Sunday 10/7/2007 DAILY NEWS DIGEST

Photo: Fitz Photography

Sue Bell Cobb held court in the sharp afternoon sunlight at the foot of her father’s casket. Her two lives solemnly coalesced around her in buttoned-up suits and mourning dresses. Some of the 40 or so waiting their turn to speak to her after the short graveside ceremony in the small south Alabama town of Evergreen wore clothes bought from the finest Montgomery retailers. Others pulled at the necks of Sunday shirts and ties.

Many of the onlookers encircling her on this May afternoon at the Magnolia Cemetery came to offer condolences to the first woman chief justice of the Alabama Supreme Court as she laid her father to rest. Others simply came from down the street to bury Mr. Otis Bell, age 84, a longtime friend — one of their own — and pay their respects to neighbors and family.

Both groups filed past the casket, mouthed little messages for the departed and brushed their hands across the waxy magnolia leaves and pine boughs that crowned the lid.

Dress shoes shuffled in the dusty red earth on the high ground of the old cemetery. Out of the protection of the funeral canopy a congregation wheeled around The Chief, the name given her by state Supreme Court staff. At its center she received guests, each in turn, hugging necks.

She was composed, though she pressed a tissue beneath her eyes periodically when her composure failed. The last few days had been trying for this self-described daddy’s girl. Her fair skin flushed in the sun and matched her characteristic auburn hair.

Thera Bell, mother of three and now a widow after 60 years of marriage, sat in an air-conditioned car just a few feet away. She too received guests, though intermittently. Unlike her daughter, her silver hair was close cropped and she spoke few words.

Half an hour before, 200 people filled Evergreen First United Methodist Church. Men gave up their seats to women and stood stacked along the sanctuary walls. Hymnals were only a formality — something to do with one’s hands. The congregation sang powerfully to commemorate a WWII veteran, a hunter, a father.

First Methodist is not one of the little white-steepled country churches that punctuate rural south Alabama. The building was hewn from brick of the same deep rust color as the land around it and takes up most of a city block. It sits a short walk away from railroad tracks that bisect the downtown. The tracks are continuously arumble with lumbering freights, which have long carried life into and lumber out of Evergreen. Now the economy of the hardworking town of 4,000 halfway between Montgomery and Mobile is irrigated by the flow of Interstate 65.

In January 2007, it became the hometown of Alabama’s highest and most influential judge.

Before shrewd politics allowed her to upset a Karl Rove-engineered Republican judiciary and seat herself as the first woman chief justice, Cobb was just a dynamic young lady from south Alabama.

She played piano, was active in student government, and above all else, loved to ride horses. In fact, riding was her escape. It was a way to steal time away from a full plate of responsibilities.

“When it came to my horses,” she said, “nothing was too good. No matter how much or how little money was available, I always had a running list of tack, bridles, bits and equipment — future purchases planned ad infinitum.”

She said wasn’t shy about asking for it either. Her approach to managing Alabama’s courts — through the Administrative Office of Courts — is the same.

The horses are gone now, traded for a career on the bench. She swapped stable tack for legislative agendas and court overhaul. Since Roy Moore, the chief justice who thrust Alabama’s highest court into a controversy over the removal of the 10 Commandments monument from the state Supreme Court building in 2003, the highest court and the Administrative Office of Courts have been aloof from the other branches of government. Neither the legislative nor executive branches have been quick to come to their financial or political aid.

In a post-Roy Moore judiciary, even the harshest critics of a rising Democrat were comparatively content. Criticism came largely in the context of last year’s campaign, in which she defeated Drayton Nabers 52 percent to 48 percent. Nabers served for two years after his appointment by Gov. Bob Riley to replace the defrocked Moore.

The Alabama Republican Party argued, for example, that Sue Bell Cobb is too liberal for the state and the changes she wants to make will raise taxes.

The Alabama Voters Against Lawsuit Abuse wrote in a circulated opinion-editorial in several newspapers, “She is a trial lawyer darling and her mission, at their behest, would be to return the Alabama Supreme Court to the status of a judicial hellhole.”

The opinion references the late 1980s and early 1990s state Supreme Court under Sonny Hornsby that upheld large punitive damage awards against big corporations and earned national attention as “tort hell.”

But the criticism hasn’t diluted her agenda thus far.

Some attribute her victory against Nabers to clever marketing. A series of TV commercials depicted Cobb playing piano at church while a gospel choir sings “This Little Light of Mine.” Experts said the commercials left a memorable impact but didn’t sweep her into office.

“I think the race definitely had to be regarded as an upset,” said Dr. David Lanoue, chairman of the University of Alabama’s political science department. “She certainly ran effectively, but I think in the end it was the national trends washing over into Alabama. It was a bad year for Republicans.”

Lanoue pointed out that in the lieutenant governor’s race, Democrat Jim Folsom also won. Cobb was rather bold in campaigning as the “experienced person” against the incumbent Nabers, but it simply came down to a solid campaign — not innovation.

“It’s not like any of those particular strategies haven’t been used before with other campaigns,” he said. “She was just able to play them credibly.”

If she decided to make a run at national office, however, there’s no telling if credibility would be enough.

“The Democrats don’t have a deep bench in Alabama. At this point in our history any Democrat with a state office would be on the short list for future consideration,” said Lanoue.

“Should she want to move toward a U.S. Senate or gubernatorial seat, she’s got a good shot, but the overall trend lines still favor Republicans.”

Dr. Glen Browder, former U.S. representative, former Alabama secretary of state, former state representative, author and emeritus professor of political science at Jacksonville State University, agrees with Lanoue.

“I think she’s got the makings for consideration in any office she wants to run for. She’s done a good job with her official responsibilities but she also radiates persona voters feel comfortable with not only as somebody you feel comfortable inviting over for dinner.”

Browder, a personal friend of Cobb’s, said that she’s done a solid job of presenting herself to voters, but it’s not unique.

“I can’t think of anything that she’s done that would contradict the strategy of being the young woman that plays piano,” he said. “Everybody tries that, sometimes it works. Sometimes people bring a lot of baggage so that people don’t believe it’s true.”

The political climate certainly played to her favor, he said.

“Leadership is a relational phenomenon between leaders and the lead, but it’s also situational. If she aspires to something else her opponents will try to redefine her in ways that are not as attractive. I would hesitate to say that she could knock off a sitting senator at this point. Her opposition — often with more money — would start to reintroduce her to the public.”

It took more than “This Little Light of Mine” and piano playing to win over voters in 2006 and it would take even more for a national campaign.

“The commercial was obviously a glowing success but it didn’t cause an electoral wipe out. It’s very easy to exaggerate specific aspects of a campaign — her total package won the election,” Browder said.

The situation may be different heading into future races, he said. The opposition has seen that they have to redefine her.

“They can’t let her play piano into national office,” Browder said.

Advocating for legislation — especially for children — isn’t a new drive for The Chief. It has been one of her most consistent career passions. It has also been a steadfast source of media attention. As one of the founders of Children First Foundation — a group of juvenile court judges, police chiefs, lawyers and child advocates — she lobbied for a number of bills that would fund juvenile programs. In 1996 she was outspoken in favor of a cigarette tax to raise money for drug treatment for youths and to support foster families.

The wellspring of her passion, however, is illusive. She’ll tell you it sprung from presiding over juvenile cases in her 13 years as district judge in Conecuh County.

“At some point I recognized that the problems could be stopped before they reached my courtroom,” she said. “That was the most frustrating part.”

Cynics could argue, however, that child advocacy is the perfect horse to ride into political office — it’s difficult to publicly oppose. Now mid-stream, however, she’s still sits high in the saddle.

As a judge in Conecuh County she rode into battle starting fires under legislators and the governor for Children’s First and other juvenile initiatives. She was set on helping youth and advancing her career into the higher courts, yet beneath her professional success smoldered the need for something more intrinsic: a child of her own, a family.

When she found out she was pregnant in 1994 her child advocacy carried with it a devastating irony. In the heat of her 1994 campaign for the state court of criminal appeals, she had a miscarriage.

“Getting out of bed and shaking hands,” she said, “became a campaign in itself.” In grief she composed a prayer and repeated its barren lines every day: “Dear Lord, please give me the courage to face a life without children of my own.”

She was reduced to the coping words of wisdom related by a widowed friend, “Fake it until you can make it.”

* * *

One year later, successful in her campaign, she sat on the state criminal appeals court and was once again pregnant, this time with her daughter, Caitlin.

Caitlin, now entering sixth grade, is in many ways the miniature embodiment of her mother’s persona. One of Cobb’s first additions to the third floor of the Heflin-Torbert Judicial Building was an office for her daughter. The creative retrofitting of a storage area suited the sixth-grader just fine. It’s complete with window, nameplate, computer and rolling chair. The walls are festooned with paper cutouts of gingerbread men and brightly colored drawings. Once a week, The Chief picks Caitlin up from school and brings her to the judicial building. It’s an effort to balance the scales of a state’s judiciary and those of her own family.

In her youth, Sue Bell and a cousin would wander through downtown Evergreen from her dad’s auto parts store to the courthouse — back before had metal detectors and door guards. They would dodge into the hallways and offices trying as long as a possible to remain undiscovered. She brings Caitlin to the judicial building in hopes of inspiring the same kind of experience.

* * *

Even if Caitlin didn’t have her mother’s trademark ferrous hair, it would be obvious to whom she belonged. She moves with the same benign self-assurance through crowds. At her grandfather’s funeral, while her mother greeted guests, Caitlin managed to slip out of her pointed black shoes and carry them discreetly paired at her side. She edged her way barefoot between federal judges and district judges, hotshot lawyers, and politicians. They pinched her nose and asked her about school. To Caitlin, these are merely uncles, grandpas, and extended family.

Later she sat in one of the folding chairs beneath the funeral canopy, her legs tucked beneath the seat, with an audience of little girls intently listening. She, like her mother, was the speck of dust around which the rain condenses.

Sue Bell Cobb was one of three children. Her brother Jimmy still operates Evergreen Auto Parts, the business he took over 23 years ago from his father; her older sister Linda lives in Montgomery and works in the medical field with the state prisons.

No one seems to remember much in the way of big trouble from the religious, if not sheltered, young Sue Bell, he said. As the youngest of three, she didn’t often feel the need to test the system — Jimmy said he and his older sister did a fine job of that — the system may have been more elastic by that time anyway.

Jimmy has a framed eight-by-ten photo of his baby sister — one hand on a Bible during her investiture — hanging on the wainscoting above his desk. He reminds her every time he sees her that he’s the man who made her what she is today – by incessantly picking on her.

“If she asked me any question — anything at all,” he said, “I would always just tell her to ‘drop dead!’”

Caitlin, on the other hand, has been spared the sibling torment. Yet by virtue of her mother’s climb to success she’s been forced to grow up fast, said Jimmy.

She’s lived a different childhood in Montgomery from that of her mother in an everyone-knows-everyone small town. Sue Bell attended Sparta Academy, the private school in Evergreen. She graduated in a class of about 19 people in 1974 and the class size hasn’t changed since.

Like so many other towns in Alabama, the schools were — and still are – unofficially segregated along racial and socioeconomic lines. This year’s 93 graduates from Hillcrest, the public high school, are around 85 percent African-American. Sparta Academy, a windowless brick private school perched on a hill on the northeast side of town has 16 graduates — all white. It’s been about the same since Sue Bell walked the halls.

* * *

After Sparta Academy, Sue Bell sought out Asbury College, a Methodist school in Wilmore, Ky. Religion is a big part of the experience at Asbury. The school carries a reputation for mandatory chapel attendance and extraordinary revivals. Four years before Cobb arrived, students hosted a revival with 144-hours of continuous prayer.

Though she had always been religious, the byzantine rules of the college were too much. Growing up she rarely incurred heavy-handed discipline from her parents. She felt smothered, wanted to socialize, date. After two years, she left for the University of Alabama.

At UA she joined student government as she had in practically every school she’d been to. She planned to be a doctor, to help and protect others. It wasn’t until the biology and chemistry classes started ratcheting up that she convinced herself there was another way to help people: law.

When she called her dad to tell him what she had decided, he said law was just fine… as long as she kept herself out of politics. Politics was nothing but corruption and “ne’er do wells,” he said. She needed his approval both financially and emotionally. Politics might have crossed her mind, she said, but she wasn’t invested in a political career, so she agreed.

Sue Bell finished her undergraduate degree in history and returned to UA for law school. She argued in moot court as well as real cases with special permission as she worked on her degree.

The Conecuh County District Court bench formerly occupied by Tommy Chapman became vacant in 1977. Chapman had decided to return to private practice because the $22,000 judge salary was drastically lower than what private practice would bring.

Of the five local lawyers eligible for judgeship in Conecuh County at the time, all agreed with him. None wanted to leave private practice for the pay the court position would bring.

As Sue Bell started in on her final year of law school in 1980 the district bench was still open. Friends of the family thought she might have a chance at the position and started voicing their suggestion loud enough for her to get the message. After a while she began considering it. The challenge was formidable. She hadn’t finished law school — hadn’t even taken the bar exam — and had relatively no experience. But she decided to go after the appointment anyway and braced herself for the hardest part — phoning her father to tell him she’s going into politics.

Otis Bell supported his daughter. “When she said that’s what she wanted to do,” said her brother Jimmy, “he just sort of forgot his feelings.”

The formerly apolitical “Mr. Otis” took up the banner for his daughter. He primed the pump for her appointment by calling over the phone and in person, at the homes of surrounding judges and influential lawyers and businessmen. He made the case for his daughter, the hometown girl. He reminded them how much they knew and loved her and how uncomfortable it would be for an outsider to sit on the bench judging them.

With his help Sue Bell evolved into Evergreen’s prodigal daughter. Yet she had vehement opposition. The most vocal was the former judge, Tommy Chapman.

He rallied local lawyers against her. Chapman said that though he’d known her since she was a little girl, he felt obligated to point out time and again that she had no experience.

The work of her father and other friends prevailed. Sue Bell received the appointment in November 1981, at age 25, by Gov. Fob James. She had been admitted to the bar only three weeks prior.

The next year she had to defend her position at the polls. Her opposition was Tommy Chapman’s law partner of three years Steve Wadlington.

She began an aggressive house-to-house campaign — her father drove the pickup truck.

“I’d jump out of the truck, hand them a card and tell them ‘A man from out of the county is trying to get my job,’” said The Chief.

* * *

That first campaign, and many after, she didn’t bill herself as the catalyst for change, as many young politicians are apt to do. Instead, she reminded voters that she was a hometown girl coming back to serve the people she’d always known and loved.

When she came away with a solid victory, she earned her place on the bench and the respect of many. Among them was Tommy Chapman, now 17-year district attorney for the 35th Judicial Circuit — Conecuh and Monroe Counties.

But sometimes the opposition wasn’t political.

“Sue made a lot of people mad by ruling against them,” said Robert Bozeman III, editor and publisher of The Evergreen Courant. “If you do something wrong, you’re gonna pay what you deserve to, but if you need a break — and you deserve it — she’ll give you one.”

Bozeman is the third in a family line of publishers of the hometown newspaper. He remembers, along with the rest of the town, the night someone broke a window of Sue Bell’s house and threw in a firebomb.

It was an act of intimidation that extinguished itself on the floor of her one-story red brick house in a blue-collar neighborhood east of town.

The police never charged the primary suspect. Though many in the town have a strong feeling for who it might have been. Many feel it was a man she ruled against.

“This is a small town,” said Bozeman, “we generally know who burns houses.” Aside from a fruitless investigation, there was no recourse. “The community was very quiet,” said Bozeman, “She definitely walked alone a little bit.”

When she announced her candidacy for chief justice in late 2005 she alluded to the incident. “I too know what it is like to be the victim of crime, and I understand the fears and frustrations of those who have seen the system fail them,” she said.

A certain survival instinct must develop in an Alabama woman who has spent half her life in politics while daily staring down the gavel at criminals.

“She’s one of the most persistent people I’ve met in my life,” said Tommy Chapman. “Sometimes to her own harm she will not listen to constructive criticism.”

It could be a sort of inner conviction, he said. “If she doesn’t have a windmill to chase she’s got nothing.”

Bozeman said that from his perspective the girl from Evergreen hasn’t changed much. “Sue Bell is gonna hug your neck even if she is in a group of bigwigs,” he said. “She’s still here. She’s still the same person she was when she was 20.”

* * *

On the day of her father’s funeral the Conecuh and Monroe County circuit courts were closed. A close friend, Dawn Wiggins Hare, now the presiding circuit judge, recognized that there wasn’t much point in keeping the court offices open when she and nearly all her staff would be at the service.

On the way from the church to the cemetery the serpentine procession of vehicles ties together Sue Bell Cobb’s two lives. Some of the most prominent Alabama judges and lawyers pass in front of her childhood house — now the home of her brother.

Just a few miles beyond, earthmovers and logging grapplers, caked with red clay, slumbered in the remnants of a harvested pine stand 25 to 30 years in the making. Only a patchwork of the fertile Black Belt soil enriches the county. The rest is the deep rust-red clay, yet farmers plow and work the reluctant land and make it yield.

Late in the afternoon the crowd at the graveside thinned to a handful of close friends. When those too exhausted their condolences, The Chief’s husband of 17 years, Bill Cobb, started the truck cooling and parked it nearby.

In the artificial shade the red clay waited, opened wide to receive a native son. The red-headed daughter, The Chief, readied herself for the coming week, a conference of chief justices in Washington, D.C., and a return to work.

Nick Cenegy is a recent graduate of the Knight Fellows in Community Journalism Master’s Degree program through the University of Alabama and the Anniston Star. Research for this article was conducted over a three week internship period for the Star in Montgomery.