"It's so personal": Maryland, tight city, crying after the murder of a deadly newspaper

The historic capital of Annapolis is plunged into the pain of an attack on the local newspaper, which killed journalists who recounted football matches, art shows and the cloth of life in small towns

a block away from the Maryland State House, clearly expresses the depth of sadness that many feel in this picturesque waterside capital of about 40,000 near Chesapeake Bay. "There are no words," she says

. With its weekly sailboat races and quaint downtown, residents were settling into the languid rhythms of the summer when the gunfire broke the usual tranquility. In a quiet city where the new clbad of the US Naval Academy has just arrived this week and where residents are proud of a rich colonial legacy, the shooting that cost The Capital's life opens up a new chapter in its long history.

feels so personal, "said Mary Adams, owner of the Annapolis Bookstore and knew two of the victims." This upset our community, and perhaps it has made us more aware of the fact that we are all in the same boat. "

Adams knew Wendi Winters, Publisher of special projects of the newspaper.They met years ago at a Harry Potter night in another bookstore in the city.He also knew the deputy editor, Rob Hiaasen, who was The other people killed on Thursday were Gerald Fischman, editorial editor, John McNamara, journalist, and sales badistant Rebecca Smith

"I'm so sad that it happened to people and their families. , at said Adams. "These are all good people who are simply trying to support a local newspaper, and now everyone is wondering how that happened."

Jarrod W. Ramos was charged with five counts of first degree murder . Authorities say that he had a long-standing grudge against the newspaper, prosecuting him in 2012 for an article that he ran on pleading guilty of harbading a woman. A judge later declared it unfounded. In recent years, Ramos has repeatedly targeted staff members with edgy and vulgar tweets

& # 39; Wake-up call & # 39;

Designed more for the age of horses and buggies than SUVs, Annapolis has a baroque plan and diagonal streets that can make it feel far removed from modern times. For some, this feeling of withdrawal made Thursday's tragedy even more shocking.

Lisa Quina, owner of an interior design studio called Barefoot Dwelling, recently moved out of Baltimore – a city that has struggled for years to reduce the rate of homicides. "

One of the reasons for Annapolis' choice was its very close-knit nature.

"I guess it's a wake-up call in any community," Quina said. "Despite the picturesque or historical character, the complexity of some of our daily challenges, we are vulnerable to the worst possible scenario."

Caitlin Walls, who works as an badistant interior designer at the boutique, said that Annapolis l 39; had always felt like a safe place. "It's sad, it's a reality growing up in places you thought were safer places," Walls said of the shooting

. went elsewhere. Born in Tennessee, Belichick graduated from Annapolis High in 1970 and has close ties with his father who was an badistant coach at the Navy.

"Throughout my life, The Capital has been my local newspaper, dealing with a lot of great people who have worked for the newspaper," said Belichick. "My heart goes out to the victims, to their families and to the whole community of Annapolis."

Steve Samaras, owner of Zachary's Jewelery on Main Street near City Dock, said he had attended a vigil on Friday night with his 12-year-old son. niece. He said that she was already dealing with the consequences of gun violence because one of her friends who had moved to Florida had attended Marjory Stone Douglas High School in Parkland, where 17 people died in February.

"She said: Uncle Steven, I'm scared. What do you say to a child of 12 years old? What does one say to a child? He said.

More than 1,000 people flocked Friday night to Annapolis to remember the victims.

Samaras experienced the resilient side of Annapolis first hand. In 2005, the building that housed his business was destroyed by fire and he had to move. Seven days later, he said, the community was badured that he was open to his current location.

"So the resilience, the determination that they've shown me, is what we're going to see happen here," he said.