40 Years After Cal State Fullerton Shooting, Families Still Grieve

Fullerton, CA — Forty years ago, a lone shooter gunned down seven at Cal State Fullerton's campus. Edward Charles Allaway's rampage changed the course of many lives that day, July 12, 1976.

Then a custodian at the university campus, Allaway arrived the morning of July 12 at the university's library, carrying a semiautomatic rifle purchased from K-Mart just a few days prior. In the mass shooting event that began in the library, Allaway fatally wounded seven people when he fired 23 rounds over a 5-minute period.

Patricia Almazan, daughter of victim Frank Teplansky, is unsure if she will ever have closure.

“You can't put a time limit on grief,'' Almazan told City News Service. “For some it's short, but for others it's a lifelong pain of remembering a loved one's murder.''

She is fueled by her work to make sure the murderer stays locked up, Almazan said.

Allaway's victims included 51-year-old Frank Teplansky, 32-year-old Stephen L. Becker, 72-year-old Seth Fessenden, 30-year-old Paul Herzberg, 32-year-old Bruce Jacobsen, 41-year-old Donald Karges and 25-year-old Deborah Paulsen. They all were shot and perished either on site or at the hospital a few hours later.

Allaway also wounded 64-year-old Maynard Hoffman and 55-year-old Donald Karen on that day.

He then drove to a hotel in Anaheim, where he called authorities and gave himself up. A New York Daily News report states that Allaway is one of less than 2 percent of mass murderers to have been found not guilty by reason of insanity. He is still committed to Patton State Hospital.

Due to being committed to a state mental hospital, Allaway maintains the legal right to petition for annual release.

Most recently, he attempted to fight for his freedom in July 2009. Orange County District Attorney Tony Rackauckas "raised a fuss," and state officials backed off, according to CNS reports. Earlier in his institutionalization, a two-month trial in 2001 attempting to secure Allaway's release were unsuccessful, thanks to Assistant District Attorney Dan Wagner, who represented prosecutors in that trial.

In order to be released, Allaway would have to prove, based on the preponderance of evidence, that he is no longer mentally ill and is safe to be released, Wagner said. The argument then and now is that Allaway has been mentally ill for most of his adult life and that “he really didn't have any insight into his illness and the anger of the paranoia that makes him not trust others.''

Jurors deadlocked on whether Allaway was insane, so a judge declared in 1977 he was criminally insane. He was diagnosed as a paranoid schizophrenic.

Almazan said her father has been on her mind much more lately since the deadly mass killings in Dallas and Orlando.

“You have to have that on your mind,'' she said. “You think, 'Are there any solutions?' and so forth. So, yes, I think about it every time I see a mass shooting, and it's very disturbing and very painful.''

Almazan met with her father's killer in 2006.

“I was told he was dying of cancer,'' she said. “There's nothing I'd like to hear from him except the truth of what happened. ... It was a very scary time for me because he was just two feet from me across the table. When I had my questions like why did he specifically shoot my father, he claimed not to remember anything. He couldn't even remember my father's name. It seemed very contrived, and after five minutes I knew he would not do anything.''

A few others connected in some way to the massacre took their own lives in the aftermath, Almazan said.

“He killed a lot more people than even he realizes,'' she said.

Teplansky was a graphic artist, Korean War veteran, writer, journalist and pianist, his daughter said.

“He once illustrated a book for Kareem Abdul-Jabbar,'' Almazan said.

“He was a Marine for 20 years, and he fought in the Korean War, only to come back and be shot in cold blood by an ex-Marine,'' she said.

Almazan, who was 30 at the time her father was killed, said she still misses him terribly every day.

She recalled her father's sense of humor.

“He used to do tricks for my three brothers and myself,'' she said. “He would pull out a quarter and make the eagle cry, or an egg from behind our ear or the missing-first-finger trick,'' she said with a laugh. “That one scared the hell out of us. I don't mind telling you he was a really fun person and so, so talented.''

City News Service