deachman: we don't appreciate just how important crossing guards are
4 minute read
peter clark, in his 50s, died after being struck by a pickup truck in a hit-and-run incident on monday, march 22, in the barrhaven neighbourhood of ottawa. a 19-year-old man was arrested in connection with the hit-and-run.
ottawa police service
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handout photo
i was driving home from work on tuesday afternoon, thinking, as one does, about everything and nothing, when a flash of orange pulled me from my autopilot drift.
i was at the corner of wilton crescent and bank street, across from lansdowne park. the orange was the safety vest of a school crossing guard, a person i’ve seen there countless times — and, i realized, simply assumed i always would.
i turned onto bank street and soon passed hopewell avenue public school, where i saw more crossing guards, standing where they always stand — in the margins of the road, in reflective vests, holding stop signs that most of us obey without much thought. they are so familiar, so woven into the background of each school day, that it’s easy to stop really seeing them.
on tuesday, though, i did, and the sight of them filled me with a profound and wholly unexpected sadness.
because of peter clark.
clark, a crossing guard in his 50s, was struck by a pickup truck monday morning while working at the corner of cedarview road and kennevale drive in barrhaven, near mary honeywell elementary school. police confirmed tuesday that he died from his injuries. a 19-year-old has been arrested.
i don’t know the specifics of what happened in the hit-and-run incident. i don’t know whether speed was a factor, or distraction, or something else entirely. i don’t know what — precisely — would prevent something like this from happening again.
there will be time for those questions. for now, though, there should be a moment — at least a moment — to recognize what was lost.
it was only late tuesday night that it struck me: i was once a school crossing guard myself.
back then it wasn’t adults doing the job. it was students. i must have been 12 or 13, attending broadview avenue public school. i hadn’t thought about it in decades — it’s been more than 50 years, after all — and yet, suddenly, because i was thinking about peter clark, i remembered the belt.
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it was a simple waist-and-shoulder sash, and i remember the way the buckle fit together. the small ritual of fastening it, and pinning the metal “safety patrol” badge to my jacket, before stepping out into the street.
i don’t remember much else. not the specific intersections, or the weather, or even the faces.
but i remember the badge and belt.
and i’m aware, now, what it meant — even if i didn’t fully understand it then — to step into traffic and raise a hand, trusting that the drivers coming toward you would stop.
on wednesday morning, i walked up to hopewell school to say hello to andrew spicer, now in his 11th year as a crossing guard.
i’d met him a year ago while working on a column about people whose jobs take them out into the worst of winter. at the time, he told me he’d twice been struck by vehicles.
on wednesday, he told me the crossing guard community was feeling a “huge loss.”
it’s not a job people do for the money, he said. they do it for the community. and they don’t expect this to happen.
spicer greets everyone — not just the students he shepherds across bank and sunnyside each day, but parents, neighbours, passersby. there’s a rhythm to it, a familiarity. for many children, a crossing guard is the first school-related adult they see at the start of their day. a smile, a word, a small moment of recognition, can make all the difference in a youngster’s day.
crossing guards do a job that is both ordinary and extraordinary. they step into traffic and stand between moving vehicles and small children. they are, in the simplest and most literal sense, protectors.
and yet we treat their presence as routine. expected. almost invisible.
on tuesday, as i drove past those intersections, i found myself slowing a little more than usual. not because of enforcement or signage, but because i was suddenly aware of the person standing there — of what they were doing, of the trust we place in them, and the responsibility that we carry in return.
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there will be discussions about road safety. about enforcement. about whether measures like speed cameras in school zones help or hinder.
important as they are, none of these conversations should come at the expense of something simpler: peter clark should not be forgotten.
and neither should the quiet, essential work being done, every school day, by the people who stand in our intersections — stepping into traffic and asking us, for a few seconds, to stop.
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