From veteran officers to rookies, friends and neighbors to strangers, mourners turn out by the thousands to pay respects to Detective Sgt. James L. Allen, whose funeral is today.

08:51 AM EDT on Thursday, April 21, 2005

BY AMANDA MILKOVITS and CATHLEEN F. CROWLEY
Journal Staff Writers

CRANSTON -- The humble and the powerful gathered by the thousands yesterday afternoon to mourn the death of Detective Sgt. James L. Allen.

Journal photo / Connie Grosch

White-gloved Providence police officers, their badges encircled by black mourning bands, wait in line yesterday outside a Cranston funeral home at the wake of Detective Sgt. James L. Allen. From left, Kenneth Simoneau, Brett LiBucha, Miguel Castillo and Alex Gonzalez.

The first in line were the men and women of his police family, the Providence police officers, who stood four abreast and silent behind Mayor David N. Cicilline and Chief Dean M. Esserman even before the doors to the Nardolillo Funeral Home opened.

They were followed by police officers and firefighters from dozens of agencies in Rhode Island, Massachusetts, Connecticut and New York, in a line that lasted up to two hours. Officers ringed the parking lot, their dress uniforms appearing like a chain of blue, gray, brown, and white.

The mourners included people Allen had known through his police work, through his part-time job at an East Side market, neighbors he played with on the streets of Providence as a boy, and people he never knew.

Allen, 50, died just after midnight Sunday, after a suspect he was questioning about a stabbing allegedly grabbed his gun and shot him to death inside the police station. The suspect, Esteban Carpio, shot out a window and jumped three stories to the ground. He was caught within an hour. He is facing a murder charge.

His fellow officers have said that Allen's world didn't extend much further than the Police Department, his parish at St. Thomas Church in Providence, and his home life with his wife and two teenage daughters.

But the death of the quiet man drew a crowd of thousands of mourners.

Col. Steven M. Pare, superintendent of the state police, whose troopers had helped catch the suspect, called Allen a humble, hard-working detective, who worked behind the scenes without fanfare.

Lt. Gov. Charles J. Fogarty, who graduated from La Salle Academy with Allen in 1973, said, "I've never heard anyone say anything but good things about him."

He added, "I think sometimes people don't understand the challenges of the job. When you're dealing with some of these folks, you have no idea what's in their mind. We take them [police officers] for granted."

Attorney General Patrick C. Lynch had known Allen from his days as a prosecutor. "He was just a kind, gentle person. In some ways, not the stereotypical detective people would think of," Lynch said.

Now, his office is handling the prosecution of Allen's murder. Lynch is seeking life without parole for Carpio. But he knows this won't bring the end for Allen's family. "When all is said and done, with the longest sentence available, Jimmy Allen is still gone," Lynch said.

Amid the crowd were two men who understood that loss well. They were the fathers of two slain Providence police officers.

Sgt. Steven M. Shaw was shot and killed by a robbery suspect in 1994 while searching a house. Six years later, Sgt. Cornel Young Jr. died after being shot by two fellow officers who had mistaken him for a suspect in a disturbance at a Valley Street diner.

Their fathers, Robert Shaw and retired Maj. Cornel Young Jr., greeted each other in the parking lot outside the funeral home.

Young flew up from his home in Florida to attend Allen's wake and funeral. He'd worked with Allen and Allen's father, retired Capt. Lloyd Allen, for years.

Seeing Allen in his dress uniform, in his coffin, brought back the memories of his son's death five years ago, Young said.

And it did for the other veteran officers.

"You never forget," said Maj. Paul Fitzgerald. "It changes some guys, especially the young guys. It just sends home the message sometimes. They think of it as a big adventure, and they don't see this as something that can happen to someone they know."

The newest academy graduated in January, and the rookie officers were among those at the wake.

"It's hard on them, even though they didn't know Jimmy," Fitzgerald said. "It's hard on all of us."

The Providence police entered first, pausing and saluting Allen's casket, and nodding as they passed his wife, Marguerite, and daughters, Jennifer and Caitlin.

Throughout the long afternoon and early evening, the Providence police color guard kept watch over Allen's coffin.

The line snaked through the air-conditioned hallways of the funeral home. Even at the entrance, the chapel was a half-hour wait. A framed copy of the Policeman's Prayer sat on an easel in the hall. Next to it were a picture of Allen's police badge, a Providence police patch and Allen's photo.

Near the entrance to the parlor, close to where a Providence officer stood watch, were two poster-sized photo collages with hundreds of photos of Allen and his family: Allen holding his wife's hands during their wedding ceremony, cradling his newborn daughter in his patrolman's uniform, jumping cannonball-style into a blue pool, and visiting Santa Claus as a boy. In most of the pictures, Allen's arms are draped around the shoulders of his two daughters.

The photos span the years of Allen's life. He changed little over the years. Where his face is solemn in photos taken during his police work, his smile is broad and his eyes light up in his family pictures.

Inside the funeral parlor, two Providence officers stood on each side of Allen's open casket. Allen's body lay in his dress blues, his medals on his chest. People talked and hugged each other. Bouquets of all colors, most from law-enforcement agencies across the state, encircled the room.

Outside, people continued to wait in the warm, spring sunshine. Loretta Sullivan, a North Providence woman who knew Allen's parents, arrived at the wake early, hoping to get into the funeral home before the crowds arrived, but there were more than 600 people in line before her.

Deputy Sheriff John Dubois, of Johnston, stood with retired Deputy Sheriff Mike Newman. Dubois saw Allen often at the Garrahy Courthouse in Providence.

Allen was kind even to the criminals he had arrested, he said. "He didn't step on anyone's toes. He handled people as people, not as numbers. He was fair," Dubois said.

Diana Silvestri didn't know Allen, but she wanted to show her support for his family and the Providence police. "They have such a dangerous and thankless job," said Silvestri, who lives in Providence.

"I feel we have to come here and show our support and maybe this will ease the hurt in some way knowing that the community is there for them," she said. "We have to come here and let them know we care."

Employees from Whole Foods Market, where Allen worked a police detail for 10 years, were among the crowd. "He was a good guy, very friendly, very protective," said Maria Gonsalves, associate manager at the store. "At the end of the night, he always walked us to our cars. It wasn't part of his job, but he went out of his way to make sure we were all safe."

Gonsalves, and Nancy and Michael Grant said Allen became part of the Whole Foods family. He was gentle and polite, and loved to talk about his girls, they said.

That was how City Councilman Miguel Luna knew him.

"Jimmy was a human being and then a police officer. I think that's the type of people we want in our Police Department," said Luna. "I hope we have more people that follow in his footsteps."

Police departments from surrounding cities and towns had volunteered to send in their officers to handle calls in the city, so that the Providence officers could attend Allen's funeral.

Today, 30 state troopers and detectives are coming in to help cover the city, starting at 7 a.m., to free up Providence officers to attend the funeral Mass and processional march to St. Ann Cemetery.

A dozen Cranston police officers volunteered for traffic duty during the funeral. "It's an honor to be here. Anything we can do to help the Providence police right now, we'll do it," said Patrolman Joe Hopkins, as he stood at the intersection of Park and Roslyn avenues. "It's a brotherhood. Unfortunately, it happens and we pull together in times like this."

Across the street, children yelled and laughed at the YMCA playground. Allen's obituary was taped to a message board in the lobby. The detective was a member at the Y and had exercised there. The staff hadn't known that he was a police officer.

"He was such an unassuming guy," said Jean Colaneri, director of youth and family services of the YMCA of Cranston.

Michael Santopadre, 7, played on his grandmother's grassy lawn across from the funeral home last night.

"Why are all the cops here?" Michael asked his grandmother, Lynn Santopadre. "Is someone in trouble?"

"No," she answered. "One of the cops went to heaven because he was hurt, bad."

Santopadre leaned against her chainlink fence and watched the procession of police officers walking toward the funeral home. They arrived in buses, cruisers, personal cars and two were on horseback. She has lived across from the funeral home for three years and has never seen anything like it.

"It's horrible. Things like this shouldn't happen," she said.