Metro Pulse

On July 27, Knoxville joined a short roster of cities synonymous with sudden, inexplicable violence: Columbine, Blacksburg, Omaha. The shooting of congregants at the Tennessee Valley Unitarian Universalist Church went beyond a nightmarish crime; it’s become another sign of the times, reported around the world as a new example of what America has become. But there were many stories that day, and they ought to be told by the people who were there. Here is one of them. Full story »

The first blast was so loud it made no sense. No sound that concussive fit the experience of being in a church watching children perform. I looked at the opposite bank of pews, and people there blinked back, also confused. Then two more blasts shook us. Full story »

As a philosopher, I’m supposed to have reflections on things like this. But in this case I thought it better simply to let the facts speak for themselves. Full story »

The play had begun. The children were adorable, doing an amazing job of putting on Annie Jr. They had worked so hard and now was their moment. With an incredibly loud sound everything changed. The people two rows in font of me fell forward. Had the sound come from them? Another blast and then I turned to see the gun and the unimaginable determination in the eyes of the shooter. Someone shouted “This is real." Full story »

A poem by Rob Spirko Full story »

The past three months I have gone to church infrequently, as for much of the summer I have been traveling. The week before July 27th I stopped by TVUUC at least two times, and noticed the building was a beehive of activity, with children and adults rehearsing for their production of Annie Jr. Vicki Masters, our music director, has done a tremendous job in enhancing our music program for both adults and children, and I was looking forward to attending the upcoming Sunday with my wife Diane Fox. Full story »

I’m a lucky man. The first seat I took in the sanctuary of the Unitarian church on July 27 would have put me in the direct line of fire of Jim Adkisson’s sawed-off shotgun. By a stroke of fate, I hopped across the aisle and into the choir area before Annie Jr. began, which meant the corner of a thick wall stood between me and the mad gunman. Full story »