BUFFALO – Amy Pilk has never been in contact with Hayward Patterson, a jitty driver at a grocery store where she often shop.
Mrs. Pilke watched Mr. Patterson, 67, help older customers with their shopping bags, and she seemed to enjoy such a small action. For several days she walked to the market several times, noticing his smile on each trip.
His spirit made her think, she said, of what good she could do in her own life.
It wasn’t until Mr. Patterson was killed in a racist massacre at a grocery store last week that Ms Pilk learned that, like many others in the East Side neighborhood of Buffalo’s Masten Park, she had little personal connection to him: he was her uncle of the godmother.
“That’s why I came,” Ms. Pilk, 46, said in an interview before Mr. Patterson’s funeral at the Lincoln Memorial United Methodist Church on Friday morning. “It’s such a small world and he didn’t deserve it. None of them deserved it. “
“It’s such a small world here, and he didn’t deserve it,” said a woman who attended the funeral and knew Mr. Patterson from the supermarket. “None of them deserved it.”
Friday’s service was the first for 10 blacks to come to Jefferson Avenue, Tops, on their personal, daily missions – work shift, dinner delivery, travel to buy a birthday cake for a 3-year-old son – but whose life ended together.
Mr Patterson’s family asked reporters not to join the service. But hundreds of visitors from across New York State traveled to Buffalo on Friday to mourn the death of their friend, a deacon at Tabernacle State Church of God, whose greetings at the front entrance brightened the days of the pilgrims.
Deacon Patterson, as it was known, will take a few dollars to provide transportation from the Cannons to Masten Park, a poorer area where many residents do not have cars and rely on close-knit circles of neighbors for help. Almost every day, he refilled his Ford Fusion with shopping bags, drove customers home, and then repeated the trip, helping the next neighbor in need. Even for those who have never exchanged words with him, he is woven into the fabric of the community.
“He was a bright star in the midst of the turmoil,” said Clyde Haslam, 66, who attended kindergarten with Mr. Patterson and has been his friend ever since.
“We have been through so much,” Mr Haslam added. “But despite the ups and downs, he always smiled. That’s why we have to smile here today. “
From the opinion: Shooting a buffalo
A comment from the Times Opinion on the massacre at a grocery store in a predominantly black neighborhood in Buffalo.
- The Times Editorial Board: The Buffalo mass shooting was an outstanding expression of a political worldview that is becoming increasingly central to the Republican identity.
- Jamel Bui: Republican politicians and conservative media figures did not come up with the idea of a “great replacement”, but they embraced it.
- Gail Collins: To start seeing change, the best bet is a simple battle. Get rid of the machines. All assault rifles. The arms industry can diversify.
- Sway: In the last episode of her podcast, Kara Swisher hosted a discussion on the role of internet platforms such as 4chan, Facebook and Twitch in the attack.
For Mr. Patterson – Teni or the boy Teni for his family and friends – the Tops store in Masten Park was like a second service. He was killed in the parking lot of the store while performing another of his tasks: packing groceries in someone else’s car.
It was a way for him to make some money, but it also reflected a trait that his loved ones say drives him: the desire to help others. This trait was so evident in his volunteer work in the soup kitchen at his church on Glenwood Avenue as well as in his market shepherds.
“As tragic as it was, it happened while he was doing what he loved to do,” said Darrell Dwayne Hicks, who met with Mr. Patterson about 25 years ago. “It could not be otherwise. He was not on the street and he did not make mistakes. He was doing something for the people. “
The relationship between the two men was built through decades of work in soup kitchens and church services.
“It’s like losing a brother,” Mr. Hicks said. “I can’t tell you how much it hurts.”
Many of the mourners wore purple buttons with Mr. Patterson’s nickname and a portrait under a golden crown. Over and over again, through tear-filled eyes, they described him as a loving friend and righteous man.
“I knew him through the community, spreading peace and love,” said Murray Holman, who leads Buffalo’s Stop Violence coalition. “We were driving with food. He was a good man. A very good man.”
Some of Mr. Patterson’s dozens of distant relatives, a group that included a cousin’s godmother, were asked to sing a selection of gospel music during the service.
Members of his immediate family, who are still struggling to bear the brunt of the loss, did not speak outside the church.
On Thursday, his ex-wife, Tirza Patterson, spoke with the families of three other people killed in the riots. For the youngest of his three children, Jacques Patterson, 12, she said, adapting to a world without his father – who gave him “everything he asked for” – was devastating.
“I have to pray and check every day to make sure he’s not mentally everywhere,” Ms. Patterson said, adding that her son struggled to eat and sleep at night. “His heart is broken.”
Jacques Patterson planned to share his own thoughts at Thursday’s event. But when his mother began to speak, he buried his face in his hands. And when she was done, the younger Mr. Patterson shook his head, wept, and collapsed into the chest of the Reverend Al Sharpton, who embraced him and rubbed the back of his gray T-shirt.
“As a mother, what do I have to do to overcome this,” said Ms. Patterson, who has been married to the deacon for 15 years. “They took his father.”
On Friday, the feeling of suffering from heartache remained on display: a 70-year-old cousin stood around the corner from the church’s high red front door, while other relatives went inside to see Mr Patterson’s body.
The man, who declined to give his name, said he could not bear to see his lifeless loved one when there was too much to talk about.
David Wilson, 66, another of Mr. Patterson’s cousins, had decades of memories in his mind when he left church. He had seen Mr. Patterson a week before the attack, and Mr. Patterson had encouraged him to stop by his church for service.
The two have fallen out of regular contact in recent years, Mr Wilson said. But as children, they crossed paths regularly. Mr. Wilson recalls spending an afternoon with Mr. Patterson and a group of other relatives.
It was five bucks to grab. All Mr. Patterson had to do was sprint around the neighborhood in a pair of silk underwear and a matching T-shirt and collect the money.
“And he did,” Mr. Wilson said. “It was him: he just wanted to make people smile – and that spirit never left him.
Lauren D’Avolio contributed to the reports.
Add Comment