How a Syracuse food pantry worker found forgiveness after a client punched out his teeth

Murray Gould has a great smile. It stretches across his weathered face all the way to his bright blue eyes.

He taps on his front teeth. “All fake,” he says. Then he laughs as he sits in the food pantry at St. Lucy’s Church on Syracuse’s Near West Side.

Gould, 75, is the director of the pantry. His mouth was ripped apart one day while working at the pantry. An angry young man sucker punched Gould, according to Gould and the police report.

It was just one punch, powered by youth, rage, mental illness and a poorly placed ring. It was random. And it was powerful. It knocked out all of Gould’s front teeth. He needed 50 stitches. He’s had countless surgeries and bone grafts, and he’s not done yet.

Gould existed on pudding and soup for more than a month.

This story is not about what happened to Gould, but what he did in the wake of that punch.

The pantry serves 450 families a month in one of the city’s poorest communities; many of its clients live in a constant cycle of disappointment.

Gould, a semi-retired corporate tax expert who lives in Syracuse, was not going to let this be another. The food pantry is more than just groceries. It serves respect without judgment to people who spend most of their days struggling in the margins.

The punch happened on a Thursday. The food pantry was supposed to reopen three days later. Should it? And if it did, would Gould be there?

Do not go back there, his wife, Ellen, said. She was looking at a man who had spent an entire day in the emergency room, had 50 stiches and all of his front teeth broken.

His best friend was even more adamant. He begged him not to go back.

But Gould looked past himself.

“I’m not the only one. It’s the volunteers. It’s the clients. And it’s the church community who have had their safety disrupted,” Gould says.

He worried that if he didn’t show up, other people would do the same. The pantry runs on volunteers. What if they got scared? And what if the clients who depend on the pantry were too afraid to come?

“If I don’t go back, he wins,” Gould says. “I felt they needed to see the recovery … I’m not dead.”

Gould said he thought about Sister Pat Bergan, an unflappable fixture at St. Lucy’s. The nun continued to show up and help in all ways even though she was battling terminal cancer. She died on Christmas Eve.

Won’t you be embarrassed, Gould’s wife asked. Fair question. His mouth was a disaster. The only tooth that showed was broken.

“S*** happens,” Gould says, laughing and showing the smile still under construction.

This happened on Aug. 8, more than nine months ago. Sincere Shorter, 23, had come to St. Lucy’s pantry that day looking for food. But he’d already hit his limit for the month. The pantry serves more than 450 families a month, but each is only allowed to come twice.

Shorter was told he couldn’t shop that day. He got angrier and angrier.

Gould tried to step in and calm him down. We’re sorry, he said. But those are just the rules. You’re welcome to come back next month.

But Shorter refused to leave. Gould told him he was going to call the police. He reached into his pocket for his phone.

“The next thing I know I’m on the ground,” Gould says. Blood was pouring out of his mouth. Shorter ran after that one punch. Police came, chased him and caught him. Gould’s teeth marks were on his fist.

Gould spent the rest of that day in the emergency room.

But three days later, after those conversations with his wife and friend, he went back.

People saw what happened with every word, every smile, as he explained it.

This was the only attack ever at the pantry in 30 years. It’s a safe place, and they’ll make changes to make it safer, Gould said he told them. In the first week after the attack, he spoke with the clients, explaining why he looked the way he did and assuring them they were still safe.

When Gould took the job running the pantry, just before Covid hit, he thought he’d be focusing on keeping the place organized, managing volunteers, managing inventory.

Gould, who attends All Saints Roman Catholic Church in Syracuse, has always been involved in his church and service work, but not quite like this.

He found himself focused on the families the pantry served. He wanted to learn their names, their lives, and make sure they know they mattered here.

“These are people who are underserved in every way, and that includes respect,” Gould says.

He could not let the man who attacked him take that away from all of them.

The food pantry did make some changes. Rules are posted on the walls in English and Spanish. Gould and the volunteers have gone through training about how to deescalate a situation when someone becomes enraged.

Gould and one other person now carry pepper gel, after going through training on how to use it. It’s a last resort option, Gould says. But one he’ll use.

Shorter, the man who punched Gould, was charged with second-degree assault. It was not his first violent charge. He was sentenced to time served, which was three-and-a-half months.

Gould spoke at his sentencing.

“You’re accountable for what you did. Change. Take advantage of the opportunity. Learn from it. You don’t want to be back here,” Gould said. “…my faith tells me that I forgive you.”

Marnie Eisenstadt writes about people and public affairs in Central New York. Contact her anytime email| cell 315-470-2246.