WHO WAS KENNY WALKER?

High school basketball star, family man had many sides

Nothing unusual about the way that Friday morning began. Bill, her husband,
brought her the newspaper like he always did, and Jean Kirby unfolded it to
the front page.

"I saw that picture, and I screamed: 'Not him! Not him!' It was beyond
belief," she said.

The photograph at the top of the Dec. 12 , 2003, newspaper was one Kenny
Walker intended for the family Christmas card. It was he and his wife and
the bouncing 3-year-old girl that pushed around the house a vacuum cleaner
just like her dad's.

Next to the festive photo was a dark headline: "Tragedy on I-185." Beneath
it was a startling story detailing the shooting death of Walker, 39, an
employee of Blue Cross/Blue Shield -- the place Kirby first got him a job
in the fall of 1981.

If Kirby shut her eyes, Walker was still the dignified high school jock
that every day loped into typing class right before the bell and the
champion typist with the basketball player's hands who used his left thumb
on the space bar instead of the right one. He also was one of those
students that a teacher never forgets.

She went to his wedding when he married Cheryl in 1997. He wrote about her
when the Ledger-Enquirer asked readers to share memories of a teacher that
made a difference in their life. In 25 years of teaching high school, Kirby
had only four or five students that truly touched her. On those special
ones, she kept files, adding mementos or clippings every time she saw their
names in print.

"I never thought I'd add a story about Kenneth's death, not like this,"
said Kirby, still involved in education at Columbus Technical College.

Kirby's view of Kenneth Brian Walker is in contrast to the rest of us. For
the city at-large, he was that man who was killed by a deputy sheriff. He
had been in an apartment where drugs were being sold, and he may have died
because he wouldn't do what a lawman ordered him to do.

Friends quickly put his memory on a pedestal. He was depicted as a church
usher, an only son, a husband, a father, an ambitious professional who was
planning to become a certified public accountant.

Warts and flaws were ignored. When toxicology reports indicated there was
cocaine in his system, they were shouted down. A family lawyer claimed the
drugs were planted -- something others said was physiologically impossible
because cocaine injected after the heart stops couldn't circulate into the
bloodstream.

The truth about who Kenny Walker was lies between the hints of a
not-so-pleasant side and the grandiose descriptions that might have made
Walker himself uncomfortable. Truth is, he was a human being with many sides.

Mother and son

The Kenny Walker whom Jean Kirby knew as a high school student inspired her
to go to his mother's home after she read about his death. When the former
teacher arrived, Emily Walker was in another room, getting ready for a
painful trip to Progressive Funeral Home.

"Mrs. Kirby!" she shouted out, "I've been waiting for you. I knew you'd
come. You've always been there for him."

More than 20 years ago, at Kendrick High, Kirby learned how close this
mother and son were. The first hint came the first day he walked into
typing class -- a place where males didn't usually venture, much less
campus basketball stars.

She asked students why they were taking her course. Walker's answer was
four words long: "My Mama made me."

There was a day one February, another of those class periods when Walker
popped in at the buzzer. It was Valentine's Day, and an organization at
Kendrick was selling roses. Walker carried a rose into Kirby's room.

"Is there a special someone that I don't know about?" teased Kirby.

"This is for my mother," he said.

Emily Walker didn't need a rose to know she was special to him. He was her
son, her only child. His father, Charles, was a teacher and coach, first at
Marshall Junior High, then at Spencer. His mother taught fifth grade at St.
Marys Elementary School.

Charles Walker had been a football player at South Girard High School in
Phenix City, then at Florida A&M University in Tallahassee. It was natural
for his son to be involved with sports, starting at the South Columbus Boys
Club. He also was bat boy for Spencer when his daddy was the Greenwaves'
baseball coach.

At Eastway Elementary and Rothschild Junior High, he was an honor roll
student. He played saxophone in the school band, well enough to earn a spot
in the All-City Band. But he gave up music for basketball.

By the time Walker got to Kendrick High in 1978, he was a full-fledged
basketball prospect. As a senior, the Ledger-Enquirer selected him one of
the Chattahoochee Valley's Top 15 players. He was co-captain as a junior
and captain of the Cherokees as a senior.

Driven to excel

Basketball wasn't his whole life. He was on the honor roll grades 9 through
12 and a member of the National Honor Society. He ranked in the top 5
percent of his junior and senior classes. Among graduates in the Class of
1982, he stood 14 out of 331.

In 1982, he received one of the Ledger-Enquirer's Page One Awards. A panel
of judges selected winners in 13 categories. Walker won in
Industrial-Vocational.

Nominees filled out a questionnaire that delved into how they looked at
themselves and their high school experience. Retrieved from the newspaper
files are excerpts in Walker's own words:

. "During the summer of 1981, I had the opportunity to participate in the
YMCA Summer Basketball League. I served in the capacities of coach and
captain... . This project was important to me because the players on the
team looked up to me. I was the one who had to set a good example for them.
I was their influence in terms of demonstrating good sportsmanship,
cooperation, abiding by regulations and learning to accept victory or defeat."

. "Through the recommendation of Mrs. Kirby, I was interviewed and hired by
Blue Cross/Blue Shield. I have been working in the mail room since
September of 1981... . My job has provided an opportunity for me to relate
my classroom skills to an actual 'hands-on' situation. I have learned and
further developed personal characteristics that are expected in the work
force such as dependability, reliability, compatibility and respect for
others."

. "My talent as a basketball player has helped me to promote good human
relationships with students and team members from other schools. Through my
participation in sports, I have made many lasting friendships and felt a
certain security that will always be a part of my life."

The final section of the Page One form provided space for a teacher or
principal to describe the student. Jean Kirby described his work ethic as a
student and at Blue Cross. On March 10, 1982, she wrote:

"According to one of his supervisors there, he is 'one of the best workers
we've ever had.' They also refer to him affectionately as their 'celebrity'
because of the publicity he has received as an athlete. Kenneth's abilities
in this area can best be shown by the statement that he made to me when I
told him how highly he is regarded at Blue Cross. He replied very simply
with a smile and with pride, 'I do my job.' At this time when many are
wondering what has happened to the American ideal of the work ethic and
pride in a job well done, there is much to be said for 'doing your job.'
That is exactly what Kenneth does, whether at his place of employment, at
his typewriter, in the classroom or on the basketball court. He does his job."

Father and daughter

Walker was offered a basketball scholarship to Albany State University.
Instead, he enrolled at Florida A&M. He eventually transferred to Georgia
Southwestern in Americus and, after the death of his father, to Columbus
State University. He received a degree in business from CSU.

At Georgia Southwestern, he helped start a chapter of Omega Psi Phi, his
father's fraternity. Charles Walker helped him. The night before it was to
have been chartered, Charles Walker died. The ceremony went on as planned,
in his father's honor. Being a "Que" would be important to Kenny Walker for
the rest of his life.

After college, in 1989, he got a full-time position at Blue Cross/Blue
Shield. More than 10 years ago, a frat brother introduced him to Cheryl
Nelson. She was a twin, a native of Lumpkin, Ga. They both worked for Big
Blue, but they didn't know each other until that night.

They were married on Aug. 9, 1997. Their daughter, Kayla, was born in 2000.

Father and daughter became inseparable. They vacuumed the house together.
She had her own little vacuum. On Saturdays, they went to Wal-Mart
together, running the family errands.

Mornings, while Cheryl was getting ready for work, Kenny got Kayla out of
bed and brought her to where her mother was. It was a daily ritual.

"Mama, say good morning to Kayla," he'd say.

If Cheryl were grumpy, he told Kayla, "Just wave at Mommy. She's not in a
good mood."

Kenny was the planner in the family. He did 90 percent of the cooking. He
shopped for groceries. He made reservations for their vacations. He kept
the books.

"He balanced that checkbook every day," Cheryl said.

It was Kenny who found Kayla a dance teacher, enrolled her and took her to
her first dance class. He also bought her a basketball goal so she could
shoot hoops like her daddy did.

The phone call

Last December, at Kenny's urging, they finished their Christmas shopping
early and stored Kayla's gifts in the attic. Kenny put up their tree the
day after Thanksgiving. They had their family picture made for their
Christmas cards.

On Dec. 10, Emily picked up Kayla at school and took her to grandma's
house. After work, Cheryl went to get her hair done. Kenny went to
Applebee's near Columbus State University.

Kenny and Cheryl talked on the phone around 7 p.m. He said for her to call
him when she was on her way home. She picked up Kayla, and they picked up
stuff for snack day at school before getting home in time for the
3-year-old to be asleep by 9 o'clock.

"I didn't call him, and I play that over and over," Cheryl says.

Kenny Walker was shot and killed at 8:58 p.m. -- about the time Kayla was
being tucked in.

Nine months later, the investigation of the case continues. Walker was
killed by a Muscogee County sheriff's deputy. Walker and three of his
friends were stopped on I-185 after being observed at an apartment that was
the target of a drug investigation.

Drugs were found in Walker's system, but his mother and wife don't accept
the implication that he was using cocaine that night -- or any night.

"His record was clean -- not even a driving ticket," Emily Walker said. She
said that two days after his funeral, the family was told authorities were
going to say Walker was a casual user.

"That was going to be their defense," she said. "The rumor in Atlanta was
that they were going to inject drugs."

His wife doesn't believe he was a drug user, either. According to her
mother-in-law, Cheryl went through his checkbook looking for clues. She
found none -- only that her husband had been squirreling away money as a
cushion.

Cheryl talked to their friends. None of them can shed light on any drug
use. "If he fooled you and he fooled me, how could all of us be in denial?"
she asked.

Drugs were present in the apartment Walker and his friends entered on Dec.
10. Two men inside were arrested that night. Another person who went in and
out of that same apartment also was arrested. Their cases are pending.

'Daddy's in Heaven'

In a conversation Cheryl can't fully understand, Kenny had told her things
he wanted to be included in his funeral. They talked after the unexpected
deaths of two fraternity brothers. He picked favorite music and showed her
a picture of the casket of one of the Ques.

"Look at this," he noted, "they had Greek letters on the side."

In December, those same letters were on the side of Kenny Walker's.

Such things aren't important to the little girl he left behind. All she
knows is that Daddy isn't coming home. He's in heaven, she says, though
sometimes heaven is Atlanta.

Kayla shows a child's understanding of death. "If my Daddy's in Heaven,"
she asks, "why didn't he take his truck?" Before an adult could find the
answer, Kayla answered the question herself. "I know why, 'cause they don't
need cars in Heaven. The angels take you around."

Cheryl doesn't often let her watch the news on TV, lest a story about the
shooting be aired. "She asked me one day, 'How did Daddy get on TV?' " her
mother said.

In many ways, Kayla has comforted her mother and grandmother by her words
and by her unblemished spirit.

"Don't be a crybaby," she tells her mother when she cries.

Emily Walker clings to memory.

"He was just the perfect father and son. I remember when Cheryl and I went
out of town together, and I asked him what he was going to do with Kayla.
He said, 'That's my child. I can keep her. I can do everything but comb her
hair,' " she said.

Jean Kirby has the memories of a teacher.

"If he had been my son," she said, "I couldn't have loved him more."