family before everything else in life unwittingly transmitted a deadly virus to his wife, daughter, son-in-law and grandson. They all live in the same house, and the virus tore through them one-by-one.
Of the entire family, Arevalo was undoubtedly hit hardest. When he was in the hospital, he says doctors tried “everything under the sun, the kitchen sink and hydroxychloroquine” to keep him alive. Nine months later, he’s what some call a “long-hauler,” still feeling the wear and tear from his fight with COVID-19.
“I do have some cognitive fog still, you know, and even just breathing sometimes is hard because I have some lung damage.”
Arevalo used to coach football and one of his former players works at the pharmacy where he picks up his medication.
“I’m grateful for every single day... They talk about that empty chair at the table, and that could have been here.”
He hopes when the vaccine is widely available, people line up to get it. He hopes we’ll be able to give our frontline workers a break, gather with loved ones, take vacations — you know, all the good stuff.
But forgetting 2020? Yeh says that’s a big mistake.
“I think that this is a year that almost everybody would love to forget. But I don't think we can and I don't think we should,” he says. “I think that this is a time that's taught us a lot about the importance of how we treat each other and the importance of how we take care of our entire society.”
On that front, the work is just beginning.
“I think that this is a
year that almost everybody would
love to forget.
But I don’t think
we can and
I don’t think we should.”
She noticed in the wake of the protests, some people felt more outrage about a broken window than a broken man.
“So I thought maybe me going out would give the cameras something different to look at, something else to focus on, to hopefully change that narrative. … Everything has changed because of that moment.”
The viral photos brought notoriety to Noble’s work, introducing horseback riding to local low-income kids and people of color – people typically kept out of the equestrian world.
“Lots of people have tried to argue with me and be like, ‘Horses are for the rich,’ or ‘Horses are for the affluent and you have to have money to do it.’ And I just think it's wrong. Horses can impact so many people's lives in so many different ways.”
Since the protest in May, donations and volunteers have poured in, Noble says. The project, Humble at Mulatto Meadows, has been able to offer 300 free lessons in just four months. She’s planning to keep that momentum going in 2021.
“I’m not a doctor, I’m not a lawyer, I can’t change what’s going on, you know. This is my lane,” Noble says. “I'm one woman on one horse that was able to just do something that I thought was right.”
Learn more about the work at Mulatto Meadows here.
Thousands showed up to show their support. The line of protesters stretched at least four miles, Day estimates.
“This was all in the first week of my activism. That was the first protest I led on my own.”
Admittedly, that march was a tough act to follow, but Day doesn’t let that discourage her. She has already founded a nonprofit, Youth Advocates for Change, which champions a variety of youth-led causes.
“Without this one moment, my life would be so different.”
“We need to speak on climate change, we need to talk about Black Lives Matter, we need to talk about LGBTQ rights, women’s rights, and all the marginalized communities and we need to bring attention to it.”
She knows her generation has their work cut out for them, but Day has gotten off to a running start.
But by May, it was clear the coronavirus had taken its toll. He had to rework his business model from fine dining to 100% takeout and lay off 70% of his staff.
“I don't think anyone had a pandemic in their business plan,” Nugent told us in an interview at the time, but he was determined to stay open anyways.
“I think if you stop, if you've already got boards up, you die. You don't stay alive. So people will remember me, and remember Shakewell. We're still here. So when that day comes, we're still here and we're not forgotten.”
The restaurant has been on a bit of a rollercoaster ride since then, reopening for outdoor dining, then indoor dining. Then closing indoor dining again.
“So here I am 10 months later, with a patio built in 4 parking spots. It is lit, it is roofed, it is heated, and I am still serving you food in a box. But I am still here,” Nugent told us in early December.
Two days later, a surge in coronavirus cases and hospitalizations prompted the county to shut down outdoor dining. Takeout is once again the name of the game.
While regulars still show up, Nugent says the experience just isn’t the same as it used to be.
“Probably 80% of any guest that walks in here gets a hug,” he says of the good old days. “That's kind of what we are known for.”
“We are really, really missing all those hugs. Because it is a very huggable restaurant, and one day we will hug again. I swear.”
Nolan is looking forward to going back to school one day – if, and only if, we have a vaccine, that is.
“The vaccine, you know it’s gonna hurt,” he says, leveling with all the “young kids that are watching the news right now” who are afraid to get a shot.
“But if we all take it, we can go to school and act like nothing’s ever happened.”
In early June, she delivered a healthy baby boy named SJ. The delivery could have been another stressful moment of potential exposure to COVID-19, but for Galura it was actually a relief.
“I still cried when I gave birth, it was still just as precious,” recalls Galura. “Honestly, it wasn’t very stressful, it was just more happy. You have a new baby that you get to take home and you protect them like any other parent would do.”
With four other kids under the age of 12, her home life has never been very simple. The pandemic just took it to another level. The kids were thrust into remote learning and it was up to Galura to manage them while also caring for a newborn. But as things locked down and play dates evaporated, there was an unexpected side effect: room to breathe.
“I didn't need to put all that stuff on my plate and I feel that. And I love that it's not on my plate anymore. I feel less stressed, I feel happy, it actually really helped me,” says Galura.
Galura is now back at work, fighting COVID-19 everyday in the ICU. It’s a stressful job any year, but especially so now. The lesson she’s taking away from 2020: to stop for a moment and breathe.
“Slowing down is the best thing that has happened.”
“It’s a mess,” Nichols says when we catch up three months later. He’s on his way to the property to finally begin cleanup work. “The way I describe it is, it’s as if a fire blender came through the canyon and scrambled everything.”
Grayce just got back from college and he took her to see what’s left of her childhood home.
“Seeing it through her eyes and feeling her heartbreak, I think any parents will relate. It’s harder than your own heartbreak when your kid’s heart breaks,” he says. “She cried hard, and I cried with her.”
Everyone asks Nichols if they’re planning to rebuild. The honest answer is he just doesn’t know yet. He intended to leave that home to his daughters, Grayce and her younger sister Julia, and so he wants them to be part of deciding what comes next.
For now, they’re living in a rental home in Carmel and giving themselves time to figure out what comes next.
“The week after the wildfires, I didn't know what way was up.” Nichols says. “The redwoods around our house are burned all the way up. All their leaves are brown and their trunks are black, but they're alive. I know they’re alive.
“I’m really, really excited about watching what redwoods do after a massive fire. It's one of the coolest things on the planet to witness, the resilience of a redwood forest. And that’s what 2021 is going to look like. It’s going to look like beautiful trees growing new leaves.”
“That’s what 2021 is going to look like. It’s going to look like... beautiful trees growing
“2020 has been a year of resetting... really understanding what we need to do to really watch out for each other.”
The community showed up for Watkins that day, from the neighbor recording the police encounter from her bedroom window to Jeremy Castro, a
t-shirt maker in San Leandro who saw the clip when it went viral.
“It sparked an emotion,” Castro says, tearing up. “'I’m watching this on Facebook and I'm watching this video of this man that says, ‘Gentlemen, gentlemen. I'm just dancing. Gentlemen, gentlemen.’” says Castro. “He was using a word that wasn’t what they were. They weren't being gentlemen, they were being the opposite. They were manhandling him.”
Castro used his business to print 1,200 shirts that read “DANCING IN THE STREET FOR JUSTICE.” He handed them out for free, with one condition: “You promise to wear it to spread the word that you don’t think this is cool. This is not allowed to happen and you’re not allowed to treat people like that.”
“There were others there that made sure
that this Black man wasn’t
taken somewhere and disintegrated.”
That meant a lot to Watkins, because he’s not looking for words of support anymore. His neighbors came out and danced in the streets with him, but now what? What’s next?
“We’ve done the symbolic things. We’ve done the protesting, you know, and not to be corny, but it's really time to elevate the minds and the souls and the culture. Not playing with it,” says Watkins.
What are we working toward exactly?
“No one being mistreated anywhere at any time and those who need the most help get that most constructive help. That’s justice.”
Krishnan had worked on Sen. Harris’ presidential campaign and 2020 didn’t exactly start well for her candidate – she had just dropped out.
“There was a lot of heartache being associated with a campaign for 11 months, and giving it your all,” said Krishnan.
The Democratic organizer and mother of two shifted gears, throwing her support behind former Vice President Joe Biden.
“Then to find out that Kamala was selected as VP was overwhelming and emotional,” she says. “Just such a source of pride. It was just sort of a relief and release and validation of all the work that so many of us had put in.”
When the campaign wrapped and the results were (eventually) in, Harris became the first woman, the first South Asian and the first Black person elected vice president.
“It was just cathartic, because I think it was affirmation that yes, I belong. I am an Indian American, and there is an American of Indian heritage who is now going to hold the second highest office in the country," says Krishnan.
“Looking at Kamala Harris,
she is giving you permission to dream.”
“I’m pretty confident that I would not have been infected if facial coverings had been more widespread back in March,” Willis says. “We're making the best decisions we can in every moment, recognizing that's with the data we have available,” he explains. “And we have to have the humility to recognize that might change.”
So many months later, and Willis and his colleagues are still pleading for people to protect themselves and others.
“This is the worst we’ve seen,” he says. “I've never been more concerned about our community than I am right now.”
In December, a group of Bay Area counties, including Marin, got back together to institute another stay-at-home order. Willis acknowledges this isn’t what anybody wanted to happen.
“I mean, just from a human standpoint, everyone is exhausted. And yet, here comes a whole other set of demands on our energy and our attention,” he says. “I think it is hard to ask people to dig in and find more strength in this marathon of our response.”
If this is a 26.2-mile marathon, Willis thinks we’re roughly at the 23-mile mark. At this point in the race, it’s hard to ask people to keep running, to push their stamina to the limits. But he’s seen the Bay Area crush the curve before, and he has faith it can happen again.
“It’s one thing as a health officer to sort of recognize what the policies are … but it's an act of faith to write those policies and try and communicate the need. Actually, the behavior is up to the people. Doing the work is up to the community.”
“I’ve never been more concerned about our community than I am right now.”
“Keep the hope up. Stay safe.
We’re almost out of this.”
COVID-19 hasn’t just victimized his family, it has victimized his community. As a Union City councilmember, he has seen his constituents lose loved ones, jobs and income month after month.
“I’m Latino also, and it’s striking to see the positivity numbers in the Latino community,” Patiño says.
“Maybe if they hear from someone that actually lost a loved one, maybe they'll take it to heart,” he says.
“You know, my grandma wasn’t the only one that passed away. It’s changed our whole fabric of how we think for years to come,” he says. “But if you just dwell on the negative, it’s gonna eat you up.”
“Overall, yes, it's going to be a very bad year for a lot of us. Most of us are just waiting for it to go, to get over it and move on. But, you know, there are a lot of silver linings there. And I’m an eternal optimist. As much as 2020 hurt me, and hurt my family, I look at the good people too, and what it brought out in them.”
“Keep the hope up. Stay safe. We're almost out of this.”
At the time, we were just following Heckert’s frequent Twitter dispatches from the cruise, smiling at videos of the family doing Zumba, exercising on the balcony and making paper sailboats. We didn’t realize we were about to be stuck in close quarters with our own families, probably having way less fun than Heckert and her grandparents.
To pass the time on board, Michelle Heckert penned a few songs about cruise quarantine and performed them on her ukulele.
VIDEO: Michelle Heckert
We spoke with Mike Arevalo in May when he first got out of the hospital. Take a look to see how far he has come.
“He saw me come in after some time and he told me, ‘Coach, you look like you're ready to get back on on the field.’ And I kind of laugh because he doesn't know all the inside things. I look good, but there's still a lot going on.”
Another unexpected side-effect of COVID-19 for Arevalo: he’s more emotional than he used to be, he says. He chokes back tears as he tells us how grateful he is to still be alive, how he’s fighting every day to keep a promise to his daughter — to stay alive long enough to help raise his grandson.
When Thanksgiving came around this year, Arevalo insisted on celebrating. Despite his fatigue and weariness, he cooked a full meal for everyone in the multi-generational household. After all, he says he has a lot to be thankful for. At the top of the list: no empty seats at the family table.
For some, “COVID fatigue” means they’re tired of playing by the rules. For nurses and doctors, it means they’re just plain tired.
“As a frontline health care worker, we're just like everybody else,” says Yeh. “We’re struggling, just like everybody else with the kind of chronic anxiety and a kind of a low-level depression."
“But at the same time, you know, I really have to say that my health care worker colleagues have been amazing. They're doing amazing things. I saw a lot of determination and resolve in New York City in the spring. And I see the same thing here, when I'm back at every shift.”
Yeh leans toward silver linings when he talks about the pandemic’s impact on the medical field.
“We’re seeing something in terms of development and the science of vaccines and deployment that is nothing short of miraculous. So I think we have to acknowledge that. But I’ve also heard it said vaccines don't save lives, vaccinations do.”
For a newbie, her first attempt at activism was a smashing success. Over the summer, the 17-year-old led a Black Lives Matter march across the Golden Gate Bridge. She and her co-organizer, 19-year-old Mimi Zoila, threw together a plan in less than 24 hours. They got a permit for 50 to 300 people.
“My dad was trying to get all his friends (to come) because he thought it was going to be crickets and no one was going to be there,” she says.
Well, we all know that’s not what happened.
PHOTOS: Tiana Day and AP/Jeff Chiu
Tim Nugent first told us of Shakewell's struggle to survive in May.
“One day we
will hug again.
Nolan’s mom Leanne, a teacher now all too familiar with the challenges of distance learning, started recording video diaries of their experience. Nolan would vent to the camera about his struggles or – on a good day – celebrate his small victories.
The videos struck a tone, landing him a spot on “Good Morning America.”
But a lot has changed since then. Nolan is 9 now, and distance learning isn’t quite as terrible as it used to be.
“It’s been better. Much, much better. Much really better,” he says. “I’m learning so much more since I’m more used to distance learning. So now I'm learning better with stuff that has always been hard for me.”
When we caught up recently – yes, using the dreaded Zoom – Leanne summed up 2020 in one word: growth. Not just for Nolan, but for their school district, too. Tara Hills Elementary has mobilized its fleet of school buses to make door-to-door deliveries to make sure every student has the supplies they need.
Wallace Nichols reads the full letter he wrote to his daughter Grayce, who was away at college when their family home burned in the CZU Complex.
VIRUS FROM HELL
We first spoke to Dr. Yeh in April when he was on the frontlines in Queens, N.Y. with an envoy of UCSF doctors.
Nolan Wu reassures “Good Morning America” viewers that he's doing much better since his tearful video diary. (VIDEO: Leanne Wu)
- I don’t like it.”
We’re not sure what you think or feel when you see that video. But in that moment, Watkins was living it as a Black man. A person on the Autism spectrum. A martial artist using every ounce of self control to stay calm. To stay alive.
“Make no mistake, I am a Black man. And I stand strong with that. In the situation, I was the only Black man there on the 23rd. However, there were others there that made sure that this Black man wasn't taken somewhere and disintegrated.”
The Alameda Police Chief has since resigned.
See more coverage of the case here.
Despite the onslaught of challenges in 2020, Krishnan isn’t letting the joy of this victory be diminished.
“Sky’s the limit. You can truly achieve anything you want. You want a career in public service? Aim high. Be ambitious. Because looking at Kamala Harris, she is giving you permission to dream.”
2020 was one learning curve after another for Willis and his fellow health officers, suddenly thrust into a highly visible role with only tough decisions to be made.
“It’s something that most public health officers had trained for, the possibility of pandemics. But you know, it’s looking back to 1918, when the last pandemic like this was experienced. And so it was only book learning,” Willis says.
ON THE FRONTLINES
BLACK ON HORSEBACK
KICKED TO THE CURB
A neighbor filmed this video from her window, giving us a longer view of the incident than body camera shows.
INFERNO IN THE FOREST
INFERNO IN THE FOREST
The lessons came hard and fast. At the beginning of the pandemic, health leaders told people not to wear masks, and to save them for health care workers. Now we know that mask wearing is an essential part of curbing the virus’ spread.
DANCING WHILE BLACK
Willis and other health officers have to make the tough decisions about what can and can't open. See every Bay Area county's reopening status by clicking the map above.
Jaime Patino participates in food drives to help with the economic fallout of the pandemic.
“They’re scared, they have no one there to hold their hand. None of their loved ones can come around. So the will to live goes. I do believe my grandma was very scared there by herself,” he says.
Mike Arevalo gets emotional as he explains what his family means to him.
Grandma Adelina Serata back at home and passing time much like on the boat, by playing bingo
PHOTO: Humble at Mulatto Meadows
Jaime Patino's grandmother passed away at the Gateway Care Center, an early epicenter of the Bay Area's COVID-19 crisis.
BRANDON BEHLE, Content Innovation Director
ALIX MARTICHOUX, Creative Content Producer
KEN MIGUEL, Special Projects Producer
JEREMY STEPP, Graphic Designer
COPYRIGHT KGO-TV, ABC, INC.
This reinvention was going to take more than just rearranging furniture. He got together with the rest of the management team, created a takeout menu in a matter of hours and got to work.
PHOTO: Cassie Galura
PHOTOS: Jaime Patino
PHOTOS: Jaime Patino
VIDEO: Good Morning America
VIDEO: City of Alameda
PHOTOS: Harini Krishnan
PHOTO: Courtesy of UCSF