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92 year old woman falls due to poorly maintained Midtown Sacramento sidewalk

carriesuepepper • Jul 13, 2013

I heard a thud,” said one of the onlookers. On Friday, July 12, Christine, 92 years of age, fell hard on the sidewalk in front of Urban Fitness at 25th & J Streets. She didn’t fall due to any failing of her own, but because of the poor condition of the sidewalk that caught the wheel of her walker.  Those in nearby businesses said they’d reported the condition of the walk to the City previously. Nothing has been done.

I’d just come across the street to where my car was parked and saw this sweet little woman sitting on the sidewalk, blood splattered down the back of her pretty pink plaid blouse. That thud was her head hitting the sidewalk—hard. “I was just trying to get a little exercise,” said Christine.

Here in midtown Sacramento, the city “parking Nazis” rake in a literal fortune for parking tickets—waiting ruthlessly for meters to expire or to find someone parked in a yellow zone or a special “by permit only” zone so they can nab them, slapping a $52 (minimum) ticket on their windshield. I’ve had my share. So, what are they using all that money for? Certainly not to repair sidewalks in a busy area where pedestrians like adorable 92 year old Christine like to  get out and get a little exercise  when most of her juniors are sitting on their couches or driving around in their air conditioned, gas-guzzling vehicles.

I knelt beside her and offered water (graciously offered to thirsty customers at the Birkenstock store across the street) which she gladly accepted, while we awaited the paramedics. They arrived quickly. “How are you doing, dear?” one asked her. “I’ve been better,” stated Christine, pretty shaken up but very sharp and spry for 92.

Christine carried with her—in her little walker basket—a book and her key chain with a photo of a little grandchild smiling out from behind the round plastic disk. A neighbor, who came up the walk in a motorized scooter, stopped to chat. “She’s 92 you know. She’s always reading.”

They placed towels at the back of her head to stop the bleeding, wrapped white bandages around, then lifted her onto a stretcher and off she went looking like a war victim. She tried shielding her eyes from the hot Sacramento sun, holding up her blood-covered hands, Immediately, one of the officers says, “cover her eyes!” I wanted to hold an umbrella over her, lay a cold cloth across her forehead. I told her that I would come to check on her in a few days and she smiled. Several of those who’d gathered collected information, agreeing that they would check on her. Some took photos of the high rise in the sidewalk that caused her fall.

The City of Sacramento is at fault here. I will see to it that something is done. Fixing the sidewalks (which I, too, have taken a fall on—no walker either—is a start. Let’s get Christine a better walker, one with big fat wheels that can roll over these cracks. Let’s make sure the city PAYS for this!

 

Carrie Pepper

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By Carrie Pepper • 04 Feb, 2024
Today, while out on a walk in a very high wind, I spotted a little bird way up in the tip top of a bare oak tree; she was holding on every so tightly as the wind tossed and shook the branches. Hold on, little one, I thought. And just then, this quote came to mind. “A bird sitting on a tree is never afraid of the branch breaking, because her trust is not in the branch, but in her own wings.” ― Charlie Wardle As I watched her, I imagined my own wings and wondered just how hard the wind is going to need to blow in my life for me to loosen them, pinned tightly to my sides, unfurl them—then TRUST as the currents lift me off my (branch) and I soar effortless and without fear.

Street Signs Can Be Memory Joggers

By Carrie Pepper • 30 Nov, 2023
Out on my morning walk, street signs acted as memory joggers. Perhaps they were nudges so that I could remember, and be grateful for, these two women who were there for me as a kid. BRADFORD was the first sign. Grammy Bradford. I never called her anything else and I have no idea what her first name was, but I do remember she was there to tend to me when I was little while my mother went off to work at her government job "in procurement," which she hated. I know nothing, really, of what she did there, but I do remember the room. It seemed there were hundreds of desks in this huge room, no partitions. Dark grey desks and heavy black telephones. I visited her there a few times and she'd give me tablets and pens to keep me busy. I was ALWAYS thrilled to have a tablet and a pen! What she did there is a mystery to me, but when she and my father would argue, which was often, she'd always say, "I want my own money," and so off she went to work every morning at the Defense General Supply Center. He told her she didn't need to work, that he could support her, but, again, she wanted her own money. Back to Mrs. Bradford, Grammy. She was a bit on the heavy side (which I thought made for the best, most cuddly hugs) with long grey hair that she wore up with tons of bobby pins. She always wore a floral bib apron with large pockets and she'd fill them with pears when we'd go to that special corner of our back yard. Oh the smell! Those yellow pears and the carpet of yellow leaves. Memories of Grammy Bradford brought back memories of Thelma Massenburg. She looked exactly like Aunt Jemima (OH FOR HEAVEN'S SAKES, we can't say Aunt Jemima anymore!) Recently a friend told me he'd made pancakes and I asked what kind of syrup he used. When he said, "Pearl Milling," I thought it sounded kinda cool, but when I looked it up I found out it was the new name for Aunt Jemima syrup. SERIOUSLY? Anyway, she was wonderful. She cleaned our house, scrubbed the floors and walls and worked harder than anyone I'd ever seen. I loved her. She always wore a bandana tied around her head. She lived in a tiny reddish tar papered house with ten children. Who knows where they all slept! She was diabetic and I was a little stinker and liked to tease her with Hershey Bars. I'd wave one in front of her nose and she'd smile and say," "You bad, chile." The last time I saw her she was in the hospital and her eyes were very, very yellow. Liver disease. The scarf that was always wrapped around her head was gone and I am sure that I could hear her say, "You bad, chile," although she probably didn't. Thank you my sweet Thelma. My Aunt Jemima.
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