In 2000, Carmen Rios was killed by a drunk driver on State Route 177 between Kearney and Hayden, Ariz. Her family put up a white cross in the spot where she was killed, where it stood until the day it disappeared, 16 years later.

The cross had been taken down by the Arizona Department of Transportation, who had begun removing memorials along State Route 177 and U.S. 60, claiming they served as a danger to motorists. Carmen’s brother, former Pinal County Supervisor Pete Rios, was furious. He jumped on the phone to Gov. Doug Ducey’s chief of staff.

“Why are ADOT workers trampling over sacred ground and removing these memorials and crosses? Don’t they have anything better to do?” Rios recounted saying in an interview with the Sentinel. “I can list dozens and dozens of potholes and work that needs to be done on the highway and you guys are wasting your time trampling over crosses for people that died by the side of the highway?”

As a child, Rios’ parents taught him to make the sign of the cross every time he passed a roadside memorial in the car.

“You see that cross? That’s where one of God’s children died,” they told him.

Rios, a longtime Arizona state legislator, got a call from then-director of ADOT John Halikowski. They met in a conference room in Florence, and Rios was able to negotiate a policy to allow the memorials to stay.

According to the policy, crosses must be made of wood, be no more than 18 inches wide and 30 inches tall, with no photographs, and be in an area where they aren’t considered dangers or distractions. ADOT is able to grant exceptions to the rule — like for longstanding memorials — if families apply.

“The crosses may not mean a lot to other people, but they mean a lot to family,” Rios said. “And to me, a cross on the side of the road is also a message to the motoring public: ‘You better slow down, otherwise you’re going to wind up a little white cross on the side of the road.’”

Local memorials

There are hundreds of roadside crosses and other memorials across Tucson and Pima County. This map shows just a few of them.

6th-most deadly city for motorists

Tucson ranked sixth out of the 179 largest cities in America for the highest number of motor vehicle crash deaths per capita in 2022, according to data from the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration. Out of every 100,000 people, nearly 26 died in a traffic incident that year.

Tucson was also the third most deadly city for pedestrians in 2022. More than a third of people killed in roadway incidents were people on foot.

So far this year, there have been 74 traffic deaths, down from 83 this time last year, according to the Tucson Police Department.

Last year, a person was killed in a traffic crash in the state of Arizona every six hours and 42 minutes.

The memorials that adorn intersections, curbs and street signs mark the spot where someone was killed in an crash. For family members, they’re a place to honor the life of a loved one. For drivers, they’re a reminder to be mindful and to look out for pedestrians and cyclists.

‘A symbol of hope’

Alejandro Nava, a professor of religious studies at the University of Arizona, said public shrines like roadside memorials are manifestations of folk traditions, born from the people and not major orthodox entities like the Catholic church.

“I think of El Tiradito and how it’s a shrine for the lost, marginalized – sometimes castaway – souls,” Nava said.

Religions and faith pathways have stories about the “mysteries of life,” Nava said, exploring creation, life, death and afterlife.

“Most religions grapple with these mysteries and, more often than not, they’ll have their own speculations about the afterlife,” Nava said. “I think, in a way, roadside memorials are a symbol of hope as well as remembrance for the loss of loved ones.”

Folk traditions in the heavily Hispanic Southwest have clear undercurrents related to death. Tucson hosts the All Souls Procession, a three-day event dedicated to grief and honoring the deceased every November. Nava said the themes of suffering and death displayed in Mexican and Latin American Catholic iconography seep into folk practices.

“Saints are portrayed in states of suffering. There’s also identification for marginalized communities with the idea or the image of God as Christ in agony on the cross,” Nava said. “What’s interesting about this to me is that there’s different ways to grapple with death.”

He said the blended traditions of the Southwest portray a “more explicit” way of dealing with death and dying while maybe other parts of the United States express it in a “more hidden way or at times, even repressed.”

The Mexican holiday Día de los Muertos is often celebrated from the end
of October until Nov. 2 every year. Each day, mourners remember a
different kind of death — drownings, pets, unborn children — and on Oct.
28, many honor los accidentados, those who died in violent accidents.

Especially at the end of October, the memorials can become colorful ofrendas, decorated with sugar skulls, flowers, candles and other offerings to the memories of the departed. Others are simple crosses, faded from years of sun and rain, hidden near the sides of heavily trafficked roads.

In the Southwest, the memorials are sometimes called “descansos.” Spanish for “place of rest,” descansos are protected in New Mexico, the only state that refers to them by that term in the law. Colorado also provides protections for roadside memorials.

A reminder to watch for cyclists

A ghost bike is a white bicycle affixed near a street as a memorial to a cyclist who died near the scene. The first ghost bike appeared in St. Louis, Mo. in 2003. Now, ghost bikes are in more than 30 different countries and dozens of U.S. states.

The white bicycles have dotted the streets of Tucson since 2008, when local restaurateur Ari Shapiro erected the community’s first ghost bike memorial for 14-year-old José Rincón Jr., who was killed in January of that same year when he was hit by a drunk driver while riding with a friend on East Broadway near Harrison Road.

“It just kind of hit home,” said Shapiro, an avid cyclist. “I think (the driver) was drinking at a place which was kind of down the street from one of my businesses. It just sort of hit me on an emotional level.”

Shapiro and an artist friend of his bought a bicycle from a local bike shop, painted it white, and chained it to the street sign on East Broadway and South Vozack Lane, near the crash.

“I also sort of got to know the family. The whole thing just kind of took on a larger meaning, if you will. And I know that the bike’s still there, because I still pass it,” Shapiro said.

Shapiro installed two more ghost bikes in Tucson — one for Rafe Sagarin, 43, and another for Dan Wilson, 30, two cyclists who were both killed in traffic accidents. The bikes are now poured into concrete, rather than chained to street signs, a change made after some pushback from the city.

“We learned how to do them and not get on the wrong side of city code,” Shapiro said. “I think the city has been really great about letting them stay.”

Sixteen years later, Rincón’s ghost bike still sits nestled in the desert brush on the shoulder of the road at East Broadway near South Vozack Lane. The memorial has survived through weather, construction and roadwork.

“I think they moved it a little from the original spot, but it’s still there, and that’s all that really matters,” Shapiro said.

‘A site for healing’

Around 11 a.m. on Feb. 24, 2020, Nick Lipari, 29, was riding his motorcycle southbound on Wilmot Road near Park Place Mall when he collided with the side of a Honda Civic. Lipari was killed.

His family erected a memorial at the site of the accident — at first a wooden cross and hundreds of flowers tied to the west side of the fence at Wilmot and Park Place Drive.

“Being at the site just felt more comfortable for me, because that was where he was last,” said Rachel Lipari, Nick’s widow. “Building it became like the only thing we really felt like we could do for Nick.”

“It is painful, but I feel good being there. Even still, I feel good being there because that’s a place where something significant happened with somebody that I loved, and I’ll just always want to honor him in that way,” she said.

The memorial started with the wooden cross, made by Lipari’s brother-in-law, and the flowers from his service. The cross was later replaced with a metal one.

Lipari said she didn’t want any flowers sent to her house, so she brought them to the memorial instead. Nick’s family began affixing artificial flowers to the fence and leaving trinkets — Lipari said she brought some items from her wedding — and sticks of chalk, so passersby could leave messages.

“This site was kind of a place for all of us, as strange as it sounds, of healing,” said Nick’s older sister, Christina Hunter. “It just didn’t feel right to go to one person’s house. This was where we all just felt like was pulling us together.”

Lipari’s family returned to the memorial on birthdays, anniversaries and holidays — her brother loved Christmas, Hunter said — bringing flowers and balloons.

The site also serves as a reminder for motorists to slow down. A TPD news release the day after the crash said witnesses told police that Lipari was weaving through traffic at high speeds before the accident. Rachel Lipari told the Sentinel that a TPD investigation later found the other driver was at fault, and said Nick was not weaving through traffic.

Recently, a truck crashed into the memorial and damaged half of the flowers, Hunter said.

The intersection is plagued by so many accidents, she said, that sometimes her family has witnessed them happen when they visit the memorial. After the most recent crash, Lipari’s family has decided no longer to visit the site in large groups due to the safety risk.

Since Lipari’s death, his family asked the city to modify the traffic light at Park Place Drive. It now flashes a yellow arrow instead of a red one, which Rachel Lipari said isn’t enough to solve the problem. For now, the memorial is the best they can do to caution people to drive safely.

“This is our beauty mark on what was a tragic event for the rest of us,” Hunter said. “I almost picture my brother looking on the other side of the street safe and knowing that we’re raising awareness for other people, and he’s just watching over us.”