Arizona Republic from Phoenix, Arizona on June 2, 1988 · Page 4
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Arizona Republic from Phoenix, Arizona · Page 4

Phoenix, Arizona
Issue Date:
Thursday, June 2, 1988
Page 4
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SRSET HMH8S State The Arizona Republic thursday, june 2, 1988 B H!llil.H.l.lll l. illJIIIIUMHIIUIIIIIIIIM 1.1 ' J"" HI)I'HU"II)U i JI'jWPM I Nil WW ! ' Jwi fife j ' r- Linda SeegerThe Arizona Republic Phoenix police officers grieve at the funeral of slain Officer Ken Collings. About 1,200 people attended Wednesday's services. Slain Phoenix lawman eulogized, laid to rest By Charles Kelly The Arizona Republic Phoenix police Officer Ken Collings, slain by a bank robber, was eulogized Wednesday as a gentle, genial man who was the bedrock of his squad. "He was always the one they leaned on. Day or night, they always turned to Ken," said a friend, Officer Steve Wamslcy, speaking at Officer Collings' funeral at SS. Simon and Jude Cathedral, 6351 N. 27th Ave. Officer Collings, 32, a former Marine who once served as an embassy guard in Belgium, was carried into the church in a flag-draped casket by white-gloved police officers as soloist Willie Brady sang the Marine Hymn. About 1,200 people, most of them Phoenix- arca police officers or sheriffs deputies, attended. Among the family members were Officer Collings' mother, Louise Collings of Danbury, Conn., and sisters Kitty Taylor of Chandler, Karen Stephens of Seattle, Kris Michaels of Danbury and Kim Tagani of Florida. Several members of the Louisiana State Police who had been friends of Officer Collings in the Marines also attended. The funeral Mass was celebrated by Bishop "He was always the one they leaned on. Day or night, they always turned to Ken." Officer Steve Wamslcy Thomas O'Brien of the Catholic Diocese of Phoenix and by the Rev. Paul Smith, rector of the cathedral. Mayor Terry Goddard and several members of the Phoenix City Council also attended. "Ken cared for everyone, really cared," said Deacon David Thorn, a former FBI agent who is director of security for McraBank. Thorn said he had not known Officer Collings personally but had learned about him from someone who had. "He was always willing to go out of his way to help," Thorn said. "He never forgot birthdays or anniversaries. He was basically shy, but his fellow officers ... all got to know him and respect him and like him." Officer Collings deeply loved his mother and "idolized and watched out for" his four sisters, See SLAIN, page B6 mob 'S'iifWfW'v, j, Tom StoryThe Arizona Republic The funeral procession for a fallen police officer stretches for miles. Graduate students protest tuition-subsidy cuts By Steve Yozwiak The Arizona Republic Carolyn Cams of Phoenix had planned to pay $6,000 in tuition to go to veterinary school at Colorado State University in Fort Collins this fall. But, thanks to budget cuts by the Arizona Legislature, Cams, 21, is facing the prospect of paying $21,000 in tuition, the school's full yearly rate for out-of-state students, or not completing her education. Cams and about 20 other students marched at the state Capitol on Wednesday to protest the cuts, saying they will block 35 Arizona students from taking graduate programs in dentistry, veterinary medicine, optometry, osteopathy and occupational therapy that are not offered at Arizona universities. At issue is a $485,636 reduction in Arizona's contribution to the Western Interstate Commission for Higher Education, or WICHE, which pays the difference between in-state and out-of-state tuition for study in such fields in 13 Western states. The budget cut was approved Friday by the joint House-Senate Appropriations Committee to help reduce Arizona's projected $330 million 1988-89 budget deficit. The panel approved $1.3 million for the program, which is enough to fund the 99 Arizona graduate students . who already are participating in the . WICHE exchange program. But, with no funding for the 35 students expected to enter the WICHE program this fall, the program's future and the state's ability to produce vets, dentists and other See STUDENTS, page B2 Phoenix council boosts pensions at last minute By Venlta Hawthorne James The Arizona Republic Phoenix taxpayers, who turned down pay raises for the City Council last fall and pension benefits in 1985, will be paying for pension benefits for the council under a last-minute budget amendment approved by the council. Council members on Tuesday added $250,000 to their pension fund before approving a preliminary $878 million budget for the next fiscal year. The amendment was pushed by south Phoenix Councilman Calvin Goode, who will receive the most benefit from the provision because he has served the longest on the council, nearly 17 years. "I think it's justified," Goode said in an interview Wednesday. "I work full time trying to meet my citizens' requests, so I certainly feel that with the quality of work and volume of work, it is justified." He added that state legislators, who are in session four to six months of the year, are part of the same pension plan. Mayor Terry Goddard was one of two who voted against the measure, but he did not voice any objections to it before the vote was taken. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it," he said. "Some things you swallow hard and know the votes are already there against you." Phoenix voters on Oct. 6 rejected pay raises for Goddard and eight council members. The proposal would have boosted council members' salaries to $24,500 from the current $18,000 a year and Goddard's salary to $53,000 from $37,500. In November 1985, Phoenix voters also rejected a proposition that would have made city elected officials eligible for the state retirement fund. State lawmakers, however, made them eligible. Last year, Phoenix elected officials were included in legislation expanding the state retirement system. Goode subsequently persuaded seven other council members, including Goddard, to join a newly estab- See COUNCIL, pageBl Prank punishment reversed by district 1 1 seniors can attend graduation By M.E. Saavedra The Arizona Republic A decision to bar 1 1 seniors from graduation after they allegedly vandalized Deer Valley High School last week was reversed Wednesday by the district's superintendent. Campus sidewalks and buildings were spray-painted and school benches were shifted to form the shape "88" in the May 23 prank. Ed Sims, Deer Valley Unified School District superintendent, said that after looking into the legal questions on both sides, he decided to let the students participate in graduation. "It is better to let them march (at graduation) and to use some other form of discipline," Sims said. However, Marilee Herrera, whose role in the prank cost her the title of senior-class president, will not regain her title because her conduct violated the school's Student Government Constitution, school officials said. Herrera, of the 1900 block of West Krystal Way, Phoenix, was the only person caught by Glendale police after they were alerted by a school foreman. Because Herrera was 18, police arrested her for investigation of one count of criminal damage, and she spent one night in jail. No charges have been filed against Herrera, and a hearing in Glendale Justice Court has been canceled, according to a court clerk. Charges could be filed later, the clerk said. Police investigators determined the identities of some of the others who participated in the prank, and others turned themselves in to the school, Herrera said. Two of the 13 participants were not scheduled to graduate, Sims said. In order to participate in Monday's graduation, the 11 other students must complete work duty on campus See DISTRICT, page B3 7-year-old boy fighting for life on third liver By Peter Aleshlre The Arizona Republic Shawn Spoon clung to life Wednesday night after surviving a second liver transplant and massive internal bleeding that doctors said forced additional surgery. Doctors for the 7-year-old Buckeye boy said his liver problems and the effects of the 10-hour transplant surgery had all but destroyed the ability of his blood to clot. As a result, blood oozed out of the boy's vessels and incisions and filled his abdominal cavity. By Wednesday afternoon, doctors had used drugs to restore Shawn's clotting functions. Three hours of additional surgery removed the clotted blood from his abdominal cavity. Shawn was listed in critical condition Wednesday night at Phoenix 1 - tk t 4 ' l . f, Shawn Spoon Doctors will not speculate on the boy's chances of survival. Children's Hospital. Doctors wouldn't speculate on the boy's chances of survival. Shawn lay all day, heavily sedated,' in the intensive-care ward as nurses, doctors and family members came and went. The room, with its portal-shaped, eighth-floor window com- 5eeB0Y, pageB3 Officers pay respects to fallen peer, tighten emotional ranks B E.J. MONTINI Republic Columnist y 11:20 a.m. Wednesday, you could make out the lights of the motorcade approaching on 27th Avenue from the south. The red, white and blue flashers of police vehicles filtered through waves of heat rising from the pavement, as if emerging from a dream. A motorcycle patrolman directing traffic in front of SS. Simon and Jude Cathedral noticed it and radioed a message. "They're within sight," he said, "just south of Bethany Home." Nearly 50 police motorcycles already were parked along a fence at the southern edge of the church property. For more than' an hour, vehicle after vehicle had been arriving for the funeral of Phoenix police Officer Ken Collings, who was killed Friday while trying to stop a pair'of bank robbers. Many of the cars and trucks held police officers and their families. Neighbors found it odd to see the uniformed policeman in his pickup truck, the policewoman in her sports car, the officer in dress blues driving a station wagon full of kids. The Phoenix officers wore dark-blue trousers, blue shirts, shiny black shoes. Each wore a holster with handcuffs, bullets, a radio, a gun. Some held the hands of their children or the hands of-their wives, their girlfriends. Most of them didn't know Collings. They came because they knew that Collings would have come if they had been the ones to die. By the time the memorial service for Collings began, there was no room left in the church lot, along the curbs of streets to the 'north and south, even in the large playing fields east of the church. In the parking lot alone, there were 83 patrol cars among the hundreds of vehicles. Inside the cathedral, all the pews were filled. The two long center rows, with 32 pews each. The 13 pews along each side.. The 24 pews in the balcony. As well as all the folding chairs that had been set up along the walls. There was no place left to stand. As the motorcade passed the traffic light at Bethany Home Road, rows of officers in formation in front of the church tightened their ranks. They were from Phoenix and surrounding cities. Some wore blue, some khaki, some green. They stood under the hot sun with their hands clasped behind their backs, their eyes straight ahead. Most would not see the casket as it passed by. They would not see Collings' closest friends on the force, now his pallbearers. They would not see his family. There would not even be room for them in the church, so they would spend the funeral Mass outside, waiting in the shade of olive trees or palm trees, talking in whispers. For now, they waited silently. The engine sound reached the church before the motorcade did. It was the low, humming chorus of 22 motorcycles leading the procession. They pulled to the front of the church and parked in a row along the curb. Behind them was a single police car. Then the hearse carrying Collings. Then five white limousines carrying his family. Then five more police cars. Thirteen more motorcycles. Four more police cars. Sixteen more motorcycles. And on and on. The noise and heat of the engines, the smell of the fuel, enveloped those standing outside the church. This is the way it is at a cop's funeral. It is both a show of force and a show of the force, the community of police. I spent most of the Mass either outside or in the vestibule of the cathedral, where more than 50 officers had crowded. They could hear and see little of the service. Most took a moment to glance down the . center aisle of the cathedral and look at the casket, resting just in front of the altar. That was all. They didn't hear what was said. They didn't have to hear. In some ways, it is the coming and the going that is the true "service" in a policeman's funeral. In this case, the procession to the cemetery would be even grander than the one to the cathedral. It began with the same 22 motorcycle officers, the same hearse and limousines, the same police cars, the same red, white and blue flashing lights. They headed north on 27th Avenue, toward the place where Officer Collings would be buried. But this time, nearly all the cars from the lot, from the streets, from the playing fields, joined in. For nearly 40 minutes after the motorcade began, the. remaining cars, each with its lights on, snaked along behind it. About 1:20 p.m., the last of' them disappeared in the quivering distance, as if into a dream.

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