Chicagoans should be required to show proof they have been vaccinated against the coronavirus before entering “public indoor settings,” including restaurants, bars, movie theaters, concert halls and gyms, a group of aldermen said Thursday.

The surprise safety recommendation was made by eight members of the City Council’s Committee on Health and Human Relations in a letter to Chicago Health Commissioner Dr. Allison Arwady.

The letter was signed by two of Mayor Lori Lightfoot’s staunchest and most powerful City Council supporters: Finance Committee Chairman Scott Waguespack (32nd) and Ethics Committee Chairman Michele Smith (43rd).

Joining them were Aldermen: Byron Sigcho-Lopez (25th); Rosanna Rodriguez-Sanchez (33rd); Carlos Ramirez-Rosa (35th); Andre Vasquez (40th); Matt Martin (47th) and Maria Hadden (49th).

Attendees at Lollapalooza in Grant Park were required to show proof of vaccination or of a negative COVID-19 test before entering the music festival.Ashlee Rezin/Sun-Times

Lightfoot and Arwady have encouraged businesses, restaurants, entertainment venues and stadiums to require proof of vaccination.

The Bulls and Blackhawks answered the call by announcing that fans will be required to show proof of vaccine before entering games at the United Center, which is jointly owned by the two teams.

But the mayor has, so far, been unwilling to follow New York City’s lead by imposing a citywide requirement, particularly on restaurants that were twice forced to close their indoor dining rooms during the pandemic and endure capacity limits in between.

In Thursday’s letter to Arwady, the aldermen cited four factors in demanding a vaccine mandate: the “uncontrolled community transmission” of the Delta variant; the threat of new variants; fall and winter weather that will “drive Chicagoans indoors” and “free and readily-available” vaccines that have now have been fully approved by the Food and Drug Administration.

Hotel will continue as sanctuary for infected, respite for first responders

Also on Thursday, the Council’s Committee on Budget and Government Operations agreed to extend for up to three months an alternative housing agreement with the Hotel Julian.

In March 2020, the Julian was one of four Chicago hotels owned by Oxford Capital Group LLC that agreed to rent rooms to isolate patients who tested positive for the coronavirus or had been exposed to someone who had and provide a “sanctuary for first responders.”

The four hotels joined a network of hotel rooms intended to ease the strain on overburdened hospitals.

The new agreement calls for the city to rent 175 rooms at the Hotel Julian for one month with the option for a pair of 30-day extensions. The $540,000-a-month deal — including three meals per day and support services — will be bankrolled by FEMA, aldermen were told.

Maura McCauley, deputy commissioner of homeless services for the city’s Department of Family and Support Services, said the Julian will continue serving as a “de-compression shelter for single men experiencing homelessness” who are at “higher risk” because they are “older and health vulnerable.”

“We worked through the summer to support our shelter system returning to normal and bringing beds safely back to the system as the city reopened. However, some of our large congregate shelters are unable to bring all of their beds back to pre-COVID capacity and still implement the public health guidance, leaving our shelter system [short] of full capacity and with a gap in beds,” McCauley told aldermen.

“There are still 29 men staying at Julian and, due to the Delta variant and the latest positivity rates, we do need to continue to operate a version of alternate shelters. … Looking ahead to November as the contract ends, DFSS will continue to work on the next phase of alternate shelter options to continue supporting temporary beds through the winter. … We’re also working to connect residents of the hotel with permanent housing options.”

Indicted Ald. Patrick Daley Thompson (11th) asked whether the city had considered acquiring the Julian instead. He was told Oxford Capital was “not looking to sell” the hotel, but the city was “looking at other locations.”

“We’re definitely interested in what is happening nationally with communities acquiring hotels and motels, using them for a temporary purpose during the pandemic, then eventually developing them into permanent housing down the road,” McCauley said.

“That’s something we’re working with the Department of Housing on in terms of conceptualizing and getting it moving.”

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Bronco Mendenhall hopes the idea that his team practices early in the morning will help on Saturday when they face Illinois with a rare 10 a.m. start to the game, which will be carried on ACC Network.

“We’re an early morning practice team, and so really this fits our normal routine in terms of when we practice,” Mendenhall said. “So I wouldn’t anticipate — man, I’m hopeful it won’t affect us much in terms of our normal routine.”

First-year Fighting Illini coach Bret Bielema is hoping his team’s routine also aligns well with the early start, but also laments that that’s not the only similarity he finds when comparing the Cavaliers’ program with his own.

In Mendenhall’s first game at Virginia in 2016, the Cavaliers lost 37-20 to Richmond of the Football Championship Subdivision. Bielema’s team won its opener, 30-22 over Nebraska, but lost 37-30 last week to UTSA, also an FCS program. This will be their first road game of the season.

“I thought about as a coach in transition here, I had to endure that on Saturday,” Bielema said. “And as much as I didn’t like it. You don’t appreciate it. Don’t understand it. Don’t want to accept it. It’s real. It happened. And if I ignore it like it never happened, it’s never going to be something you can learn from.”

Mendenhall moved many of the Cavaliers’ operations into Scott Stadium after the Richmond loss, feeling that his team didn’t seem as comfortable as he would have expected on their home field, and Virginia no longer has that problem. They’ve won 18 of their last 20 home games, including last week’s 43-0 victory against William & Mary in their season opener.

Bielema isn’t sure how his team will respond, but said “the greatest crime we can ever commit was to have that loss not to amount to learning forward,” and film study has been key to that learning process. “I think it’s just a constant as a head coach is pointing out good football and correcting bad football.”

Some other things to watch for when Illinois plays at Virginia:

GAME TIME DECISION

The Fighting Illini may have starting quarterback Brandon Peters back, but Bielema said Artur Sitkowski, a transfer from Rutgers, will start. Peters hurt his non-throwing shoulder against the Cornhuskers. Sitkowski was 22 for 42 for 266 yards with three touchdown passes against UTSA.

STRETCHING THE D

The Illini used some stretch runs with success against Nebraska, and that’s an approach that North Carolina State used effectively against the Cavaliers last year. “It has been an emphasis and a target for us, so hopefully we’ve improved,” Mendenhall said.

FIRST TIME

The Cavaliers and Illinois have played twice previously, both times in bowl games, and the Illini won both. This game marks Illinois’ first road game against a nonconference Power-5 team since they faced North Carolina in 2015.

BIG LEG

James McCourt made field goals of 52 and 53 yards in the loss to UTSA, giving him six from 50 yards or more for his career. He’s the first Illini placekicker in program history to hit two field goals from at least 50 yards in the same game.

BIG NUMBERS

The Cavaliers gained 545 yards against the Tribe and have topped 500 yards in their last three home games. They gained 518 yards against Abilene Christian on Nov. 21 and 549 against Boston College in last year’s home finale.

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NEW YORK — She was an unsuspecting radio station intern in 2003 when she pursued what she thought would be a career-making interview with a R&B superstar — R. Kelly.

Instead, she had a horrific experience while locked in a darkened room for days, she’s now testified years later in lurid detail. She said she still lives with a strong belief she was drugged and violated by Kelly while she was unconscious.

“I was sexually assaulted,” the woman told jurors on Thursday at Kelly’s sex-trafficking trial. “It wasn’t something I invited.”

The witness, who testified without using her real name, became the latest in a string of accusers to take the witness stand against Kelly since the trial began in New York City on Aug. 18.

Kelly, 54, has repeatedly denied accusations that he led a criminal enterprise that sexually exploited women, girls and even boys during a 30-year career highlighted by his anthem “I Believe I Can Fly.” His lawyers have portrayed his accusers as groupies who are lying about their relationships with him.

Publicly recounting her experience with Kelly for the first time, the former radio intern said she was a 21-year-old single mother from Salt Lake City when she got up the nerve to approach Kelly’s entourage about an interview.

“It would have been my very first huge celebrity interview,” said the witness, now 39. “I thought it would kickstart my career.”

She was invited to fly to Chicago and meet Kelly at his “Chocolate Factory” music studio, all paid for by the Grammy-winning recording artist. There, she was greeted by someone who made her sign a non-disclosure agreement, demanded personal information about her family and surprised her by asking if she “needed protection” — specifically, a condom, she testified.

“No, I’m not here for that,” she responded.

She was told to wait alone for Kelly in a windowless room. When she tried to step out, she discovered that the door was locked from the outside and that, after banging on the door with no response, she needed permission from Kelly to go to the bathroom or anywhere else, she said.

“I was scared. I was ashamed. I was embarrassed,” she said.

The witness claimed two days passed before she was finally given something to eat — Chinese takeout and a soda. After only a few bites and sips from her meal, she passed out on a couch, she said.

She awoke to find that someone had taken off all her clothes and felt “wet stuff” between her legs and on her thighs, she said. She also spotted Kelly in the corner pulling up his pants, she said, making clear to her he had assaulted her.

Kelly left the room, saying he would be back soon, she said, the last time she saw him. What felt like another few days had passed before she was given a flight home, she said.

She said on the way out of the studio, an employee warned her to keep her mouth shut about what had happened. The way it was put: “Don’t f— with Mr. Kelly.” She took it as a potential threat against her child and family.

As he has with other accusers, defense attorney Deveraux Cannick pressed the witness on why it took several years for her to come forward with her accusations. He noted too her admission that she had a cell phone when she alleges she was locked in the room.

“Did you call 911? After you were raped, according to you, you didn’t call 911?” Deveraux asked on cross-examination.

“That’s correct,” she responded.

Another woman who testified on Thursday was someone who appeared on a sequel to a widely watched documentary series — “Surviving R. Kelly” — that portrayed him as a sexual predator. She has described having a tumultuous relationship with him but hasn’t accused him of any crimes.

The government instead was seeking to use her to corroborate testimony from other accusers that Kelly used spankings and other discipline to make women he was allegedly exploiting stay in line over months or years.

“It was fun in the beginning,” she said of her time with him. However, she said, it later became “controlling.”

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My first day in the cockpit as a fully qualified U.S. Air Force pilot fell on a Tuesday. I’d completed my initial training the Saturday before and had been paired with an experienced lieutenant colonel who had a full head of gray hair. We called him the Silver Fox, and he was not there to amuse us. He had high expectations and a reputation for liking to fly with the “green beans” — as newly minted air force pilots like me were called — to make sure we wouldn’t get the idea that the stress was over. On the contrary, he wanted us to know, it was just getting started.

At McGuire Air Force Base in New Jersey the day before, we’d meticulously planned out a six-hour sortie consisting of maneuvers and exercises off the Atlantic coast. Our aircraft, a KC-10A tanker, could hold 340,000 pounds of jet fuel and was designed for “force extension” — refueling fighter jets in midair to bring them closer to the forward edge of a battle area. When we took off, around 6:45 a.m. the next day, we had no inkling that the battle area would be over New York City.

One of the truths about being a pilot is that the learning never stops, no matter how seasoned an airman you become. The lessons from that day’s flight remain with me even now, years after my departure from the air force and my move to the Chicago area, where I fly private jets, volunteer at Tuskegee Next, a foundation that helps at-risk kids get on track to an aviation career, and work in private equity.

The schooling began right away that morning. During the first couple of hours of our mission, I was the PNF, or “pilot not flying,” meaning I was handling everything outside of aviating, including the radios, which were keeping me busy: communicating with our sister KC-10A, listening to air traffic control on VHF, monitoring McGuire command post communications on UHF, working the intercom we used for talking to other crew members, and so on. A little after 9 a.m., we received a radio communication from the Eastern Air Defense Sector of NORAD (North American Aerospace Defense Command), call sign Huntress. Twenty years later, I can remember the words of Huntress precisely: “Team 22, say your state.”

A proper response to that prompt would have been “Team 22, Whiskey 107, Angels 26, heading 090, five plus 15 fuel, four souls on board, fully operational” — our state being the current status of the aircraft, including our position, crew complement, fuel remaining, and operational capability.

Instead, I replied, “New Jersey.”

Another thing you learn about flying is to always sound professional on the radio: Be brief, but not too curt, and above all, don’t embarass yourself, your superior officer, or the United States Air Force. I had managed to do all three. More than 100 combat missions later, I still cringe at the memory of it.

At that, the Silver Fox immediately transferred aircraft control to me and responded properly to Huntress, who then directed us to contact the New York Air Route Traffic Control Center and proceed directly to the airspace above John F. Kennedy International Airport and await further instructions. I didn’t have much experience, but I had enough to know that it wasn’t normal for a KC-10A crew on routine maneuvers to be hearing from NORAD, which is responsible for countering threats to the country’s sovereign airspace. At this point, the lieutenant colonel turned to me, his expression as serious as I’d ever seen it, and said, “I think someone detonated a nuclear weapon somewhere in the United States.”

My first thought was that he was pulling some type of new-guy initiation prank — that he wanted to say something truly hyperbolic and outrageous to see how I would react. It wasn’t until the New York air traffic control center radioed, clearing us to JFK at “pilot’s discretion, 5,000 to 50,000 feet,” that the weight of the moment hit me. We were flying over some of the busiest airspace in the world; below us was Newark International, LaGuardia, JFK, and Teterboro, to say nothing of all the morning air traffic flowing in from Europe, through Boston, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. “Pilot’s discretion 5,000 to 50,000 feet” could only mean that all that traffic was on the ground or diverted. This was not a prank.

It was a clear day, and as we headed to JFK from our military operating area off the New Jersey coast, I could see the smoke billowing up from lower Manhattan. There were no other planes in sight — we were the first military aircraft over the city after the two airliners slammed into the twin towers. But we didn’t know that: There was no internet in the cockpit back in 2001. And while I had the sense there were injured and dead below, we had zero information about what had happened.

Anyone who’s watched a political thriller knows the phrase “need-to-know basis” — well, we technically didn’t need to know. In fact, it was better we didn’t. If one of my parents or siblings had worked in the World Trade Center, I would have been consumed by worry and, as good as my training was, my concentration and compartmentalization would have been compromised. At that moment, we needed to be an uncompromised military instrument of national power.

I maintained our air refueling orbit over JFK while the Silver Fox worked the radios and checklists. The first fighters to approach for refueling were two F-15s from Otis Air National Guard Base in Massachusetts, and as they got closer, I could see they were bristling with live missiles and ordnance — a sight totally new to me, and one that drove home even further the seriousness of the situation. We were their first stop: When fighters take off with all that weaponry, a full load of fuel can make them too heavy to clear a short runway, so the first thing they need to do is air-refuel. After all, it does no use to fly supersonic to a battle area only to run out of gas once you get there.

We spent the day in low-level orbit above New York City. Normal air refueling was usually performed between 20,000 and 30,000 feet. That day, under emergency conditions, we were as low as 12,000 feet. (I would do emergency air refueling only two other times in my career: once in combat over the Korengal Valley in Afghanistan, and once over Alabama because our receiver aircraft was experiencing mechanical difficulties and needed us to descend.)

After a while, our own tanker was refueled by a KC-135, giving us enough fuel to fly into the night, topping up the F-15s and F-16s that were now patrolling up and down the Hudson and the East River. We had no food or water, as we’d originally planned to land by noon.

When we finally received instructions to head back to McGuire, after being relieved by another KC-10, we were put on a straight 30-mile final approach to runway 24 — another unsettling sign of how empty the skies were. After we’d landed, some 14 hours after taking off, and parked on the ramp, I exited the cockpit and opened the cabin door, whereupon I was greeted by an airman in full combat gear — flak vest, helmet, M16 at the ready position. With the utmost courtesy and sincerity, he said, “Sir, I need to see your ID.” I glanced down the side of the 181-foot military plane as if to say, “Isn’t this weapon system identification enough?!” But I kept that thought to myself and pulled out my ID, and the airman escorted me and the rest of the crew to a secure room known as an intel vault for debriefing.

“Did you hear any distress calls from United 93, American 11, or American 77?” “Did you talk to United 175?” The questions came fast and clipped, and we answered in the negative — we’d gotten no distress calls on our standard communications frequencies or on the emergency channel we monitor during flight. As we were questioned, we slowly began to grasp the nature of that day’s events.

Finally, at around 3 a.m. on Wednesday, September 12, I made the 45-minute drive to my home in Mount Laurel, New Jersey. There, I turned on the television and got my first look at the unreal images of the attack, which were being replayed again and again on every channel. I’d been one of the first members of the American military to see the tragedy from the air and, I realized, quite possibly, one of the last people in America to learn what had happened.

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■ I was a shy and introverted child. But there’s a picture of me as a baby: My white-blond hair is sticking straight up, like I stuck my finger in a light socket, and I have two little fists on either side of my head. Some family friends said, “She looks like she wanted to be born.” So there was a little fight in there from the beginning.

■ In college I had a big, thick tome called Modern Art. One day I started counting how many women were included, and it was shockingly few. I thought about that. What does it mean that you call a book Modern Art and it’s being taught at a progressive school like Oberlin College, yet it includes almost no female artists? That was a real eye opener. And I thought, No, no, no, you’re going to be counted.

■ With the success of Exile in Guyville, everything changed. It felt overnight, and I was not prepared. I had performed two shows when it came out. Sixteen months later, I’m on the cover of Rolling Stone. My recognition far outstripped my ability. One of my earliest gigs was at Metro. I was so scared and so inexperienced. Joe Shanahan had to push me out onto the stage. He literally had his hand on my back easing me out.

■ Insecurity or a feeling of not belonging is still a part of me. There are moments where I can’t even say my own name. I don’t feel like I can fill the shoes. If I call anywhere, it’s like I have a speech impediment getting the name out. I have to practice it: “Hi, Liz Phair. It’s Liz Phair.” I have to do it enough times to say it like I actually am that person.

■ I envy young Liz’s certainty. She seemed so on top. Everything now is a shade of gray. Back then it was just fire and drive. Even though I was deeply insecure underneath, which wreaked havoc in my romantic relationships, I don’t think I’ve ever felt more powerful.

■ In my friend group, it’s a running joke that, of all of us, I would become the rock star. It’s like, “Her? Liz?” Because that was not in evidence at all.

■ There is a huge hypocrisy in our culture where we embrace violence and shame sex. That makes no sense to me. Early on, I saw how female sexuality was used. Your body, your attractiveness, your appeal to men was going to be used by someone. And I just decided I would use it. I would try to own my sexuality and find a way to feel good about that.

■ To do this, to be a rock star, there’s a warping of your personality. There’s the whiplash of being at home more by yourself, writing and dreaming and imagining, then getting yanked back into being the big-energy performer and employer. When I’m on the road, I’m almost all rock star Liz Phair, wall to wall. And that’s a very comfortable place to be. But if I don’t take enough time to get back to my actual self, it becomes a problem.

■ I always knew I was adopted. It just wasn’t a big thing. I don’t want to find my birth mother, but I want to find out about her. I want to look without engaging. Having a child cured a lot of that for me, because I look at someone who’s genetically connected to me and it satisfies something. And I pretty much won the parent lottery, so it wasn’t like I had cause to look elsewhere. But I do think where you come from is meaningful. Even though we have stories about our family, they don’t totally feel like mine.

■ Do you remember those first few days of COVID lockdown, when the sky was so fucking blue? And there was this pause in human activity? It felt so precious. There was something deeply, deeply religious about that to me. I would like to somehow channel that energy again, postpandemic. I’m going to spend more time in nature. I’m going to be more snobby about the people I hang around with. I’m going to seek out beauty and art and things that inspire my spirit. I’m just going to be a little more intentional.

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The Joy Luck Club has become the great Chinese American novel. What were the pros and cons of authoring the first big commercial Chinese American literary hit?

I was cast in the limelight as being some sort of expert about Chinese Americans or immigrants or mothers and daughters. With that limelight comes a responsibility put on me to speak for the community of Asian Americans, or all people in Asia, which is impossible. I had to constantly talk about the fact that Asian Americans are not a homogenous group. We are united by commonalities and needs within communities, but we can be very different in how we conduct our lives.

You’ve dressed up in S&M-style leather to perform with the literacy fundraising supergroup the Rock Bottom Remainders. How did that happen?

I used to sing “Bye Bye Love,” but I don’t have a good voice. After our first concert, our musical director, Al Kooper, said, “I picture Amy wearing leather boots and fishnet stockings, wielding a whip and singing ‘These Boots Are Made for Walkin’.’ ” And I said, “That is such a sexist thing to say,” but I realized this wasn’t about me trying to prove I had a good voice. This was about being funny, because this plays against who most people think I am. I had to go to these leather shops and ask for whips and collars. So part of this song does require me to tell the boys to bend over, and then I get to whip them.

In your latest books and your Netflix documentary [Amy Tan: Unintended Memoir], you talk about your mom’s struggle with mental health and your own struggles. Why is it important to get these topics out in the open — especially in the Asian American community?

My mother was always very open about anything. Anything I said about her was fine. So that kind of openness has been my template in life. I am part of the Pacific Asian Network. It’s like a United Way for different Asian groups that also helps combat stereotypes about Asians as model minorities: the idea that they have no problems, no mental health issues, no children who are overweight, no poverty, no elder abuse. Those are all myths.

What books have inspired you?

Love Medicine by Louise Erdrich. It’s a set of short stories that takes place in a community. In a way, it’s like The Joy Luck Club. Also Amy Hempel’s Reasons to Live. In talking to writers, she says you always want to look for the news: not like what we read in the paper, but something said differently, or a perspective you would not hear anywhere else.

You have an awesome master class on fiction, memory, and imagination. What are some of the biggest lessons you wish you could have told your younger self?

I gave up certain things early in life because I didn’t think it was perfect. If you have any desire to publish, you have to get over the notion that you could ever do something that was absolutely perfect, and you should count on getting rejections. And you might have to encounter that many times before you find the kind of reader that finds your work appealing. So in the [master class], I include my rejection letters, something people love to see.

Tan will receive the Carl Sandburg Literary Award from the Chicago Public Library Foundation on Nov. 2. View later at cplfoundationawards.org.

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On Nov. 22, 1963, I was doing a crossword puzzle in my high school study hall when the announcement came over the PA that President John F. Kennedy had been shot.

On April 4, 1968, the day the Rev. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated, I was working at a Jewel Foods pickup station in Evergreen Park, loading groceries into people’s cars.

But on September 11, 2001, I was all alone, which you do not want to be when the world is being ripped apart.

My three children had gone back to school. My wife, Marianne, was teaching her 4th grade class.

I, however, wouldn’t go back to teaching my English classes at the College of DuPage for another two weeks, so I had driven to forested northwest Wisconsin to winterize our fishing cabin and catch some walleye before the cold set in.

The cabin TV had no signal, as often was the case in the woods, but a news bulletin came over the radio: Heavy smoke was pouring from one of the Twin Towers in New York City. Minutes later, the North Tower collapsed and I was filled with panic and fear.

Though our cabin had a landline phone, my wife was the only one in the family who had a cell phone back then, and I couldn’t reach her during the school day. I dialed my brother, but there was no answer.

I rushed outside.

It was cold and still that morning. A chickadee in one of the surrounding pine trees made the only sound, a plaintive whistle. I looked up into the empty sky and went back indoors.

Improbable visuals were being described over the radio: People leaping to their deaths from the upper floors; survivors running through the streets, bloody and disoriented; a hijacked jet crashing into the Pentagon; fire trucks blaring down 7th Avenue in New York; the second tower crumbling to earth.

I sat in a chair that faced a window that looked out onto the lake.

Our country was under attack. My family was scattered. There was no one with whom to grieve.

Suddenly, I heard a burst from a car horn. A van with “Northern Lakes Co-op” on its side had pulled in behind the house. The cabin furnace had refused to turn on the day before, and the dispatcher had promised to send someone when he could.

Scott wore blue coveralls and was over six feet tall, with a mop of shaggy brown hair. Not quite 30 years old, he had an easy smile and called me “sir.”

I led him to the utility room where he set his heavy tool belt on the floor. I described for him the symptoms of the temperamental furnace.

“Probably the igniter, sir,” he said.

He knelt, removed the front panel, and was peering inside with a pen light.

“Did you know…hear anything about New York?” I said.

He turned, looked up into my eyes. “Oh, yes. Surreal. We were all watching it at the shop.”

I visualized Scott and several other men I’d never met, all in blue coveralls, staring up at the TV on an upper corner shelf. And I felt less alone.

“My foreman says the FBI probably already knows who did it,” he said. “What with cameras all over the airport. Passenger manifests.”

Scott did not doubt his foreman. He said he just wondered why suicide attacks keep happening.

I wanted to ask if he was married. What his hopes were for himself and his children, and for the world in the four or five decades of life ahead of him.

He went outside, retrieved a new igniter from the van and replaced the old one. He asked me to turn up the thermostat. Everything worked fine, and I signed his clipboard.

He paused at the door as he folded and coiled his tool belt. President George W. Bush’s voice could be heard from the radio in the kitchen.

“We need to figure something out,” said Scott. “Gotta do something.” A parting smile, and he left.

***

Our country did do something.

In the first three weeks after 911, Americans donated $657 million for families of the 2,957 people killed, and $2 billion by the end of the year, according to a University of Indiana survey in June of 2002. Another 1,592,295 Americans gave blood for the 6,000 people who were injured. Sixty percent of us wrote checks, donated blood or volunteered our help in various ways.

Scott’s foreman was not wrong about the perpetrators being caught and punished, though the job was infinitely more costly and time-consuming than he ever could have imagined.

And Scott’s observation, 20 years ago, that terrorism keeps happening is just as true today.

But there is something inside us that wants to seek out others after a catastrophe — a hunger for human contact, and an inclination toward empathy — that inspires us to “figure something out” however long it may take.

David McGrath is a emeritus professor of English at College of DuPage and author of the story collection “South Siders.” [email protected]

Send letters to [email protected].

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Perhaps no one one the Bears roster is more excited to see the 2021 season begin.

Not that outside linebacker Robert Quinn will let it show.

“He’s about as chill as they come,” Bears coach Matt Nagy said Thursday. “Is he motivated? Yeah. Deep down inside, there’s a reason why he’s the type of player that he’s been his whole career. So I’m sure there’s a little chip inside. But for him, he never talks about it.”

The outside linebacker had nine months to think about it, though. After receiving a five-year, $70 million contract, Quinn logged only two sacks opposite Khalil Mack last year. In his age 30 season, he had the worst year of his career.

Sunday, he can turn the page — or compound a problem. On defense, no one’s play will be a bigger harbinger for the Bears’ season-long aspirations Sunday night than Quinn.

“[He] didn’t have a good taste in his mouth about how the season went,” outside linebackers coach Bill Shuey said. “Then you’ve gotta wait. You’ve gotta wait all the way through to this part to get another shot to try to make it the way you want it. He’s anxious.”

Quinn is eager to play. He doesn’t dispute his off-the-field scouting report — “I’m probably one of the most chillest dudes,” he said — but was clear that his attitude doesn’t apply to Sundays.

“[When] you’re not on the field, I mean, what’s the purpose, all hyped up and stuff? You’re just kinda sitting there,” he said. “But you know, once you hear music or the crowd roaring or something, I don’t know, it’s just something, the energy just comes from the noise … When it’s crunch time, you just get yourself hyped, however it is.”

The Bears spent the offseason looking for reasons for his poor performance: moving to a new town during a pandemic, lining up at outside linebacker when he’s more comfortable with his hand in the grass and suffering a series of nagging injuries.

He’s more comfortable now — coincidentally, Alec Ogletree, his friend of eight years, joined the team last month — and figures to play in a three-point stance more often under new defensive coordinator Sean Desai. The injuries haven’t gone away — he’s dealt with a sore back dating to the spring. He missed last year’s opener, but won’t again this season.

“Now,” Nagy said, “he’s just gotta go do it.”

He’s done it before. In 103 starts before joining the Bears, he totaled 80 1/2 sacks. His 82 1/2 career sacks still rank 11th among active players, one spot behind the Rams’ Aaron Donald. He’s been a disappointment with the Bears, though. If that’s going to end, it has to start Sunday.

“All that work he’s put in, how he’s feeling about everything, it’s gonna come down to production,” Shuey said. “And he knows that. He’s excited for that opportunity, I should say: he’s ready.”

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Northwestern coach Pat Fitzgerald wasn’t worried about the Wildcats looking past an FCS team. All he had to do is show the ugly video from last week.

Northwestern hosts Indiana State on Saturday looking to steady itself after a wobbly and decisive season-opening loss to Michigan State at home last week.

“I think we have plenty to fix, partner,” said Fitzgerald, in his 16th season and by far Northwestern’s winningest coach at 106-82. “It won’t be hard for us to stay focused.”

The Wildcats’ 38-21 loss to the Spartans was every bit as lopsided as the score indicated. They watched as Kenneth Walker III ran for a career-high 264 yards and a personal-best four touchdowns, including a 75-yard score on the game’s first play from scrimmage. They trailed 21-0 in the second quarter, and were outgained 511-400 in total yards and 326-117 in rushing.

For a team coming off its second Big Ten West championship in three seasons, it was quite a wakeup. Northwestern lost major contributors on offense and defense from last year. Then again, Michigan State has no shortage of newcomers with 20 transfers and its sights set on a quick turnaround after struggling in coach Mel Tucker’s first season.

The Wildcats need to put that one behind them and avoid looking ahead to Duke next week as they prepare to face Indiana State in the first meeting between two schools that started playing football in the 1800s. The Sycamores (1-0), an FCS team, beat Eastern Illinois 26-21 on Aug. 28 in their first game since 2019.

Indiana State initially postponed last season to the spring because of the pandemic, then opted not to play at all. The school cited safety concerns over what would have been a short turnaround this year.

“We got a great opponent,” coach Cam Mallory said. “But it’s about us getting better from Week 1 to Week 2.”

PROMISING START

A positive for Northwestern last week was quarterback Hunter Johnson.

Once a highly touted transfer from Clemson, Johnson posted career highs in completions (30), attempts (43), yards (283) and touchdown passes (three) in his first start since 2019. The three TDs were the most by a Northwestern quarterback in a season opener since Dan Persa threw three against Vanderbilt in 2010.

For a quarterback who made just two appearances last year behind Peyton Ramsey and did not throw a pass, it was a promising opener.

“I’m really proud of Hunter,” Fitzgerald said. “He’s been through a lot. I thought he really had a great offseason.”

SAFE PICK

Indiana State safety Michael Thomas had two interceptions in the opener, returning the second one 75 yards for a touchdown to make it a 10-point game in the fourth quarter. He also had a team-leading 10 tackles.

TIGHTENING UP

Northwestern lost leading tacklers Blake Gallagher and Paddy Fisher as well as cornerback Greg Newsome II from a defense that ranked among the nation’s stingiest last season. It clearly showed in the opener. Michigan State converted on all five trips inside the red zone.

Last season, Northwestern ranked fifth in the nation and led the Big Ten in scoring defense. In the red zone, the Wildcats were sixth in the country.

CATCHING ON

Receiver Bryce Kirtz had his best game in two seasons at Northwestern with seven receptions for 80 yards. By comparison, he had six catches for 67 yards over nine games as a freshman last year.

With Johnson at quarterback, perhaps that was no coincidence. After all, they played together at Brownsburg (Ind.) High School.

“My freshman year, which was in 2016, I did not play varsity,” Kirtz said. “But my sophomore year, I did play varsity. Hunter was my quarterback. … He helped me adjust to that. He made me feel way more comfortable out there, just kinda telling me ‘you got it,’ giving me confidence out there, definitely. The best memory I have with Hunter is just him kinda teaching me how to play football out there at the higher level and then now here in college.”

Kirtz also has a connection to Indiana State. His father Andre ran track and brother Tyler — who plays football at Ball State — was recruited by the Sycamores.

RUN UP

Northwestern lost No. 1 running back Cam Porter to a season-ending lower-body injury in camp. Evan Hull looks like he’s ready to take on a bigger role after running for 87 yards on nine carries in the opener.

“We’ll see how the game goes, the ebb and the flow. At the end of the day, I think Evan’s earned the (role),” Fitzgerald said.

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