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."