At James Monroe Junior High School, where Mrs. Swinney had taught for nearly two decades, students' faces showed shock and sorrow.

Violently and inexplicably, they had lost a teacher who, in the words of her ex-husband, "slept and dreamed school, teaching and kids."

"There's bucketsful of tears. Everyone's crying," said Sandra Holley, 14. "She knew all the students by name, students she didn't even have."

About midnight Monday, police discovered Mrs. Swinney's 1985 gray Ford Thunderbird parked on

the fifth floor of the Tampa International Airport garage with the keys still inside.

Detectives said Tuesday night that James Swinney simply chose the airport as a place to hide the car and it did not appear that he was going to take a flight somewhere.

Detectives said the motive for the murder was robbery. In addition to Mrs. Swinney's car, a videocassette recorder, a suitcase and several gold chains were taken from the house.

According to court records, Swinney, who is not employed, was arrested in 1989 and charged with burglarizing a home, dealing in stolen property and possession of marijuana.

He pleaded guilty and was sentenced in January of this year to five years' probation and 250 hours of community service.

Records also show a drug arrest in 1976.

Born in Maryland, Carolyn Hetzel Ryan Swinney met James C. Swinney in 1955 when he was stationed at MacDill Air Force base. She married him a year later.

She began teaching at Monroe in 1974. The couple had five sons and a daughter before divorcing in 1986.

Her ex-husband, interviewed before his son was arrested, described Carolyn Swinney as a voracious reader and history buff, who "slept and dreamed school, teaching and kids." His wife put in long days, sometimes working until 10:30 p.m., he said.

Her students and colleagues remembered her as the teacher who went the extra mile, who worked in housing projects and with disadvantaged youngsters, who could be counted on to give a child a ride home late at night.

Over the years she had served as coach of the girls track team, cheerleaders and the Black Brain Bowl. As chairwoman of the social studies department, she also headed the school's gifted program and could be found at almost every after-school event.

"Mrs. Swinney was one of these people you'd like to have 60 of on your staff," said Monroe principal Bill Pent. "How do you miss your right arm?"

Her superiors lavished praise on her in written evaluations, with one supervisor commenting, "Quite simply, she has the best, most unique attitude toward education and children that I've encountered.... she really cares."

Social studies teacher Scott Burkett said he was in the ninth grade at Monroe when Mrs. Swinney was a first-year teacher.

"She was always working with the downtrodden, the no-hope kind of people," he said.

Four counselors from the county's crisis intervention team were on hand Tuesday to help students and faculty deal with their feelings, which ran the gamut from anger to sorrow.

"Many of them have been crying," said Denise Dorsey, school psychologist. "Many of them had felt quite numb."

Counselors expected to see at least 100 students, both individually and in groups, before the day was out.

"Unfortunately, there are no magic words to change the situation," Ms. Dorsey said. "What we're trying to do is let them know what they're feeling is okay."

"It's strange," Burkett said, "when you see somebody who has touched so many lives and been loved by so many people die this way."