Bob Rossney: October 2009 Archives

I was walking down 24th Street the Monday or Tuesday after Michael Sanchez was shot at 24th and Shotwell.  It was about 11pm, and there was a group of young men and women all gathered around the corner store, drinking beer and talking.  On the wall of the store were dozens of photographs and notes, and there were candles and flowers arrayed on the ground.  I was just thinking that it seemed like a pretty sketchy crowd when I noticed a black-and-white had just parked on the other side of Shotwell.

The cop who got out of it was incredibly imposing:  very tall, black, totally bald, hugely broad shoulders, ramrod-straight back.  His uniform looked like he had just been ironing it in the car.  He slowly walked across the street, and I was sure that he was there to tell the group that it was time to get on its way.

But that's not what he did.  He didn't talk to them at all.  He went down on one knee, produced a candle of his own, lit it, and set it down with the others.  Then he went back to his car.