October 21, 2003

The issue isn't James Turney. Or at least not only James Turney.

The issue isn't police oversight. Or at least not only police oversight.

The issue isn't community anger. Or at least not only community anger.

The issue isn't even entirely a matter of right and wrong. Although, when a 15-year-old developmentally disabled boy described as "zoned out" is shot and killed by police when he refuses to drop an upturned knife, right and wrong would not be a bad place to start.

As Penfield Tate, the former state senator who has a 14-year-old developmentally disabled daughter, said: "I'm not sure that if my daughter had been there that she would have understood the gravity of the situation. I think it's perfectly clear that at least two of the officers knew of Paul's problems. This is just not acceptable in my mind."

For Tate, it's personal. But - and this is important in understanding the depth of feeling in this case - the shooting seemed just as personal for almost everyone in the crowd of maybe 250 on hand at the rally Monday to demand the badge of the cop who shot Paul Childs.

The rally was meant to invoke memories of civil rights battles past. There were even four protesters ticketed for sitting in front of the police station door and refusing to move. The police, however, were unfailingly polite, which isn't necessarily what you hope for in anti-police demonstration.

Undeterred, the crowd responded with loud chants for Turney's badge, the fate of which rests with many committees yet to meet.

But, at minimum, Denver police will surely implement what we've already called the Turney Rule. We can go over it again: When you shoot and kill two developmentally disabled teens armed with knives in a period of 18 months and are also accused of threatening to shoot your unarmed mother-in-law in the head, you do not make it back onto the streets.

So, let's remove Turney from the equation. And now we ask: Where does it leave us? That's the issue. Clearly, this case has turned out to be different. And it's an easy matter to understand why.

For a hint, you have only to see the innocent-looking face of Paul Childs, which was on the T-shirt his mother was wearing to the rally. One of Paul's teachers was there, too. A friend said the teacher was so disturbed by the shooting that he had quit his job.

And there's also the irony of the trust that the Childs family placed in the police. It was a trust that had a real basis. We know about all the 911 calls. And we know, too, that the police were asked to provide services that the Childs family apparently couldn't find elsewhere.

That trust was lost in the confusion of that day - a day in which a 15-year-old who may not have understood what the police were asking him to do was shot four times and killed.

Almost immediately, the Childs shooting become a shorthand reference for every police shooting.

We've seen stories about the numbers of police shootings and how they seem high for a relatively low-crime city. Numbers, of course, don't tell a complete story. You can argue each case. In fact, we've argued them endlessly, from both sides, and have gotten apparently almost nowhere for our troubles.

But what can't be argued away is the perception of many who see in this case a symptom of police behavior.

Deborah Price, who was at the rally, will argue all day about the symptoms. Before I spoke to her, she had gotten into an argument about the symptoms with a woman holding a sign in support of the police.

Price was telling me how she grew up in Denver and how she has become increasingly unhappy.

"I was born and raised in east Denver," she said. "And I'll probably die there from a police shooting." She was only half kidding.

There was, as you know, another police shooting over the weekend. The circumstances, which seemed clear at first, have become clouded. My guess is the clouding may have something to do with the critical mass reached with the Childs case.

City Council President Elbra Wedgeworth is calling for an outside investigation, saying she wants "fresh eyes" to look into the matter.

John Hickenlooper, the new mayor, left his office Monday to talk to some in the crowd and to take questions as the TV cameras rushed his way.

He looked uncomfortable. But he was trying Monday, maybe with his own fresh eyes, to let people know he felt the urgency of this situation.

Politicians and self-help gurus are fond of saying there are no problems, only opportunities. Maybe they have a point.

As the crowd at the rally broke up, as the cops went back into their building, I looked around and this is what I saw: one hell of an opportunity.

Mike Littwin's column appears Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. Call him at 303-892-5428 or e-mail him at littwinm@RockyMountainNews.com.

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