Carson Senfield was a Quaker through and through, and he loved his fellow classmates and the Orchard Park Community with all his heart. He graduated in the class of 2021, with a future full of promise and a love for life like no other. In his sophomore year at the University of Tampa, he was tragically killed on September 17, 2022—the night of his 19th birthday—but his legacy of love lives on.
In Carson’s beautiful 19 years with us, he was able to teach us so many things about how to love life and care for others. He always found the GOOD in humanity and sought to be a friend to those who needed love, support, and guidance. He had an exceptional knack for recognizing students that may have been struggling to adjust to college life, and taking them under his wing as his friend. Carson made an IMPACT on so many more people than we could have ever imagined, and his influence is still felt today because of the way he cared for others. We can hardly believe the number of lives he touched, from his immediate family and friends to complete strangers. Surrounding himself with positive influences everywhere he went, he developed a bright, joyous personality that was infectious to those around him. He was genuinely kind, down to earth, selfless and generous, with the ability to make anyone he met— no matter how briefly—feel special. Carson was the essence of leadership without needing the glory, setting an example for others with just his uplifting spirit and smile.
Carson’s IMPACT in the words of Jack Schmelzinger, Miami University Ohio student, September 2022
When I was 10 years old, my 16-year-old cousin died in a car accident. His wake was the saddest gathering of people I’ve ever witnessed. The outpouring of love I saw for him was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Until this week.
I’ve never forgotten what Carson Senfield said to me as we walked off the ice after modified hockey tryouts when I was in eighth grade. “You’re really good, Jack. I’m glad we’re on the same team.” I wasn’t really good, or even good at all – Carson was – but it made me feel so good. I was in eighth grade and Carson in seventh. You wouldn’t expect an eighth grader to care what some younger kid had to say, but Carson was just that type of person. He commanded every room he walked into, back then, and even much earlier. Everyone loved him, and his approval was like gold.
Another story comes to mind. When I was in seventh grade, I was on Carson’s house baseball team at Orchard Park Little League. One game we were up big going into the fourth or fifth inning. To start the next one, Carson hit a bomb over the left field fence on field four. Later in the inning, after a procession of walks, he hit another. This time though, he was hitting left handed. I still can’t believe it. He wasn’t a switch hitter, he was just the best 11-year-old baseball player I’ve ever seen.
When I moved to Orchard Park in the middle of seventh grade, my parents immediately started looking for travel baseball teams for me to play on. The first coach I remember meeting was Daren Senfield, Carson’s dad. At this point, my entire universe was turned around. I was a couple of weeks into living in my new home, and I didn’t have a friend in the world. I was honestly miserable. But all these years later, I still remember how Mr. Senfield made me feel like the most important person in town. Carson was a good person raised by good people. Anyone would tell you that.
I played hockey with Carson my senior year at Orchard Park. He and Colin Giancaterino were literally the funniest pair of kids I’ve ever met, even now over two years into college. They would have the dumbest conversations about the dumbest things, but the entire locker room was captivated. When Carson showed up, laughs followed. Laughs that caused pain. He was that funny.
Anyone from Orchard Park who has been on social media over the last few days has seen what most of us already knew. Carson was one of the most beloved people in Orchard Park. Everyone in town has a picture with him. Everyone who met him has a story about him or 50, making them laugh. Making them feel good.
Carson brightened every room he ever walked in. Every. Single. One. I truly believe that, and I believed it a week ago, too.
A bright light in this cold world was stolen from us on Sept 17. Carson, I’ll never forget you. No one will. Everyone who knew you wishes they could hug you one more time. I love you. I love you.
Long Live Carson.
