MEDIA MONDAY / THE BEST 75 SECONDS IN TV HISTORY EVERY WEEK

THE CLASSIC SIGH BEHIND PBS' MYSTERY!: THE DAMSEL IN DISTRESS 

By Thomas Shess, founder of PillartoPost.org daily online magazine style blog--Even the harshest critics of this blog effuse PillartoPost.org is absolutely right to single it out the opening genius behind PBS Mystery! TV series. That opening sequence is one of the most indelible pieces of television design ever produced—part Victorian fever dream, part dark nursery rhyme. 

Let’s give it its due. 

The illustrator: Edward Gorey 

The entire visual language comes from Gorey—an American illustrator whose pen-and-ink drawings fused Edwardian elegance with quiet menace. His work already had a cult following, but the Mystery! intro in 1980 pushed him into wider cultural consciousness. His style is unmistakable: thin, scratchy lines, stiff figures, and scenes that feel both formal and vaguely sinister. That’s exactly what you’re seeing in the opening—the croquet in the rain, the funeral umbrellas, the anxious figures, the “moaning maiden.” 

How it came to be 

The sequence wasn’t just a quick sketch. Gorey originally storyboarded something much longer—reportedly around ten minutes. PBS wanted a tight, roughly 75-second opener, so the project shifted. 

 The final product became a collaboration: 

• Animation by Derek Lamb and colleagues (including Eugene Federenko and Janet Perlman) 

 • Music by Normand Roger, whose score gives the sequence its eerie, almost playful unease 

What you’re watching is not a narrative but a tableau sequence—a series of disconnected, suggestive moments. That was deliberate. It invites you to feel mystery rather than understand it. 

 The “moaning maiden”—who voiced it? Here’s where things get a little unsatisfying, even for a journalist’s instinct. The famous sigh or moan you remember—the woman slumped, hand to forehead—is not credited to any named actress in official records. There’s no widely documented performer attached to that sound. In all available production notes and retrospectives, the sequence’s sound design is attributed broadly to the musical score and effects, not to a featured voice performance. In other words: 

• It sounds human, theatrical, almost operatic 

 • But it functions as part of the sound design, not a credited role That ambiguity actually fits Gorey perfectly. His work thrives on suggestion, not attribution. Why it worked so powerfully.

 The genius of the sequence lies in three things: 

1. It promised a world, not a plot You weren’t told a story—you were dropped into a mood. Viewers often remember the intro more vividly than the episode that followed. 

2. It fused high art with television This wasn’t typical TV graphics. It was gallery-grade illustration turned into motion. 

3. It unsettled without explaining why Children found it eerie. Adults found it witty. That duality is rare. 

 Is it the best TV intro ever? 

“Best” is always subjective—but in terms of lasting cultural imprint, it’s in elite company. If you line it up against other greats: 

• The Twilight Zone (iconic narration + concept) 

 • The Sopranos (character-driven realism) 

 • Game of Thrones (world-building spectacle) …

Mystery! stands apart because it’s pure atmosphere and illustration, not narrative or branding. It’s arguably the most literary TV intro ever made. A final note, in your register The sequence does something television almost never dares anymore: it trusts the viewer to sit with unease. 

No explanation, no payoff—just a suggestion that something is wrong, somewhere behind the hedges. 

Ohh!

And that faint, human sigh drifting through it all… Whether credited or not, it did its job. We will remember it.

MORE GOREY:

SUNDAY REVIEW / THE HOUSE OF SHIELDS

Original Short Story by Thomas Shess 

The rain came down hard enough to erase half of San Francisco. From the front windows of the House of Shields, the Palace Hotel across New Montgomery looked ghostly behind the weather, its brass lights bleeding through sheets of water like a dying ocean liner offshore. 

A few days after the baby scandal detonated across the Bay Area faster than Jennifer McGrath’s water breaking, Garrett Ellis sat alone in the only deuce along the north wall of the old saloon trying not to look at the afternoon Examiner folded beside his drink: CITY HALL POWER COUPLE ROCKED BY LOVE CHILD SCANDAL.

The paper had run three photographs beneath the headline: First that of Jennifer McGrath entering a charity gala in white silk and diamonds. Then Wally McGrath glaring at reporters outside McGrath Tower like a man contemplating homicide. And finally Garrett himself leaving his TransAmerica office building looking ten years older than sunrise. 

He turned the newspaper over again. 

***

The House of Shields on New Montgomery had stood across from the Palace Hotel for more than a century. On this night, the old bar still immaculate smelled of wet wool, whiskey, old leather, and expensive secrets. Mahogany wainscoting climbed the walls beneath ancient mirrors clouded with age. Hexagonal white tiles stretched toward the back bar where an art deco lamp nymph watched over the room with permanent amusement. 

Garrett Ellis, Esq. liked the place because nobody under forty understood it anymore. The front door opened. A bear of a man entered beneath the chandelier glow shaking rainwater from a fedora before hanging both hat and trench coat carefully on the oak rack near the entrance. Several patrons looked up immediately. 

Few cities respected retired judges anymore, but San Francisco still respected Superior Court judge, now DA Bailey Crawford. Their eyes met across the old saloon and, for just a moment, Garrett’s tired expression softened into something almost grateful. The hardened mien of Bailey Crawford barely changed, yet Garrett recognized the flicker underneath it immediately. 

Years earlier, when no respectable law firm in San Francisco would touch a smart-mouthed orphan kid from North Beach, Crawford had hired him on as a law clerk and taught him by example how power actually moved through courtrooms, back halls, and City Hall dinners. Garrett never forgot it. In his private reckoning of the world there were only two men he had ever truly regarded as father figures: Fr. MacDonald, who raised him among the boys at Sts. Peter and Paul’s school in North Beach, and Bailey Crawford, who taught him how to survive once he left it. 

That history was precisely why the old judge was even listening to this dangerous conversation about Carly Martin and the district attorney’s office instead of walking back out into the rain. The jurist crossed the room and slid into the booth opposite Garrett. He wasn’t smiling. His eyes carried the expression of a priest arriving late to a deathbed. Still, when they shook hands the grip said what old men rarely verbalized. I came because you’re my friend. 

“Shillelagh,” Garrett said quietly, using Crawford’s old courthouse nickname. “Thanks for meeting me.” 

Bailey looked toward the folded newspaper. “You’re not the first friend of mine to end up in a world of hurt,” he said. “Won’t be the last either. But Jesus Christ, Garrett. What the hell were you thinking?” 

Garrett gave a weary shrug. “Mea fucking culpa.” The waitress approached in black tie and white apron. Old enough to remember when reporters from three afternoon papers filled the place every lunch hour. “What can I get you gentlemen?” 

“Irish whiskey,” Bailey said. “Neat.” 

“Any particular brand?” “Your best. Bring the same for my morally compromised friend.” The waitress almost smiled. “Yes, sir.” 

Bailey waited until she walked away. “So,” he said. “Tell me how a respected attorney and political fixer detonates his life in one afternoon?” 

Garrett looked out toward the storm through transom windows. “Jennifer asked me to stop by the penthouse. Said she wanted to discuss divorcing Wally.” 

“And?” 

“When she opened the door…” Garrett exhaled slowly. “She was naked.” 

Bailey blinked once. “Entirely?” 

“Like Eve greeting the serpent.” 

“Christ Almighty.” 

Ellis said, “I should’ve walked out.” 

“But you didn’t.” 

“No.” 

The waitress returned with the whiskies. 

Bailey lifted his glass slightly. “To bad decisions.” Their glasses touched softly. The whiskey arrived warm and dangerous. “You said you wanted to talk about  Carly Martin?” Bailey asked. 

Garrett nodded. “I was going to ask her to marry me.” 

That landed heavier than the scandal. “So you screwed Supervisor Wally McGrath's wife instead."

 Garrett stared into the amber whiskey. “It was a one-off.” He rubbed his jaw tiredly. “Hell, Bailey, the whole afternoon almost feels like it happened to somebody else.” 

The retired judge said nothing. 

Garrett continued quietly. “Five minutes before she opened that door I still had the rest of my life.” 

Rain hammered the windows. Bailey leaned back slowly. “And now?” 

“Now I’ve got newspapers telling me I’m somebody’s father.” 

“What’s the baby’s name?” 

“Chloe.” 

“Chloe Ellis?”

 Garrett shook his head. “No. Jennifer says she’ll be Chloe Hawthorne.” 

“Definitely not McGrath.” 

“No.” 

Bailey raised his whiskey. “Well. Here’s to the lass anyway.” 

They drank. For a moment only rain and low conversation filled the old saloon. 

House of Shields since 1908.

Then Garrett spoke again. “And I’ve got a serious gut feeling.” 

“About what?” 

“I don’t think that kid’s mine.” 

Bailey narrowed his eyes slightly. “You know that for a fact?” 

“No.” 

“Did you discuss the possibility with Jennifer?” 

Garrett laughed bitterly. “Who talks after a one-off these days? People just grin in polite company and discuss the weather.” He shook his head. “Jesus, Bailey, a woman that beautiful? I figured she probably had dozens of men on the side.  I was just one of them.” 

“Really?” Bailey said. “Jennifer never struck me as a bed hopper. Wally, absolutely. But her? No.” 

Garrett hesitated. “There’s a pilot.” 

“A pilot?” 

“KNUZ Channel One. Jennifer used him constantly for helicopter coverage.” Garrett shrugged uneasily. “Chris Barnett. Ex-Navy commander. Flies that old battle Huey John Bruce converted into a news chopper.” 

“The black pilot?”

 Garrett nodded. “Storm coverage. Fire coverage. Election nights. Those two spent half their lives flying over the city together.” 

“You think she was involved with him?” 

“I honestly don’t know.” Garrett rubbed his forehead. “That’s the worst part about Jennifer. She’s so damned composed you never really know where you stand with her.”

 Rainwater streamed down the windows facing the Palace Hotel. 

“But if you’re asking whether she had opportunity?” 

Garrett gave a tired laugh. “Jesus, Bailey. Those two practically lived above the city together.” 

Crawford swirled his whiskey thoughtfully. 

“Like I said,” Garrett continued, “Jennifer and I haven’t really spoken since that afternoon. Next thing I know I’m reading in the papers the baby’s mine.” 

“You think she leaked it?” 

“I don’t know.” 

Crawford asked, “Then how’d the papers find out?” Bailey pursed his lips then answered his own question. “Birth certificates are public record. If your name’s listed as the father, she gave it to them.” 

Garrett looked genuinely stunned. “I certainly didn’t.” He sat back slowly. “And I want to see that certificate.” 

“Well,” Bailey said carefully, “you did sleep with her. And the newspapers say the baby’s fair-skinned.”

 Garrett looked up sharply. “Look, Bailey, I’m not the only black guy in San Francisco.” 

The old judge studied him quietly over the rim of his whiskey. 

"You don't believe me," Garrett exhaled. “I can see it in your eyes.” 

“What eyes? At my age I'm blind as a bat when it comes with extra innings sex."

Rain rattled the windows. 

Finally Crawford said, “Chris Barnett certainly wouldn’t be the first newsroom romance in American history.” 

Garrett leaned forward now, agitated for the first time all afternoon. “I’m going to confront him. Tell him I know he’s the father and I’m not taking the rap for him.” His jaw tightened. “I’m innocent.” 

Bailey’s expression hardened. “Not yet you’re not.” 

That stopped Garrett cold. The retired judge lowered his voice. “Realistically? You stay patient. You don’t accuse anybody of anything until you know what’s true.” 

“And meanwhile my life burns down?” 

“Its already torched,” Bailey said calmly. “Now you’re trying to figure out where the exits are.” 

Garrett stared into his drink. “Then what the hell do you think I should do?” 

Bailey thought a moment. “Somehow get Barnett’s DNA.” 

Garrett looked up. “And match it to the baby?” 

The judge said, “Somehow.” 

Garrett stared into the whiskey a long moment. “OK,” he said quietly. “But my instinct is to step up in his face and make him deny it so I can believe him.” 

Bailey said nothing. 

Ellis continued, “Then if he doesn’t budge, I do the same thing with Jennifer.” Garrett rubbed both hands together slowly. “Maybe by then I’ll have the DNA I need.” 

The retired judge watched him carefully but said nothing.

“I need to do this, Bailey.” Garrett’s voice lowered. “I can’t sleep at night knowing how close I was to asking Carly to marry me.” 

Rain hammered the windows harder now. 

“What hurts,” Garrett said, “is I think she would’ve said yes.” 

That seemed to land somewhere deep inside the old jurist. Garrett gave a hollow laugh. “That hurts like a sonofabitch.” For a while neither man spoke. The House of Shields hummed softly around them. Ice clinked in glasses. A bartender polished crystal beneath the lamp nymph over the back bar. Outside, the Palace Hotel still glowing through the rain like old San Francisco refusing to die gracefully. Then Garrett straightened slightly. “Here’s what I need you to do.” 

Bailey narrowed his eyes. “What’s that?” 

“I want you to make Carly district attorney once you retire.” 

The old judge leaned back. “On par with parting the Red Sea.” 

“I’m serious.” Garrett pointed toward him. “Smooth the way. Make the people who doubt her qualifications see she’s a slam dunk.” 

“She’s tried what?” Bailey shrugged. “Seven criminal cases?” 

“Only about seven,” Garrett admitted. “But she’s undefeated.” 

“That and five bucks buys coffee.” 

“She’s Joe Martin’s daughter,” Garrett said firmly. “Joe was district attorney before becoming mayor. This city loves heritage.” 

Bailey smiled faintly into his drink. “That it does.” 

“If Carly agrees and follows your lead…” Garrett hesitated. “Tell her whose idea it was.” 

The retired judge looked at him carefully now. “You’re hoping she sees you as a good man.” 

Garrett’s eyes drifted across the crowded bar,  “I’m hoping to hell she doesn’t remember me as a bleak headline.” 

Outside, thunder rolled somewhere over the bay. 

Finally Bailey loosened his tie and waved for the waitress. “My father used to bring me here for lunch when I was a kid,” he said. “Back when newspapers still mattered and politicians drank in public. He’d point around the room and whisper who owned half the city.” 

“Who owns it now?” 

“Tech creeps and funeral homes.” That earned the first real laugh of the afternoon. Bailey pointed toward the Palace Hotel across the street. “You ever hear the story about Warren Harding and the tunnel?” 

Ellis asked, “Refresh my memory.” 

“Supposedly Harding used a secret tunnel between the Palace and the House of Shields during Prohibition. Booze, women, cigars. Full presidential curriculum.” 

“I thought he died in the Palace.” 

Crawford grinned, “He did. Rumor says he died in the arms of a beautiful woman and they snuck his body back through the tunnel before anybody discovered him.” 

“Hearsay, your honor."

“Probably. But his wife refusing an autopsy didn’t exactly help matters.” Garrett smirked faintly. “Good for her.” Bailey pointed at him. “That’s why I never fooled around on my bride.” 

 Garrett lifted an eyebrow. “Judge Crawford, did I just hear lightning strike the Court House?” 

Bailey grinned into his whiskey. “Seriously. Not once.” “I don’t know how your generation stayed faithful.” 

“We were too busy smoking dope.” 

Both men laughed softly now. Older men. Tired men. Men who understood how quickly one bad afternoon could rearrange an entire life. Outside, rainwater streamed down the Palace Hotel windows where generations of politicians, actresses, crooks, attorneys, and accidental lovers had checked into rooms believing their secrets would remain secret forever. 

"I'll see what I can do," he said, "she's got a shot.  Just as good as anyone in this town.  I would have picked you."

"Pick her. You get me in the bargain."

"That's no bargain." Bailey smirked. Then the retired judge slid the whiskey chit across the table. “I don't know what to think of this meeting except you are, my son, both the luckiest and unluckiest man I’ve ever known. And, easily they're without doubt the two most intelligent women in town.  What they see in you scares me."

Court adjourned at the House of Shields.

“Check.” 

### 

OTHER FICTION BY THIS AUTHOR: 

COFFEE BEANS & BEINGS / THE D.C COFFEE SHOP IN THE MIDDLE OF THE CUBAN MISSILE CRISIS

World War averted over two fifteen cent cups of coffee. Who picked up the tab?  Read below. 

GUEST BLOG / By James M. Lindsay, Distinguished Senior Fellow in U.S. Foreign Policy--Journalists live for scoops. Being the first to break major news is the ticket to journalistic fame and fortune. But what if you are a journalist covering the biggest story of your lifetime and suddenly you become a participant? 

Do you tell the world what you have learned, or do you sit on it? ABC News diplomatic correspondent John Scali found himself in just such a predicament on Friday, October 26, 1962, the eleventh day of the Cuban missile crisis. Scali got a call shortly after noontime from Alexander Fomin. 

Fomin was officially a diplomatic counselor at the Soviet embassy in Washington. His real job, though, was KGB station chief in Washington. His given name was Alexander Feklisov, and he had run Klaus Fuchs and the Rosenberg spy ring. 

Fomin wanted to have lunch. 

Scali was just finishing a baloney sandwich and was not inclined to eat more. But the urgency he detected in Fomin’s voice persuaded him that food wasn’t the point of the phone call. So he agreed to meet at the Occidental Restaurant, located just two blocks from the White House. 

Scali soon discovered that he was right. As he later told the story: After the waiter had taken our order, he [Fomin] came right to the point and said, “War seems about to break out; something must be done to save the situation.” And I said, “Well, you should have thought of that before you introduced the missiles.” He then said, “There might be a way out; what would you think of a proposition whereby we would promise to remove our missiles under United Nations inspection, where Mr. Khrushchev would promise never to introduce such offensive missiles into Cuba again? Would the President of the United States be willing to promise publicly not to invade Cuba?” I said I didn’t know, but I would be willing to try and find out. 

 The rest of the meal was eaten in silence, and incidentally he got my crab cakes and I wound up with his pork chop, but he didn’t notice it. 

 Scali immediately returned to his office in the State Department press room and jotted off a short memo summarizing what Fomin had told him. 

He gave his memo to Roger Hilsman, the director of the State Department’s Bureau of Intelligence and Research. Hilsman immediately recognized its significance and passed it along to Secretary of State Dean Rusk. 

The secretary in turn passed it on to President John F. Kennedy and Secretary of Defense Robert McNamara. 

 Fomin’s offer to Scali came as JFK was becoming increasingly pessimistic about the direction the crisis was headed. The Soviet ships carrying missile parts had turned back, but there were still missiles in Cuba. 

More would become operational every day. 

At the morning meeting of the ExCom, he told his advisers that the missiles would come out only if the United States invaded Cuba or offered to trade removal of the missiles for something the Soviets wanted. 

Now, with Fomin’s overture, he had a possible way out of the crisis. After Scali finished his appearance on ABC News’s 6:00 p.m. network broadcast—he didn’t mention anything about his lunch with Fomin—he was summoned to the State Department and ushered into Rusk’s office. The secretary pulled a sheet of yellow, legal-sized paper out of his pocket and began reading. The gist of the message was that Scali should tell Fomin that he had been told by “the highest officials in the United States Government” that the administration saw possibilities in his offer. 

Scali immediately arranged to meet Fomin in the basement coffee shop of the Statler Hotel, a half-block away from the Soviet embassy. 

He passed along the message. 

After being convinced that Scali was leveling with him, Fomin picked up the thirty-cent tab for the two cups of coffee they had ordered. When the cashier continued talking to a friend rather than take the payment, the Soviet spy chief slapped a five dollar bill on the counter and disappeared into the fog of cold war.

 As Scali was relaying his message to Fomin, the White House was receiving a long and emotional letter from Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev that looked to confirm the proposal Fomin had floated. 

The letter had been delivered to the U.S. embassy in Moscow at 9:43 a.m. that morning Washington time. It had taken more than eleven hours to translate the letter, transmit it to the State Department, and deliver it to the White House. 

The letter began with Khrushchev’s indignant defense of why the Soviet Union had sided with Cuba. Khrushchev then shifted gears and put an offer on the table: Let us therefore show statesmanlike wisdom. I propose: We, for our part, will declare that our ships, bound for Cuba, will not carry any kind of armaments. You would declare that the United States will not invade Cuba with its forces and will not support any sort of forces which might intend to carry out an invasion of Cuba. Then the necessity for the presence of our military specialists in Cuba would disappear. 

 He went on to add: Mr. President, we and you ought not now to pull on the ends of the rope in which you have tied the knot of war, because the more the two of us pull, the tighter that knot will be tied. And a moment may come when that knot will be tied so tight that even he who tied it will not have the strength to untie it, and then it will be necessary to cut that knot, and what that would mean is not for me to explain to you, because you yourself understand perfectly of what terrible forces our countries dispose. Consequently, if there is no intention to tighten that knot and thereby to doom the world to the catastrophe of thermonuclear war, then let us not only relax the forces pulling on the ends of the rope, let us take measures to untie that knot. We are ready for this. 

 JFK and his advisers inferred from Khrushchev’s letter and Fomin’s overture that the Soviets were making a coordinated effort to extend an olive branch. (In fact, Fomin was floating a trial balloon on his own initiative and the two developments were serendipitous rather than coordinated.) The break they had been hoping for had finally arrived. 

 As JFK and his advisers were becoming more hopeful that a peaceful resolution to the crisis was possible, Cuban leader Fidel Castro was becoming increasingly convinced that a U.S. invasion was imminent. El Comandante had no intention of going down to defeat at the hands of the “imperialists” without inflicting pain in return. Late that night he sent “Comrade Khrushchev” a telegram urging him to launch a preemptive nuclear first strike on the United States if it attacked Cuba—“However harsh and terrible the solution, there would be no other.” Castro also ordered Cuban forces to fire on any U.S. aircraft that entered Cuba’s airspace. 

 JFK knew nothing of Castro’s telegram. As far as he could tell that Friday night, he now had a way out of the crisis on terms that served U.S. interests. What he would discover when he awoke the next morning, however, was that the crisis had entered its most dangerous day: “Black Saturday.” 

The decisions he and Khrushchev made—and more importantly, the events neither man anticipated nor controlled—would determine whether the world would go over the nuclear brink.

AGONY WATCH / 983 DAYS MORE AND COUNTING

THE DON FAREWELL  As of today, May 13, 2026, there are 983 days remaining in the current term of Donald Trump, which is scheduled to end on January 20, 2029.

THE FOODIST / PEOHE'S IS SAN DIEGO BAY'S 5 "P" SEAFOOD RESTAURANT

 --POPULAR, 

 --WELL PRICED MENU, 

 --PLENTY OF PARKING 

 --PRISTINE PANORAMIC; 

 --PLUS ITS FAMED PU-PU PLATTER 

 CORONADO, CA. [Pillartopost.org feature]— Some restaurants survive because they reinvent themselves every few years. Others survive because they understand their purpose from the beginning and see little reason to apologize for it later. 

Peohe's belongs firmly to the latter category. 

Beside the Coronado Ferry Landing, directly across San Diego Bay from the downtown skyline, the restaurant occupies one of the most naturally privileged dining sites in Southern California. 

People Ferries ease into dock outside the windows. Sailboats drift through the harbor in slow arcs. Navy vessels move across the distance with a stately inevitability that feels peculiar to San Diego. 

At dusk, the skyline turns silver-blue, then amber, then black against the water. Many restaurants would squander such scenery on mediocrity. Peohe’s, thankfully, does not. Originally conceived as a flagship waterfront property for the Chart House restaurant organization during the late 1980s era of destination dining, the room still bears the imprint of that vanished confidence. 

Before minimalism overtook restaurant architecture, places like this were designed to feel expansive, slightly theatrical, and faintly glamorous. Peohe’s retains that sensibility without embarrassment. 

Tiered dining platforms descend toward broad windows facing the harbor. Tropical hardwoods, subdued lighting, polished railings, koi ponds, and island-inspired detailing create the atmosphere of a Pacific resort dining room from an earlier California. 

The effect is neither retro nor kitschy. It simply feels civilized. The restaurant’s name, pronounced “Pee-OH-eez,” has long been associated with the idea of a gathering place or gathering of friends, and the room fulfills that promise naturally. 

Couples linger over wine. Parties with kids comer early (and leave early). Ferry passengers arrive windblown from the crossing. Coronado regulars occupy familiar corners of the bar. Tourists stare quietly through the glass toward downtown while waiters move through the room with practiced calm. 

There is an increasingly rare absence of frenzy here. The menu leans toward Pacific Rim seafood without collapsing into fusion cliché. Fish remains the center of gravity. Sushi preparations are confident and restrained. Shellfish, grilled salmon, halibut, tropical fruit accents, citrus reductions, and island-influenced sauces appear throughout the menu, though generally with enough discipline to avoid excess. 

The kitchen’s greatest strength may be its refusal to overcomplicate things. Seafood arrives properly cooked, attractively presented, and in sensible portions. Sauces support rather than dominate. The sushi bar, integrated into the larger dining room rather than isolated from it, contributes a welcome sense of continuity to the menu. Even the steaks, often an afterthought in waterfront seafood houses, receive careful handling.  When was the last time you had a prime time filet mignon cut for $40?

Service follows the tone of the room itself: polished without stiffness. Staff members appear to understand that people come to Peohe’s not merely to eat, but to occupy the evening for a while. Waiters take directions. Courses arrive at an intelligent pace. Water glasses remain filled. Conversations are allowed to heard. 

Outside, the patio remains among the most enviable dining terraces in the region. On warm evenings, the view alone can momentarily persuade visitors that Southern California has somehow escaped modern aggravations altogether. 

Peohe’s later became part of Landry’s Restaurants, though the restaurant has retained much of its original character and dignity. That continuity matters. Too many contemporary restaurants seem designed primarily for photographs, social media circulation, or rapid trend cycles. Peohe’s still appears designed for actual diners. And perhaps that explains its endurance. 

After decades on the waterfront, the restaurant continues to offer one of the increasingly uncommon pleasures in American dining: a beautiful room, attentive service, competent cooking, and the permission to enjoy all three slowly while the light fades over the harbor. 

 TAKE THE PEOPLE FERRY

The easiest and most scenic way to reach Peohe’s is by taking the San Diego Bay Ferry from downtown San Diego to the Coronado Ferry Landing. 

Peohe’s sits only a minute or two from the dock — practically right beside the landing itself. 

Your destination to Peohe's: Ferries depart from two downtown San Diego locations: 

• Broadway Pier near the USS Midway 

• Convention Center landing near the Marriott Marquis 

The ride across the bay takes about 15 minutes and is one of the prettiest short ferry rides in California, with views of the skyline, Coronado Bridge, Navy ships, and the harbor. 

 The ferry arrives at: Coronado Ferry Landing.  As you step off the boat, Peohe’s is directly within the Ferry Landing complex along the waterfront promenade. 

No taxi needed unless mobility is an issue. 

Current general schedule: • From downtown San Diego to Coronado: departures usually begin around 9 am and leave hourly on the hour 

• From Coronado back to downtown: departures generally leave on the half hour

• Evening service typically runs until about 9:30–10:30 pm depending on the day. 

WHOLE NINE YARDS.

 If you want the full classic experience, here’s the ideal sequence: 

1. Park downtown near Broadway Pier or Seaport Village 

 2. Walk aboard the ferry 

 3. Sit outside on the upper deck 

 4. Arrive at Coronado Ferry Landing 

 5. Have dinner at Peohe’s at sunset 

 6. Ferry back after dark with the San Diego skyline lit across the bay 

 Frankly, it’s hard to improve on that evening in Southern California. 

OR, Park in the ferry lots on the Cornado side; take the ferry to San Diego, explore the waterfront and Little Italy; take the ferry back to Coronado for dinner and drive back into the city.

San Diego Bay looking Southeast. Popular with larger groups

AMERICA'S PASTIME / WHAT EVER HAPPENED TO RON NECCIAI?

That's Ron in the picture above—and his story is one of those brief, blazing flashes in baseball history. 

He was born in 1932. As for what happened to him: After that legendary 27-strikeout game on May 13, 1952, Necciai looked like a future star. The Pittsburgh Pirates quickly brought him up to the majors, where he actually showed real promise. But his career was derailed almost immediately by serious arm and health problems, including a stomach ulcer and shoulder issues. 

Back then, there was little in the way of modern sports medicine or rehab. By 1956, he was out of professional baseball—his career essentially over before it began. He later lived a quiet life in Pennsylvania, staying largely out of the spotlight. Necciai passed away in 2003 at the age of 70. 

 So in the end, he remains one of baseball’s great “what ifs”—a man who, for one night, was absolutely unhittable, and then vanished almost as quickly as he arrived. 

RETRO FILES / LAFAYETTE ESCADRILLE JOINS THE FREY

 

AMERICAN FLYBOYS FREELANCE FOR FRENCH

Before the United States officially entered World War I, a small group of American volunteer pilots crossed the Atlantic to fight for France. They became known as the Lafayette Escadrille, one of the most celebrated combat flying units of the First World War.

The squadron was officially formed on April 20, 1916. At the time, America was still neutral, but many young Americans believed France was fighting for civilization itself. Some volunteers came from wealthy families. Others were adventurers or idealists. All understood they might never return. 

Originally the unit was called the Escadrille Américaine. Germany protested the name, arguing it implied official American involvement in the war. To avoid diplomatic trouble, France renamed the squadron after the Marquis de Lafayette, the French hero who helped America during the Revolutionary War. 

The symbolism was perfect. Lafayette had once sailed west to help America. Now Americans sailed east to help France. The unit was organized largely through the efforts of Norman Prince, a wealthy Boston pilot, and Dr. Edmund Gros, an American living in Paris. 

France desperately needed trained aviators, and the volunteers arrived at a time when military aviation was still experimental, dangerous, and wildly unpredictable. The Lafayette pilots flew lightweight French fighters called Nieuports. Built of wood, wire, and stretched fabric, the aircraft were fast but fragile. 

Pilots sat in open cockpits exposed to freezing air, engine oil, and enemy fire. Parachutes were not standard equipment. 

The Escadrille saw first combat during the terrible Battle of Verdun on May 13, 1916, one of the bloodiest battles in human history. While millions fought and died in trenches below, the Lafayette pilots carried out reconnaissance missions, bomber escorts, and aerial combat high above the battlefield. 

Among the 38 original members of the Lafayette Escadrille (with French unit commander, Capt. Georges Thenault, center) pose in front of a Nieuport bi-plane are left to right: James McConnell, Kiffin Rockwell, Norman Prince and Victor Chapman. None of the Yanks lived beyond 1917--all dying in aerial combat. WikiCommons.

The Yanks quickly became international celebrities. Newspapers loved their daring image and romantic reputation. They drank hard, posed for photographs beside their planes, and became symbols of youthful courage before America officially joined the war. 

But the danger was very real. 

In May 1916, Victor Chapman became the first Lafayette pilot killed in combat. Norman Prince later died after injuries suffered in a crash landing. The unit’s most famous ace, Raoul Lufbery, became one of the war’s legendary fighter pilots before eventually dying in combat after America entered the war. 

When the United States officially entered World War I in April 1917, many Lafayette pilots transferred into the new U.S. Army Air Service. 

First ace: William Thaw II survived his stint with the Escadrille's four-year history.  Credited as of of the unit's first to fly in combat.  Also credited with being first pilot to fly under all NYC's East River bridges.

By early 1918, the Lafayette Escadrille ceased operating as a separate French unit. Its legend only grew afterward. The larger organization of American volunteer flyers became known as the Lafayette Flying Corps. 

Films, books, and memorials celebrated their bravery for decades after the war ended. 

Today their tiny airplanes look impossibly delicate beside modern aircraft. Yet those young Americans willingly climbed into them over Verdun’s burning skies long before their own country officially entered the war. America had not yet donated soldiers. 

WBut it had already donated wings.

Robert Soubiran was an early combat fighter with the American unit Lafayette Escadrille.  Unique Indian artwork was used to readily ID the Nieuport bi-planes.  Note Lewis machine gun on the top wing.  Reloading was tricky as the pilot had to stand in the cockpit to replace the canister.

MEDIA MONDAY / OAKLAND CA HOMICIDE RATE PLUMMETS. HOW?

Oakland Ceasefire-Lifeline life coach LaSasha Long, left, puts her arm around Bernard C. during an interview Thursday, April 23, 2026, in Oakland, Calif. 
(AP Photo/Jeff Chiu) 

GUEST BLOG / BY JANIE HAR, ASSOCIATED PRESS REPORTER--Young men at risk of succumbing to gang violence slump over tables in an Oakland church. With them are prosecutors, clergy and survivors of shootings determined to show them they have more to look forward to than incarceration, injury or death. 

The message is not one of punishment but of unceasing support. The men start to perk up. 

“We’re going to talk about keeping you and those you love alive and free,” Jim Hopkins, emeritus pastor of Lakeshore Avenue Baptist Church, says he told the men who gather at his church. “If you put down the gun, start taking the (city’s) services, we’ll help you find another way.” 

The California city has driven homicides to historic lows, and experts say part of the credit goes to a program that identifies people who are most likely to get pulled into gang violence and pairs them with life coaches to help turn their lives around. 

City officials meet weekly to review recent shootings and identify the participants. The city’s Department of Violence Prevention finds and talks to those people, one-on-one or in a group session at the church, and offers a host of services, including a life coach. There is no single reason why a city’s homicide rate falls, but officials say the Oakland Ceasefire-Lifeline program has been key, making a difference one person at a time. 

 Oakland records lowest homicide rate since the ‘60s Homicides rates have plummeted in major cities across the U.S. in recent years but the shift in Oakland has been particularly dramatic. Homicide rates have not been this low in the city of roughly 400,000 people since 1967, when the Black Panthers were a powerful force and hippies overran nearby San Francisco for the Summer of Love. 

For nearly 25 years, Oakland ranked among the nation’s most dangerous cities. City police recorded annual homicide rates ranging from 16.2 up to 36.4 deaths per 100,000 people, while the U.S. rate hovered around five per 100,000. 

Oakland adopted the lifeline program, which originated in Boston, after gun violence in 2011 took the lives of three children ages 1, 3 and 5 in separate incidents. 

The city recorded a 43% reduction in homicides from 2012 to 2017. Officials subsequently watered the program down until it was essentially dismantled during the pandemic, according to an audit in 2023. 

It wasn’t until city officials implemented changes recommended in the audit that the number of homicides declined, from 118 in 2023 to 78 in 2024. 

Last year, Oakland hit a record low of 57 homicides. 

Oakland Ceasefire-Lifeline life coach LaSasha Long, left, laughs with Bernard C. during an interview in Oakland, CA (AP Photo/Jeff Chiu) 

Meeting people whose lives were changed by violence Police are not involved except to provide the names of people expected to retaliate for a shooting that wounded or killed a friend or relative, or to be a victim of retaliation. “People may underestimate how little the clients believe in themselves, and how little they value their own lives,” said Holly Joshi, chief of the violence prevention department. 

Once selected, the men meet or learn of people whose lives have been forever changed by gang violence, such as parents who have lost a child, or someone left paralyzed able to communicate only by clicking their tongue. 

Last year, Bernard, a 27-year-old former gang member, was among 200 people matched with a life coach. He was contacted as he was leaving prison after serving six years for attempted robbery. 

Today, he has a full-time job, an apartment and a new outlook. He’s more aware of community ties, he says. “When I was younger, I didn’t realize I wasn’t only hurting myself. I was hurting everybody around me, everybody who cared for me,” said Bernard, who asked that his last name not be used because he fears sharing his background could hurt his future opportunities. 

Ready to turn his life around At first, Bernard was standoffish with his life coach, 35-year-old LaSasha Long. But then the young man who missed his mother’s funeral because he was still behind bars when she died suffered another loss. A close childhood friend had died. He had to talk to someone. “As soon as I called Sasha, she was there with advice,” he says. Long understood. She had a chaotic upbringing, bouncing between relatives after a stray bullet killed her mother when she was a toddler. She told him what she felt would have helped her move forward: That he’d lost a lot, but had a lot to live for too. And she reminded him his friend would have wanted him to live. 

He listened. 

“I can’t take the credit for it because it was all him. He was the pilot,” she says, adding that she helped with rides and reminded him of upcoming appointments. “But he wanted to change. He wanted that.” Now, they chat on the phone every day. He makes goofy faces at her while posing for photographs for The Associated Press. She says she’ll be the best man at his wedding one day. He says she’s not a man. She says he hasn’t seen how good she looks in a suit. Long describes life coaching as “heart work,” helping someone see light in a dark tunnel. 

Wanting to inspire others Bernard aspires to be like Long one day, a coach who can offer a lifeline to others who grew up surrounded by violence and with bills to pay. 

His mother was loving but addicted to drugs. His father was in and out of jail. He has discovered the joy of helping people. On a recent day, Bernard was on break from his job cleaning streets in San Francisco when he saw a teen crash his bike. 

The old him would not have rushed over, much less reassured the embarrassed boy that everyone falls sometimes. But Bernard helped wash the gravel burn on the boy’s face and told him jokingly: “Tell your girl you got jumped.” 

“All some of us need is to see or know that people care,” he said. “Once people realize that, I believe they start to do better, they want to do better. They figure there’s more to life.” 

MIDSOMER MAYHEM / UNITED NATIONS HUMANITARIAN ADVISORY

Subject: Elevated Mortality Risk in Rural English Jurisdiction Identified as “Midsomer”Classification: Public Safety Notice (Level Amber, Trending Blood Red) 

 PillartoPost.org Spoof--The United Nations Office for Civilian Protection has completed a longitudinal review of incidents occurring within the fictional but persistently hazardous jurisdiction depicted in Midsomer Murders. Findings indicate a statistically improbable concentration of homicides across a cluster of villages collectively referred to as “Midsomer.” 

 For modeling purposes, analysts estimate a standing population of approximately 25,000 residents across the various Midsomer villages at any given time. While this figure fluctuates seasonally—particularly during fêtes, regattas, and amateur dramatics—it provides a workable baseline for risk assessment. 

 Incident data suggest an average of 3 to 5 homicides per documented episode, with over 200 recorded TV episodes. This yields an estimated cumulative fatality count in the range of 700 to 1,000 individuals over the observed period. 

 When normalized against population, the implied annualized homicide rate exceeds that of recognized global conflict zones by several orders of magnitude. Put plainly: 

 If Midsomer were a sovereign state, it would be subject to immediate international intervention. 

 Probability modeling indicates that a resident remaining within the Midsomer jurisdiction for a continuous period of five years faces an estimated 10–15% chance of becoming a homicide victim, with risk factors increasing sharply under the following conditions: 

 • Participation in local choirs, theater groups, or historical societies 

 • Ownership of desirable real estate or disputed inheritance 

 * Attractive ingenue actress preferably with torn bodice when discovered in the Victor's bedroom.

* Engagement in extramarital affairs, blackmail, or mild eccentricity 

 • Proximity to visiting detectives from Causton CID Visitors are advised that mortality risk appears to spike during seemingly benign community events, including but not limited to garden parties, bell-ringing competitions, and wine tastings. 

 

Despite the presence of competent investigative personnel, including Chief Inspectors assigned to the region, incident frequency remains unabated. 

The persistence of motive clusters—jealousy, inheritance disputes, and long-buried secrets—suggests a systemic cultural vulnerability. 

 Advisory Recommendations: 

 • If actor is on camera when no murders have taken place in the episode we strongly advise leaving the scene.

* Avoid extended stays within Midsomer villages especially late in the episode.

 • Decline invitations to social gatherings after dusk or visits to roof or tower tops.

 • Refrain from uncovering local secrets, however trivial 

 • Be wary of free glasses of port.

* Maintain situational awareness around ornamental weapons, antique tools, and theatrical props 

 The United Nations will continue to monitor developments. At present, the region is not recommended for tourism, relocation, or amateur sleuthing. 

 Conclusion: Midsomer presents a uniquely paradoxical environment—outwardly pastoral, internally lethal. Until further notice, it should be regarded less as a countryside retreat and more as an active, if genteel, hazard zone. 

 Proceed accordingly. 

 Mind the Vicar!

###

TALLY OF GHASTLY DEATH CAUSES OVER 25 SEASONS.

AMERICANA / PURE ENERGY PINK SINGS BOBBY MCGEE

 

Not Miss Joplin, but someone just as special: Pink performing Kris Kristofferson’s “Me and Bobby McGee” with an acoustic guitar back up at AOL Studios in 2003. The electricity between the performers was pure energy, sparking smiles and laughter in the middle of the song. 

YouTube Video Click Here: 

[or paste in your browser: https://www.google.com/search?q=Pink+bobby+mcgee&oq=Pink+bobby+mcgee&gs_lcrp=EgZjaHJvbWUyBggAEEUYOdIBCTE0OTE5ajBqNKgCALACAQ&sourceid=chrome&ie=UTF-8#fpstate=ive&vld=cid:c8d0582e,vid:wwmUMvhy-lY,st:0 

FRIDAY FUNNIES / SOME TRUTHS ARE SELF EVIDENT

 

Illustration by F. Stop Fitzgerald, PillartoPost.org daily online magazine

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THE FOODIST / WHAT'S THIS? COSTCO IS TINKERING WITH ITS $1.50 HOT DOG DEAL

The hot dog combo is iconic for remaining at its $1.50 since its introduction in 1984, while other food prices have soared. 

 GUEST BLOG / By Alexis Weisend, The Seattle Times--The internet is blowing up over the first change to Costco’s $1.50 hot dog combo in 40 years. But don’t worry — the Issaquah, Washington-based big-box store isn’t budging on the price. 

 Shoppers who need respite from the chaos of the Costco checkout area can now opt for a 16.9-ounce bottle of Kirkland Signature water instead of a fountain soda to wash down their steaming, often slightly wet hot dog. 

You might be thinking, “Who cares?” Apparently, a lot of people. The seemingly minor change has generated major headlines. 

That’s not just due to excitement from Kirkland Signature water bottle lovers (if those even exist). The hot dog combo is iconic for remaining at its $1.50 since its introduction in 1984, while other food prices have soared. 

The meal has become a lot of fun. Shirts featuring the Costco hot dog combo with the phrase, “I got that dog in me,” have gone viral.  A quote about never changing the price of a Costco hot dog, supposedly said by Costco co-founder Jim Sinegal, frequently appears on social media posts. 

Former Costco CEO Walter Craig Jelinek told media outlets that he recalled Sinegal once telling him that if he raised the price of the hot dog combo, “I will punch you.” 

And last month, current Costco CEO Ron Vachris joined in on a viral trend of CEOs trying their company’s food, which was unintentionally kicked off by McDonald’s CEO Chris Kempczinski’s taking a bite of his company’s new burger. 

“$1.50? For this hot dog?” Costco's Vachris said before inhaling his hot dog. “The hot dog price will not change as long as I’m around.” The video garnered over 800,000 likes on Instagram. So any news about the combo, even "watered" down, is a big deal to Costco fans. Costco did not immediately respond to a request for comment or reply if the change will appear on menus nationwide. 

DESIGN / HOW IN THE HECK DID ANYONE SURVIVE THE HINDENBURG CRASH?

Most, not all of the 97 passengers and crew died. Sixty-two survived. 

The survival of many people in the Hindenburg disaster seems unbelievable because the famous newsreel images show the airship consumed in flames. Yet most of the people aboard actually survived. 

Here's how: 

--First, the fire spread very quickly upward, not instantly through the passenger areas. The hydrogen gas that lifted the LZ 129 Hindenburg burned in the upper gas cells of the ship. The passenger decks were located lower in the hull, beneath the gas bags. That gave some people precious seconds to react. 

--Second, the airship was very close to the ground when it ignited. The Hindenburg had already begun its landing maneuver at Lakehurst Naval Air Station and was only about 200 feet above the field when the fire started. As the ship collapsed, many people simply jumped from windows or gangways once the structure dropped lower. Several survivors described jumping from heights of 15 to 30 feet, which can be survivable compared with the inferno behind them. 

--Third, the structure did not explode like a bomb. The hydrogen burned extremely fast, but it produced more of a flash fire than a massive blast wave. The aluminum frame of the zeppelin remained standing for several seconds as the burning fabric fell away. This allowed passengers and crew to escape through openings. 

--Fourth, there was immediate help on the ground. Navy personnel and ground crew were already assembled to receive the airship. They rushed in within seconds to pull survivors away from the wreckage. Most of the victims were people who were trapped in the rear of the ship, where the fire likely began. Crew members working near the tail had little chance to escape once the flames raced forward through the structure. 

One of the most haunting aspects of the disaster is how quickly it happened. The entire airship was destroyed in about 34 seconds, yet those seconds were just long enough for dozens of people to leap clear and survive. 

The iconic radio broadcast by Herbert Morrison, who cried “Oh, the humanity,” helped fix the disaster in the public imagination as total destruction. 

In reality, it was chaotic and horrific, but not quite the total loss that the footage suggests. Ironically, that survival rate is one reason investigators long debated the exact cause of the fire. The evidence was badly destroyed, leaving the precise ignition source a mystery even today.* 

*Many experts believe the airship struck the metal mooring tower causing a spark that led to the detonation of the hydrogen gas. 

HEALTH / COMMON MEDS THAT MAY LOWER YOUR DEMENTIA

Some vaccines, along with heart medications and other drugs, appear to have a protective benefit. 

GUEST BLOG / By Dana G. Smith, New York Times, Health Reporter--Getting your annual flu shot may come with a significant side benefit: helping to protect you from dementia. 

--Flu Vaccines

Numerous studies have found that older adults who were vaccinated against the flu had a lower risk of developing dementia in the years that followed than those who had not been vaccinated. In one study, the risk was as much as 40 percent lower. 

Research published earlier this month has bolstered that evidence, showing that older adults who were given a higher dose of the flu vaccine — commonly recommended for people 65 and over — had an even lower probability of developing Alzheimer’s disease compared with those who received the standard dose. 

Other common medications have also been found to decrease people’s risk of dementia. The challenge for scientists, though, is determining whether the drugs are directly benefiting the brain or whether there’s just a correlation between them. 

The flu vaccine is a good example of this. “People who tend to get vaccinated are the people who go to see a doctor, and then they follow the directions to take their blood pressure pills and cholesterol pills, which also reduce the risk of Alzheimer’s,” said Dr. Paul Schulz, a professor and neurologist at UTHealth Houston who led the new study. 

But because everybody in that study got an influenza vaccine, and the higher dose offered more protection, the findings suggest there is something about the vaccine itself, rather than people’s behavior, that lowered the risk, Dr. Schulz said. 

Here are a few more drugs that scientists are investigating for their potential to reduce dementia risk. 

--Shingles Vaccine

Excitement is especially high for the shingles vaccine, which has some of the strongest research behind it. Studies from around the world have found that people who received the vaccine had a lower risk of developing dementia, often by about 15 to 20 percent. Much of the research has been done on an older form of the vaccine, but at least one study indicated that a newer version more commonly prescribed in the United States, called Shingrix, could offer an even greater benefit. It (along with the flu vaccine) appears to be especially protective against dementia in women. 

Researchers say they’re relatively confident that the vaccine itself is providing protection because its initial rollout in a few countries created a sort of natural clinical trial. 

“I think at this stage, it’s a really compelling body of evidence of a cause and effect relationship,” said Dr. Pascal Geldsetzer, an epidemiologist at the Knight Initiative for Brain Resilience at Stanford who conducted some of the research. 

Here’s more on our process. 

There are a couple of theories about how vaccines might reduce the risk of dementia. One is that by protecting people from getting an infection, a vaccine prevents the immune response and especially the inflammation that comes with it. (Inflammation is a known contributor to dementia.) This may be especially relevant for shingles, since the virus initially replicates in the nervous system and can cause inflammation in the brain. 

 It’s also possible that the vaccines themselves might alter the immune system in a way that directly affects, and protects, the brain. 

 --Cholesterol and Blood Pressure Medications 

Several studies have found that both statins and drugs that treat hypertension are associated with a roughly 10 to 15 percent reduced risk of dementia. 

Many researchers think these drugs protect people’s brains by helping to manage blood pressure and cholesterol, both of which are risk factors for dementia. However, as with vaccines, people who consistently take their prescribed medications may have other healthy behaviors that could also lower their risk. 

Most of the research is observational, but there have been a few clinical trials that have tried to more directly investigate the connection between these drugs and dementia. The results have been mixed. A 2025 trial from China found that people with high blood pressure who were given a medication for hypertension had lower rates of dementia four years later. But a 2009 trial that tested statins in people who had vascular disease or were at high risk for it did not find a benefit in preventing cognitive decline. 

There’s also an open question over whether people who don’t need the medications for heart health could take them for dementia prevention, said Geoffrey Joyce, a professor of pharmaceutical and health economics at the University of Southern California. There are two large trials currently investigating whether statins might be useful in this way. 

--Anti-Inflammatory Drugs

Since inflammation in the brain is a known contributor to Alzheimer’s, it’s conceivable that anti-inflammatory medications could provide protection by helping to reduce it in the brain as well as systemically. A recent large review paper listed anti-inflammatories as one of the classes of drugs that may reduce dementia risk. 

 David Llewellyn, a professor of clinical epidemiology and digital health at the University of Exeter Medical School in England who led the review, said he thought “the anti-inflammatory story” made sense scientifically. 

But studies looking at the connection, especially with nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs, have been mixed. Some have found a lower risk of dementia from ibuprofen use, while others showed no connection or even an increased risk. And a Cochrane review published in 2020 concluded there was “no evidence to support the use” of aspirin or other NSAIDs to prevent dementia. 

--Diabetes Drugs 

Diabetes is associated with an increased risk of dementia, and a few drugs for Type 2 diabetes, including metformin and a class of medication called sodium-glucose cotransporter 2 (SGLT2) inhibitors, appear to modestly lower that risk, though some studies don’t show an effect. 

 The potential benefit is thought to largely stem from the medications’ ability to help control insulin and blood sugar levels, which affect brain cell health. There is also some evidence, mostly from animals, that the drugs help to reduce inflammation and may even lower levels of amyloid beta in the brain, a key protein involved in Alzheimer’s. 

 Clinical trials investigating whether these diabetes drugs can be beneficial in dementia are ongoing. A few observational studies have also found that people with diabetes who took the newer GLP-1 medications had a lower risk of developing Alzheimer’s, even by as much as 45 percent, according to some reports. 

Based on that evidence, and research in mice showing the drugs can reverse cognitive impairment, two clinical trials recently tested whether a pill form of Ozempic could also help slow cognitive decline in people with Alzheimer’s. But the trials found no benefit, and excitement about the use of GLP-1s as an Alzheimer’s treatment has died down significantly. More research is needed to determine if they indeed lower the risk of dementia. 

*** 

Dana G. Smith is a Times reporter covering personal health, particularly aging and brain health.