In a city long acquainted with the wounds of gun violence, the June 30 shooting at Memphis Rox—an institution known for healing, connection, and second chances—has left the community grappling with a unique kind of heartbreak. What unfolded around 4:00 p.m. that day wasn’t just a violent disruption in an urban landscape; it was an emotional betrayal at a place that had come to symbolize hope. Two men were killed in the incident. The first, 29-year-old Jarmond Johnson, was a beloved staff member at the climbing gym. The second, now identified by Memphis Police as Dejuan Taylor, adds a further layer of sorrow to an already devastating scene.
Memphis Rox is not just any athletic facility. Located in the heart of the city, the climbing gym has long served as a hub for community outreach, youth programming, and social uplift. Built on an ethos of inclusion, it welcomes patrons regardless of their ability to pay. In that space, lives have been changed and second chances offered. So when the gunfire broke out, claiming the lives of two young men inside the walls of this sanctuary, the reverberations spread far beyond the immediate crime scene.
The Memphis Police Department, now leading the investigation, has publicly confirmed that Dejuan Taylor was the second fatality in the shooting that day. Though details remain scarce, what is known paints a portrait of chaos, confusion, and unanswered questions. Police have not released any motive for the shooting or stated what, if any, relationship existed between Taylor, Johnson, and the man currently in custody, Farris Haley. What led to the gunfire remains unclear—whether it was an altercation, a targeted act, or the eruption of a long-simmering personal conflict.
According to police reports and a probable cause narrative, Haley was found at the scene near one of the victims. But as officers attempted to detain him, the situation escalated. Haley allegedly broke free from police custody, grabbed a loaded firearm, and fled the scene. During his escape, he is said to have thrown the weapon into a car. He was eventually apprehended, and authorities charged him with tampering with evidence and resisting official detention. Notably, Haley has not been charged with murder—raising further questions about whether he was a witness, a participant, or perhaps something in between.
The Memphis Police Department has emphasized that Haley’s role in the shooting itself remains under investigation. For now, his charges are procedural, not accusatory of homicide. The absence of murder charges has left a vacuum in the public narrative. In a city where so many shootings remain unresolved or unprosecuted, the demand for clarity is growing louder. Who killed Dejuan Taylor and Jarmond Johnson? Why did it happen inside one of Memphis’s most respected community centers? And how could such violence enter a space dedicated to peace?
The community’s grief has been raw and immediate. In an emotional statement posted soon after the incident, Memphis Rox mourned the loss of Johnson, referring to him as “one of our most beloved team members.” The gym’s leadership also announced a temporary closure starting Monday, June 30, giving staff and patrons a chance to step back, reflect, and process the trauma. But even with the lights off and the doors closed, the pain lingers.
Taylor’s death, now officially confirmed, expands the circle of loss. While less is publicly known about him, the fact of his presence at the gym that afternoon—and the fact that he, too, did not survive—raises painful questions. Was he there to climb, to visit a friend, or perhaps to confront someone? Was he a bystander or a participant? Police have yet to elaborate on his connection to the events, or to Johnson and Haley. But even without those answers, what’s certain is that two families are now planning funerals instead of family dinners. Two names have been added to the ever-growing ledger of victims of gun violence in a city weary of death.
The psychological toll of a shooting at Memphis Rox cannot be overstated. This is not just a gym—it’s a symbol. Founded with a mission to build trust and transformation in one of Memphis’s most challenged neighborhoods, it offers youth programming, mentorship, and community events designed to create alternative pathways away from violence. Its existence is a declaration of faith in people and possibility. That such a space was breached by gunfire makes the tragedy feel especially cruel. It strikes at the idea that any place can be truly safe, that even havens of healing are not immune from the city’s darker currents.
Law enforcement officials have promised a thorough investigation, including the analysis of surveillance footage, witness interviews, and forensic evidence. Given the public nature of the facility and its numerous staff and patrons, it’s likely that more than one person witnessed the moments leading up to the shooting. Their testimonies could prove critical in determining not only who fired the fatal shots, but why.
Yet the slow drip of information has frustrated some in the community. With no official motive released and the involvement of Haley still murky, the lack of transparency risks undermining public confidence. Families of the victims deserve closure. So does a city that wants to believe in the promise of institutions like Memphis Rox. And so, the community waits—for justice, for explanation, and for something to anchor the grief that now blankets the facility.
Gun violence in Memphis has long been a central crisis, with statistics reflecting a city battling high rates of firearm-related deaths, especially among Black men under 40. But numbers cannot convey what it means to lose someone like Jarmond Johnson—a mentor, a role model, and a builder of community. Nor can they explain the death of Dejuan Taylor, a man whose role in the incident remains undefined, but whose absence is now permanent. Both men were part of Memphis, and now both are part of its memory.
The coming days will likely bring more answers, perhaps more arrests. As the investigation progresses, authorities may clarify the relationships involved and determine who, ultimately, is accountable. But no amount of procedural clarity can undo the damage. Memphis Rox will eventually reopen, its walls carrying the invisible imprint of trauma. Staff will return, likely changed. Patrons will resume their routines, more cautious, perhaps more committed than ever to the mission of peace.
For now, two families grieve. The Memphis Police Department has extended its condolences, as have city leaders and members of the Rox community. The words offer comfort, but they do not fill the void.
Dejuan Taylor and Jarmond Johnson lost their lives not in the back alleys or shadowed corners of the city, but inside a sanctuary—one built to protect and inspire. That irony is heavy, but it must not be the last word. As Memphis mourns, it must also demand answers, accountability, and above all, remembrance.