The year must have been about 1938 when one of my older brothers decided I was too attached to my mother’s apron strings. He told mom and me I was to start working at the Citizen newspaper as a newsboy selling the paper.

My brother had been a newsboy but was now working inside. Giving out the papers and checking in the vendors was one of his duties. He had been recruited by two friends and neighbors, Frank and Ed Casanova. Frank later became circulation manager for the Citizen.

When the Casanovas took my brother to the Citizen, they signed him up as Mandrake, a nickname they gave him because of a “Beanie cap” he used. I was signed up under the same name. People thought it was a family name.

There was a code among newsboys at that time that was honored by the vendors. Some of the boys had “corners” or areas where only they could sell the paper. I was assigned to the Pioneer Hotel, the best “corner” of all. I am sure my brother and the Casanovas had something to do with that.

A corner across the street from the Pioneer Hotel, where Steinfeld’s and later Jacome’s department stores were located, belonged to the Carr brothers. They were the only African-American newsboys at the time. Their given names were Robert E. Lee and Daniel Boone.

While selling the Citizen at the Pioneer Hotel, I often saw entertainment stars.

One day the Pioneer Hotel bellhop captain asked me and my friend, George Arce, to pose with a tall gentleman for a still camera picture. He later gave us a picture copy each. It turned out the tall gent was Marion Morrison, better known as John Wayne.

I remember that when I started as a newsboy, the Citizen was located at a building that later became the Chamber of Commerce, in the area close to St. Augustine Cathedral. The newspaper at that time cost 3 cents, but soon went to 5 cents. Newsboys were better off when the paper cost 3 cents because you checked in 2 cents and kept 1 cent. Many people gave you a nickel and said “keep it,” so you made 3 cents. When the paper went up to 5 cents, you had to check in 3 cents and kept 2.

Close by the Citizen building and across the street from the cathedral was Brichta’s Service Station, which was a newsboy and carrier hangout. Some of us left our bicycles there while we sold the paper.

Many newsboys became carriers and office help, as with my brother and the Casanovas. Edgar Suarez sold papers during my time and kept working for the Citizen until his retirement. He must have worked there over 50 years. Some other relatives were printers at the Citizen: Cousin Albert Elias, cousin Arturo Moreno and his father before him, Francisco Moreno, who founded “El Tucsonense,” a Spanish-language Tucson newspaper. Most of Arturo’s 10 children worked for the Citizen in some capacity. The Tully family was employed for many years and there were others.

After 70 years of reading this newspaper, I will miss it very much. The sports pages through the years, especially when Corky Simpson wrote, were top-notch. The comics were for the most part superior. I still remember Blondie, Joe Palooka, Lil Abner, Dick Tracy and many more.

Some people say the paper became too liberal, others say it was too conservative. Older readers like myself just took it all in and formed our own opinions. I would say a contributing factor to the demise of newspapers is all the new electronic media. People now find it easier than reading a newspaper. I regret the loss of jobs for the staff and wish them well in relocating.

Adios. Au revoir. Auf wiedersehen. And goodbye.

Thomas F. Elias

Tucson native Edgar Suarez started his career as a newsboy selling newspapers on the street in 1936.

When he retired from Tucson Newspapers Inc. in 2003, he was 75 and had worked 62 years for the company.

He is its longest serving employee.

Suarez served in the Army for two years in the mid-1940s and TNI saved his job for his return.

In his last TNI post, he was a preprint coordinator in charge of scheduling and verifying the advertising inserts slipped into the newspaper before it hits the streets.

“I enjoyed it here very much,” he said at his retirement.

In his early years at TNI, one man ran the press, he recalled. “Now they need a lot more than that.”

A family’s journey from hand-set type to hand-coded hypertext

The Internet killed the newspaper.

No, it’s the economy, stupid.

Or overleveraged publishing chains. Left-wing columnists. Whatever the cause, change is in the air of the publishing world, but it’s blowing faster than ever.

From the cover of Time magazine to a slew of bloggers, the changes sweeping the news business are an untiring meme lately.

Newspapers big and small are stopping their presses, not to replate with the latest breaking scandal, but to lay off their staffs, shutter the doors, retire the nameplates.

It may be news, but it’s not new. My family has been involved, off and on, in the newspaper game for more than a century. Each generation saw shifts in society and advances in technology challenge their publishing acumen.

My great-grandfather got into journalism in 1900. George M. Smith began writing for the Naperville (Ill.) Clarion fresh out of high school. After attending Wheaton College, just outside of Chicago, where his father taught, he worked his way through a succession of reporting jobs.

In 1913, he purchased the Du Page County Tribune, a weekly in Wheaton, setting himself up as editor and publisher.

Printing a newspaper in those days was a labor-intensive operation. Every line of type was set by hand, using individual die-cast metal letters, thousands per page.

Hot lead and Linotypes

In 1915, the Tribune purchased a new typecasting machine – a Linotype. Headlines still had to be made up by hand, but the body text of stories was cast in lines – slugs – by molding hot lead. Linotypes were complex mechanical contraptions, prone to breakdown, with 90-character keyboards.

The paper was successful under George’s leadership. To speed production, he invested in another. In 1933, in the midst of the Depression, it became a daily, and the nameplate was changed to the Wheaton Daily Journal. A subscription to the solidly Republican paper ran 5 cents per week.

My grandfather, Robert Smith, followed in his dad’s footsteps, writing a column for the Journal, and studying journalism at South Dakota State College – where he met my grandmother Eileen.

She’d been active in her high school newspaper, which was a full page in the local Milbank (S.D.) Herald Advance, printed every week. She studied printing and journalism at South Dakota State before graduating in 1938.

“There were not that many women in printing – really just a few of us in the whole field of journalism.

“At the college, we set some type by hand, but mainly with the Linotype. Working the hell box (where miscast slugs and wrongly-set type were discarded, to be sorted out later) wasn’t much fun. We had to go through and pull out all the letters and put them back.

“Everything was done by hand. The letterpress was hand-fed, which was a lot of work.

“Bob was very good at setting type. I suppose it came easy to me. I’ve been able to do a lot of computer work – at the museum and such – because of it, using a different keyboard than a typewriter.”

They both put themselves through college working for the college press – writing, proofreading, making up pages.

World War II came soon after my grandparents graduated, interrupting Bob’s endeavors in journalism with a stint in the South Pacific for him and California for Eileen. Two boys also arrived, my uncle Joel and my dad, Steve.

After the war, the Wheaton Daily Journal responded to its growing market.

“Everybody brought two papers – the Chicago paper (Tribune) and the Journal. People were working in Chicago, taking the train in.”

Many commuters began to identify more as Chicagoans than as members of their formerly sleepy suburbs. The ubiquity of radio and growing television market – pioneered in the ’30s by The Chicago Daily News – challenged the small suburban publishers.

George Smith died in February 1949, having spent his life putting ink on paper, telling stories.

My grandfather and his two brothers stepped in to run the family business. Bob took over as editor, the others managing the business side.

Hand-set to high-tech

While the presses weren’t hand-fed anymore, pages were still cast in hot metal. Steve Smith – my dad – recalls the press room as a noisy, messy place.

“My father used to come home with burns” from working on the Linotype, he recalls. “You talk about a complicated machine. And that was a tough bunch of guys. He had a crown on one tooth from getting hit with a wrench by a pressman.”

The changing business and inevitable conflicts among the brothers led to a sale of the Journal in 1953.

Bob went into teaching, first for a local high school, eventually becoming a journalism professor at the University of Wisconsin, Eau Claire. Before he died in 1975, he was working to move the college’s program to a new computerized system.

From hand-set to high-tech, in a lifetime.

My dad went to college to study printing just as technology was shifting.

In the late ’60s, newspapers were moving to more-efficient platemaking processes and high-capacity web presses.

Colleges were still teaching outdated photoengraving techniques, even as the new technology penetrated the business. A career based on a fading process didn’t seem too viable.

Besides, the art department held more attraction. It didn’t take long for my dad to drop his journalism and printing courses.

My journey through journalism began in high school, where I learned how to type, badly, and paste up a news page by hand, using hot wax and type output from a primitive computer system at the local Prescott Courier.

After some schooling at the University of Arizona, I wrote and edited copy for a string of Tucson alternative papers whose names are mostly lost to history.

I served a stint as editor and publisher of ¿K? Magazine, an arts and culture monthly, in the mid-1990s. Despite the streamlining of the desktop publishing revolution, print publishing remained an expensive proposition.

Learning the code

In the late’ 90s, I moved into Web design, learning an alphabet soup of languages: html, xml, js, css and more.

A few years ago, the Citizen was kind enough to take me on, and eventually let me manage the Web site.

In the short time I’ve been here, the technology we use has dramatically shifted. From basic html pages to rich applications that feature video and databases, the addition of reader comments and forums, the focus of the Citizen online has changed along with the culture of the Internet.

But the impressive values of the Citizen staff have remained: accuracy, fairness, truth.

This may well be the last piece I write for a daily newspaper. It leaves me with a bit of an empty feeling, sitting at my desk, preparing for the Citizen’s last edition, knowing that my family’s history with the printing press has stopped rolling.

The family paper, having changed hands several times through the years, continues as the Wheaton Sun – a suburban weekly that’s part of the Sun-Times group.

Yes, they’ve got a Web page.

And like many newspaper chains, the Sun-Times recently filed for bankruptcy.

I hope to carry on my ancestors’ legacy of reporting. Given the trend, that will have to be in some online-only capacity. I’ll miss the smell of fresh ink, but I enjoy the 24/7 challenge of keeping the news fresh.

No matter if it’s delivered by a paperboy on a bike, or via the never-ending stream of the Internet, it’s all about telling stories.

———

Ink in the blood

Many Citizen staffers have families with long histories in the newspaper business.

Alan Fischer’s father, George Fischer, was in the newspaper industry his entire life. He started as a carrier for the Grand Forks (N.D.) Herald as a youth, and held a number of jobs there before becoming a pressman. He brought his skills here, working as a pressman for Tucson Newspapers from 1965 until his retirement in the late 1980s.

B. Poole’s mom, Norma Poole, and sister, Cathy Rowe, were typesetters for newspapers in Illinois during the ’60s and ’70s.

PK Weis’ grandfather PK Weis Sr. was a reporter for the Moberly (Mo.) Monitor in the early 1900s. Senior began his career as a printer’s devil when he was a young boy.

Polly Higgins’ grandfather Rathbun R. Higgins wrote a column called “The Stamp Man” for the Chicago Heights Star from 1948 to 1960 and resurrected it for the Columbus (Ind.) Republic 1967-82.

Garry Duffy’s father, Joseph L. Duffy, was an assistant to Roy Howard, of Scripps-Howard newspapers, in the late ’40s and early ’50s.

Fernanda Echavarri’s great-grandfather Jesús María Benítez Martínez, was a columnist for the local daily in Querétaro, Mexico, from 1973 to 1997.

Randy Harris’ grandfather was circulation manager of the Danville (IL) Press-Democrat from the age of 15. His mother was women’s editor for the Marion (IN) Chronicle-Tribune in the ’60s and ’70s.

Bruce Johnston descends from three generations of journalists on both sides of his family. Both of his great-grandfathers owned weekly newspapers in Canada; one of them brought the first Linotype into the country. The papers passed on through the next two generations in his family. One still publishes today, although no relatives still work for it.

Ray Suarez’s grandfather Edgar worked for TNI in the mailroom and advertising. Grandmother Beatriz was a switchboard operator, while Ray’s father, Stephen, worked in the composing room. Aunt Selina works in circulation for Gannett, while another aunt, Eloina, worked the switchboards. All told, Ray says that his family has put in 117 years working for TNI and the Citizen.

One of the funniest things that ever happened to me was when I met the Dalai Lama.

After the press conference he walked straight over to me, pinched both cheeks and asked me in a whisper, “Are you from Mexico?”

I responded, “NO, I’m from Arizona.” He then whispered something more in my ear.

As I looked around I noticed every camera in the room had turned on me. I made every newscast, and my family in Casa Grande even saw it.

When a reporter pulled me aside and said, “Oh my God, you must be blessed. What did the Dalai Lama say to you?”

I responded, “He said I was the darkest Mexican he ever saw.”

FRANCISCO MEDINA

Photographer

It’s odd for the “highlights” of my career to be marked by tragedies. Major news events on deadline put a journalist to the test, the times you look back on and marvel at how so much got done in so little time and was done well. I can see exactly what I was doing at work when the first shuttle blew up, when the tragedy in Bhopal was revealed, when students were killed at Columbine, when we went to war in Iraq and, of course, on Sept. 11, 2001. I remember so clearly saying, “Paul, did you see that (Associated Press) bulletin that a plane flew into the World Trade Center?”

Despite 24-plus years of cynicism and deadline pressure for nearly every working hour of every working day, I’m going to miss the whole thing.

Newsrooms are odd places. They are places where daily discussions — of grammar and design, politics and current events — involve everyone within earshot and we never agree.

Journalists are odd creatures, many overflowing with sarcasm, cynicism and vitriol. I love them!

MJ McVAY

Designer

There is no way to condense 13 years into a few quips and memories. So, on a grand scale, the Citizen has been about family – literally and figuratively.

I have worked in the same room as my husband, Mike, for all of my 13 years here, though not always at the same time. (There were rumors, for a while, that we were the same person). Both our children were born while we worked here, and with no actual family in town, it was coworkers who came through when our first came three weeks early.

Catherine, said oldest child, grew up in this newsroom. She was here for at least a couple of hours every day until she started preschool. The library ladies were her grandmas, the newsroom staff her aunts and uncles.

She even spent New Year’s Eve 1999 – at the tender age of 5 1/2 months – in the newsroom, because we both had to work in case Y2K shut down the world.

It didn’t. But she has a commemorative T-shirt to prove she was there.

TERESA TRUELSEN

Editor/designer

This newsroom, since I arrived here in June of 2006, has always had great, great people. They’re pros; and they have always put the needs of the readers first. Tucson will be poorer for the newspaper’s folding because the loss of all that talent in one place.

WAYNE BAKER

Copy editor

My first job over 40 years ago was as a paperboy for the Tucson Citizen. I had a route that ran from First Street to 10th Street between Tucson Boulevard and Country Club.

In 1967 I got a job as a cub reporter for the Citizen and I ended up with the Pima County Board of Supervisors as part of my “beat.”

Covering Pima County back before the days of open meeting laws was a hoot. The three county supervisors would meet before the official meeting and decide the agenda. The guys let me in the room, but did not let my female counterpart from the Star inside. Being an afternoon paper with a deadline for the home delivery edition of noon, I’d often file my story about what the supervisors decided before the meeting was over, so the Citizen could beat the Star.

I got to experience the last days of the old-style newsroom. We used manual typewriters, and if the City Desk didn’t like our copy, they’d wad it up and throw it back across the newsroom. The older reporters were grizzled guys with bottles of whiskey in their desk drawers. Nothing like the antiseptic cubicle newsrooms of today with glowing computer screens.

I didn’t last long at the Citizen after the night a military jet crashed into a supermarket on South Alvernon. In the midst of that chaos, I failed to get the names of a bunch of Air Force colonels who showed up the next day to inspect the smoking ruins who didn’t have their names on their jump suits, and Nellis Air Force Base (from whence they came) wouldn’t give up their names. So the paper had to run a picture with “5 unidentified colonels.” Officially I was told I “lacked a proper sense of immediacy.” So, off to law school I went to become a lawyer, a profession where immediacy is not a virtue.

HUGH HOLUB

Former staff member

In 2005, my brother, Dontia, was in his early 20s playing varsity tennis for San Diego State University, where he was set to graduate with a degree in psychology. Devastating news came during the late evening hours on Sept. 23: Dontia had been in a vehicle wreck that day and had passed. I left immediately for California. My family was not fully financially prepared for his passing and in speaking with my editor that week about requesting additional time off I told her about the difficulties my family was experiencing. That day, she informed the Tucson Citizen staff about the situation and the staff began collecting funds to help with the funeral expenses. Days later, the staff sent the funds to my parents. I have seen the Citizen staff do this with numerous others — whether it was for a newborn child or a devastating event. These are testimonies of what the Tucson Citizen family represent.

La Monica Everett-Haynes

Former staff member

I’ve been amazingly fortunate that for the past 32 years I’ve been paid to read and write for a living while working at the Tucson Citizen.

For many years, on the Citizen’s dime, I was able to travel across America, and once to Japan, to cover sporting events. It was a pretty good gig.

But the coolest time was from 1991 to 1994 when I did my first stint on the copy desk. I had the power, as the late man on my shift, to stop the presses for breaking news stories – with the approval of the managing editor, of course.

With a touch of a button on my phone, I had a direct connection to the pressroom, and the thundering machines would come to a halt while we remade the paper.

I was always tempted to do a Humphrey Bogart impression (he played an editor in “Deadline U.S.A.”) when I shouted out “Stop the presses,” but it would have been lost over the roar.

DAVE PETRUSKA

Copy editor

One of the more amazing moments I experienced at the Citizen was being with the Tucson-based science team for the Phoenix Mars Lander mission when the spacecraft safely settled on the planet’s surface May 25, 2008.

The craft faced a danger-filled “seven minutes of terror” as it used the Martian atmosphere, a parachute and 12 descent thrusters to slow from 12,500 mph to a soft landing to end its 10-month, 422-million mile journey.

The 400 people packing the Tucson Science Operations Center waiting for confirmation of safe landing erupted in joy as the Lander’s first images from the Martian surface were shown on large screen monitors. The “live” images took 15 minutes to travel from Mars to Earth.

ALAN FISCHER

Reporter

I was about 5 when my oldest brother started delivering papers for the Citizen. Every afternoon, I helped him fold them and wrap a rubber band around them. I felt proud, as though I were part of something very important.

Many years later, I got my first newspaper job at the Citizen.

I remember the night Old Tucson burnt down. I went to the newsroom about 7 p.m., thinking a few old-timers would be there – in those days, the newsroom starting lighting up about 3 a.m. to put out the afternoon paper. At 7 at night, everyone should be home and exhausted, gearing up for the next day.

But the newsroom was hopping, keyboads going at a rapid pace, phones pressed to reporters’ ears. The sense of loss was palpable as we all worked to get the story about the blaze.

But we also wanted a story — stories, really — that talked about what the old movie set meant to Tucson’s economy, Tucson’s tourism, Tucson’s citizens.

We all worked late into the night and got those stories. We wrote with compassion, knowledge and precision.

We all were part of something very important.

KATHLEEN ALLEN

Former staff member

When I arrived at the Tucson Citizen’s police press room for my first shift in December 1999, I carefully inched toward the one-room office and opened the door just enough to peek inside. I was visibly nervous; a big fish at the college paper, I was suddenly a nobody with a notepad, thrown into an internship at a professional news operation.

“Are you Dave Teibel?” I asked, my voice quivering.

The man put down a newspaper and adjusted his Coke-bottle glasses to get a closer look at me. “I am,” he curtly replied.

Knowing a bit about Teibel’s storied career in Tucson, I said “Well, it’s truly an honor to meet you, sir.”

I expected to hear “Nice to meet you, too.” That’s what normal people say.

Instead, he groaned and put his feet on the desk, opened his newspaper and proudly muttered, “Yes … yes it is.”

That brief conversation scared me half to death and I nearly quit on the spot. But then, somehow, we began to click.

Over the next three years, this wonderful man – part pit bull, part teddy bear – helped craft the person I’ve become today. He did the same for dozens of rookies before and after me.

DAVE CIESLAK

Former staff member

One top memory: Arizona softball coach Mike Candrea leading Team USA to a gold medal in softball at the 2004 Olympic Games in Greece. His team dominated, not that it was a surprise in going 9-0 and outscoring opponents 51-1. What struck me, though, was his humility, poise and pride in the journey. It came just five weeks after his then-wife, Sue, passed away from a brain aneurysm while on the pre-Games tour.

I remember him in the dugout, hand on chin, taking in the team celebration on the field. Heartfelt and memorable.

“I thanked them all for the greatest moment of my life,” he said at the time. “I love this team.”

And, through it all, he didn’t get a medal. Coaches don’t get medals.

“That’s not what this is about,” he said.

STEVE RIVERA

Reporter

Nothing in my 21 years at the Citizen has been personally more life changing than covering the Tucson International Mariachi Conference.

My first encounter with the conference showed me that this was a world-class tradition with instrumentalists and singers to rival the best orchestras and opera companies in the country. But in time I realized that I was watching history unfold before my eyes as Mexican Americans recast their self-image through their culture and set sail toward a future of higher education and pride in their personal and collective accomplishments.

What seemed at first concerts and workshops became the seeds of the transformation of a people, and it was my good fortune to be there to write about that historical pivot point as it was unfolding.

DAN BUCKLEY

Reporter/videographer

I’ll miss all the cursing and yelling.

Before becoming a foul-mouthed vulgarian journalist, I was a repressed foul-mouthed vulgarian hospital executive (executive being a relative term) who had to do all his cursing outside the staid confines of the hospital and the inpatient admissions office.

Dilbertian cubicle life is hushed and chaste. Mere hells and damns can elicit gasps from the cubists and frantic calls to HR and personal injury attorneys.

Raising your voice to a fellow employee was almost always followed by a trip to the HR office and mandatory anger management training.

But not in a newsroom. Here we let the expletives fly. Yelling at co-workers and editors is de rigueur.

My first day here, the border reporter yelled at the city editor. The photo editor yelled at the sports editor and the o\n\ned page designer yelled at the photo editor (a lot of people yell at the photo editor, and vice versa). A general assignment reporter yelled at everybody.

I thought to myself, “I’m home.”

I dread returning to the monk’s life of the grownup corporate world. Here’s hoping another newsroom needs a fat bastard editor who can say f*** you with the best of ‘em.

MARK B. EVANS

Assistant city editor

I did not choose a career as a journalist to be a government watchdog, expose corruption or to influence people. I became a journalist to make money while writing the Great American Novel. And along the path of becoming the next Jack Kerouac, I was led to a newsroom described by an editor friend of mine as a place “similar to the island of misfit toys.”

It was a melting pot of tree huggers, gun-lovers, cowboys and city slickers, vegetarians, meat eaters, animal lovers, beer drinkers, rock and rollers and hip hoppers.

What I remember most about those 10 years in the dusty and dark newsroom at Park and Irvington was the enjoyment of working in a place and having a career where you had access to inside information (off the record), met famous people (Tiger Woods), and had the rush of chasing breaking news.

There was never a dull moment in the Citizen newsroom. Everyday was different and as reporters our desire for knowledge was never-ending. I am a better person, a better public servant, and thanks to the Tucson Citizen I am a man who knows a little about a lot rather than a lot about one thing.

More importantly, working on “the island of misfit toys” taught me tolerance and open-mindedness to those who are different than I. Now if I could just finish that novel…

MICHAEL GRAHAM

Former staff member

Even on this doomsday I feel truly blessed to have worked in the Tucson Citizen newsroom.

I have spent over five years in this newsroom, and it has not only improved me as a photographer and a news person, but it has truly fostered my appreciation for knowledge.

I must give credit to my unforgettable mentor P.K. Weis. He reinvigorated my love of photography. And when I became a legitimate photographer, he taught me how to be a better photographer and the importance of connecting with all the people I photograph.

He instilled a confidence in me.

For Mr. Weis and the Tucson Citizen, I am more than grateful. I am a better person.

RENEE BRACAMONTE

Photographer

Drug trafficking was really starting to heat up along the Arizona border in the early ’90s. I spent a lot of time with the U.S. Border Patrol.

I remember walking through the brush with two agents on a moonless night and being forbidden from using my electronic flash to take pictures since we were being watching by drug runners. I slept in the back of a beat-up Border Patrol truck for four hours while agents tracked drug-runners by moonlight – no headlights or tail lights.

I had the privilege of covering the Arizona Wildcat football and basketball teams at home and on the road for six years.

My first NCAA tournament trip was to Denver in 1989. I walked into the Associated Press darkroom and said that I needed film processing services. The AP photographer running the lab, an intimidating 6-foot-7-inch bearded fellow, stood over me and yelled at me for not calling ahead and following procedures. I was speechless. Another wire service photographer put his arm around me and quietly pulled me out of the room. He helped smooth things over so I could process film.

During this trip, I was rooming with columnist Corky Simpson. I finished transmitting photos at 3 a.m. following the game (it took 30 minutes to transmit each photo in those days) and quietly snuck into the hotel room to get some sleep. At 6 a.m., the drapes were thrust open to daylight. I bolted up from bed to Corky proudly proclaiming that he was going out running. I knew it was going to be a long, sleepless tournament.

I worked some strange hours to cover for P.K. Weis, the photo editor, when the Citizen was a true afternoon daily.

I woke up at 2:30 a.m. each day one week to make it to work at 4 a.m. to cover P.K.’s shift. Managing editor Dale Walton strolled into the newsroom around 4:30 a.m., looking dapper with coat and tie and ready to tackle the news day. By the news meeting at 5:30 a.m., the tie was loosened and he looked completely disheveled and exhausted.

It was then I knew I never wanted to be a managing editor.

The same day, I fell asleep on the shoulder of the sports editor during the afternoon meeting.

RICK WILEY

Former staff member

In 1996 our current interim publisher, then business editor, Jennifer Boice hired me right out of journalism school.

I said, “Are you sure you want to hire a single mom with three kids?” I’m glad she did.

Over the past dozen years not only have my children grown up – but I have as well.

I’ve had the opportunity to reach out and talk to people I normally would not have had access to including several political figures and entertainment icons such as Jay Leno, Roseanne Barr, Phyllis Diller and Don Rickles.

The interview that sticks in my mind is when Sen. John McCain made me sick. This is not a political comment.

About four years ago he came to the Citizen and I interviewed him. He had a horrible head cold. He sneezed into his hand and then shook mine. It was a bit sticky. A few days later I was sick. Thanks, senator!

LORRIE BROWNSTONE

Assistant city editor

I was a huge baseball fan as a kid. I’d watch any game I could on TV, hardly missed a Baseball Tonight on ESPN, and read every copy of the Star’s or Citizen’s sports section that I got my hands on.

So imagine my excitement, when as a young adult and covering sports for the Tucson Citizen, I had the opportunity to interview one of my childhood heroes in the clubhouse after a Diamondbacks spring training game. We’re talking someone whose poster used to hang on my wall as kid – how exciting, right?

The entire time I talked with him he had one foot propped up on a bench, a cigarette in one hand, a beer in the other, and his eyes glued to a golf tournament on the clubhouse TV. He never even once looked over at me during the interview. Talk about having your bubble popped.

In 2005, I was sent out to Desert Diamond to cover the weigh-in for the next night’s fight between Demetrius Hopkins and Tucson’s Nito Bravo.

Hopkins was the nephew of Bernard Hopkins, who at 40 was the oldest man to ever hold the Middleweight Championship in boxing and who had defended his title, a world record, 20 times.

The publicist asked me if I wanted to talk to Bernard Hopkins and I said yes, obviously.

So the publicist walked me to the bar where Bernard was sitting and told him who I was. As he was talking to Bernard, I turned around and looked – there was a long line of boxing fans going back out the door – all waiting to talk to and get an autograph from Bernard Hopkins.

Bernard Hopkins told me to sit down with him at the bar so I could interview him. He talked to me for over half an hour – about everything from his nephew, to his own career, to the weather and even the big pancakes the casino served him for breakfast.

Meanwhile, I had a large and growing line of inpatient boxing fans – most of whom were drinking. If there wasn’t a famous boxer sitting next to me – I think I might have needed a bodyguard. (On a side note, the next night, at the fight, I got to interview Oscar de la Hoya too.)

MICHAEL CACCAMISE

Copy editor

My four underpaid, overworked years at the Tucson Citizen were, without doubt, among the most joyful of my career. The Citizen taught me how to report, how to write, and to honor the classic Finley Peter Dunn mandate to comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.

I last lived and worked here in 1985, so the smaller city I knew and the larger newspaper I loved have been gone for a while (though the beer garden at the Shanty is still strangely, wonderfully unchanged after 24 years). The Citizen of that era honored good writing more than most newspapers, thanks in large part to the influence of Dick Vonier. We took on ambitious stories, including an epic series examining the flood of Central American refugees in the ’80s that made Tucson a center for the Sanctuary Movement, and an investigation of flaws in a major child abduction and murder case. For the latter, I was personally gratified to be labeled “Inspector Closeau” by a sputtering County Attorney Steve Neely, who was angered by our findings.

The paper had some memorable foibles. One was the paper’s fondness for publishing animal tales on the front page, a proclivity I once demonstrated by stapling a year’s worth of such stories together end to end, producing a paper chain of doggy heroes and record-breaking snakes and cats that could carry a tune that ran from the break room bulletin board some 39 feet into the hallway. In typical Citizen fashion, another reporter was assigned to write a story about my little project (which I suppose was better than canning me).

The story about animal stories ran, naturally, on the front page.

ED HUMES

Former staff member

There was always something about the Citizen, something that set us apart.

What it always came down to was a staff that cared – cared about Tucson, cared about each other and cared about doing the best job possible, even as resources dwindled to nothing.

We were the scrappy underdog (hate that phrase), frequently beating the competition on breaking news and in sheer writing talent.

More importantly, we had heart. We always wanted to do our best, to be the best.

And we had fun. When I was moved to the “Big House” after working in our downtown office for years, I was assigned a desk in what had to be the most fun corner in the universe.

I was surrounded by irreverent, brilliant, funny and sometimes a bit dysfunctional folks. We pulled pranks. We got in trouble. Once we got so rowdy, Art Rotstein of the Associated Press tape recorded us. We were appalled at our own behavior.

But we did the best journalism of our lives.

It’s hard to imagine Tucson without the Tucson Citizen.

But life will go on. It always does. News will happen. I just hope someone who cares as much as we did is there to cover it.

GABRIELLE FIMBRES

Reporter

Being able to go to the State of the State address with Mark Kimble has always been one of my favorite memories of working at the Citizen. I sat with legislators, mayors and the governor just feet away from me. I will always remember seeing the mayor of Phoenix stick his cell phone in his sock. I felt like a kid in a candy store. This was the culmination of my government classes in public education.

Later, on that same trip I found out how knowledgeable he was not just about news but our state and its history in general. Upon buying lunch at McDonald’s (Mark is also a health nut), we discussed Fife Symington’s new career path in the food industry. Mark then revealed to me that during his childhood Mr. Symington saved some kid from drowning. Later, when Fife got indicted and convicted this kid came back into his life and rescued him by granting him a presidential pardon. The kid’s name was William Jefferson Clinton. So if it wasn’t for Symington, Clinton would be dead by now.

That day was one of the days that I learned the most in any job and one more thing that will be with me for the rest of my life, thanks to the Citizen and thanks to Mark.

ARNIE BERMUDEZ

Artist/designer

In this world of celebrity overload, we in the journalism business in Tucson don’t get that many opportunities to interview celebs, let alone have them admit to something publicly that had previously remained buried in their past.

But when I interviewed ABC sportscaster Al Michaels in 1977, that’s exactly what happened.

Some background: Michaels was sports editor of The State Press, the student paper at Arizona State University, in 1965. While there he perpetrated a hoax on The Arizona Republic’s sports staff by inventing a fictitious athlete from Fredonia High School in northern Arizona. Michaels and his school buddy George Allen concocted baseball star Clint Romas, then kept embellishing a legendary career for him through calls to the Republic sports desk. As long as the Republic kept printing the stats and linescores, they would keep calling in with ever-more outrageous feats by Romas.

The hoax fell apart when the Republic finally decided to call Fredonia to do a story on Romas and found out he didn’t exist. Just who had conned the Republic remained a mystery, though – at least until Michaels admitted it to me in the interview and I published his account.

How did I know about the hoax and to ask Michaels about it? Let’s just say a reporter never reveals his sources.

The best part of this for me was hearing Michaels’ hearty laugh when first hearing Clint Romas’ name, and then his regaling me with some of the juicier facts behind the hoax. Try getting that from a celebrity today.

BRUCE JOHNSTON

News editor

The first day of my first story, then-city editor Jim Wyckoff told me to go to the scene, every time. Do an interview over the telephone, he warned, and you’ll miss the bullet hole in the window, or the refrigerator magnet, or the family photo that could provide little nuggets of insight. If you want to chronicle human moments, he advised, be there to see the tears and anger and pain and beauty.

I learned about the power of words to nudge and inspire.

I did piece on a crime victim who needed surgery to save her eyesight. Readers responded with donations to provide the medical care her insurance company wouldn’t.

In that moment of a community pulling together, any sense of victory was tempered by sobriety. What I wrote had the power to move people, to influence policy, to change lives.

I felt awe, then humility, that people trust me to tell their stories and to be an accurate filter of their experience.

RHONDA BODFIELD

Former staff member

Black Friday is my favorite shopping day of the year. I love the deals, the chaos and getting home at noon with all my Christmas and birthday shopping done. I hate getting up before dawn, but justify it with the thought that I’ll get to take a long afternoon nap.

For Black Friday 2007, I agreed to be the reporter out covering the chaos. It meant that I would have to be up at 3 a.m., and also meant dragging along my 14-month-old foster child, Bamm Bamm. I thought he would sleep in the stroller the whole time.

He ended up staying awake for most of the trip, but managed to be the easiest part of completing the story. After our first stop to interview the folks in line at Mervyn’s I got back into my truck to head to Circuit City.

My truck wouldn’t start. I had four stores to hit in less than two hours and I had a dead battery. At each store photographer Xavier Gallegos had to jump my battery. When it came time to file my story, I did it while sitting in my truck in the Tucson Citizen parking lot typing on my laptop with my engine running and my little boy finally sleeping.

HEIDI ROWLEY

Former staff member

On a whim, after spending the 1948 Fourth of July weekend in Tucson, I sought and landed my first post-Princeton job at the Citizen. Elated, I found my desk in the seven-reporter newsroom, sat down, and admitted: “I don’t know how to type.” To which the veteran newsman next to me offered wise counsel: “Fake it.”

I managed to hunt-and-peck my way through four enjoyable stints at the state’s oldest paper for a total of 20 years. Closing my initial stay as acting sports editor, I joined the FBI in 1951, only to return a year later as city editor, 1952-55. Alcoholism slowly had a grip on me, so I wandered far and often until the Citizen gave me another chance as day police reporter (1962-64).

My stories were generally good, my behavior wasn’t, so I disappeared again until finding recovery in AA (9/24/69). By 1971, I was welcomed home for one last fling – as political writer, columnist and editorial page editor – until 1983. Thanks for the memories.

ASA “ACE” BUSHNELL

Former staff member

PHOENIX – The oldest soldier to be killed in Iraq fought in Vietnam and decided to re-enlist at the age of 59 after the 9/11 terrorist attacks and the death of his wife, according to his brother.

Army Maj. Steven Hutchison, 60, was killed in Iraq on Sunday after a homemade bomb went off near his vehicle in Al Farr, according to the Department of Defense.

Richard Hutchison of Scottsdale told The Associated Press on Thursday that his older brother Steven wanted to re-enlist immediately after the 9/11 attacks, but that his wife, Candy, didn’t want him to.

But when Candy died of breast cancer, “a part of him died,” so he signed up again in July 2007, according to his brother and the Army.

“He was very devoted to the service and to his country,” Richard Hutchison said. “For somebody to go back into the military at 60 years old, obviously I didn’t want him to do it, but he had a mind of his own and that’s what he wanted to do. He’s been a soldier his whole life.”

He said his brother never explained why he wanted to re-enlist, but that “I’m guessing it had something to do with them coming into our country and killing our people.”

“He wanted to go back in,” he added. “He wanted to do his share.”

He said Steven Hutchison served in Afghanistan for a year after he re-enlisted and went to Iraq in October as a team leader of about a dozen soldiers who would train Iraqi soldiers how to fight. But, he said his brother’s mission changed and that he was working to secure Iraq’s southern border instead.

Army spokesman Lt. Col. Nathan Banks said Thursday that Hutchison was the oldest Army soldier killed in Iraq.

An Associated Press database of soldiers killed in Iraq and Afghanistan shows that Hutchison is the oldest member of any service branch killed since the wars broke out.

Richard Hutchison said Steven was a great big brother and a best friend who was always looking out for him. “He took care of me,” he said.

“I was worried about him. I didn’t want him to go (to Iraq),” he said through tears, adding that he loved his brother “so much.”

He said Steven Hutchison worked as a college professor of psychology at a couple of California universities and then worked at a private health care corporation in Arizona before he retired a few years ago.

Records at Loyola Marymount University in Los Angeles show that Hutchison taught in the psychology department there on and off between 1988 and 1996. Hutchison’s résumé, provided by the school, shows he was a lecturer at California State University in Long Beach and taught at Claremont McKenna College in Claremont, Calif.

Hutchison was born in Cincinnati and raised in Long Beach, Calif. Steven and Richard have a half brother and half sister living in Michigan. Steven Hutchison married four times, and was married to Candy for 10 years before she died. He had no children.

Richard Hutchison said his brother will be buried next to Candy in Scottsdale, and that a funeral is tentatively planned for Tuesday.

Hutchison was assigned to the 2nd Battalion, 34th Armor Regiment, 1st Brigade Combat Team, 1st Infantry Division at Ft. Riley, Kan.

Compiled by Daniela Vizcarra. For information, call 573-4561

Robert Dean Anderson, 85, May 12, salesman. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Marion Ernest Balentine, 85, April 15, self-employed. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Jose Guy Benavidez, 47, May 12, housekeeping. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Scott Archer Boyce, 44, March 30, plumber. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Denise Therese Brewer, 51, April 12, homemaker. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Steven M. Brooks, 61, May 5, laborer. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Jane E. Cashman, 63, April 3, administrative assistant. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Artemisa G. Castro, 67, April 8, homemaker. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Christina Corona, 52, May 8, telecommunications. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Ann Cunningham, 86, May 10, mail clerk. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

James Watson Day, 80, April 10, engineer. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Virginia Loraine Downing, 80, April 15, cashier. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Helen Vincent Drachman, 74, April 19, homemaker. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Janet Dzing, 73, May 5, company supervisor. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Laurence R. Green, 92, May 12, farmer. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Jean Hilton, 68, May 4, needlepoint designer. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Louise S. King, 78, May 13, homemaker. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Edward Moore, 93, May 12, chemist. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Mary O. Morton, 91, May 5, homemaker. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Richard Oakley, 81, of Green Valley, May 10, sales. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Cynthia Orr, 57, May 7, teacher. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Mark D. Paschal, 54, April 2, laborer. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Frank Charles Ramsower, 91, May 11, business owner. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Nene Catherine Rocheford, 64, May 8, business owner. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Beverly Ruppelius, 82, May 10, homemaker. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Matilda Jane Sanchez, 73, May 13, housekeeping. Heather Mortuary

Robert L. Sandin, 96, May 11, teacher. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Raza Shah, 38, May 5, inmate. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Monica Freund Silver, 73, May 8, self-employed. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Zack Staples, 87, May 9, engineer. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Frederick Travis, 75, May 9, mechanic. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Barbara E. Vallefuoco, 83, May 11, homemaker. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Richard Zormeier, 73, May 12, carpenter. Hudgel’s Swan Funeral Home

Editor’s note: Night online editor Judy Carlock wraps up the week for the final time.

“Another socialist university,” harrumphed a reader, in response to coverage of President Obama’s commencement speech Wednesday at Sun Devil Stadium.

Well, yeah. Public education is socialism. Knee-jerk responses to the s-word miss the point that collective financing works for some things. Just not everything.

The president’s pep talk urged grads to make the most of what they’ve got – the very soul of capitalism, to my mind.

He also gave a nod to late launchers: older adults driven to new success relatively late in life.

With the end of the Citizen on Saturday, staff members are learning what a luxury it was to be themselves and dodge most bureaucratic busywork. In keeping with Obama’s ethos, I consider skills learned here an investment.

They’ve been part of my compensation. I still want the check, though.

Redefine success, Obama tells ASU grads

MONEY TALKS: Why, I wonder, do some people complain of being “forced” to learn a second language? That came up in comments about the billion-dollar boost Mexican shoppers bring to Tucson’s retail and hospitality industries.

It’s just a skill. You don’t have to develop it. But if other people do, they have a right to leverage that skill however they can.

Wednesday’s story about Mexican spending here spurred comments from readers apparently hostile to the whole idea of . . . Mexicans.

The shoppers are not here illegally, and they’re not immigrants . . . so naturally, the story brought out reader reaction to illegal immigration.

Get over it. We’re an hour from the border.

Mexican shoppers add $1B to Tucson economy

OPEN BEATING LAW: It’s illegal for a quorum of a public body to meet in private. I didn’t know until this week it was also illegal to try to seek consensus by polling your colleagues in twosies. Apparently that’s so, according to the state Open Meeting Law.

The issue came up Tuesday in relation to Councilwoman Nina Trasoff’s efforts to find a fix for Tucson’s budget.

Late local pol E.S. “Bud” Walker defended secrecy succinctly: “When the press finds out, they blow the whole program.’”

He put his faith in smoke-filled rooms, and provided the Pall Malls.

Now they’d be breaking the law by lighting up.

City budget talks derailed by open meetings law tiff

Our Opinion: Council’s talks likely violated Arizona Open Meetings Law

PACKING: How do you balance the right to bear arms with a property owner’s right to have no guns on the premises? A state House vote Wednesday favored fans of firearms.

It seems reasonable that if you have the right to carry a gun, you have the right to keep it in your car. But – is it carrying concealed to stash it under the seat? And if it’s in plain view, could that incite theft?

Then there’s the Arizona heat. What would it do to ammo?

Cigarette lighters can explode in hot cars. One took the windshield out of my VW wagon.

I’m not packing – except for cleaning out my desk.

House OKs bill to allow guns in parked vehicles

DefensiveCarry.com discussion on car heat

SPEED KILLS: Dang! Now there are 10 more places I can’t speed.

Caught on candid camera at Oracle and River a few months back, I started slowing at the yellow light, scared of getting another ticket.

I haven’t. Big Brother modified my behavior.

Pima County gets in on the act this weekend, with a warning period to start Monday.

Traffic enforcement saves lives. OK by me. One question about my neighborhood, at La Cholla and River:

Why does River have two left-turn lanes onto a street with one southbound lane?

Speed camera test starts Friday; warning period will be Monday through Saturday

PHOTO SHOOT: Some folks think President Obama is posturing in his attempt to keep photos of abuse of prisoners in Iraq and Afghanistan under wraps.

He explained his turnaround by saying earlier photos led to “appropriate actions” against “a small number of individuals.”

“Appropriate.” The new fascism.

Arizona’s John McCain twittered approval of Obama’s stance.

The fear: That the images would fuel anti-American actions in the Middle East.

I figure the people who would hate us already do.

No matter how stupid the soldiers who did the deeds or made those pictures, Arabs and Afghans know how much worse it could be. This is not My Lai.

Release them. We don’t have to post them on the Net.

Al-Jazeera will take care of that.

Obama will try to block release of abuse photos

19th-century Fort Lowell cavalry men to get military honors

The remains of 61 U.S. Cavalry soldiers and some of their dependents exhumed from the downtown site of the future County-City Joint Courts Complex will begin their final journey Friday morning.

They will be re-interred at the Southern Arizona Veterans’ Memorial Cemetery in Sierra Vista on Saturday.

The remains will be escorted from All Faiths Cemeteries, 2151 S. Avenida Los Reyes, by scores of motorcyclists from the Veterans of Foreign Wars Patriot Riders. They will be reburied with full military honors at the new historical cemetery near Fort Huachuca.

The remains were among more than 1,800 exhumed and stored as part of an archaeological dig at the site of the courts complex, near the southeast corner of Stone and Toole avenues. The site was territorial Tucson’s first cemetery.

The soldiers were stationed at Fort Lowell from the 1860s to 1880s.

Bishop Gerald F. Kicanas of the Catholic Diocese of Tucson will conduct a brief service at 10 a.m.

Before the caskets are loaded into two five-ton military transport vehicles for the trip to Sierra Vista, they will be covered in American flags of their service period.

“We will drape their caskets with 34-star flags from that time period,” Joe Larson of the Arizona Department of Veterans’ Services said Wednesday.

“They will be simultaneously covered (with) the flags” by honor guards from all four major branches of the U.S. military, Larson said.

The soldiers’ remains also will receive an air escort from Tucson to Sierra Vista.

Many soldiers of the period sent to the wars against Indians in the Southwest were immigrants to this country and were compelled to enlist for want of other work.

Diseases such as malaria and dysentery claimed many, unaccustomed as they were to the harsh Sonoran Desert climate, Arizona Department of Veterans’ Services records show.

The great majority of the remains exhumed were of civilians in an adjacent burial area, said Roger Anyon, project manager for the Pima County Cultural Resources and Historical Preservation Office, which supervised the archaeological work at the site.

The remains of the deceased civilians, some of whom have descendants living here, will be reburied in local cemeteries over the next several months, he said.

———

More on courthouse, burial

www.geocities.com/savmcf

www.azdvs.gov

www.pima.gov/JointCourts

Compiled by Antonio Garcia. For information call, 573-4561.

Bonita Anderson, 64, May 9, homemaker. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Franklin Barrett, 88, May 9, U.S. Air Force. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Jeramiah Bass, 84, May 5, mining explorer. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Daniel R. Brooker, 56, April 30, airplane mechanic. Angel Valley Funeral Home

Donald F. Cass, 58, May 5, self-employed. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Harry R. Cattrell, 86, of SaddleBrooke, May 6, U.S. Air Force. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Elizabeth Jane Coons, 87, April 29, registered nurse. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Christina Corona, 52, May, 8, customer service. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Clara May Criswell, 74, May 10, registered nurse. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Tanya Rugh Walker Cumbest, 64, May 8, cosmetologist. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Carolyn Edwards, 47, April 16, respiratory therapist. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Doris Maxine Ely, 81, April 10, systems analyst. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Claudia Y. Esquer, 24, of Marana, May 10, retail sales. Adair Funeral Homes Avalon Chapel

Vera Mae Forshaw, 81, April 14, business owner. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Carla S. Gamez, 50, May 4, newspaper sales. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Maria C. Gonzalez, 64, May 5, homemaker. Carrillo’s Tucson Mortuary

Laurence R. Green, 92, May 12, dairy farmer. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Myrtle Gladys Giachetti, 97, May 5, bookkeeping. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Charles L. Hartshorn, 74, May 4, U.S. Navy. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Faye Ann Hawkins, 78, April 6, homemaker. Desert Rose Cremation & Burial

Wera Holmgren, 97, of Green Valley, May 5, homemaker. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Bertil L. Johnson, 71, April 14, quality inspector. Desert Sunset Cremation & Burial

Melvin L. Kenley, 87, of Oro Valley, May 4, executive. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Robert D. Kennie, 70, May 10, truck driver. Heather Mortuary

James M. Langford, 69, April 1, counselor. Desert Sunset Cremation & Burial

Carolyn A. LeBoeuf, 73, May 9, homemaker. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Helen B. Major, 85, May 10, hotel cook. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Lillian Mendoza, 83, May 9, unit clerk. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Vivienne Oxman, 90, May 9, homemaker. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Esperanza Palmer, 80, May 12, homemaker. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Maria Concepcion “Concha” Pesqueira, 87, May 7, presser, Carrillo’s Tucson Mortuary

E. James Robinson, 83, of SaddleBrooke. May 5, manager. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Elizabeth Ruelas, 71, May 10, supervisor. Adair Funeral Homes Dodge Chapel

Betty G. Schroedor, 78, May 8, nurse assistant. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Duane B. Seaman, 93, May 11, retail sales. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Richard A. Straub, 70, May 10, construction worker. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Frank Taylor, 91, May 2, executive. Vistoso Memorial Chapel

Mary Su Tuttle, 33, May 7, university student. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Barbara E. Vallefuoco, 83, May 11, homemaker. Desert Sunset Funeral Home

Fern S. Warner, 79, May 8, teacher. Bring’s Broadway Chapel

Gloria Zehowicz, 82, May 8, cashier. Adair Funeral Homes Avalon Chapel