Reflections on Tragedy and Community in a Small Town

There’s no company that’s had a more permanent presence in my life than Fareway Meat & Grocery, a chain of supermarkets based in the Midwestern U.S. My dad has worked for the company for over 40 years, and some of my earliest memories are of him coming home for lunch—always in his work uniform of black pants, white shirt, black tie—where I’d try to feel around in his pocket for whatever candy he may have brought home for me from the store that day.

Our family moved several times whenever my dad was assigned to a new store—a pre-requisite for career growth in those days—until we finally settled in Monticello, Iowa—pop. 3,500--in the late ‘90s. My dad became the manager of the grocery department, and I began my first part-time job in the meat department—same black pants, white shirt, and black tie as my dad, with the added accoutrements of a white apron and white hat. Over my final two years and high school and all through college, I was a meat man. I learned how to quickly butterfly cut a pork loin. I learned what a pound of ground beef felt like down to the ounce--without having to put it on the scale. I learned how to put together a great-looking meat and cheese tray. But what I learned most deeply and meaningfully was how much I enjoyed interacting with customers—helping to pick out the right-sized beef roast for a family get-together, the perfectly marbled steak for an anniversary, or giving samples of different cheeses until I found the right one for the family’s picky eater

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And small-town grocery stores are not like big-city grocery stores. In a big-city store, you have anonymity. In a small-town store, it’s not just a possibility that you’ll run into someone you know, it’s a certainty. The people I was helping at the store were my teachers. They were my parents’ friends and my friends’ parents. That anniversary steak? I knew who was celebrating. The family gathering? I could guess who would be there. The kid who’s a picky eater? I went to school with their older sister.

Taking a personal level of care and interest in people is a trait that has served me well in life and work, and my time at Fareway taught me that.

I know that it’s a trait that served Aaron McAtee. I didn’t know Aaron well—he worked at the store before we moved to town and returned as meat manager after I left—but every time I returned home for a visit he’d come out to chat with me about my family or about our shared love for the Kansas City Chiefs. Over the past week I’ve been reading an outpouring of similar stories about Aaron—that he always made time to talk, to share a smile and an encouraging word.

Aaron died on November 7th, after he was shot outside on the Fareway loading dock in what police have called a random act of violence. While the suspect has been apprehended and charged, the impact on the community, including Aaron’s family, first responders, and Fareway employees, will be long-felt, and the road to healing will be long.

Because Fareway has been a part of my life for over 40 years, the fact that Aaron was killed at his job feels particularly devastating. It has made me feel deep anguish for Aaron’s family. It has made me feel pride for my dad, who is leading his employees and community through grief. It has made me feel anger toward the shooter, whose terrible actions changed so many lives forever. And it has made me feel love for my hometown, which has rallied in support of Fareway and its employees and is showing the power of human relationships that develop between customers and a business over generations.

Over the past week, while scrolling through social media, I noticed that many of my friends were changing their profile pictures to the same image—black background, white Fareway logo, with the phrase “our hearts are with you.” I assumed that the graphic had been created by a local Monticello resident, or possibly by the corporate headquarters of the business. I was wrong—the image had been created by Fareway’s competitor, Hy-Vee. And when Fareway announced it would be closing the store over a four-hour period to allow employees to attend Aaron’s memorial service, Hy-Vee announced that its store would close as well to show support.

Some may ask—what was in it for them?

Anyone who has talked with me about customer experience knows that I believe there’s a strong financial imperative to the discipline of customer experience. But I also believe there’s an equally strong moral imperative. That belief was cultivated through my experience living in a small town, where people like Aaron don’t just sell you the roast—they make sure you know how to cook it. Where they help build the bonds of community by asking how you are and not just what you want to buy. Where your competitors close their doors in solidarity with the community. It’s a dynamic that sustains the business and its customers. Sometimes, “because it’s the right thing to do,” is the correct answer.

It was for Aaron McAtee.