Tops, Jefferson Ave. and Buffalo's epicenter of Black culture | Column

BUFFALO — The senseless tragedy at Tops was too close to home.

I was practically raised on Jefferson Avenue and East Utica Street, years before the supermarket arrived one block over.

So when I visited Tops in person Monday, standing on the corner of Jefferson and Landon Street, it was still hard to believe a mass killing happened in Cold Springs. The bullet holes in the window were still visible. Survivors whose vehicles and cell phones were on the premises returned to retrieve their valuables. Memorials I saw on TV all weekend were steadily growing before my eyes.

In the 1990s, my mom, Beverly, would take little Marquel downtown to run errands, and stop at my aunt and uncle's house on East Utica home on the way back to our home on Alma and Bailey avenues.

I loved going to my aunt and uncle's house. I still do, actually. And not because Pam and LeRoy had HBO on deck, and always had pop (Pepsi) in the fridge. LeRoy had a huge party for Tyson-Holyfield II, and I still remember Iron Mike biting off his earlobe. My cousin even got a pony for one of her first birthdays.

Have you ever seen a horse in the hood?

The Frank E. Merriweather, Jr. Branch Library and Apollo Media Center are some other historical Jefferson staples, just as Tops or Ke's Kitchen is.

Buffalo's Juneteenth festival even began on Jefferson in 1976, and its route wasn't a coincidence. Jefferson was and has always been Buffalo's epicenter of Black culture.

"It really is the heart of community because that's where I see people coming together," said 19-year-old Taj'Anay Quigley, who lives seven minutes from Tops.

"This is Cold Springs. This is the beacon. This is historical Jefferson," said Tim Newkirk, pastor of GYC Ministries and founder of the Community Action Coalition of WNY.

The Tops shooting was a heinous and cowardly attack on Buffalo's Black people — my people. I felt the pull of responsibility. As much fun as it is to cover sports for the Democrat and Chronicle in Rochester, my city needs me right now.

We played freeze tag for hours on those Buffalo streets. My family owns businesses in the area. I earned my bachelor's from Canisius College, not far down Jefferson and Main.

My people need someone who knows Buffalo.

My people need a reporter who looks like them, speaks like them, and who tripped over the same sidewalk cracks as they did.

My people need a reporter who is unapologetically Black.

Rest in peace

Saturday was a sad day.

Rest in peace Celestine Chaney, Roberta A. Drury, Andre Mackneil, Katherine Massey, Margus Morrison and Geraldine Talley, Heyward Patterson, Aaron Salter, Ruth Whitfield, Pearl Young.

Christopher Braden, Zaire Goodman and Jennifer Warrington were shot but are expected to recover.

God bless.

Psalm 137:4

My grandfather, Martin, came home from Sunday service in a sharp black suit.

Macedonia Baptist Church, my family's Black church on East North Street off of Jefferson, hosted an Interfaith Service of Prayer and Lament on Sunday. Grandad wanted to look sharp.

It was one of Martin's first services since my grandma Phyllis died in March.

People from many backgrounds came to Macedonia to pray and grieve. I asked grandad, who baptized me at Macedonia, if he'd ever seen so many white people at church.

I think you all know the answer.

Gov. Kathy Hochul, D-Buffalo Tim Kennedy and Erie County Executive Mark Poloncarz all spoke during the service that reached its 150-person capacity. Mayor Byron Brown also spoke that day.

"We've never seen anything like what we saw Sunday, and I take no credit for that," Rev. Julian Cook said.

Black churches have historically been pillars in their communities, offering comfort and safe haven to those who need it. After Saturday's mass killing, people in Buffalo turned to the church again.

Cook acknowledged how emotional the weekend was. His sermon structure was different because of Saturday's stress. He preached from Psalm 137:4 — "How shall we sing the Lord's song in a strange land?" — reflecting on singing about "hurt, history and hope," and giving people permission to cry.

Cook preached from an outline as opposed to a manuscript, letting the "spirit speak."

"They needed to see I was struggling to find my words as well," Cook said.

I've admired Macedonia's presence in the community during these times.

Black churches are so pivotal, evident in the clergypersons who've been supporting the victims and their families since the shooting first happened around 2:30 p.m. Saturday.

"I think Black clergymen were called upon immediately because of the anger and pain and devastation in the community. Who do we go to whose voices are immediately trusted?" Cook said.

Newkirk arrived at Tops shortly after the shooting began. He was already headed there for ice cream with a colleague. When he arrived, he encountered the panic and saw bodies in the parking lot. Newkirk rushed to the back and prayed with those who escaped.

Newkirk said he believes all Black pastors have a responsibility to their communities — to continue ministering, even away from the pulpit.

"We carry the church with us," said Newkirk, whose sister and niece work at Tops. "There's no separation between social living and biblical principles. ... We disciple our community and police our own neighborhood."

Quigley, a Houghton College student and member of King Solomon Holiness Church, said she understands how hard it is to "keep the faith" after such a catastrophe.

She easily could have been in Tops during the shooting. After dropping off her sister, Ty'Neze, at The Dance Camp on Jefferson and Utica, Quigley and her mother, Ly'Tasha Jones, were headed one block over to Tops. That's when Ly'Tasha realized her bank card was at home.

"I just ask myself so many questions," Quigley said. "If she didn't check for her bank card, that could've been us."

It's been tough for Quigley to explain everything to her 10-year-old sister. She's even offered support to her friends, checking on them all throughout the day.

Thankfully, Quigley hasn't lost her faith. She has a "But God" tattoo on her arm as a reminder.

"Nobody got me but God," Quigley said.

Email Marquel Slaughter at mslaughter1@gannett.com and follow his Twitter @MarquelSports. Sign up for our high school sports newsletter.

This article originally appeared on Rochester Democrat and Chronicle: Tops, Jefferson Ave. and Buffalo's epicenter of Black culture: Column