On Thursday, August 25, tragedy struck the small town of Maryville, TN. Police officer Kenny Moats was shot and killed while answering a domestic violence call when he was shot in the neck—right above his bullet proof vest.
Officer Moat’s death rocked the small town of Maryville. Located just minutes outside of Knoxville—Maryville has a population of an estimated 27,465. And a good portion of that population showed up at the local Greenbelt to pay tribute to officer Moats. Local preachers, political figures and the police chief led a touching memorial to not only remember the fallen officer but to lift up the community during the time of sorrow.
In such a close knit town, a death such as this affects the whole community. Even if you didn’t know the officer personally, chances are—you knew someone who did. I didn’t know officer Moats. I had never met him. Never seen his face before now. But my boyfriend had. They grew up together and were childhood friends. I didn’t lose a friend in officer Moats, but someone close to me did, and it hurts just as bad as if I had.
In Maryville, there’s no such thing as six degrees of separation—it’s more like two degrees.
And I think that closeness is the reason the entire town carried the weight of Kenny Moat’s death on its shoulders.
Not only has the town stepped up to help each other mourn, the community has also took it upon itself to support the fallen officer’s family. T-shirts have been made, stickers are being sold, and money is being donated—all to benefit the family.
It’s always a sad occurrence when an officer loses his or her life. In larger cities, it may seem farther removed, but in a small town, it happened down the street to friend or a friend of a friend. It happened to the officer who pulled you over for going over the ridiculous 30 mph speed limit through town—the officer you called when your cows got out and you needed help getting them back in—the officer you called when you were scared and heard a strange noise in your house.
Tragedy strikes a chord in each and every household in a small town. Small towns have a sort of idealist appeal— think white picket fences and tons local mom and pop restaurants and stores.
Maryville isn’t far off from the dream. People around here are known for keeoubg their doors unlocked and leaving their keys in their cars. Citizens don’t expect their beloved officers to be shot on the streets they protect.
Nestled in the foothills of the Smoky Mountains, Maryville, TN, is known for its small town charm. There’s an old gas station that’s been converted into a hopping bbq sport, a local restaurant that offers a free meal to those in need, a couple of old smoky bars with all the town regulars, a fully operational drive-in, and a small downtown that you’ll miss if you blink.
But that’s not what keeps people here. People don’t stay in Maryville for the food and entertainment (lord knows there’s a lot more to life than barbeque and a drive-in) but what keeps people here is the spirit of the community. It’s the same ole’ gas station attendant that asks you how your day was, it’s the pizza delivery boy that offers to hold your cat so it won’t escape as you sign your receipt, and it’s the police officer that pumps gas for the older man who was shaking too bad to do it himself (I was actually lucky enough to witness this one morning). And it’s the community that pulls together when it loses one of its own.
