Tag: Michael Martin

Stripped

Stripped

by Kelly (and the Buck) ♥ 2 Comments

Stripped of the shock and horror that clouded my thoughts for days, I wake to the naked truth that a murder has taken place. That a man’s life has been stolen. That a family has been forced to bear not only a devastating loss, but a violent one.

I’ve lost loved ones to tragedy, but never to murder. The compassion I felt for Richard turns toward anger.  For his desecration of life and community and the cooperative. Truly there has been infinite beauty in the collective response to this tragedy, but there is no escaping the ugliness of it.

My anger quickly melts back into grief however as I view the Richard’s arraignment.  I hold my breath while the camera focuses in on the door from which he will enter the courtroom.  When he appears, I turn my head away, unable to bear his transformation from the wine guy to the criminal.

When Richard finally does make his way through that door, my hand flies to my mouth. It’s not just the grey sweatsuit that is two sizes too big, or even his hair, typically worn neat, that is now wildly disheveled, as if he spent his first night in jail ripping through it. What truly breaks my heart and brings me to tears is both his frame–bent and shuffling–and his face–ashen and lost.

He looks up and into the courtroom for just a moment, and his bottom lip droops as if he is about to crumble into tears.

And now I am angry at all of us. How could we have prevented this man from this self-inflicted hell? How could we have spared these families the loss of their loved ones?

Relieved to be 300 miles away, I share this new wave of grief with my friends at the shore; and I am surprised by what I see in their faces.  It is a mixture shock and compassion and fear.  Only the fear is not of someone like Richard, but of themselves. Fear that they too have a murderer inside. Fear that they might someday be stripped of their senses by rage.

~

Kelly Salasin, August 13, 2011

This is post #4 on the Brattleboro Food Co-op tragedy, click here to read the others.

The last time I saw Richard…

The last time I saw Richard…

by Kelly (and the Buck) ♥ 3 Comments
by Sweet Soul Sister, at DeviantArt

Although he wasn’t the one to die, I find myself recalling the last time I saw Richard, as if he had.

That night my husband and I  had stopped in at the Co-op to get a bite to eat before a movie at Latchis, and we were delighted to find a wine and cheese tasting going on. We dashed off to the bathroom first, where we waited in a painfully slow line, and then made our way eagerly around the corner toward the brie and crackers.

“What are you pouring Richard?” I asked giddily, looking up to him in his booth above the department. He quietly shook his head.  The tasting had ended; even though I could clearly see wine remaining in the bottles.

Richard explained that he had to stop serving promptly at 6:30 as scheduled, due to liquor control regulations or something to that effect.

That was the last time that I distinctly remember connecting with Richard, a little over a week before the Co-op tragedy; but it’s just as likely that I saw him again, at South Pond, as I often did throughout the summer, with a tennis racket in hand.

What strikes me now is how closely Richard observed rules–those on the court, and those of wine tastings–only to break the cardinal rule so shortly after.

Richard Gagnon never looked like a man who would take a gun into the Co-op to shoot someone. He simply looked like Richard Gagnon, the wine guy, leaning against the frame of his slender office inside our community owned Co-op.

Richard was the guy who taught us about reds and whites, about the shape of a glass and how it enhances or detracts from flavor, about how to keep the wine fresh with a vacuum stopper. During the holidays, Richard pointed us to the bottles that would make the best gifts and offered us free wrap to adorn them.

Years ago, the Co-op suffered another loss–when Henry, the beloved cheese guy, passed away.  The cheese department was never the same without him, but we embraced his passion for Vermont cheeses, and were soothed in our loss until we grew accustomed to it.

Now I can’t imagine shopping for wine where Richard used to be. It’s as if it’s all been tainted. The grapes  soured. The vines withered.

I think back to the last time I saw Richard and look for something different in his eyes.

Maybe he was a bit quieter.

Maybe not.

What I do know is that I can’t get his face out of my mind. I return, again and again, to the last time I saw Richard.  Now I even see him 300 miles away as I pass the shelves of wine accessories in a department store. I flinch when I hear the manager called over the loud speaker; and I mistakenly refer to an old friend as Richard.

My mind insists on reworking this tragedy, but there is no bending of the rule that Richard broke. (If only he would have poured me a glass of wine.)

Kelly Salasin, August 12, 2011

Note: This is the 3rd piece that I’ve written on the Co-op tragedy, click below to read:

Even the Potatoes are Sad

Dear Richard,

Dear Richard,

Dear Richard,

by Kelly (and the Buck) ♥ 40 Comments

Dear Richard,

Despite the truth that you have stolen something precious from ALL of us, I grieve for YOU.

Though I have been wronged many times in my life, and never chosen murder, still–I ache for you.

You must have lost your mind and your heart and your soul to proceed the way you did.

No doubt “the issues” that provoked you triggered some unhealed trauma inside of you.

Your vision must have narrowed so tightly around an “enemy” that you did not see Michael’s new wife Jennifer, or the rest of his family, or the rest of his days.

But what about your co-workers? What about Ian who spoke with you just before you entered Michael’s office? 

What of Diane who found you out back behind the Co-op after the shooting?

What about all your fellow staff members present that morning?

What about all of us who have ever worked at the Co-op, or shopped there?

Did you want to rob us all as well?

Did you know that your act would be felt as far away as Thailand, and in every co-op around the country?

Did you know that you would steal sleep from strangers, summer vacation days from children,
romantic getaways from couples?

Did you want blood spilled in the place that has fed so many so well?

As I read the expressions of support on the Co-op’s Facebook page, I am stunned by how many people have been affected by your choice. I don’t think any of us, including you, could have imagined it so.

Because I don’t know Michael, it is  you for whom I grieve when I see you in the courtroom, locked in shackles, instead of on the tennis court at South Pond with a racket in your hand.

And what about Meg?

You must have considered your beloved.

Michael Martin lost his life, but you lost… everything.

You have given it up to rage.

You have given up your wife, your community, your sense of who you are and who you can be.

My eleven year old now knows a murderer. He has collected the balls that you have hit into the water where he swims.

Last night as I tucked him into bed, 300 miles away from you, he said,

“Mom, Vermont doesn’t have the death penalty, right?”

______________

Kelly Salasin, August 11, 2011

whose sons have been lifelong Co-op members

This is the second post on the Brattleboro Food Co-op tragedy, click here for others.

Even the Potatoes are Sad

Even the Potatoes are Sad

by Kelly (and the Buck) ♥ 9 Comments

If there is any place in Vermont that represents the best qualities of our state – a place where the community comes together to buy local, laugh, make friends and celebrate what we cherish about our lives – it is the Brattleboro Food Co-op.  (Vermont Governor Peter Shumlin)

That something like this could happen at our beloved Brattleboro Food Co-op is unfathomable.

That this act was intentional is confounding.

That the murderer was someone who lived and loved among us is heartbreaking.

That a life was stolen is devastating.

I write these words from vacation, 300 miles away from the Green Mountain State, knowing that I will miss tonight’s vigil in Brattleboro.  But even this far away, I am blessed by my community’s response to this loss, as echoed by the outpouring of solidarity on the Co-op’s Facebook page:

What a sad day for the coop and all of us in this community. (Ruth Wilmot)

It is 2 AM and I’m staring at this computer, wondering how many other of us Co-op members are sleepless from worry, shock and grief – after this saddening event. (Nancy Burgeson Anderson)

We are all feeling this. It is heartbreaking and horrible. Love to all of you close to the scene. No one is worrying about when the Coop will be open again. We *are* worrying about each of you. (Johnny Lee Lenhart)

You guys are all very dear to us. We are helpless to do anything to make this better, but our thoughts are very much with you, and I hope you will let us know if there is any way we can help.  (Ted Lemon)

We are all so stunned by this news. Our thoughts are with you and the families involved as you work through this difficult time. (Gail Graham)

I take heart that what is shared is supportive, and life serving, rather than filled with the rage or malice that takes lives:

This is a time to really appreciate facebook. Reading these comments heals me and hopefully others feel the same. Knowing how people from all over the country are holding our community and especially the staff of BFC in their hearts is so meaningful. (Bari Shamas)

Certainly we are all angry. That which has been stolen, has been stolen from us all–even from the one who took the life (maybe from him most of all); and I cannot begin speak to the grief of those who were intimate with the victim:

My heart aches at the news. Micheal was such a loving guy. He will be missed by many. (Karen Ernest Hatt)

Michael was a friend and will be missed. (Chris Maher)

It is impossible to know the right thing to say. Michael was a good guy and will be missed in the co-op community.  (David Lippman)

I’m saddened to admit that I cannot place Michael from memory; but no doubt I will recognize his face–and even his kindness–as we all “know” each other in Brattleboro, especially in the aisles of the Co-op.

Given my lack of intimacy, I question the depth of my grief, until I read how deeply others have been affected by this loss, not just in Brattleboro or Vermont, but all around the country, and even around the world:

 Sending much love and healing prayers from Thailand. (Nathan Olmstead)

It’s 3:30 in the morning in Vancouver. Neither Cliff (a former employee) nor I can sleep. We are thinking of all of you in the community and send our love. (Lynn Levine)

My heart is broken today. Please know I am sending you my support from afar. The co-op isn’t just a place where I used to work; it is like a family home to me. (Wendy M. Levy)

It is a little crazy that i feel more connected to a store 200 miles away from my home than i do the stores right down the street- but i feel like i know you guys after 4+ years of stopping in for dinner once a week (sometimes more.) It’s a neighborly, small town family feel, and familiar faces, and that is one of the reasons why i love coming to Brattleboro. (Stephanie Santoro)

In addition to the personal expressions of grief, there are the “collective”–messages from co-ops in Belfast, Maine; in Oregon, in Texas, in California, in New Orleans.

As I read through this flood of personal and collective grief, I get a renewed sense of what a Co-op is; how it touches lives; how it connects them:

My heart is aching for the individuals and the collective… ever faithful that you all will make your way through this in a manner that has me falling in love with my co-op all over again. tender blessings… ♥ (Kim Weeter)

When you reopen again, you will feel a tidal wave of love, all of you who work there, who make our days just that much richer. It will be a hard day, but the town will speak to your hearts, and you will remember why you are here. (Jack MacKay)

In addition to messages from individuals and other co-ops, there is now a growing response from companies who sell their products to these stores:

All of us at Baudelaire Soaps offer our deepest sympathies and condolences.

There is something oddly moving by sentiment expressed by soap. It somehow speaks to what is also precious at the Co-op: the heart and passion of the people behind each product.

It’s hard to fathom the breadth of this single act, taken by Richard Gagnon, our wine manager, who traveled the world with his beloved wife Meg, to bring us the sweetness of the vine.

Today, even the potatoes are sad:

Your friends at Small Potatoes offer our deepest sympathies and condolences.

_______

Kelly Salasin, August 10, 2011, Brattleboro Food Co-op Shopper/Member since ’94, past staffer

Click here for, Dear Richard, An Open Letter to a Murderer.