Author: Janel Davis

The

talk has shifted from politicians to minority-contractor

participation in the FedEx Forum project to the impending war with Iraq to retirement

pay for city sanitation workers — and back to politics. The ebb and flow between

callers and host is constant. The city’s political leaders are called “punk

politicians,” “token Negroes,” and “puppet representatives.”

And that’s only in the first half-hour. Welcome to Express Yourself:

You’re on the air with Thaddeus Matthews.

Housed in a closet-size booth at Flinn Broadcasting, the show airs

on WTCK-AM 1210 from noon to 2 weekdays. Matthews — dressed entirely in black,

with a bald head and glasses — uses his distinctive baritone voice to urge

listeners to think for themselves.

“For two hours I’ve got to stimulate your mind and entertain you,”

he says. “If I’m feeling down or really tired, I’m like Superman stepping

into the telephone booth. When I open up that mike, it’s my cape, and I’m there.

For the next two hours you can’t beat me in my game. I’m not politically correct,”

he adds, “and I can be obnoxious. But it’s the most exciting two hours

of the day.”

Express Yourself went on the air in October 2002, and during the show’s

first five months, Matthews has emerged as Memphis’ most controversial host,

making a name for himself by “challenging the powers that be.” It’s

a traditional talk-radio format and most of the show’s callers are black, but

Matthews contends the show is “not a black thing, not a white thing, but

the right thing.”

He makes no apologies for his rough style. In fact, he believes the tough

talk lends authenticity to the program. When callers describe needed changes

in run-down city neighborhoods, Matthews, a product of the “New Chicago”

area of North Memphis, can identify. “I think people have been waiting

for the truth. Even if they don’t like the messenger, they like the message,”

he says. “[The show] is real blunt. It’s not some guy who’s trying to be

a super-intellectual, just a regular guy who’s been there. I’ve lived in those

streets and still ride those streets.”

Paving the Way

As a teenager, Matthews lived near the old Firestone plant, where most young

men in his neighborhood eventually ended up working. When Memphis City Schools

began busing students for integration in 1973, the Manassas High student was

sent to predominately white Frayser High School.

For the first time in his life Matthews felt the sting of racism. Refusing

to sit idly by, he led a boycott and walkout in 1974. “I’ve always had

a big mouth. If it comes up, it comes out. So, I led the walkout and we had

our riots,” he says. “All of the black boys were locked in the library,

so we broke the glass, had an incident. I was the spokesman on television. Luckily,

it was my senior year, and instead of kicking me out of school [the superintendent]

transferred me to Northside High School and I became a peaceful person. The

rest is history.”

Not quite.

Born to a teenage mother, Matthews was reared by a great-aunt and raised in

the church. He began preaching while in high school and traveled the city church

circuit with other young preachers. But Matthews struggled trying to satisfy

the ideals of a preacher’s life, so he turned to the only other thing he knew

how to do: talk.

Several sales jobs followed, with Matthews pushing everything from chemicals

to funeral homes. In 1985, he began selling radio ads for WXSS-AM 1030 and was

bitten by the radio bug. “They had a [deejay] on in the mornings doing

a gospel show and he didn’t sound that good to me,” says Matthews. “This

ego of mine led me to tell the station manager what I wanted to be: a radio

personality. I became the Sunday morning guy and advertised my show as a ‘hand-clapping,

toe-tapping good time.’ And because I had a church background, I was good. Real

good.”

Matthews went on to do shows on several other stations, including versions

of Express Yourself, but more often gospel or blues formats. (He has

no resume and relies on memory to keep a record of dates and call letters.)

“I was a young fellow then and had no idea what I was doing,” he says.

“If I had known then the things I know now, I could be Rush Limbaugh. I’d

be what Rush wants to be when he grows up.”

Matthews’ mouth often led to his termination or resignation, and as misfortunes

accumulated in his professional life, they did in his personal life as well.

Admitting to a onetime sexual addiction, Matthews says he was married “between

five and 10 times,” resulting in four children by four different women.

“If a woman doesn’t like who I am, [she can] leave. As long as God can

keep making women, he’ll make another one,” he says. “Yes, I’m spoiled.

I was spoiled by my great-aunt, and I’ve been looking for a woman to spoil me

ever since.”

Matthews has also accumulated an extensive criminal rap sheet, with charges

ranging from contempt of court, illegal possession of a firearm, criminal impersonation,

and assault. He denies nothing, openly talking about his past on the air and

saying, “I never portrayed myself as a choirboy. I’m not one of those preachers

who will turn the other cheek if you slap him.”

Shock Jock

After starting a newspaper called The Shopping Spree in 1991, Matthews

returned to radio in 1993. He paid $5,000 down and $3,000 a month to operate

WNWZ-AM 1430. Financial difficulties ensued. Matthews filed bankruptcy, and

the station’s owner terminated WNWZ’s signal.

Matthews then hired an engineer to replace the transmitter and rebroadcast

the station’s signal. To draw attention and advertisers, Express Yourself

was reincarnated as an outrageous, sexually themed show. The most shocking segment

featured a female guest having intercourse with a dog. “I was labeled the

first shock jock in Memphis,” Matthews says. “I was Jerry Springer

before Jerry Springer was Jerry Springer. I started using all the lines I had

ever used, and playing love songs. I would get women calling me on the phone,

masturbating.” WNWZ failed after a one-year run.

Matthews now criticizes other stations, especially WDIA-AM 1070, for copying

his former shock style. WDIA program director and morning host Bobby O’Jay says

only that his station is “flattered at the attention given to us by other

media,” adding that WDIA has been doing relationship shows since 1987.

“I’ve only had one conversation with Mr. Matthews concerning a possible

connection with WDIA,” O’Jay says. “We’ve never used his services

in the past. However, who knows what the future holds? There’s more to it than

opening a microphone and taking phone calls. There is a certain amount of talk-show

etiquette that comes with that responsibility. We look for talent that has that

quality.”

According to the latest Arbitron ratings, WDIA is the number-one AM station

in Memphis among 25- to 64-year-olds. Arbitron ratings for Matthews’ current

show will not be available before June, since the station recently changed call

letters and formats.

After WNWZ’s failure, Matthews landed at WAVN-AM 1240 in Southaven, where

he did a blues program and another version of Express Yourself. Matthews,

who was also working for N.J. Ford Funeral Home at the time, says Harold Ford

Sr. demanded his dismissal from the station after Matthews put the parents of

a young man involved in a shooting on the air and revealed information he had

learned at the funeral home. Ultimately, the show was canceled.

Matthews says he then became a bounty hunter. After discovering that repossessing

cars was easier and less dangerous, he started GOTCHA! Auto Recovery, a business

he still owns. But he never lost his love for the spotlight. “I would be

okay with being out of radio,” he says, “until I would be out in the

community picking up a car or at a church preaching and someone would tell me

that they remembered one of my old shows. I missed that attention, and the radio

bug bit me again.”

He turned to the only person who seemed willing to work with him: George Flinn.

He began calling Flinn during Flinn’s 2002 county mayoral race but never received

a return call. “I don’t think they thought I would have supported his candidacy,

with him running against a black man and me being black,” says Matthews.

“But as soon as he lost, I gave him a call and we set it up. I went on

the air October 7, 2002.”

Airtime for Express Yourself is paid for by Matthews. He says his yearly

cost is between $20,000 and $40,000. He and Flinn deny rumors that the station

owner is bankrolling the program to further his political ambitions. Matthews

says he pays for the time-slot with advertising and funds from his repossession

business.

“Thaddeus’ program is his program,” says Flinn. “We don’t give

him topics and people to discuss. He pays the same that everyone else pays.

The price is standard. I wish I had had him on the air during my campaign. I

think he would have gotten me a few more votes. He’s really got his finger on

the pulse of the community.”

Other hosts on the station now include Matthews’ buddy Jennings Bernard, who

began a “Democratic Crack Head” phone line that lampooned Memphis’

chronic reelection of criminal offenders.

Pulsing

Matthews says being in touch with the community means being “in touch

with truth.” His most intensive political criticism has been aimed at Memphis

City Council member Rickey Peete. On the air, Matthews has questioned Peete’s

dual membership on the council and Beale Street Merchants Association, calling

it a conflict of interest. Off the air, Matthews held a press conference demanding

Peete’s resignation from the city council.

“I don’t even dignify someone like that with a comment,” says Peete.

“You only encourage these types of actions from people like that when you

say something in response.”

In addition to his continued attacks on Peete, Matthews has begun a campaign

to vote the Shelby County Democratic Party steering committee out of office.

“With politicians, especially in the black community, there was no one

to whip them into shape, no one to hold them accountable,” he says. Matthews

has become something of a community activist off the air as well. He regularly

attends city and county meetings and asks politicians to be guests on his show.

While most have declined, they know he’s out there, talking.

“I’ve known Thaddeus for years and he’s matured a lot,” says Flinn.

“Frankly, I’d like to have some more like him on the air. He’s talking

about good things. People call his show controversial, but it shows how angry

people really are about these issues.”

Since Matthews’ current show hasn’t been around long enough to be rated by

Arbitron, it’s difficult to judge how many people he is actually reaching. Matthews

hopes the numbers will justify another year’s contract with the station. In

the meantime, he serves as associate pastor of Christ United Baptist Church

in Whitehaven and continues his repo business. He steadfastly denies any political

aspirations, opting to remain “that voice outside the ring that keeps those

in the ring on their toes.”

Although his show appears to be gaining momentum, Matthews says he wasn’t

certain he’d arrived until a listener named John called. Known around the city

for his repeated calls to other talk shows, John is a conservative, pro-Bush

black man with a speech impediment who boasts of not having worked in 22 years.

“People ask me why I waste my time with John, why I take his calls,”

says Matthews. “I take his calls because John reminds me of what I could

have been. Except for the grace of God and the help of some people, that could

have been me. I knew my show hadn’t made it until John called.”

It’s 12:35 p.m. and the lines are open. “Hello, Thaddeus,” says

the caller on the other end. “It’s John.”

---

Name Game

Thaddeus Matthews never passes up an opportunity to give his opinion on anything

or anyone. Here are his views on a few city and county leaders.

Rickey Peete: “Bought and paid for, on a self-serving mission.

His new slogan should be: Don’t Repeat! Get Rid of Peete!”

Sara Lewis: “I like Sara. She’s aggressive and she’s accessible.

She has provided me information about the circus atmosphere that’s going on

in the school board.”

Harold Ford Jr.: “Ambitious but not responsive. I think Junior

has his eyes on the big prize — the presidency — but first, the U.S. Senate.

I’m not that crazy about his father, but he’s not as responsive as his father.

His position of siding with President Bush for war will make him vulnerable

at election time.”

Mayor A C Wharton: “I think as mayor he’s very efficient.

I think he’s got his hands full. Because he is a people person and both black

and white communities admire him, he’ll walk through this. I think we’ll be

very surprised at some of the changes that he’s going to make.”

Barbara Swearingen-Holt: “A nice lady, but not as responsive as

she used to be. I think she needs to disassociate herself from some of the other

council people. She’s well-respected, but there would be another level of respect

if she didn’t associate herself with Rickey Peete.”

E.C. Jones: “I’ve found him to be responsive. I’ve been able to

call him and he has responded. I have nothing but the highest regard for him.”

Mayor Willie Herenton: “I think he is a servant to the power brokers

in this city — Turley, Belz, and Hyde. I think they have an agenda that they

need him to fulfill. Unless you find a very strong candidate with a lot of money,

he will win again. No average Joe is going to beat him because he’s too well-connected.”

PHOTO BY JANEL DAVIS

Jim Fleming

Fleming Fine Furniture, the local family-owned company that’s been in operation for 56 years, is going out of business. No more commercials with talking computers, furniture-selling Santas, and kids bouncing on beds. No more sidewalk sales, price-matching promotions, and warranty offers. And, of course, no more Flemings on the local tube. We’ve heard it all before, haven’t we?

Not quite. This time the sale is for real and the company will close its doors in less than three months. “I was [in the furniture business] 37 years and only had three or four rough years. The other 33 were good and that’s a pretty good career,” says owner Jim Fleming. “Even though it didn’t end good, we certainly achieved a lot along the way.” According to Fleming, those achievements included being the first furniture company to have air-conditioned stores, same-day furniture delivery, and television advertisements.

Fleming’s eyes light up as he tells stories of his family’s company. Seated on a sofa marked with price-reduction tags, which will be sold to help pay off the company’s debts, he laughs as he remembers the first pieces the store sold and the early television commercials. “It’s been a good run,” he says, sighing, “but we weren’t able to do it any longer.”

The Golden Years

Fleming Fine Furniture started with some ingenuity and a lot of luck. The family patriarch, Partee, returned to Memphis after World War II and began an Army surplus wholesale business with his brother Bill (a third brother was shot down over Italy during the war) under the name Fleming Industries. The brothers set up shop on street corners and in empty lots with merchandise in the back of a pickup truck. The business grew to include furniture, and the first Fleming store opened in 1946 (the year Partee’s son Jim was born) at South Third Street and East Bodley Avenue. Partee, along with his wife, Anita, brother, and sister-in-law expanded the company to three stores. Business was good and customers, who had known Partee as a high school academic and athletic standout, were loyal to Memphis’ furniture family.

Partee’s Humes High School class of 1935 voted him “Best All-Around Boy” during his senior year. As editor of the school paper, member of the debate team, wrestling team, water polo team, ROTC, and student council treasurer, Partee was no stranger to hard work. He also won the prep school wrestling and boxing championships and was selected the most valuable high school football player in West Tennessee by The Commercial Appeal in 1934. Partee was probably the most famous student to attend Humes before being upstaged by Elvis Presley in 1948. After graduation, Partee went to Vanderbilt University, graduated in 1939, and became a reporter for the Nashville Tennessean and an English teacher at Wallace University School in Nashville before entering the war.

In addition to building a furniture business, Partee created Partee Cove in Memphis’ Cherokee neighborhood, where he lived for 21 years. Anita was known for her philanthropic work within the Catholic community. She and Partee donated land for the Church of the Holy Spirit on Hickory Crest Drive in 1975. For her more than 25 years of volunteer service, Anita was named Catholic Woman of the Year in the 1980s.

PHOTO BY JANEL DAVIS

A family affair: Chris Fleming and his father, Jim.

A Family Affair

“I kinda backed into the business,” says Jim Fleming. “Dad was closing down and had gone from three stores to one, but I got into [the business] and liked it. He had moved on to other things, like running for mayor (finishing second to Henry Loeb in 1959), real estate, writing books, and radio preaching. I was 18 when I first started.” During Jim’s first year, the company saw profits of $108,000. Jim reorganized the company and opened other Fleming Furniture locations.

Like his father, Jim, Chris Fleming also backed into the business. At 9 months old, he began appearing in the commercials that made him one of the most recognizable faces in Memphis. What was originally intended to be a onetime appearance of the three generations of Flemings grew into regular commercial spots with Chris as the main character. “The first thing he said in a commercial was ‘Buy from me,'” says Jim. “That was all he could say at the time, and he had such appeal that we kept [the commercials] going.”

Chris has come a long way from riding on ponies outside the stores during sidewalk sales. “People still find it hard to believe that I’ve grown up. Even though they’ve gotten older, they still want to keep me the kid in the commercials,” says the 27-year-old husband and father. “Whether people are 20 or 35 they all say they grew up with me.”

Chris’ brother Joey, 25, also made his acting debut in the Fleming commercials during “price knockout” promotions that featured the brothers as young boxers pitted against each other in “price wars.”

“People didn’t always like Fleming Furniture commercials,” says Jim’s wife Lisa. “But Jim said the commercials made people remember the company. They were never meant to be Hollywood quality. They were everyday commercials.”

During those years, the company received several Best or Worst Commercial Awards in the Flyer‘s annual “Best Of Memphis” issue. And Chris and Joey were voted Memphis’ most eligible bachelors in various magazine polls. Jim and Lisa also appeared in commercials and came up with the company jingle: “Fleming Fine Furniture Is Thinking of You.” Several celebrities also appeared in the spots, including the late Rufus Thomas, Jerry “the King” Lawler, and Willard Scott.

Trouble in Paradise

As the boys were growing, so was the company. But with expansion came loss. In 1984, Partee died at 67. With expansion came expenses which the company couldn’t handle. In 1985, Fleming Fine Furniture was forced to file Chapter 11 bankruptcy.

Business attorney Robert Orians of the firm Martin, Tate, Morrow & Marston, which represented the company, blamed the financial crisis on overexpansion. “We eliminated some of their locations and got back to the two main locations, the Summer Avenue store in Perimeter Center and a location on Mendenhall,” he says. The company was able to meet payments on its $3 million debt during a five-year reorganization plan approved by its creditors. “The creditors wanted them to survive,” says Orians. “As you know, [Jim] was a big advertiser and was selling a lot of furniture, so of course advertisers wanted him to stay in business as well.”

After 1990, the business returned to profitability. According to Jim, the company shipped more furniture than any other furniture retailer in Memphis. Clients included former professional basketball player Anfernee “Penny” Hardaway and former President Jimmy Carter’s daughter, Amy.

“At our peak, we had eight stores doing $3 million in business each month and $36 million each year,” says Jim. During that time, Chris, a Notre Dame graduate, returned to Memphis and the furniture business. A Fleming administrative employee caught his eye, and Chris and Karey married, forming the third generation of couples in the business. “He always told me that working with me was the only thing he wanted to do,” says Jim about his son, Chris. “I had an offer to sell out about six or seven years ago and he begged me not to do it. We had the opportunity to work together a few years and thought we’d be doing it the rest of our lives.”

PHOTO BY JANEL DAVIS

Left to right: Karey and Chris Fleming (with their children), and Jim and Lisa Fleming.

The End

As the economy took a turn for the worse in recent years, consumers focused more on necessities and furniture purchases were put on hold. Unable to pay its creditors, Fleming Fine Furniture was again forced to file Chapter 11 bankruptcy in January 2001. Orians’ firm negotiated an eight-year payment plan in December 2001 for the more than $7 million in unpaid debts. “There were a number of bankruptcies [in the furniture business], from manufacturers to retailers,” says Orians. “The industry had been hit hard. That’s just how it happens.” Other industry companies such as Heilig Meyers, Montgomery Ward, Levitz, and Sears’ HomeLife division either were forced to reorganize and close several stores or also file for bankruptcy protection. “With a normal economy we would have been able to meet the payments in the plan, but with a bad economy we weren’t able to do it,” says Jim.

Bankruptcy records show the company’s creditors include Blue Cross-Blue Shield of Tennessee, Mid-South Music, and the Internal Revenue Service.

The repayment plan called for Fleming to make creditor payments beginning in March 2002. The business was able to make some of the payments but by September had fallen behind, says Orians. The company was forced into liquidation mode to repay its debts. Stores were temporarily closed to prepare for a final “survival” sale, which didn’t produce enough money to repay the debts. The company was unable to secure credit to fill customer orders and permanent closure became inevitable.

“We fought it awful hard the last couple of years,” says Jim. “We took care of our customers and gave great buys. Maybe that was our downfall. We always wanted to offer people a deal.” Fleming’s remaining employees were let go.

In October, a Connecticut liquidation company, Planned Furniture Promotion, was called in to oversee the closing sale. “We brought in about 100 of our employees to close out the company,” says sale manager Scott Lerner. He estimates that the sale will finally conclude in February. “Outstanding warranties are being handled and the backlog of customer deliveries is almost complete,” says PFP’s Bobbie Pine. For customers buying furniture during the going-out-of-business sale, an additional warranty (in addition to the manufacturer’s warranty) is being made available through Jondy Chemicals of Somerset, Kentucky.

“I hate to see a family business close that has struggled, had its ups and downs, and been successful before,” Orians says. “Fleming Fine Furniture was an institution in Memphis. I’ve been in Memphis since I was 5 years old and can always remember there being a Fleming Fine Furniture.”

After the stores are closed, family members will have to find other work. Chris and Karey Fleming have already moved to Olive Branch, Mississippi, to begin a mortgage lending company; Lisa Fleming will return to her previous career in nursing and sales. But for Jim Fleming it won’t be that easy. “At different times in life you have to turn a page to a new chapter,” he says. “But this will be a whole new book for me because I’ve never done anything else. I’ve given this company everything I had. I’ve never even had a boss.” n

How a “going out of business” sale works

A “sale” sign implies low prices and great deals. But some businesses have used “sales” to entice customers into purchasing imperfect merchandise with misleading purchase agreements and insufficient warranties.

In 1977, the state legislature passed the Tennessee Consumer Protection Act to combat deceptive sales practices. The act regulates everything from honest advertising to the length of sales.

“This law was enacted because people were being misled by advertisements implying that they were going to get a good price on merchandise,” says David McCollum, director of the Tennessee Division of Consumer Affairs. “That’s why you had companies going out of business forever and they never did go out of business.”

Businesses in Shelby County must obtain going-out-of-business/liquidation-sale licenses from the Shelby County Clerk’s Office, Business Tax Division. The $25 license lasts for 30 days and is renewable three times for a total of 120 days. Fleming Fine Furniture’s first licenses for its three Memphis locations ran from November 7th through December 7th. The licenses have been renewed for an additional period ending January 8th. If the licenses are renewed for the allowable two additional periods, the company will have until March 10th to end its sale and close its doors.

McCollum’s staff scans newspapers to catch unlawful practices. The office sends out letters to businesses claiming to be going out of business to remind them of the laws governing the sale. Although the office does its best to monitor these sales, McCollum advises consumers to ask questions.

Things to remember when shopping a going-out-of-business sale:

· A sale does not guarantee lower prices.

· A sale does not guarantee that deals will be offered.

· Get an understanding of extended warranties and gift certificates. Find out who will handle claims once the business closes.

· Know the law before purchasing any items.

· If you believe a company has violated the Consumer Protection Act, contact the Tennessee Division of Consumer Affairs at 1-800-342-8385. — JD

PHOTOS BY ROBIN SALANT

The long-running, award-winning television drama Law and Order opens each episode with a terse introduction that has become part of popular culture: “In the criminal justice system the people are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the police who investigate crime and the district attorneys who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories.” Viewers are then plugged into a world of crime and criminals in which justice is served within 60 minutes and all’s well that ends well.

Unlike television dramas, the real criminal justice system is a complex arrangement. Attorneys don’t just prosecute offenders; they also represent them. Whether guilty or innocent, those charged with a crime have a right to a lawyer. That responsibility often falls to public defenders, whose duty it is to provide the best possible defense for people who sometimes have little hope — and no money.

In Shelby County, with its large indigent population, that task can be daunting. Thousands of poor people require the services of the “free lawyers” each year for crimes ranging from misdemeanor offenses to death-penalty appeals. This year’s Tennessee Public Defender report shows increases in cases handled by defenders in all courts except Juvenile Court and increases in all charge categories except felonies. Yet the office manages to provide an indispensable service to the community, while producing top-quality, specialized lawyers and methods to curtail criminal activity.

“Are you a real lawyer?”

Theresa Jones hears this question almost every day from clients who sometimes feel that her position at the public defender’s office renders her less than professional. As a 15-year veteran and Criminal Court supervisor, Jones has heard it all. “The [myths] are numerous. I don’t know how they started but they are rampant throughout the criminal community. Clients ask us would they get a better deal if they had a real lawyer. A client told me that, because I was still in the public defender’s office, I couldn’t be that good,” says Jones. “I have to tell myself that people just don’t know, and there’s not a lot [of information] to educate the public that we are lawyers. A well-informed person would look at our experience and numbers and the amount of cases we handle.”

Jones is one of the 70 assistant public defenders whose primary job is to make sure indigent citizens accused of a crime are legally represented. The office handles approximately 25,000 cases each year. With a total staff of 117, including investigators and clerical employees, the office is responsible for eight divisions of General Sessions Court, 10 divisions of Criminal Court, some Juvenile and Circuit Court cases, and even the municipal courts of area suburbs like Germantown and Bartlett.

Founded in 1917, Shelby County’s public defender’s office is the oldest in Tennessee and third-oldest in the nation, behind only Los Angeles and Oklahoma City. The need for indigent legal representation arose in 1915 when a Dyer County murder case fraught with racial tension was transferred to Shelby County, where 33-year-old practicing attorney Samuel O. Bates was appointed as defense lawyer in the case. The defendant’s adamant denial of the murder led Bates to spend $500 of his own money in investigations and expenses, resulting in evidence linking the murder to the victim’s husband instead of Bates’ client. The case led Bates, then a state senator, to introduce legislation for a public defender’s office.

The initial office consisted of one attorney, known as the public defender, who worked on a part-time basis and was allowed to practice private law as well. The defender was allowed to hire temporary assistant attorneys and staff as needed. But by the end of Hugh Stanton Sr.’s term in 1974, the office had grown to a staff of 28 and the first investigator was employed. Since then, an increased caseload has led to an increase in staff overseen by a chief public defender, appointed by the mayor, who is responsible for the organizing, staffing, and budgeting of all office activities. Robert Jones, a 25-year office veteran and 12-year deputy chief, took the helm as the ninth chief public defender in September when former chief A C Wharton was elected Shelby County mayor.

Like most of the attorneys in the office, Jones is a University of Memphis law school graduate, who got his start with the office as a law clerk. “I volunteered [in the public defender’s office] and went into private practice for a few months and came back. I have been here ever since,” he says. “We are fortunate that we are able to get attorneys that choose this as their career, like me. They want to be here and they enjoy practicing law and working with people. For courtroom experience, this is the place to be. We always have a number of attorneys on the waiting list for employment.”

The office’s outreach programs are coordinated with the assistance of Christie Glenn.

In the Trenches

The work of a public defender far outweighs the $41,000 initial yearly salary. Once a lawyer is hired, he or she begins in General Sessions Court handling misdemeanor cases. The caseload is high, with defenders having to juggle courtroom time, other open cases, and client counseling each day. “The biggest complaint of new attorneys is that there are too many cases to handle,” says specialty court coordinator and 14-year office veteran Jack Green, whose job is to monitor and advise attorneys. “But [the system] has gotten better. We’ve got more people and help now. You may have 40 cases, but there’s another attorney in court to help with those. The office record was set in the late 1980s, when one of the current supervisors handled 52 cases by herself [in a day] and she was pregnant. I tell lawyers to pace themselves. These cases will be here tomorrow.”

After their stint in General Sessions, assistant defenders get the opportunity to move to their specialty area. Cases are assigned to public defenders by the judge when a defendant is found to be unable to hire a private attorney. Two defenders are assigned to a courtroom and cases are divided between them. “The way we have it set up, the attorneys can handle a larger volume than they used to. Private attorneys have a lot of time between cases, but the majority of our attorneys’ time is spent in the courtroom, which familiarizes them with the system and helps with efficiency and with court operations,” says Jones.

While attorneys are employed by the county and supervised by a group of administrators, there are no rules outlining case management. “We’re allowed to be uniquely who we are, as long as we are competently doing it,” says 14-year defender Debra Antoine. “Not everyone has to have the same style in the courtroom. When you’re allowed to be the individual you are, you just focus on representing them and not on ‘Do you have my money?’ or ‘I want my $200 to $300 [retainer] and we can talk tomorrow.’ Not having that hanging over your head makes it nice to go in and represent the person.”

Antoine is one of the attorneys assigned to Division 8, which has evolved into a full-time drug court under Judge Tim Dwyer. The drug court team consists of three prosecutors, two public defenders, pretrial probation counselors, a court coordinator, and representatives from treatment providers. “I like seeing people that have fought and kicked and have lied through their teeth, done every little scheme they can and then finally admit that they have a problem. Some come in very openly and turn their life around, while others come in and never turn their life around and are sentenced out,” Antoine says. “But to see a crack addict, for example, turn it around, I like seeing that, and I like seeing us doing more than giving them a form and sending them to the Penal Farm to serve time.”

As part of the drug court program, offenders are provided substance-abuse counseling and assistance with transitional housing. “Drug court graduations are the third Wednesday of the month, and it’s fun to see the people who have turned it around,” says Antoine. “They get their mug shot and it usually looks bad. To see them turn it around in a system that’s geared toward sending them back and not correcting the problems is a good thing. Some of these people have done some very bad things, but they’re in a lot of pain and they’re acting out. When you haven’t had a good example, maybe momma’s been a crack addict herself; you do what you’ve been taught.”

Jack Green

Steadfast Determination

“One of the best compliments ever paid to me was a client that said, ‘Ms. Jones, you are a hard lady, you’re fair, but you’re hard,'” says Theresa Jones. As a Criminal Court defender and supervisor, Jones has to be hard. With a caseload of roughly 90 open cases, there’s not a lot of time for frivolity. “We can’t be everything to all people. [Defenders] have to maximize their time to help each client without sacrificing the cases of others,” she says. Jones handles clients who have been arrested, fingerprinted, processed, and gone through General Sessions indictment. Her cases consist of any criminal violation except capital murder but include first-degree murder when the prosecution does not seek the death penalty. “Most of my clients would say that they were adequately represented. This job requires a lot of humility, not taking things personal. You’re in the front line and the first person they are going to lash out at because you are the person bringing the bad news,” she says.

The hard-line style of criminal defending was a natural but almost missed opportunity for Jones. The Lane College graduate began her career as a journalist for the now defunct Mid-South Express News. After her reporter stint, Jones enrolled in law school to study corporate law. A clerk position with the Criminal Court judges followed. Jones finished law school and worked six months at Neighborhood Housing Opportunities while studying for a second attempt at passing the Tennessee bar exam. After passing the bar, Jones applied for an assistant public defender position under Wharton. “At first, a defender’s position wasn’t the best job, but I needed a job,” says Jones. “I started handling cases and the feeling from the clerking job came back. I grew up on a farm in Mississippi with a strict upbringing, and something about the court’s atmosphere brought that feeling back. It just felt right.”

Experience has indeed been the best teacher for Jones, who has matured beyond the “babe in the woods” who once fell for her clients’ tears and took their stories at face value. The change is evident in the confident presentation of her cases, the respect she receives from other attorneys and judges, and her defense style, which consists of a constant banter, unmistakably reasonable and convincingly probing.

Jones: Now, Ms. X, you said in your statement moments ago that from your vantage point you could see everything outside the club that night, right?

Ms. X: Right.

Jones: If that’s so, then where was Ms. Y standing … because you could see everything, right?

Ms. X: Right. She was standing beside me, I believe.

Jones: You believe or you know? Because, as you said earlier, you could see everything.

Ms. X: Well, yes, but …

Jones: But what, Ms. X? You did see Ms. Y, did you not?

Jones: Ms. Z, did you drive to Ms. Y’s home in your vehicle with three other people?

Ms. Z: Yes.

Jones: And your purpose was to do what?

Ms. Z: They were just riding with me. I went to let her know that she couldn’t [vandalize] people’s things just because she didn’t have anything.

Jones: So, let me understand. You left your home, went to the home of Ms. Y, who was alone, with three other people in your vehicle, to give her that message?

Ms. Z: Yes. I didn’t know what she might have done so I asked them to go with me.

Jones: So, you needed three people to confront one person, alone, in her front yard to give her a message, and you say Ms. Y was the troublemaker? Clearly in this situation she was not.

“The relationship between a public defender and the client is an unholy one because they don’t pick us, but we have to understand our oath for representation and those [negative] things can’t stop us,” says Jones. “Some attorneys keep a case record of wins and losses. I’ve never done that. I give my clients the best possible defense I can using all the resources available to me, and that’s how I sleep at night — knowing that I’ve done all I could.”

In order for attorneys to provide that quality service, they depend on the help of criminal investigators, who are charged with tracking down and questioning elusive witnesses for information helpful in building the defenders’ cases. “A person with short patience is wrong for this job,” says four-year investigator Jeannette Stanback. “When you have witnesses who will not talk, sometimes out of fear, you’ve got to be persistent, and sometimes they never will talk to you. I’ve worked on a case for a month without being able to turn over any information to the defender.”

As defenders’ caseloads have increased, so has the need for investigators. The office’s seven investigators are, like defenders, appointed to cases. They usually have two weeks to review a case, locate and question witnesses, and submit the information to the defender. The work is tedious, with investigators sometimes having to rely on phone and utility records, employment histories, and luck to find witnesses. “I haven’t had any [violence] problems [while locating people]. We have the authority to carry guns, but I don’t. I can usually simply talk and reason with people without fear of retaliation,” says Stanback.

Inevitably, many cases are lost and clients are fined, serve jail time, and even sentenced to die. But with sentencing comes a second chance with the office’s three-person appellate team. “We pick up cases lost in trial court and appeal them to the Tennessee Court of Criminal Appeals, and if we lose there, we appeal to the Tennessee Supreme Court,” says team supervisor Mark Ward. “If we lose there and it involves a federal constitutional issue, our only other remedy is to appeal to the U.S. Supreme Court. Our main function here is to provide the best-quality appeal that we can for Shelby County offenders that are convicted here.”

The team handles 60 to 75 cases a year at various stages in the appeal process and provides support for other attorneys. Ward has handled every death-penalty appeal in the office since capital punishment was reinstated in 1977. Since forming the five-year-old team, all three attorneys appeal death-penalty cases. “We work with the academic part of law,” says Ward. “The fun part is that we get to develop law. When we argue cases, we help mold what happens in the future.”

“The interesting thing is to watch courts apply law,” says team member Garland Erguden. “In a courtroom you deal with the emotions, the crime, and the people involved, but because the appellate process is slower and done on paper, it’s cleaner, more about ideas and concepts.”

Branching Out

“A lot of our attorneys are committed and go the extra mile,” says Jones. “We are proud of the programs we have to address the underlying problems. It’s a window of opportunity for us because once somebody is arrested, charged, sometimes it’s a wake-up call for them. We are in the business of recycling people instead of warehousing people, as [former chief] A C [Wharton] would say.”

Addressing clients’ underlying problems includes several basic needs, such as housing, substance-abuse assistance, and employment. The office has partnered with several service agencies to provide help for their clients in these areas, as well as crime prevention and deterrence methods.

“About 75 percent of our office, the entire staff, not just the lawyers, has some sort of community service going on,” says Erguden. Staff members participate in various community programs, including Habitat for Humanity, MIFA, and CASA.

Internally, the office has expanded to address the issues of clients with mental-health problems. Headed by 11-year defender Stephen Bush, the mental-health initiative has taken on a community-outreach approach. In a county-specific initiative, Bush, along with a criminal justice mental-health liaison, bridges the gap for clients between the justice system and outside assistance. With the system, some mental-health clients can participate in the plan by accepting treatment as part of their punishment.

“We were starting to see our clients with mental-health problems experience ‘case lag’ with their cases. When a person is mentally disabled, it takes much longer for their case to be handled, which was leading to jail overcrowding [and other problems]. This is not a ‘program’ but a way to use resources,” says Bush. The initiative is quite complex, with computer databases to update, housing issues to address, and more case-management resources needed. “This is not an easy thing to do, but it’s the right thing to do and this is the place to do it,” Bush adds.

In addition to tracking mental-health clients, it has long been the job of the public defender’s office to track its clients within the jail system. As the justice system administrator, that duty falls to Green. Assisted by two case checkers and one secretary, his staff is responsible for following about 20,000 cases each year. “I got started doing this inadvertently,” says Green. “At a meeting long ago, someone asked me about one of their clients that they hadn’t heard from in a while. I volunteered to check the records and found that person. He had been in jail three months and already been discharged and wasn’t supposed to be there.”

Green’s staff helps to expedite people out of jail. They receive daily printouts of cases that have been dismissed, bonded out, or released on recognizance. They also review cases that have been set off for long periods to ensure that due process is carried out. “I see myself as a do-gooder,” says Green. “If I can make a difference in one case, get one person released on time, then I feel like I made a difference.”

Acceptance

“People say ‘oh, poor public defenders,’ but if you want to be in court all day — being in court is fun, it’s academically interesting, it’s action-packed — then this is the place to be,” says Erguden. “I’ve had other jobs and I much prefer this. It’s not like TV.”

“I’m very proud of the office. It’s important that we perform a needed service,” says Jones. “The system is not always perfect. Mistakes are made, and you need something to balance out the system and that’s where we come in. Overall, we are appreciated. You’re always going to have a few that are unhappy and a lot of times those few are the ones who make the most noise. Considering that we handle 25,000 cases per year, I think the public is generally pleased with the service that we give.”

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Crime and Delinquency Prevention Programs of the Public Defender’s Office

Building for the Future (BFF) — A countywide community-development partnership involving 10 agencies that provide affordable housing for low-income families built by inmates, who learn marketable construction skills for employment after their release. The program has been nationally recognized as a finalist for the Innovations in Government Award and has garnered a contract to build 52 replacement homes for senior citizens in the Shelby County area by July 2003.

Client Support Program — Volunteers from Alcoholics Anonymous, Narcotics Anonymous, and Cocaine Anonymous conduct sessions with clients to deal with problem behavior and habits. This program began in 1999 and is open to all county residents.

Adopt-A-School Program — The public defender’s office adopted Peabody Elementary School in 1994 and participates in after-school programs, tutoring sessions, and distributing achievement awards each six weeks.

Operation ASAP (Accessing Summer Activities Program) — The pilot program, operated May-August 1999, was a partnership between Greater Middle Baptist Church and the public defender’s office. The program provided 100 youth with counseling, tutoring, and recreational activities aimed at reducing risk factors associated with crime and violence. The program will possibly be reinstated next summer in other churches, with the goal that the program will be taken over by and funded by each church.

Steve Stamson

“I do solemnly swear that I will perform with fidelity the duties of the Office of Clerk of Court of the Juvenile Court of Memphis and Shelby County, Tennessee, to which I have been elected and which I am about to assume; that I will support the Constitution of the United States and of the State of Tennessee, and will execute the duties of this office without prejudice, partiality, or favor, to the best of my skill and ability; that I have neither given nor will give to any person any gratuity, gift, fee, or reward in consideration of my support for this office, and I have neither sold nor offered to sell, nor will sell, my interest in this office, so help me God.” — Oath of the Juvenile Court Clerk

“I do.” It was done. As Steve Stamson promised to uphold the duties of the Juvenile Court clerk, his marriage to the office was sealed, thus finalizing the divorce from the same position of former Clerk Shep Wilbun. The $94,805-a-year position, which became a surprisingly significant race in the recent Shelby County elections, may be moving out of the limelight, returning to its former background role. Unlike his predecessor, Stamson says he’s satisfied with that.

From Relative Obscurity

Created in 1909, the Juvenile Court clerk’s office has traditionally been responsible for carrying out court orders, including collecting child support and other court fees, dispersing those fees, and ensuring court security. For the past 39 years, the court has been presided over by Judge Kenneth Turner, who supervised the four clerks who have served under him. The clerk’s primary job is administrative: He is keeper of the court’s records.

Until 1988, when the Tennessee code was changed to allow for election of all inferior court clerks, the Juvenile Court judge appointed that court’s clerk. At that time, C.R. “Bob” Martin held the clerk’s position. He had been appointed by Judge Turner after the retirement of former Clerk William Glenn Fulmer. Martin was later elected to office with the approval and support of Judge Turner.

Things were quiet in the Juvenile Court clerk’s office until November 30, 2000, when Martin called it quits before the end of his term, leaving the unfilled position in the hands of the Shelby County Commission. Shelby County law requires the commission to fill interim county government positions.

“When [Martin] retired, it was up to the county commission, on which Mr. Wilbun served at that time, to appoint an interim clerk,” said Turner. “They pulled a dirty deal. They did a little vote-swapping and came up with not the most desirable situation, by any means.”

During the commission’s December 18, 2000, meeting, the commissioners appointed one of their own, S.A. “Shep” Wilbun Jr., to the Juvenile Court clerk position.

“[Wheeling and dealing] is the case in almost any vote. That’s nothing new,” said Commissioner Julian Bolton last Friday. “On the commission, we have a delicate balance of power, and in the political game, when the balance is delicate, it can go one way or the other. In order to have some assurance of an outcome, sometimes, you have to make concessions.”

Here’s how the “wheeling and dealing” went: In order to guarantee Wilbun the position, the Democratic commissioners made a deal with Republican commissioner Clair VanderSchaaf to vote for Tom Moss, VanderSchaaf’s choice (and a fellow developer) to fill Mark Norris’ vacant District 4, Position 2 commission seat. The other Republican commissioners wanted Shelby County Election Commission member David Lillard. Moss won the appointment seven to five, getting all six Democratic votes, with the one Republican vote necessary to win coming from VanderSchaaf. In return, VanderSchaaf agreed to vote with the Democratic commissioners to appoint Wilbun Juvenile Court clerk.

“There’s nothing new about it. It happens in politics. It happens in almost any controversial or high-stakes vote,” said Bolton. “There’s nothing inappropriate about it. Wilbun wanted to serve [in a] full-time [capacity]. Apparently, the majority of the commission felt the same. It’s the way politics has worked since prehistoric times. Of course, there’s a lot more written about it now, but it hasn’t changed, and you can still maintain integrity by working with your other elected officials. You have to work with people who are, one day, adverse to you and, the next day, they’re with you. How does that happen? It happens by negotiation, concession, and conciliation. To get together like we did in the case of Wilbun is better than to beat up on each other and have to take people out at the podium and cross-examine them to change somebody’s vote.”

But not all commissioners were so readily accepting of the deal. Former Commissioner Buck Wellford did not approve of the decision then and does not approve of it now. Transcripts show that, during the original meeting, Wellford questioned Moss’ intentions before his appointment to the commission, citing his relationship with controversial developer Rusty Hyneman. Wellford also alleged that Moss was in on the deal from the beginning, guaranteeing commissioners his vote for Wilbun.

Nevertheless, Wilbun was appointed to fill the clerk vacancy, beating out then-Chief Deputy Court Clerk Stamson. Again, VanderSchaaf was the swing vote, siding with Democratic commissioners and Tom Moss, backing Wilbun.

Shep Wilbun

Into the Limelight

From the outset, Wilbun’s Juvenile Court clerk tenure was markedly different in tone from his predecessors’. With a history of public service, including the Memphis City Council, the National Black Caucus of Local Elected Officials, and the Memphis Area Minority Contractors Association, Wilbun was not used to staying in the background.

“It has been my objective from the beginning to move the Juvenile Court clerk’s office to being one of a force in this community,” he said in an interview prior to the election. “[It should be] one that participates in finding a solution to the problems of violence against our youth, to preventing babies from being murdered in the streets, to assisting those who are already providing programs to give kids something to do. I believe the statutory requirements of the office are a floor, not a ceiling, and that this clerk can, ought [to], and should be a force in preventing juvenile crime in this community.”

The son of noted judge S.A. Wilbun Sr., Wilbun grew up in Memphis, attending Hamilton High School. “I was taught that the most important things were to have integrity, have a good name, and try to do right,” he said. “If you exert yourself to the fullest and use what God has given you, good things will happen.”

Good things did happen for Wilbun. He earned a bachelor’s degree in city planning and sociology from Dartmouth College and a master’s degree in architecture from MIT. He went on to found Wilbun Enterprises, an urban- and facilities-planning company, and began to make a name for himself in the political arena. He ran an unsuccessful but spirited campaign for city mayor in 1999.

Wilbun’s appointment to Juvenile Court clerk gave him what he wanted: a full-time government office. But to keep the job, Wilbun would have to face some obstacles. And some of his actions came back to haunt him.

“It’s essential that the communication be kept up between the judge and clerk of the court because the clerk’s job is to keep the records of the court,” said Judge Turner. “[The clerk’s] position is strictly administrative. He doesn’t make policy; he carries out the orders of the court.”

Wilbun quickly demonstrated that he did not agree with Turner’s job description. When making his pitch for the job to the county commission in December 2000, Wilbun spoke of “being an example to those youth who need help, representing a [positive] image to young people who get in trouble and come before the court, becoming part of the team that would deal with young people in the community.” Even then, Wilbun was countered by Stamson, who said, “[T]he Juvenile Court clerk’s office does not deal directly with the youth. We deal with other matters of the court because this is the clerk’s office.”

But after being appointed, Wilbun actively pursued his agenda. He restructured the clerk’s office, made several new appointments, remodeled the offices, and scaled back staff. Wilbun also announced that his staff had found almost $3 million in unclaimed and undeliverable funds, mostly child-support payments that never made it to the intended recipients due to inaccurate contact information or because the intended party had not been identified.

The funds became a rallying point for Wilbun, as he publicly questioned the actions of his predecessor. “I am ashamed of Bob Martin for keeping money from needy babies and mothers,” said Wilbun in a July press conference. “How many families were destroyed because the $3 million did not get to the families that needed it? … All because Bob Martin did not care. … Bob Martin should be ashamed of himself for not performing his fiduciary responsibilities.”

Wilbun established his Funds for Families program with the unclaimed funds and, using various city and county databases, began finding intended recipients and disbursing the money. By July, Wilbun claimed that almost $300,000 of the money had been delivered and the remaining funds had been placed in interest-bearing accounts, something that had not been done by Martin.

Stamson, who was a part of the Martin administration, maintained that no mismanagement had occurred. “These funds accumulated over a period of 27 years. During Mr. Martin’s tenure, we were collecting $50 million to $60 million each year and distributing child-support payments,” he said. “This was a very small percentage of the work that we were doing. We were managing to get $60 million to the right places every year, and when those unidentifiable payments came back, we made every effort to find those people. But you can only spend so much time and money trying to find somebody that doesn’t want to be found.” Nevertheless, Wilbun involved the FBI in an investigation into the funds.

In addition to the Funds for Families program, Wilbun created Decide to Provide, a program intended to give delinquent child-support-paying fathers the opportunity to arrange new payment plans without fear of incarceration. Again, he was criticized for going beyond his duties as the Juvenile Court clerk.

“A Cloud Of Doubt”

While Wilbun was busy establishing new programs, one of his staff members, Darrell Catron, was accused of misusing a county credit card and paying a female employee $1,500 when she complained of sexual harassment. A grand-jury investigation into the office’s expenditures was launched.

“If you are an administrator, you have people that you put your trust in that sometimes let you down. I don’t think that’s unusual,” said Wilbun. “We did have some problems with some employees at a high level, and they had to be fired. I accepted some recommendations from friends, and they let me down by sending me someone that would do these kinds of things.”

Throughout the inquiry, Wilbun maintained his innocence, citing his initial request for the investigation. He also held fast to his belief that someone within Stamson’s campaign was responsible for the leads in the grand-jury investigation in order to create “a cloud of doubt” around him. As the election neared, he called on local African-American churches for support and said the probe was an “all-out effort to stop the first African-American Juvenile Court clerk.”

Stamson denied any involvement in the investigation.

Familiar Territory

“He plundered and pillaged the clerk’s office,” said Judge Turner. “He came in there and brought his cronies in. It was very unpleasant and very hard on the personnel. Mr. Wilbun had to face the voters in August, and in their infinite wisdom, the voters of Shelby County removed him from office.”

Stamson won the August election with 49 percent of the vote, just 2 percent more than Wilbun. Stamson’s Juvenile Court career had come full circle, from chief deputy under Martin to clerk under Turner. “[In December 2000], I felt like I was the best-qualified candidate for the job, but the county commission saw fit to appoint someone other than myself,” he said. “I wasn’t bitter. I figured the right way to do it was to let the voters decide, and that’s what I did.”

Stamson is no stranger to Shelby County politics. He served as manager of the business-tax division of the county clerk’s office, is a longtime Republican Party activist, and even cochaired Lamar Alexander’s 1995 presidential campaign. Most recently, Stamson held the position of chief deputy clerk under General Sessions Court clerk Chris Turner.

Just two weeks into his term, Stamson is already on the way to returning the office to its original format. “I only expect three things from my employees: Come to work, be on time, and do your job. The clerk’s position is administrative. All those other programs are someone else’s to do,” he said.

Stamson has chosen former mayoral executive Ron Banks as his chief deputy clerk and is investigating open contracts remaining from Wilbun’s term. While he “didn’t expect to miss a lick,” the transition of administrations was met with some initial resistance. Stamson never received a congratulatory phone call from Wilbun. A letter sent to the former clerk requesting inventory records was not answered for several days and with only a portion of the information. And the traditional walk-through of the office with the former clerk was not performed. But Stamson is taking it all in stride. “I don’t have anything personal against Mr. Wilbun at all,” he said. “It was a political race. I think the voters were looking for someone to run a conservative, efficient office and do the best job for the taxpayers.”

Although Stamson beat Wilbun, both candidates’ stated philosophies were based on the same principle: serving the citizens of Shelby County. Through years of working behind the scenes, Stamson understood the role of clerk, while Wilbun was determined to institute his own policies. “He was doing his own thing, serving his own ends. He was here about a year and a half, and I never laid eyes on him but about two or three times,” said Judge Turner. “He didn’t understand how crucial it was for the clerk and judge to communicate.”

Wilbun never thought he would lose the election, but he says he did learn from the process. “What I’ll take from this is not to put as much stock in the recommendations of friends in the future. I’ll do more of my own ascertainments of the preparedness of the individuals I bring to work with me,” he said.

And while Stamson sees no place for policy-making in the clerk’s office, he does plan to continue the Funds for Families program if the money remains in the court’s jurisdiction. “We’ll do the best we can to get the money out,” he said. “We just won’t use money on publicity like was done before.”

A Good Soldier Lost

Wilbun’s claims of political involvement in the grand-jury investigation seem more justified now, since other high-level county employees, including former county mayor Jim Rout’s assistant Tom Jones, were found to have misused county-issued credit cards. Newly elected county mayor A C Wharton has since collected all credit cards and issued a temporary moratorium on their use.

“It’s unfortunate that this issue of integrity, of credit-card use by someone other than the clerk, came up at a time that basically cost him his election,” said Commissioner Bolton. “And then, later, it’s revealed that it’s almost a matter of course. Unfortunately, [Wilbun] wasn’t able to withstand that political firestorm. But we’ve lost a good servant, and I regret it. I don’t think that a person who has served our community for as long as Mr. Wilbun has deserves that kind of public treatment, but, like in war, good soldiers are lost, and that’s the circumstance here.”

Since his defeat, Wilbun hasn’t granted any interviews or given any indication of his future plans. “He’s a bright man,” said Bolton. “He’s got a lot of good will in this community, and I’m sure he’ll rebound. I’m sure he’s going to step back, clear his head, look ahead for about a month, and I think things will open up for him.”

“Wilbun didn’t understand the role of the clerk, but Stamson does, and also, he’s a friend,” said Judge Turner. “He is a man of great integrity and ability and very much an honorable gentleman who we know we can, and will, work with.”

With the negative publicity the clerk’s office has received lately, Shelby County voters are no doubt hoping that, for at least the next four years, Turner’s assessment is true. After all, thousands of Shelby County children are counting on it.