Tragedy Strikes the Ice: A Father’s Rampage Shatters a Rhode Island Hockey Game and a Family Forever

The crisp air of the Dennis M. Lynch Arena in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, hummed with the familiar sounds of a high school hockey game on February 16, 2026—a symphony of skates slicing ice, sticks clashing, and cheers from the stands. Parents, siblings, and friends gathered to watch the Blackstone Valley Knights take on their rivals, a routine slice of American suburban life where dreams of glory unfold under bright arena lights. But in an instant, that ordinary evening descended into chaos, as gunfire erupted from the bleachers, transforming a place of youthful competition into a scene of unimaginable horror. Robert Dorgan, a 56-year-old transgender individual who also went by Roberta Esposito, unleashed a barrage of bullets, targeting his own family in a targeted attack rooted in deep-seated disputes. By the time the echoes faded, three lives were lost—including Dorgan’s own—and a community was left reeling from the scars of violence that no scoreboard could tally.

The attack unfolded just after 4 p.m., during a lively matchup at the rink located a few miles outside Providence. Video footage from LiveBarn, a streaming service for youth sports, captured the harrowing moments: players gliding across the ice, oblivious at first to the popping sounds that pierced the air. Seventeen-year-old Colin Dorgan, captain of the Blackstone Valley Schools’ hockey team and the shooter’s youngest son, was on the rink, skating backward as the first shots rang out. He froze, then scrambled with his teammates toward safety at the back of the arena, their youthful energy redirected into survival instinct. Spectators in the stands screamed and ducked, while others heroically intervened. One bystander, described by witnesses as a quick-thinking hero, grabbed the gun and wrestled with Dorgan, preventing further carnage in those critical seconds. “He was on top of the shooter,” the man later recounted in interviews, his voice steady but haunted by the memory. This act of bravery likely saved lives, but it couldn’t undo the devastation already wrought.

The victims were no strangers to Dorgan—they were family. Rhonda Dorgan, 52, the shooter’s ex-wife, was pronounced dead at the scene, her life cut short amid the cheers she had come to offer her son Colin. Beside her fell Aidan Dorgan, 23, Rhonda’s eldest son and a promising young engineer whose future was just beginning to unfold. Aidan was rushed to a nearby hospital but succumbed to his injuries shortly after. Three others were wounded: Rhonda’s parents—Aidan’s grandparents—who remain in critical condition, fighting for their lives in intensive care, and Thomas Geruso, a family friend and assistant principal at Charles E. Shea High School in Pawtucket. Geruso, known for his dedication to education and community, was caught in the crossfire, adding another layer of loss to a town already grappling with shock.

Pawtucket Police Chief Tina Goncalves addressed the media the following day, her tone measured yet heavy with the weight of the investigation. “This appears to be a targeted event, possibly related to a family dispute,” she stated, emphasizing that the public was not in ongoing danger but urging vigilance in recognizing signs of domestic turmoil. Dorgan, who concluded the rampage by turning the gun on himself, died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound, bringing the death toll to three. Authorities recovered a handgun at the scene, and while the exact motive remains under scrutiny, court records and family statements paint a picture of a fractured household plagued by years of conflict, centered around Dorgan’s gender transition and ensuing family rifts.

To grasp the full tragedy, one must delve into the lives shattered that day. Rhonda Dorgan was a devoted mother of three—Aidan, Ava (20), and Colin—whose world revolved around her children’s achievements. Described by friends as warm and supportive, she had navigated a tumultuous divorce from Robert in 2021, emerging as the pillar holding her family together. Court filings from 2020 reveal the initial grounds for divorce included Dorgan’s “gender reassignment surgery, narcissistic and personality disorder traits,” though these were later amended to “irreconcilable differences.” Rhonda’s stepdaughter, Amanda Wallace-Hubbard, who set up a GoFundMe for the surviving siblings, spoke of her as a beacon of love: “The weight of this loss is something no one should ever have to bear, especially at such young ages.” The campaign, launched mere hours after the shooting, has surged past $13,000, with donations pouring in to cover living expenses, education, and the unforeseen burdens now facing Ava and Colin, who are suddenly orphans.

Aidan Dorgan’s story is one of unfulfilled promise, a young man whose talents spanned athletics and academics. A standout hockey player at North Providence High School, where he captained the varsity team in his senior year of 2021, Aidan embodied the grit and passion that define the sport. He also excelled in lacrosse and dabbled in junior varsity football, showcasing a versatility that mirrored his intellectual pursuits. Graduating with a degree in mechanical engineering from Merrimack College in May 2025, Aidan interned at General Dynamics Electric Boat in Connecticut before securing a full-time position as an engineer in September. But his professional ascent was matched by personal joy: engaged to his girlfriend of five years, Starr, since October 2025, he seemed on the cusp of a bright future. Starr’s Valentine’s Day post on Instagram, just days before the tragedy, captured their bond: “I love doing life with you!”—a sentiment now etched in grief.

Colin, the 17-year-old on the ice that fateful day, shares his brother’s athletic legacy. As captain of his team, he led with the same determination, his backward skate in the video a poignant symbol of innocence interrupted. Now, alongside his sister Ava—a 20-year-old nursing student—he faces a world without parents or his older brother. “Despite the pain, Ava and Colin are determined to continue their education and build a life that honors the memory of our loved ones,” Wallace-Hubbard wrote on the GoFundMe page. The hockey community, a tight-knit network in Rhode Island where rinks serve as second homes, has rallied around them. Tributes from fellow players, coaches, and fans flood social media, with hashtags like #HockeyStrong and #PrayForPawtucket trending as symbols of solidarity.

Robert Dorgan’s life, in contrast, was marked by turmoil that escalated over years. Employed at Bath Iron Works in Maine, Dorgan’s professional stability belied personal strife. Court documents from early 2020 detail heated confrontations over his gender identity. Dorgan, who had undergone gender reassignment surgery, accused his father-in-law of threats, including claims of hiring an “Asian street gang” to murder him and derogatory slurs like “There’s no goddam way a tranny is going to stay in my house.” Charges against the father-in-law for intimidation were dismissed, as were later accusations against Dorgan’s mother for assault. These incidents fueled ongoing family contention, with Dorgan warning police of potential retaliation if he didn’t drop charges.

In the days leading up to the shooting, Dorgan’s online presence hinted at simmering rage. An X account under “Roberta Dorgano” posted a chilling message on February 15: “Keep bashing us. But do not wonder why we Go BERSERK,” defending transgender Congresswoman Sarah McBride amid broader debates on trans rights. Another post featured a video of a woman loading a handgun while on a treadmill—a eerie foreshadowing. Hours after the attack, a woman claiming to be Dorgan’s daughter told reporters, “He has mental health issues. He shot my family, and he’s dead now.” Another family member described it as a “vendetta” against the family, underscoring the targeted nature of the violence.

The Dorgan family’s joint statement, released on February 17, captured the collective agony: “We are experiencing profound pain and loss.” It acknowledged the complexity of the situation, pleading for privacy while expressing gratitude for community support. This tragedy thrusts Rhode Island—a state known for its quaint coastal charm and fervent hockey culture—into the national spotlight on gun violence. With over 650 mass shootings in the U.S. in 2025 alone, according to the Gun Violence Archive, incidents like this highlight the lethal intersection of domestic disputes, mental health crises, and easy access to firearms. Rhode Island’s strict gun laws, including background checks and red flag provisions, did not prevent this horror, sparking renewed calls for federal action.

Experts point to the role of untreated mental health issues, exacerbated by societal stigma around transgender individuals. Trans people face disproportionately high rates of violence and suicide, with a 2025 survey by the Trevor Project revealing that 41% of trans youth considered suicide in the past year. Dorgan’s case, while not representative of the trans community, illustrates how isolation and family rejection can fester into catastrophe. Advocates like those from GLAAD urge compassion: “This is a story of family breakdown, not identity,” one spokesperson noted in response to media coverage.

The Pawtucket community, a working-class enclave with deep Italian-American roots, now mourns collectively. The Lynch Arena, named after a local philanthropist, has closed temporarily, its ice silent as investigators comb the scene. Memorials sprout outside: flowers, hockey sticks, and jerseys bearing Aidan’s number from his high school days. Local schools offer counseling, and the Rhode Island Interscholastic League has postponed games, honoring the fallen with moments of silence. “Hockey is more than a game here—it’s family,” said a coach from a rival team, reflecting on the bonds that now serve as lifelines for healing.

As of February 19, 2026, updates remain sparse, with police withholding autopsy results pending family notification. The injured grandparents cling to life, their prognosis guarded but hopeful. Geruso, the assistant principal, is stable, his role in education now a symbol of resilience. For Ava and Colin, the path forward is daunting: navigating grief while pursuing dreams—Ava in nursing, Colin perhaps in hockey or beyond. The GoFundMe continues to climb, a testament to humanity’s capacity for empathy amid despair.

This rampage at the rink forces a reckoning: How do we prevent the next one? It calls for bolstered mental health resources in rural and suburban areas, where access lags behind urban centers. It demands honest dialogues on family dynamics strained by identity shifts, ensuring support rather than division. And it begs for gun reforms that address root causes without infringing rights. In the words of a Pawtucket resident at a vigil: “We came for a game, but left with a lesson in loss. Let’s make sure it wasn’t in vain.”

Yet, amid the darkness, stories of heroism emerge—the bystander who tackled Dorgan, the players who shielded each other, the community that envelops the survivors. Aidan, with his engineering mind and athlete’s heart, Rhonda with her unwavering maternal love—these are the legacies that endure. As the ice thaws and games resume, Pawtucket will skate forward, scarred but unbreakable, a reminder that even in tragedy, the human spirit fights on.