The guest speaker Thursday at the Roswell Rotary Club paused before he launched into his talk. It was, he said, only proper.
“After the tragedy this week,” Tony Baker, an author and former firefighter said, “we need to lift these families up in prayer.”
And that, perhaps, encapsulates the feelings in Roswell, a place that's enjoyed decades of growth as an affluent suburb 25 miles north of Atlanta. The killing of two teens has left the city aghast, and thinking a few prayers to the Almighty cannot hurt.
A delivery-truck driver early Monday morning found the bodies of Natalie Henderson and Carter Davis behind a Publix near Roswell High School. Each was 17. Each was a rising high school senior. Each had been shot in the head.
On Wednesday, Roswell police had a suspect in custody — Jeffrey Hazelwood, 20. They charged him with two counts of murder and a string of other offenses. Hazelwood appeared in court for the first time Friday, his shoulder-length hair disheveled and his shackled appearing to shake uncontrollably.
Since the arrest, cops have said remarkably little as they build a case against a young man whose Facebook posts hint at a troubled soul. Others have not been so reticent.
"The thing that hurts so much? When you see two young people murdered, it's just so out of the ordinary," said Malone Dodson, a retired minister. He moved from DeKalb to Roswell in 1977 to lead the congregation at Roswell United Methodist Church. When he stepped away from the pulpit, in 2001, Dodson and his wife decided to stay.
“Roswell is a special place,” said Dodson, 79. “Communities, businesses, churches — everybody relates together. When there is a hurt, we all hurt.”
No, Roswell is not Mayberry, that fictitious TV town where folks sit on the porch and watch out for (and at) each other. Nor is it a place where two teens are found dead behind a Publix, said Lisa Smith. She moved to Roswell 30 years ago to raise four children.
“There have been murders in Roswell, sure,” said Smith. “This area in general is considered very safe. … It’s a sad, sad thing.”
“It happens every day in America,” Smith said. “But when it happens in your community…” Her voice trailed off.
At nearly any hour, Canton Street in downtown Roswell is teeming with people. They’re folks stopping to eat at a cluster of restaurants one block west of Ga. 9, the highway linking Roswell with its big neighbor to the south, Atlanta. They’re shoppers looking for a framed print for the foyer. They’re merchants who look up when their door opens and August’s hot breath blows in.
They're people like Valerie Jackson, owner of Ann Jackson Gallery. She practically grew up in Roswell, learning the nuances of the art trade from her parents. They opened the gallery in 1971.
In all those years, said Jackson, nothing in Roswell has ever happened like the double homicide a few miles away.
Roswell, she said, likes to brag about its Memorial Day celebration, one of the largest anywhere. It endorses civic good deeds, such as the Rotary Club’s annual practice of funding a veterans’ trip to Washington, D.C.
It does not like to think that mayhem lurks behind a grocery store.
“It’s very sad,“ Jackson said. “Roswell is — you know, you feel very safe here.”
Or did. Even with a suspect in custody, she said, some people in Roswell are on edge. “This crime has affected everybody in a very deep way.” She said. “We’ve never felt this way before.”
She managed a laugh. “I think the worse thing before this was the Civil War.”
Customers at a consignment shop on the edge of Roswell's shopping district have discussed the killings. Shari Gould, who owns a booth at the store, A Classy Clutter, has heard the talk.
“Honestly, this is the first time something like has happened” in Roswell, said Gould, a Rhode Island native who’s lived in the north Fulton city for two decades. “It’s very disturbing.”
On Thursday night, the crowd grew as the notes of "Kate's Song," a lovely orchestral piece, rose in the gathering dark. It was the music used in a 2014 Roswell High School Winterguard. One of those performers: a youngster named Natalie. It was her first year with the ensemble.
Some adults were there, sure, but it was mostly teens who assembled for a vigil at Roswell Town Square. There were the cool kids and the jocks and the nerds and at least one with blue hair, all sharing one trait: They're standing on the edge of adulthood, the ground they've known as children crumbling beneath their feet. Next fall, a lot of them will be in college, in the military, gone.
Averie Booth, who’d known Natalie in life, remembered her in death. She stood before an array of TV cameras, patiently answering the questions. Natalie had been a good friend. Purple was her favorite color. She was so full of life.
And this: “You have to look out for each other. You have to love each other,” said Averie, 17. “It’s been under horrible circumstances, but this has brought together the community.”
A community aghast.
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