In the previous 36 months, there had been three high-profile child abduction cases in the Toronto area. In 1983, 9-year-old Sharin’ Morningstar Keenan went to play in Jean Sibelius Park near her home in the Annex neighbourhood; she was found raped and strangled in a garbage bag in a rooming house refrigerator. In 1984, Christine Jessop, also 9, was abducted from Queensville, Ontario, and found raped and murdered 50 kilometres away. In 1985, 8-year-old Nicole Morin left her Etobicoke apartment to meet a friend for a swim. She never arrived.

Alison had joined their ranks, her photos posted all over the city and her parents appearing on television, pleading for her safe return. Fifty-five hours after she left home, Alison was found in King’s Mill Park; she had been raped and strangled.

“Of course, I have regrets about letting her meet the man,” Parrott told the Globe and Mail in 1986 about the photographer who initially called Alison. “But you can't rewrite history. We made that decision together. She didn't get murdered because we made a bad decision, but because someone wanted to murder her.”

There were 37 murders in Toronto in 1986, but Alison’s was particularly impactful. It precipitated one of the most expensive and in-depth investigations in the city’s history and ignited a cultural conversation on child safety. Her murder led the Toronto Sun to advocate for capital punishment in Canada in a front-page editorial headlined “The Death Penalty Now.”

The 1980s was the era of “stranger danger” — when a handful of real tragedies mixed with fear and misinformation to create a climate of distrust, and at times panic, about what evil strangers would do to children. A standard call-and-response developed in the media. When children were abducted or murdered, “streetproofing” — teaching children to deal with strangers and to avoid perilous situations — was touted as the solution. Anxious parents signed their children up for streetproofing classes and spent money on streetproofing books and products to prevent further tragedies.

Following her daughter's death, Parrott spoke out against calls for the death penalty and rejected fear-based approaches to streetproofing. She then launched her own streetproofing campaign, drawing upon the talent of her colleagues at J. Walter Thompson. With a message focused on empowering children, she channeled her family tragedy into one of the most iconic public safety programs in Canadian history: “Stay Alert… Stay Safe.”



Thirty years after Alison’s murder, the campaign — particularly the ’90s-era PSAs — remains iconic for a generation of Canadian children. Though many programs were spearheaded by self-anointed experts, "Stay Alert... Stay Safe" was the brainchild of a talented team of advertisers, helmed by a parent with a mission.

“It gave meaning to Alison’s life,” Parrott says today of this work. “It’s the way I’ve continued to be her mother.”