hoarding – Memphis Flyer

U.S. Attorney D. Michael Dunavant

As Tennessee enters into what experts believe is the peak of the coronavirus surge in hospitals here, U.S. Attorney Michael Dunavant warned West Tennessee hospital leaders his office is prioritizing prosecutions on equipment hoarding and price gouging.

In a Thursday letter, Dunavant warned hospital executives that he will aggressively enforce such practices. Further, Dunavant called hoarding and price gouging “morally repugnant.”

Such supplies include N-95 face masks, ventilators, surgical gloves, and hydroxychloroquine, a drug touted by President Donald Trump as a coronavirus treatment. However, the drug has never been proven to effectively treat the virus.

HYDROXYCHLOROQUINE & AZITHROMYCIN, taken together, have a real chance to be one of the biggest game changers in the history of medicine. The FDA has moved mountains – Thank You! Hopefully they will BOTH (H works better with A, International Journal of Antimicrobial Agents)…..

— Donald J. Trump (@realDonaldTrump) March 21, 2020

U.S. Attorney Warns Hospitals Against Hoarding, Price Gouging

“In light of the COVID-19 pandemic, our office is prioritizing the deterrence, investigation, and prosecution of wrongdoing related to the COVID-19 pandemic — including those engaged in hoarding and/or price-gouging with regard to critical medical supplies,” Dunavant said in a letter Thursday. “These practices are not only morally repugnant in light of the pandemic we are facing, but also, if left unchecked, can inhibit hospitals, physicians and other health care professionals, governmental agencies, and the public from fully implementing measures designed to save lives and mitigate the spread of the novel coronavirus.”

The list of “scarce” materials (including hydroxychloroquine) came from the Secretary of Health and Human Services (HHS) by Trump executive order. Hoarding or raising prices on these 15 categories of health supplies will trigger “both criminal prohibitions and civil enforcement remedies” that Dunavant said his office will “aggressively enforce.”

These categories currently include:

• N-95 Filtering Facepiece Respirators

• Other Filtering Facepiece Respirators (e.g., those designated as N99, N100,
R95, R99, R100, or P95, P99, P100)

• Elastomeric, air-purifying respirators and appropriate particulate
filters/cartridges

• Powered Air Purifying Respirator (PAPR)

• Portable Ventilators

• Chloroquine phosphate or hydroxychloroquine HCl

• Sterilization services for certain medical devices and certain sterilizers

• Disinfecting devices and other sanitizing and disinfecting products suitable
for use in a clinical setting

• Medical gowns or apparel, e.g., surgical gowns or isolation gowns

• Personal protective equipment (PPE) coveralls, e.g., Tyvek Suits

• PPE face masks

• PPE surgical masks

• PPE face shields

• PPE gloves or surgical gloves

• Ventilators, anesthesia gas machines modified for use as ventilators, and
positive pressure breathing devices modified for use as ventilators, ventilator tubing connectors, and ventilator accessories.

Dunavant asked health-care officials here to help his office identify companies hoarding these materials or charging heightened prices on them. He also asked them to look out for anyone offering false treatment, tests, or vaccines.

To report coronavirus fraud, call the National Center for Disaster Fraud (NCDC) hotline (1-866- 720-5721) or send an email to the NCDF at disaster@leo.gov.

I have a friend (it’s Bianca Phillips) who notoriously holds on to outdated food. One time, she told me that something was still good because the package wasn’t puffy yet. I just about fell over because I had heard this exact reasoning on an episode of Hoarders.

I get it. At any given time, my freezer is filled with leftover soups and disappointing bean patties. Last May, after the storm, I felt something like relief to dump all that food (except for that bag of IKEA meatballs). The decision had been made for me.

I had read years ago that hoarding is putting sentimental value on things that have no sentimental value. I believe it. A few years back when I moved, I got rid of about four boxes of sentiment. I had kept every letter I had ever received like someone someday was going to do my bio. I had all those school photos of folks whose names I’ve long since forgotten. I put it all in the trash can — the rolling city-issued kind. It filled the whole thing. I haven’t really thought of it since.

I have become something of the family’s Goodwill. Nine large boxes of various stuff from my mother’s move, more boxes of family photos from a brother. I have all of my late father’s diplomas in frames. What should I do with my late father’s diplomas in frames? Someone told me to take the diplomas out of the frames and put them all in an envelop. But then I would still have the diplomas. And the frames.

I’ve been recently looking at condos, ready to downsize again. One was in a great old building downtown. It had exposed brick and large windows with great light. It screamed character. I was even charmed by the view into a dank alley and the weird stain on the tub. But it had no storage. Where would I put the 80 years of family albums and three sets of dishes?

The other side of the hoarding coin is the idea that this will come in handy some day. Old towels. Stacks of magazines (New Yorkers, natch) to be read. All the ratty t-shirts I will paint in (I will never paint). The large, nice panini press I’ve used exactly twice — once with the person who gave it to me. The plastic bags and odd containers that multiply by the day. The baskets to put more stuff in.

I’ve been thinking about all the stuff we (I) accumulate. The company is moving from its longtime headquarters in about a month. I’ve gone through my drawers once, tossing business cards and dozens of those paper salt and pepper packages. I saved a tiny cartoon of a baby putting a fork in an outlet, a weird one-eyed chicken thing, a bag from the Peanut Shoppe with a cute peanut on it reading “Happiness is a Peanut” (so true), a little bag of blue rock candy made to look like the meth from Breaking Bad, a knife Bruce gave me to stab people.

When I began here in the ’90s, the bluff across the street was covered in trees where now mansions stand. There was some crime. We ate at Spaghetti Warehouse all the time. We had a party in the parking lot when the trolley began its Riverside loop. We’ve had plenty of dock parties since. There’s been some arguments within these walls. But there’s been way more good work and lots of laughter — those are the things worth hoarding.

Susan Ellis
ellis@memphisflyer.com
Bruce VanWyngarden is on vacation this week. His column returns when he does.