Ulises Montalvo plodded daily along Coraopolis’ sidewalks pushing a lawn mower, carrying his trusty weed-whacker and looking for work.

On Wednesday, a symbol of that drive to work — Montalvo’s well-worn, black boots — sat empty at the foot of a makeshift memorial to the Coraopolis man, killed Sunday in a hit-and-run crash on one of the same roads he treaded regularly.

Coraopolis police said a motorist hit Montalvo near the intersection of Main Street and Fourth Avenue around 8:40 p.m. Sunday.

A resident who lives nearby told TribLive they saw a dark SUV barrel down the block immediately after the crash.

Someone tried to perform CPR. But it was too late.

A paramedic pronounced the day laborer dead at the scene just 15 minutes after he was hit, according to the Allegheny County Medical Examiner’s Office.

Montalvo was 61.

The driver, who authorities have not named, fled but was later arrested in Ambridge, officials said. Coraopolis police have not responded to phone calls, emails or in-person visit to the station Wednesday.

The suspect remains in ICE custody, according to police. Immigration officials have not returned emails or phone calls for comment.

“All I hope is they keep (the driver) here and lock him up,” said Dave Eberle, 68, who’s worked for five years at Phelps Outdoor Power Equipment, a Coraopolis shop where Montalvo frequently bought “trimmer string and things like that.”

“I hope they make him rot here,” Eberle said. “(Montalvo) had no reason to have this happen to him. He never did anything to anybody.”

Montalvo’s death registered with Carole Thompkins early Monday, as she started her work shift at 8 a.m.

Montalvo waited nearly every morning for Thompkins to unlock the door to the Citgo gas station convenience store where she works. He was always alone, she said, and almost always carrying an energy drink.

He was not waiting for Thompkins Monday morning.

“He’d say ‘Good morning’ and I’d say, ‘Hola!’ ” said Thompkins, 63, a longtime Coraopolis resident.

The two talked very little; several said Montalvo’s English was “broken at best.” But, Thompkins said, people got to know Montalvo through his drive to work.

Little is known about Montalvo, who has no listed address or phone number in the area. One person didn’t know Montalvo’s address but said “he lived up the hill.”

Many told TribLive that Montalvo left an impression through his work: regularly mowing dozens of lawns, doing landscaping at the bank or an auto-detail shop near the site of the crash, picking up odd jobs when they were offered.

“He was just the greatest guy — and everybody knew him, everybody,” Thompkins said. “It’s still so hard to believe.”

Thompkins stood Wednesday on the curb where Montalvo died three days earlier, snapping photos of flowers left there in his memory: white lilies, navy-blue hydrangeas, mango-colored Dahlia gloriosa.

A set of black rosary beads were draped near a card signed “In loving memory, XOXO.” One visitor left a votive candle wrapped in a portrait of Saint Jude, the Christian patron saint of lost causes.

There were two, unopened bottles — and a 24-ounce “tallboy” can — of Corona beer, a Mexican lager neighbors said Montalvo liked to drink. A pair of Montalvo’s khaki work-shorts lay atop the empty boots. “Song in our hearts forever,” one sign posted near the memorial read.

Ken Keppel said he rushed to Montalvo’s aid Sunday night — but couldn’t help.

The office worker was grabbing something from the kitchen of his Fourth Avenue home when he heard the crash. As a former paramedic, Keppel knew to act quickly.

“I ran over to my Jeep and got my kit,” Keppel said. “But he was already gone.”

Around noon Wednesday, James Lewis talked up Montalvo’s odd but central role in Coraopolis as he nursed a cigarette inside The Steel Shaker, a Fourth Avenue bar.

Lewis, a retired attorney, moved to Coraopolis a few months ago. It didn’t take long for him to hear stories about Montalvo.

“I think that guy worked for just about every company in town,” Lewis, 70, laughed.

Thompkins said she’ll miss her regular interactions with Montalvo. She suspects a lot of people in Coraopolis feel the same way.

“He did everything by himself — and he’d walk through town, always with his mower and his weed-whacker,” Thompkins said. “He’s going to be missed by everyone in this town.”

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