Two Dead Men, One Broken Town: Trenchport’s Heart Bleeds Again

By Luther Dupress,

Editor at Large – Trenchport Tribune

Henry “Hank” Calloway.

Rakesh “Rick” Patel.

There are two names you should remember this week, Trenchport.

These men didn’t know each other, didn’t run in the same circles. One was a harbor master—weathered, broad-shouldered, a fixture at the docks where calloused hands haul the economy ashore. The other, a corner store owner—the kind of man who knew your order before you said it, who smiled through sixteen-hour days behind dusty counters and flickering fluorescents.

But what they shared, tragically, is where they ended up: dead. Taken. Left to rot in the shadows of our city while we all kept going, most of us unaware.

Until now.

The Harbor Master Who Never Clocked Out

Henry Calloway was last seen leaving Gears Roadhouse, a local watering hole favored by dockhands and union reps. Witnesses recall him stumbling out into the night toward the harbor office—a route he’d taken thousands of times before. He never made it.

Three days later, his body was pulled from beneath the dockhouse—bloated, desecrated, and dumped like refuse in the very place he gave his life’s labor to. His face had to be identified by those who’d known him best, and even then, the river had done its damage. There was no dignity left in the death that met Hank Calloway. No witness to hold his hand. No camera to capture his final steps. Only silence and the cold harbor current.

We may never know who watched him go under.

The Shopkeeper Who Deserved a Peaceful Life

Rakesh “Rick” Patel ran the QuickStop on ML King Blvd. Anyone who’s lived here more than a month has seen him—laughing with kids at the candy rack, nodding to old-timers who shuffled in for morning paper and coffee. He was a constant in a city full of turnover.

And then, one day, the QuickStop was shuttered. Quiet. No sign. No Rick.

A few days later, his body was found behind a community center—discarded like trash in an alleyway, as though he was just one more piece of detritus in a city fighting to pretend it’s not crumbling.

The smell was what gave him away—his body had been left to rot, alone, in the dark. A woman walking her dog found him, and thank God she did. But by then, the damage was done. Another man, another life, gone violently. No family should have to identify someone they love by a scar on the cheek or a shirt he wore to work.

When the System Fails, We Must Not

I’ve been covering Trenchport for thirty years. I’ve seen crime come and go in waves. But something about these killings cuts deeper. Maybe it’s because these weren’t gangsters or drifters or lost souls in back alleys. These were working men. Men with routines. Men with names.

The city’s heart is bleeding—and too many of us are pretending we don’t see it.

Officials haven’t released specific details on suspects, but what we do know is chilling: these were calculated, unhurried killings. The kind you commit when you’re sure no one’s looking—or worse, when you’re sure no one cares.

Silence is the Killer’s Ally

Now, more than ever, Trenchport needs its citizens. Not just our police, not just our forensics teams—but you.

If you’ve seen something, heard something, even sensed that something was wrong, don’t bury that feeling. Come forward.

It could be a name you overheard at the gas station. A strange vehicle near the docks. Someone acting odd near the QuickStop. No piece of information is too small when lives are on the line.

Call CrimeStoppers at 1-800-251-CASH. You can remain anonymous. You can claim a substantial reward. But most importantly—you can help bring closure to two families now living in nightmares.

For Hank. For Rick. For Trenchport.

Let these two names echo in our hearts, not just our headlines. Let us demand justice not because it’s easy, but because it’s right. Because no man should end up dumped like garbage in the city he helped build. Because no family should sit in silence, wondering why their father, brother, or son will never walk through the door again.

Call the number. Say the words. Be the witness someone didn’t have when it mattered most.

Trenchport, we are not beyond saving. But we cannot save ourselves by staying silent.

— Luther Dupress, Editor at Large