Paul E. Pepe – författare

Mass medical deployments to large events, such as music festivals or sporting events, are increasing in number, size, and complexity. This textbook provides guidance and direction for rational, effective, and practical medical management of mass gathering events for medical leaders. This is the first authoritative text on mass event medicine, filling a much-needed gap in a large and important area of the specialty. An international group of contributors introduce the specialty and cover topics such as general deployment, staffing, equipment, and resources, moving on to more complex issues such as the business aspect of mass gathering medicine and the legal implications. There are also practical chapters on specific types of events and adverse events such as terrorism, severe weather, and civil disobedience. An invaluable text for all healthcare professionals planning for and attending mass events, particularly EMS professionals, large event planners and administrators, and law enforcement and security personnel.

Our personal journey began fifty years ago when we went to Europe for our honeymoon.It was a wonderful uplifting experience, and now, fifty years later, having visited more than fifty countries and more tan two hundred and twenty foreign cities, we are still anxious to see more.We have been to some countries more than once including France, Russia, Spain, Finland, Canada, Poland, Germany and others, but most especially Italy where we have visited more than ten times.We have seen major wonders of this world, from the Great Wall of China to the Pyramids of Egypt, from Macchu Picchu in Peru to Mt. Fuji in Japan and from the Roman Forum to the Kremlin. We have followed the trail of the Roman Empire from Morocco to Poland to Great Britain and beyond.Our journey has been long and not without its pitfalls, but it has been a supremely happy one.And nowwe go on, and hope for another fifty years.

I HAVE BEEN WRITING POETRY FOR ALMOST SIXTY YEARS, FROM THE TIME I FIRST STARTED IN THE PUBLIC RELATIONS BUSINESS, RIGHT TO THE PRESENT.MUCH OF WHAT FOLLOWS IS VERY PERSONAL, BUT I WANTED TO SHARE IT ALL WITH YOU.MOST OF THE POEMS HAVE BEEN WRITTEN FOR MY FIVE LADIES, AND THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED TO THEM WHO HAVE HAD A HUGE IMPACT ON MY LIFE. I SEND THESE WITH LOVE AND GRATITUDE.PEP

* * *Senor Morales sighed heavily and reached into the top pocket of his Cuban jacket. He took out a long, roughly-made cigar, and slowly, savoring the smell of the fine tobacco, bit off the end, spitting out bits and pieces of frayed tobacco onto the grass floor of the summerhouse. He gazed across the ocean that fronter his property in the Key West, and sighed again. The hazy, oppressive August afternoon held a promise of rain. The air was thick with the smell of fog and oncoming wet. It was difficult for him to breath, more so now after the fine Sunday afternoon meal his wife had prepared.He spat again, loosing the fragments of tobacco from his tongue, and slowly licked the end of the cigar, tasting the bitter, pungent taste of the outer leaf tobaccos. He matches, orhorrorsa lighter. The lighter would absurd the smell of the fuel to the cigar and spoil its taste, ruining the expensive tobacco, and making it unfit to smoke. The only way to light a real cigar was with a wooden match, and he kept a good supply of them available for just this purpose.He struck the match and smelled the sulphur smell that flared up with the white heat of the flame.He waited just a moment until the match was well lit, and the head of sulphur had burned away, and then he slowly, lovingly, placed the flame to his cigar, drawing in huge drafts if air and smoke. He circled the cigar around the match obtaining a full, regular and even light to the end of the cigar. He watched carefully as the flame shot upward for a moment, and then died as he removed the fire from the cigar. He held the flame away, inspecting the lit end of the cigar, making certain that it was drawing properly. Then he shook out the match and dropped it into the huge coach shell that served as an ashtray. A magnificient cigar should have a magnificient ashtray, he thought, grunting with pleasure as he began drawing on the cigar, and holding one hand on his huge belly in contentment.Maria brought him his glass of rum arriving alienfooted across the green scrub grass that blanketed the back lawn, carrying the smokey amber liquid carefully in the wide-mouthed glass.He looked at her, admiring again her slim waist and the handsome long, black hair that fell across her face like a curtain, and her finely chiseled cheekbones. He smiled at her and said, Gracias. She smiled back at him, handing him the tumbler and planting a kiss on his cheek.She left him now, smiling and returning to the kitchen to be with her Mother and her Sisters, to talk and to giggle among themselves, and to clean up the remains of the mid-day feast they had just finished.Senor Morales sipped at his drink and stared off across the water. The gray of the late afternoon and seemed to give him vision of what lay across that water. Ninety miles, he thought. Ninety miles, it seemed to say to him. And he watched the gulls wheeling in the fetid air, turning and dipping ,chasing each other and the elusive fish they needed for food. They could fly there right now, he thought, half aloud. And he began to remember. The white sands of Verdadero Beach, where he had spent so much of his childhood.The sun glancing off the water, the green seaweed, caught in the tidal flow, and moving with the water, the small grass huts that dotted the beach and offered shade from the sometimes merciless sun. Gone now, he thought. Gone forever. Gone with the madam who came from mountain and ruled that tiny Island that had been his home from birth to middle age.And now he sat, comfortable, wealthy, the cigar smoke drifting lazily around his head as he looked out across the ocean that lay calm and serene at his feet, that spread ninety miles to the sandy beaches of his beloved homeland.But now it was too late for him. The years had quickened and sped by, and he had grown old. His chance was gone, in failed midnight sotties that he had supported and that ended in broken bodies and patriots blood mingling with the silv

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