Hannigan’s Market: There’s a New Sheriff in Town

David McCann was someone who enjoyed opening the cellophane wrapping around a Twinkie and biting into the fresh creamy cake. He possessed a bubbly laugh, thinning hair, a flattened nose, and a rounded, flowing build. Balanced on his nose were thick, coke-bottle glasses. The young man with Down Syndrome regularly cruised the aisles of Hannigan’s Market, sometimes alone, more often with his mother, Doreen, wheelchair bound after decades of living with multiple sclerosis.

            For an island to maintain its identity as a year-round community, two things are essential. The first is a school. The Peaks Island Brick School (with roughly 40 students, pre-K through 5th grade) up the hill from where I live, has operated continuously for more than 150 years. If the Brick School is the heart of the community, Hannigan’s Market is its stomach. Close by the ferry landing, Hannigan’s is open 364 days of the year. Inside, there is a fresh produce section, a deli department, packaged and canned foods, and a large selection of frozen items. If you are thirsty, there is milk, bottled water, soda, juice, and ample supplies of alcohol. But it’s the candy aisle I want to talk about, that, and Hostess Twinkies.  

            Doreen and her husband Al McCann raised their large family in a rambling white house overlooking Sandy Beach roughly half-mile from Hannigan’s Market. When Doreen gave birth to a girl with Down Syndrome, the couple decided to foster another Down Syndrome child---David--- to keep her company. In time, the daughter with Down’s passed away and Doreen’s multiple sclerosis slowly progressed. The couple’s children grew up, moved off-island, and began their own families. Al, the victim of a progressive lung disease, passed away. That left Doreen and David to carry on in the family home. 

David was the muscle for Doreen’s paretic arms and legs. He learned how to cook and clean. It was David who helped Doreen into her wheelchair and pushed her up the steep hill to shop at Hannigan’s and delivered her to Saturday mass and Sunday services at the Catholic Church. Doreen, her voice slurred and difficult to understand from decades of multiple sclerosis, barked out orders to David. Usually, he complied. Despite her progressive weakness, Doreen was firmly in charge. And she was strict. When his attention sometimes drifted, Doreen’s sharp call, “David!” pulled him back to the task at hand.

Sons and daughter’s living off-island, and neighbors on Sandy Beach, helped the two maintain their independence, but there was a limit to what they could do. For the most part, the unlikely pair maintained their own fragile independence, year after year, through winter’s bite and rain and fog. Here comes David, pushing his mother in the wheelchair.  

On the way home from church, the two often stopped at Hannigan’s; Doreen still able to pull her groceries off the lower shelves, David to wander over to the candy aisle, or better still, to stare lovingly at the Hostess Twinkies. She cultivated good manners in her son and made sure his hair was combed and shirt tucked in. When David---who poorly understood the notion of personal space, got a little too close to girls he was fascinated by, she barked: “David! Come over here!”

            One day, David entered Hannigan’s Market alone. It was a slow summer morning, and Mr. Hannigan and his father were stocking shelves. David noodled around, up one aisle and down another, lingering in front of the candy section before strolling over to the Hostess Twinkies. Bobby kneeled to restock a shelf of spaghetti sauce and pasta and watched David grab a package of Hostess Twinkies. The Twinkies disappeared into a shirt pocket and David zippered up his jacket.

            Then he turned and walked out of the store.

            Mr. Hannigan blinked. What to do? For a moment, he hesitated, weighing his options. Was this the first time? Did David forget to pay? No, wait a minute; it was too smooth, too purposeful to be a mistake. He followed David outside and shouted for him to stop. David turned, wide-eyed. Mr. Hannigan folded his arms, and in a stern, low voice said, “David, I think you forgot to pay for the Hostess Twinkie.”

            David’s froze. “No. No. No. I don’t have a Twinkie. I don’t have a Twinkie.”

            “David,” Mr. Hannigan ran a hand through his hair, “I saw you pick up the Twinkie. It’s in your shirt pocket. You didn’t pay for it. You have to pay for things at the store. You know that. Your mother knows that.”

            David shrank back. His mother! Mr. Hannigan was going to tell his mother. Then David doubled down. “I….I….I don’t have a Twinkie. Look!” He patted the front of his jacket to demonstrate his innocence. The Twinkie package suddenly burst with a low-pitched blopp, and gooey fragments of creamy sponge cake showered the pavement.  

            David burst out in tears and ran home.

            Mr. Hannigan was conflicted. He’d known David since he was a little boy. He wondered how long the pilfering had gone on and held off telling Doreen. A few days later, he ran the story by his friend, Bob Swett, the Post Master. Bob was sympathetic. He thought the world of David, but said, “You did the right thing. You can’t let that kind of thing go on. It’s not good for anybody, especially David. He’s probably learned his lesson.”

            Too well, it turned out. For months, David refused to enter the store. He would hold the door open for his mother but insisted on waiting outside while she struggled to propel herself up and down the aisles gathering groceries on her lap. Despite Doreen’s frustration, she couldn’t convince David to come inside. Shame can do that. As Doreen struggled, the staff tried to help her, but during busy times, this wasn’t always possible. Bobby worried that it was only a matter of time before she fell out of her wheelchair reaching for an item on a higher shelf. That might mean the end of her time on Peaks Island.

The two men came up with a plan. Eventually, they hoped, David would come in alone. When he did, they’d be ready.

            One Saturday morning, David cautiously stepped through the door into Hannigan’s Market. He glanced towards the cash register. So far so good; there was his friend Rita, not mean Mr. Hannigan. In his pocket was a five-dollar bill and instructions from his mother to buy bread and cheese. From the deli counter, Mr. Hannigan spied David and wiped his hands on his apron before slipping out the back door to pay Bob Swett a visit at the Post Office.  Moments later, the two men sauntered back into the store. Mr. Hannigan quietly replaced Rita at the cash register.

            Then Bobby Swett strolled over to where David was admiring the candy. He leaned in to David and said, “I have a sweet tooth. I love candy.”

            “Me too,” admitted David.

Bobby spied the Hostess Twinkies. “Fresh Twinkies. They’re my favorite.” He reached into his pocket and turned it inside out. “Darn, I don’t have any money.” With an exaggerated motion, he looked to the right, and looked to the left. Then he grabbed a Hostess Twinkie, stuffed it into his shirt pocket and walked out the front door. For a moment, David said nothing. Then he noticed Mr. Hannigan behind the cash register reading a newspaper.

            “Mr. Hannigan. Mr. Hannigan! He just stole a Twinkie! He didn’t pay!”

            “That’s impossible,” said Mr. Hannigan. “Mr. Swett would never steal from my store.”

            “He did. He did! Come quick!” David led Mr. Hannigan by the hand outside.  “There he is! There he is! It’s him! He stole a Twinkie!”

Mr. Hannigan grew dead serious. He confronted Bobby Swett. “David here says you stole a Hostess Twinkie. Is that true?”

            Mr. Swett shook his head. “No way. Why would I do that?”

            “It’s in his shirt pocket. It’s in his shirt pocket!” David shouted, barely containing himself.

            Reluctantly, Bob Swett un-zipped his jacket and there was the Twinkie. The jig was up. Bobby hung his head and admitted he stole it. He knew it was wrong to steal and promised he would never do it again. Mr. Hannigan, in a stern, measured voice said, “And I’m glad David told me. He knew you were stealing and alerted me. He caught you.”

            “Does that mean I can never come in your store again?” Bobby asked.

“You can come in and shop, but no stealing. Do you understand?” Mr. Hannigan reached out and shook Bob Swett’s hand.

            The news was widely publicized. Doreen, in particularly, was proud of her son. The island newsletter carried the story: David McCann foils shop-lifting thief.  The “thief” remained unnamed. David was proclaimed a hero and was given a gold star. The spell was broken. There was a new sheriff in town.