The past several weeks have been particularly difficult for many Highbridge residents.

Tragedy struck with cruel frequency in and around the community, claiming the lives of the young, the elderly, and those in between.

 To name just a few : On November 4, Jessica Garcia—the 37-year-old daughter of Yolanda Romero, family services coordinator for Highbridge Community Life Center—died after a long illness. Only three days later, Romero’s coworker at the center, family support worker India Echevarria, lost her niece, Jacqueline Irizarry; Irizarry, 21, was brutally murdered at her building on E. 177th Street. On November 26, 24-year-old Lamar Platt of 1610 University Avenue confessed to murdering his 45-year-old mother, Marlene, and 22-year-old brother, Nashawn; Platt said he had chopped their bodies into pieces and buried them in the Harlem River. 

All this sorrow has been visited upon a community that already lost ten of its members to the infamous March 7 fire o Woodycrest Avenue. 

“This year has been the worst year in this neighborhood,” said a grief-stricken Carmen Saez, who lives on 1030 Woodycrest Avenue.

Saez has been hit very personally by the wave of sadness and trauma that has swept Highbridge in the past several weeks. In the space of less than a month, she lost two people close to her, both of whom were loved in the community as a whole. On October 25, her cousin, 21-year-old Ludmildy Rosado of W. 165th Street, was one of two people shot and killed at an apartment near E. 170th and Grand Concourse (34-year-old Daniel Newton was also killed).

Then, on November 24,  Saez lost  her close friend, 48-year-old David “Easy” Todd; Todd’s brother, Raymond, said preliminary reports indicate the cause of death was internal bleeding. 

Easy had become a neighborhood hero after helping to rescue children during the March 7 fire that claimed the lives of ten Malian immigrants. “A lot of people might remember him because of the fire,” Saez said. “But for me, before the fire, we were the best of friends.”

After Easy died, Saez did not want to break the news to her nine-year-old nephew right away, since she knew he was still mourning the loss of Rosado. When Saez finally did inform him, the news was hard to comprehend. “Why God took two people from our family?” her nephew wanted to know.

A Promising Young Life Taken Away

Milagros Rodriguez’ home on W. 165th Street and Woodycrest Avenue is brightly decorated with Christmas lights and ornaments. It’s the way her daughter would have wanted it,   Rodriguez said; her daughter, whom friends and loved ones called “Mildy,” always helped make their home festive for the holidays.

Those who were close to Mildy are still in shock that she is not around anymore. “I feel like I’m seeing her, I’m hearing her,” said Christine Camacho, a lifelong friend who grew up in the same building as Mildy.

On the day her life was cut short, Mildy had a lot of things to look forward to. She was anxiously awaiting her 21st birthday only a few days later, and planned to go dancing with friends at the club Sin City. She was working towards her G.E.D. And, her mother says, she was happy with her job and her coworkers at the Bronx Supreme Court.  “Her dream was to go to college, get a good job, and move on,” Rodriguez said.

Rodriguez and Mildy’s friends described Mildy as playful and fun-loving.  Rodriguez said Mildy liked to take pictures of herself with a camera phone and ask her, “Don’t you have a beautiful daughter, ma?”  Mildy also liked to place prank calls to her friends, said Camacho and another close friend of Mildy’s, Christina Britl. 

But Mildy had a serious side too. Camacho and Britl said Mildy often gave them important advice. Britl said her friend would constantly urge her to treat her mother well, or to work hard in school. And she added that Mildy was very loyal. “She would never betray your friendship,” Britl said. “Never.”

On November 2, more than 1000 people showed up at La Paz Funeral Home to say goodbye to Mildy. An employee of La Paz told mourners that he hadn’t seen such a big crowd there since the 1980s. At the services, Mildy’s favorite song—Alicia Keys’ “No One”—was played, and those who came to say goodbye sang along. 

“She took that song personally,” Saez said. “That song described her. No one could tell her how to feel towards anyone.” 

“Kids at Heart”

Less than three weeks after Mildy’s funeral, Saez was taking care of her close friend David “Easy” Todd.  Saez had been friends with Easy even before she moved into his building four years ago. She said that she, her husband Josual Grullon, Easy, and their neighbor Edward Soto—who, with Todd, helped rescue children during the March 7  fire—called themselves “the four musketeers.”  The group constantly spent time together at each other’s apartments, playing video games, listening to music, or watching television.  “We were adults,” Saez said, “but we were big kids at heart.”

This past Thanksgiving, Easy stayed at home because he was not feeling well enough to travel. He complained of suffering from ulcers. Saez’s husband, Josual Grullon, said he had tried to convince Easy to go to the doctor, but Easy insisted that wasn’t necessary. 
On November 23, Saez and Grullon again spent the day with Easy. Early the next morning, Grullon made oatmeal for Easy.  Saez remembers her friend looking and feeling better. “What was to make me think that seeing him walking around laughing would be the last time I seen him?” Saez said.

A short time later, Saez went to check on Easy again, and found him dead in his bathroom.

A Lot Left Behind

Like Mildy, Easy died in the midst of positive developments in his life. Saez said he was finally starting to recover from the trauma he experienced in the aftermath of the Woodycrest fire, coming to terms with the knowledge that he had done everything he could to rescue the children who died. Spending the entire summer with his ten-year-old daughter, Naqurshia, in Virginia had undoubtedly helped in the grieving process, and Easy couldn’t wait to see her again this Christmas.

Saez described Easy as a person that went out of his way to help friends and neighbors, a trait that manifested itself in everything from the way he monitored Saez’ health (Saez is asthmatic) to his habit of buying snacks for children in his building.

Easy’s sister, Phyllis Todd—one of Todd’s seven surviving siblings—said Easy’s giving nature was something the two of them learned from their parents growing up in Brooklyn; she recalled traveling to the hospital at Christmas time to give away toys and games to children.  Another thing Easy picked up from his parents was a love of cooking.  In the course of his life, in addition to helping to repair buildings—including removing debris left from 1022 Woodycrest Ave after the fire, an activity he was engaged in at the time of his death—Todd worked as a head chef at several restaurants.
Todd said her brother moved to Highbridge in 2001, and that his likeable character allowed him to make friends quickly, a quality that earned him his nickname of “Easy.”
“He enjoyed it [Highbridge],” Todd said. “He met many friends. The stores, the neighbors next door. He met several people that he talked to me about.”

Just as there are many similarities in the way Easy and Mildy’s loved ones described their respective lives, their deaths, too, share something in common: Each loss of life robbed a child of a parent. Easy  leaves behind Naqurshia, while Mildy is survived by five-year-old son Darien Jackson.

Naqursia turns eleven on Christmas Day. 

On April 4, Milagros Rodriguez will throw  Darien his fifth birthday party.