In the aftermath of Maine’s worst mass shooting on Wednesday, there was a constant refrain in Lewiston, where the shootings occurred: We thought this could never happen here. Until it happened.
And when that happened, a shocked community became angry, fearful and atomized.
Why we wrote this
Maine’s largest mass shooting leaves a community shaken and, due to a lockdown and search, unable to gather and grieve.
The suspect, a U.S. Army reservist named Robert Card, is still at large, so residents of Lewiston and nearby towns have been told to shelter in place. The streets are deserted; businesses and schools are closed. Mourning the 18 dead and dealing with the trauma of those who fled the attacks are happening behind closed doors.
Unknowingly or not, the gunman who terrorized Lewiston struck at two commercial locations where bowling and social games brought people together and built bonds.
Joey Walker was the manager of Schemengees Bar and Grille when he was shot Wednesday night. He managed the darts league, the billiards games and the cornhole league.
“He was a great son. He loved a thousand (people) … and a thousand of them loved him back,” said his father, Leroy Walker Jr. “He had the biggest heart in the world.”
In the aftermath of Maine’s worst mass shootings, there was a constant refrain: We thought this could never happen here. Until it happened.
And when that happened — after a man armed with a semi-automatic rifle sprayed bullets at families as they bowled and, minutes later, at adults relaxing at a bar on a warm Wednesday evening — a shocked community became angry and worried – and atomized.
The suspect, a U.S. Army reservist, remains at large and is being pursued by local, state and federal law enforcement. That’s why residents of Lewiston and nearby towns have been told to shelter in place. The streets are deserted; businesses and schools are closed. Mourning the 18 dead and dealing with the trauma of those who fled the attacks are happening behind closed doors.
Why we wrote this
Maine’s largest mass shooting leaves a community shaken and, due to a lockdown and search, unable to gather and grieve.
A broader reckoning with the sheer scale of the crime — and the fact that it happened here in Maine, a state with 1.3 million residents, relaxed gun laws and low levels of violent crime — has yet to emerge. But questions are already being asked about why Robert Card, the suspect who reportedly had serious mental health issues that required a formal evaluation, continued to have access to firearms.
State police said Mr. Card left a vehicle at a boat dock in Lisbon on Wednesday evening, hours after the shooting that also injured 13 people, three seriously. The heavy police presence in the area was scaled back on Thursday as the search expanded and divers were called in and some residents began to leave their homes.
“We’re all holding our breath and hoping he gets caught,” said Meranda Delnegro, pushing a stroller outside her Lisbon apartment building. She notes that Maine is “one of the safest states” in the United States, but adds, “I’m feeling a little insecure right now.” When she held a baby shower two years ago, the location was the bowling alley where the gunman first attacked.
Ms. Delnegro, who grew up in Lewiston and works there as a medical assistant, says it is a city that takes care of itself. “Lewiston is candid. You do everything you can to help people,” she says.
Earlier that day, Governor Janet Mills of Maine told a news conference in Lewiston that she felt deeply for a community where she met her husband and raised her daughters. “This city did not deserve this terrible attack on its citizens, its peace of mind and its sense of security. No city does that. No state. No people, she said.
Nick Pfosi/Reuters
“A resilient and caring people”
Governor Mills spoke of a “dark day” for Maine that struck “the core of who we are.” She added: “We are a resilient and caring people. In the coming days and weeks we will have to rely on these qualities more than ever.”
On Friday, Michael Sauschuck, commissioner of the Maine Department of Public Safety, said was asked at a news conference whether an expanded shelter policy could slow the recovery process for the community after such a traumatic event. Mr. Sauschuck said bringing the suspect to justice was the priority, but healing had to happen afterward. “It will take a while for the community to process this. It will last a lifetime for the families,” he said.
For Leroy Walker Jr. was a long, sleepless nightmare Wednesday night that started with a phone call just after 7 p.m. “My youngest son called me and said, ‘Dad, something’s going on at Schemengees. I think a gunman went in and shot my brother.” I almost fell apart,” he says.
Schemengees Bar and Grille Restaurant was the second shooting location. Joseph “Joey” Walker was the manager and worked Wednesdays. His father had to wait until Thursday morning to hear from state police that Joey had been shot. He died with a butcher knife next to his body, probably after trying to tackle the gunman, a police major told him.
“The ambulance people said when they went in it felt like they were walking on marbles. The floor was so covered with shells from the gun,” he said.
Standing near his apartment in Auburn, the riverfront twin city of Lewiston, Mr. Walker spoke of his son’s deep ties to the community. Yes, Joey managed the bar, but not just the bar. He led the darts competition, the billiards competitions and the cornhole league on Wednesday evenings.
“He was a great son. He loved a thousand people from these two cities, and a thousand of them loved him back,” he says. “He had the biggest heart in the world.”
Recreational gaming competitions are part of the social glue that holds communities together. and their demise is lamented by sociologists following America’s political polarization and the alienation felt within communities. Unknowingly or not, the gunman who terrorized Lewiston struck at two locations where bowling and cornhole brought people together and built bonds.
A police bulletin issued after the attacks stated that Mr. Card had been admitted to a mental health facility for two weeks over the summer after “hearing voices and threats to shoot up a military base,” The Associated Press reported.
Steven Senne/AP
Minds have changed on the assault rifle ban
Mr. Walker, a city councilor and retired parks inspector, says he cannot understand the killer’s actions or why his mental health assessors did not intervene. “I don’t have the answers. I wish my son was here,” he says.
Democratic Rep. Jared Golden, a former Marine who represents Lewiston and surrounding cities, said Thursday he had changed his mind about owning assault rifles. Speaking at the same stage where Governor Mills had previously spoken, he said he would work in Congress to pass federal gun control laws after previously opposing his party’s efforts. His opposition, he said, represented “a false confidence that our community was above and that we could be in complete control,” among other misjudgments.
“To the people of Lewiston, my constituents throughout the 2nd District, to the families who have lost loved ones, and to those who have been harmed, I ask for forgiveness and support as I work to put an end to these terrible shootings,” he said. said.
Pro-gun groups claim that AR-15 style rifles are useful for self-defense and hunting. Robert Spitzer, a political scientist and author of “Guns Across America: Reconciling Gun Rules and Rights,” says this week’s events underscore that their main purpose is an assault weapon. “This event shatters the idea that these weapons are just as good for self-defense and hunting as other weapons.”
Professor Spitzer added that the killings in Lewiston, the deadliest in the US since the school shooting in Uvalde, Texas in May 2022, “raises the question of civilian access to military-style weapons with high-capacity magazines. It brings that debate to Maine.”
Mr Walker and his son ran the darts competition at a social club in Auburn before it moved to Schemengees. A few years ago they discussed installing metal detectors on the doors. “We talked about what would happen if a gunman came here and started shooting,” he says.
Yet there was the feeling that such things did not happen here. “We never did it. But we talked about it,” he says.
Staff writer Patrik Jonsson contributed to this story.
