As I walk through life, I see all sorts of horrible accidents about to happen, largely related to cars and general human carelessness, and 99% of the time, nothing bad happens. Some times I warn people to not step into oncoming traffic and occasionally I’ve put a hand on someone to pull him back to the sidewalk. When I walk cross a street, I always try to keep my eyes peeled for reckless traffic, and when I drive, I usually slow at intersections.
I remember one time when I was about 20, I was enjoying my radio so much that I zoomed through a red light at about 50 mph. A car was about to pull out on green right in front of me, but he saw me and stopped, preventing a deadly accident. Knowledge of my own tendencies to carelessness keeps me alert for other people’s blundering.
Monday, 1:35 p.m., I drop off four books and two audio books at the Robertson Branch of the Los Angeles Public Library. I walk to the corner of Robertson and Airdrome and wait for the Walk sign to cross east on my normal route home. After a couple of seconds of waiting, I decide to change things up and walk home via Robertson Blvd north.
I pass four kids. The youngest, looks about six years of age, zooms ahead of the pack on his skateboard all the way to Key Street while his pals remain behind near the 7/11. Hmm, not safe, I think. He’s perilously close to the street but doesn’t fall into traffic.
I walk on, approaching the corner of Pickford and Robertson. More than four years ago on a weeknight, I was crossing this street on a Walk sign, lugging about 12 books from the library stacked on my arms. I saw the SUV driving west on Pickford enter the intersection and then turn straight toward me, heading south on Robertson. I tried to run out of its way but it keeps turning in and eventually speeds by me through the northbound lanes. I’m scared to death and curse under my breath the gangbanger driver.
Today, I see the Walk sign come on to cross Robertson via Pickford heading east. I see a young Hispanic teen smoking a cigarette step out into the street, not checking the traffic. I always look both ways before crossing the street, even when I have a Walk sign. Now I see a sturdy American car on Robertson barreling at about 40 mph through the red light heading east across Pickford straight towards the teen. I scream, “Hey! Watch out!”
The kid stops as the American car, driven by an old white man with an old white woman in the passenger seat, swerves to his left at the last second, misses the kid by inches, and charges on.
The kid smokes his cigarette and keeps crossing the street, not looking back until he reaches the other side, when he turns to me, extends his hand, and says to me in perfect English, “Thank you. That guy missed me by about four inches.”
“Jesus, that guy was out of control,” I say. “It’s outrageous.”
“It’s happened to me before,” says the kid.
“More pedestrians are killed in LA by cars than drivers,” I say.
He says goodbye, closing with “cheers.”
I want to remonstrate with him to always look both ways before crossing a street, even when you have the Walk sign, but I say nothing.
