Something didn't feel quite right about Sunday from the beginning. The sun was shining, but the wind had a harsh edge to it.

Then, a little after 11, as I sat in our choir near the front of Emmanuel Episcopal Church, I felt my cell phone buzz on my belt. At the first discreet opportunity, I worked it out from under my robes and peeked at the text from my wife:

"Glenn called shooting at rest home in carthage 3 dead he's there but cant do much."

I couldn't do much either -- but wait until after we had sung our number: the wondrous kyrie section of Mozart's Mass in C. As we sang under Johnny Brad-burn's expert direction, I could feel my phone vibrate again, giving an extra layer of meaning to the Latin lyrics.

O Lamb of God, that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. ...

Once the glorious last chords had faded away, I slipped into the hallway to answer a couple of other calls and make some of my own.

The good news was that photographer Glenn Sides had reinforcements by now. Reporter John Krahnert was on the scene at the Pinelake nursing home, John Chappell was making calls from his vacation location in South Carolina and would soon head home, Online Editor Hunter Chase already had some details up on our Web site, and Managing Editor David Sinclair was coordinating things.

The bad news was that the known death toll was up to five.

I had to stay at church that afternoon to take part in a choral concert, though I felt that I belonged at the office. Again, I tried not to let the repeated, urgent buzzing of the phone distract me as we sang more numbers, including Howard Goodall's lovely, cleansing version of Psalm 23.

Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil. ...

Then I skipped out again and headed for work. By the end of the day, the toll was up to seven and we had a major, national story on our hands. Though personal or business concerns pale at such a time, this was our worst journalistic nightmare: big news breaking on a Sunday morning, when our next paper doesn't come out until Wednesday.

Publisher David Woronoff and I briefly toyed with and rejected the idea of rushing into print with an old-fashioned extra. For now, then, this would be a Web story. We were the first up with it on thepilot.com. Thank goodness for Hunter Chase, computer whiz Zonker Harris, and a lot of scrambling by other staffers to get the latest developments to them and out to our cyber readers in record time and volume.

I'm proud of the job all the members of our Pilot newsroom family have done. Features Editor Faye Dasen was one of the first to come in on Sunday and volunteer to help, Sports Editor Tom Embrey gave up his day off on Monday, Writer-in-Residence Jim Dodson pitched in, and soon practically the whole staff had mobilized, including Florence Gilkeson, whose Carthage office was available as a home base. A crisis like this always brings out the best in everyone.

The big outside media swarm into town like a flock of scavengers at such moments (at Monday's press conference, I counted 14 TV trucks with the satellite dishes up, looking like so many space-alien visitors), but they disappear just as quickly. Your hometown Pilot is the one that will stick with the story longest and bring you the most details.

I'm stealing a few moments to dash out this column on Monday evening on a bench on Broad Street, having fled the office to gather my thoughts and get away from the sound of desperate, anguished 911 calls being played back. We still have another busy day ahead of us to get the paper out.

As we work, our hearts go out to the victims of this senseless tragedy and their families, who are our neighbors and fellow Moore Countians and not just anonymous characters in a story to be covered and easily forgotten once all the satellite trucks have packed up and departed.

Steve Bouser is editor of The Pilot. Contact him at sbouser@thepilot.com