As a little girl, Alzada was subjected to a daily hairdressing ordeal she grew to hate. Her mother, Susan, spent a lot of time fussing over Alzada’s hair, using her fingers to form the big, thick banana curls in style at the time for little girls. This ritual took place every single morning for years.
In a Sunday School nursery photo from First Baptist Church, Alzada, the only child with ringlets, is posed like a little China doll on a tiny wooden chair. (Susan volunteered every Sunday in the nursery, but did not attend the church service).
By seventh grade, her mother was still doing her hair in that childish style every morning. Gosh, she hated the curls by then. In her class photo from Morton Junior High School, Alzada is still the only one sporting perfectly coiffed coils – long banana curls in a sea of blunt bobs, pageboys, and bowl cuts.
Susan kept Alzada in baby curls all through junior high, trying to keep her daughter from looking her age or – heaven forbid – older!
Alzada finally rebelled against the despised curls before she finished junior high, relieved when her Aunt Carrie cut her hair and gave her a permanent — an awful perm that turned out ugly, but never mind – Alzada much preferred her new grownup hairdo to those babyish banana curls.
Alzada’s earliest and most vivid memory is from when she was just 18 months old. On the freezing-cold night of Feb. 2, 1928, she huddled in her mother’s arms in their Durfee Street home, crying and gagging on smoke, as the Great Fire of Fall River ravaged the city.
Alzada was subjected to a daily hairdressing ordeal she grew to hate. Susan spent a lot of time fussing over her daughter’s hair, using her fingers to form big, thick banana curls that were in style at the time. This ritual took place every single morning for years.
Little Alzada much preferred her dad's fun, free-spirited Weaver relatives to her mom's more formal, proper Gifford relatives. Mom loved her aunts and uncles on both sides, but as a child, she felt most at home with her down-to-earth Weaver extended family.
Alzada has a beautiful singing voice, and when she was in elementary school, she sang a solo in front of her class, a popular song at the time called, "When I Grow Too Old to Dream." It was an odd choice for a child, as it’s very mature and emotional – for a 10-year-old, at least.
Alzada's mother Susan was strict and protective. Alzada was her only daughter, and was forbidden to date or wear makeup until long after her friends began to do so. All of the other girls wore lipstick back then, in the mid-1940s, but Alzada had to be sneaky.
We don't have a single photo of Irving before he was driving a car – no happy baby pictures, no adorably awkward school photos, no Christmas postcards with his sisters. We’re very lucky, however, to have a copy of Irving’s ninth-grade report card from Henry Ford Junior High School.
Growing up, Alzada regularly visited her Grandmother Alzada’s gravesite, and she often saw her grandmother’s beautiful face in the one treasured photo that exists – and yet, there was no denying that Alzada Estes Weaver Cross positively HATED her first name.
Alzada's BFF Betty was born Barbara Elizabeth Wise on September 26, 1926 in Fall River. Their friendship began at Durfee High School, from which they graduated in 1944, and by the end of the ‘40s, Betty would also become Alzada’s sister-in-law – and roommate!
Alzada and Irving were attracted to each other at first sight. It was 1949 and Alzada, age 23, was working the soda fountain at the corner drugstore in Fall River. One day, a handsome pinball-playing customer caught her eye, and the rest is history.
Irving and Alzada became Mr. and Mrs. Cross on Friday, February 17, 1950. It was a freezing cold day, but the temperature doesn’t matter when you’re so much in love, and you don’t need fancy proposals and expensive frills to get married.
Though she didn’t know it at the time, Alzada’s adolescence prepared her for her future role as the mother of a big family in a small house. When Alzada was growing up there were only two beds in their small Fall River home at 733 New Boston Road.
Alzada was always a reluctant but willing victim. She would try anything. Consider the first (and LAST) time she tried to ski. It was the 1960s and we were at King Pine in Madison, NH, a family-friendly ski house with all-you-can-eat bacon for breakfast.
Irving would enter us Cross kids into track meets, even though we had no formal training whatsoever. What we did have in abundance was love and encouragement from both of our parents — and the chance to shine.
Irving was the ringleader of all the fun we had together as a family — the camping trips, the road trips, the track meets, the crazy driving around in parking lots – and Alzada was always right there with us, our biggest cheerleader – most of the time.
When our youngest brother Dana was four years old, our Mom, who was approaching 40, began a whole new career as a mechanical assembler at Raytheon, working second shift for two decades, all while being a full-time wife and mother of six children.
Irving was a kind and helpful person by nature, and during the hitchhiking craze of the 1960s–70s, he gave many different folks a lift. The most memorable and oft-told instance occurred in the summer of 1966.
There we were – me in a wheelchair and Grammy moving at the same glacial pace. With family frolicking in the pool, we both took the chance. Neither of us prepared for it, we ventured in anyway, fully clothed.
A self-aware perfectionist, Irving was no stranger to poor self-esteem and overwhelming anxiety, and we're fortunate to have a copy of the 17 handwritten affirmations he often recited to himself to deal with negative thoughts and feelings.
Saturday, Nov. 12, 2022 | Good morning, everyone. We are here today to honor Alzada’s passing and to celebrate her wonderful life – a life that touched and inspired us in so many different ways.
