PHILADELPHIA – A day earlier, several hundred supporters of Faulkner's convicted killer, Mumia Abu-Jamal -- an award-winning radio journalist, former Black Panther and devotee of a radical back-to-nature group called MOVE -- rallied at City Hall. Police say seven people were later arrested after a clash with officers.

Faulkner's widow Maureen said in a television interview Sunday that she believes Abu-Jamal murdered her husband and deserves to die.

Twenty years after his conviction for murder, Abu-Jamal is arguably America's most famous death-row inmate -- revered by a worldwide "Free Mumia" movement as a crusader against racial injustice, and reviled by Faulkner's supporters as an unrepentant cop-killer who deserves to die.

In recent months, Abu-Jamal, 47, fired his legal team after one of the lawyers published a book about the case, gave a detailed account of the shooting for the first time, and unsuccessfully petitioned a local judge to grant him a new trial.

Meanwhile, his supporters continue to raise hundreds of thousands of dollars in his behalf, Hollywood celebrities and foreign politicians press for a new trial, and his name is used to advance many progressive and radical causes. He's become an iconic figure, likened to Nelson Mandela.

"His case shows so clearly the injustice happening in the system, how it's geared to go after blacks who stand up against this government," said Philadelphia activist Pam Africa.

Though more than 3,700 prisoners await execution nationwide, the anti-death penalty movement found itself drawn to Abu-Jamal's charisma and intelligence and his writings on what he views as a racist justice system.

But critics say Abu-Jamal is the wrong choice for a poster boy, because the facts clearly point to his guilt.

"If you weave together some of the raw ingredients of the story, you can spin a good yarn: minority defendant, activist with the Black Panthers, the death of a law enforcement figure" in a police force that had a reputation for corruption and brutality, said Michael Smerconish, an attorney for the Faulkner group. "The problem is the facts bear no resemblance to the fiction they have put out."

The events leading up to the shooting are not in dispute. Just before 4 a.m., Faulkner spotted Abu-Jamal's brother, 25-year-old William Cook, driving the wrong way down a one-way street and pulled him over. Cook and the officer began scuffling; Cook punched Faulkner in the face and Faulkner struck Cook with his flashlight or nightstick.

Abu-Jamal happened to be sitting in his taxicab in a parking lot across the street and watched events unfold. He began running toward his brother and Faulkner.

Prosecutors said Abu-Jamal drew his .38-caliber revolver and fired, hitting Faulkner in the back. Faulkner spun around, squeezed off a shot that hit Abu-Jamal in the chest, and fell to the pavement. Abu-Jamal then shot Faulkner in the face at point-blank range.

Police arrived seconds later to find the wounded Abu-Jamal sitting on the curb, his revolver nearby. He was arrested and charged with murder.

Abu-Jamal disputed this version in a May affidavit. He claimed that he was shot by a "uniformed cop" while running toward the scene, collapsed, and found himself being beaten by police. In another affidavit, a man named Arnold Beverly claimed to have shot Faulkner.

Whatever happened, local journalists woke up that morning to the startling news that their colleague -- who had worked for the local version of public radio's "All Things Considered" and was noted for his rich voice and writing ability -- had been arrested.

Abu-Jamal had no criminal record, nor a reputation for violence. But his radical politics had damaged his once-promising career.

Born Wesley Cook and raised in a Philadelphia housing project, Abu-Jamal co-founded the local Black Panthers chapter and became its "minister of information" at age 15. He frequently denounced Philadelphia police as "pigs," according to his FBI file.

Abu-Jamal eventually left the Black Panthers, changed his name and embarked on a career in radio. In the late 1970s he became enamored of MOVE, a small, armed group whose mostly black members all took the surname Africa. Executives at his public radio station weren't happy, seeing his stories on MOVE as one-sided.

By 1981, Abu-Jamal was out of a job. He was driving a cab and doing free-lance work when Faulkner was killed.

His 1982 trial was chaotic. In front of the jurors, Abu-Jamal repeatedly demanded that MOVE leader John Africa be allowed to sit with him at the defense table, a request the judge denied. He was frequently tossed from the courtroom.

The mostly white jury took only five hours to return a first-degree murder conviction, and only three to return a death sentence. At the sentencing hearing, Abu-Jamal lambasted the judge as a "black-robed conspirator" and told jurors: "I am innocent despite what you 12 people think, and the truth shall set me free."

Joseph McGill, lead prosecutor in the 1982 trial, said Abu-Jamal's outbursts were part of a calculated strategy to take the focus off Faulkner's murder and put the system on trial.

"It was everybody against him, and he was the victim," McGill said.

The newly convicted Abu-Jamal receded from public view for a time, although he continued to publish his writings in left-wing publications. In the early 1990s, Leonard Weinglass, noted for his work in the Chicago Seven trial, agreed to come on board as Abu-Jamal's lead counsel and began a high-profile campaign to win a new trial.

His support mushroomed in 1995, when Gov. Tom Ridge signed a death warrant and Abu-Jamal published a book, "Live from Death Row." Amnesty International called for a new trial, as did members of the European Parliament and celebrities such as Ed Asner and Whoopi Goldberg.

Some believed he was innocent -- a political prisoner railroaded by police, prosecutors and a biased judge. Others thought that Abu-Jamal probably committed the crime, but that he didn't get a fair trial and deserved a new one.

But McGill and others point out that the Pennsylvania Supreme Court has rejected every defense claim -- not once, but twice.

Maureen Faulkner, married only a year when her 25-year-old husband was killed, has traveled the country in recent years to counter the pro-Mumia arguments.

"People are misinformed about this case," she said. "Mumia Abu-Jamal received a fair trial in 1982. Danny didn't get a second chance when Mumia Abu-Jamal put a gun inches from his face and pulled the trigger."

Abu-Jamal has pinned his latest legal hopes on Arnold Beverly, who claimed in a 1999 affidavit that he killed Faulkner at the behest of the mob and corrupt police officers. The district attorney's office has dismissed the story as a hoax and a federal judge last summer refused to order Beverly to testify in Abu-Jamal's behalf.

Beverly, 50, could not be located for this story. He moved out of a North Philadelphia rooming house a few months ago, according to Chastity McGough, whose mother owns the house. Beverly "kept to himself and said nothing" about the Faulkner murder, she said.

Abu-Jamal's home is a prison cell in southwestern Pennsylvania, where he spends 23 hours a day in solitary confinement. He's permitted one visitor a week, but a clear plastic barrier prevents any physical contact. His federal appeal is pending.

To the dismay of Faulkner's friends and family, Abu-Jamal continues to attract support. Earlier this month, the city council of Paris made him an honorary citizen.

"I never expected this to get as big as it did," said Joe Davidson, a former colleague who succeeded Abu-Jamal as president of the Philadelphia Association of Black Journalists.

"It's a many-layered thing for me because I think there's strong evidence against him," he said. "But I think his lawyers also have raised some very serious questions about the fairness of his trial."

On the Net:

Free Mumia Web site

Daniel Faulkner site