A friend was killed while crossing the street in a crosswalk during daylight yesterday. She was older, and hadn’t made it across wide 19th Avenue before the light turned. Someone — apparently a 47-year-old man without a license — zipped out of the line of backed-up traffic and sped into an open lane and into Alice. She died at the scene.
(Examiner news story) (Chronicle news story)
I’ve known Alice for over 20 years. Sweet, endlessly complimentary, and, oh yeah,… feisty. Someone to miss.
I normally worry about the pedestrians on the cell phones who jaywalk out into traffic without checking both ways (like my mother taught me to look). They’re self-absorbed and way too trusting that drivers will A) See them and B) Stop.
Alice didn’t have a cell phone. She was in her 80’s (despite the Chronicle’s “mid 70’s”), and simply couldn’t get out of the way.
It doesn’t seem fair.
That is so awful. And you’re right, it is not fair.
No, it doesn’t seem fair. It sounds pretty darn painful, and from here it’s awfully easy to judge that hurried driver harshly. I am sorry for your loss.
(large hug)
Sorry to hear about the loss of your friend. I read about it today in the news and was saddened.
How terribly sad – I’m sorry for your loss.
Very sad news. My condolences.
Alice Wallace, a good friend
My heart is heavy. That is such an over-used phrase but it fits ny feelings about losing Alice. She was my best friend here at Sunrise.
I had only been here a short time when we met. I had such an immediate sense of comfort and almost familiarity being with her. We talked about our shared name: she said her mother didn’t anticipate the rhyme “alice” would make with the name of her then-unkown husband. My mother said the same thing about mine.
We talked about the similar patterns our lives had taken.
I loved her wit and edgey sense of humor. There was a kind of irreverance about her that made her very special.
I miss her.