by JBA Member Mary Coxe
My long friendship with Judge Virginia Beverly had its improbable genesis in a murder. In late 1976, furniture store owner Jim Stone disappeared. Shortly thereafter three desperadoes were arrested in California. Upon their return to Jacksonville, Stone’s body was recovered from the St. Johns River, and two were indicted for first-degree murder.
Although I was a one-year rookie prosecutor, I was asked to sit second chair. Someone apparently reasoned that I, the only woman in the State Attorney’s Office, would be the most apt handler of the kindergarten-aged eye witness. The cases were assigned to Division “Q,” Judge Beverly.
Judge Beverly, newly appointed to the bench, was an unknown quantity to the “criminal” bar. She was from Milam, Martin and Ade, a true silk-stocking firm, never known to have darkened the nether world of the criminal courts at the wrong end of the second-floor corridor.
To get into her chambers behind Courtroom 9, one had to get past her gatekeeper, the mercurial “Miss Barbara” and her sentinels, “Wormy” and “ Marf,” the bailiffs who guarded her like the holy grail. True to her old-school sense of propriety and decorum, she called them Mr. Turner and Mr. Marfinetz. We were all called Mr. or Miss. Ladies were reminded to wear skirts or dresses, no trousers were allowed.
Over the next 18 months, as I was assigned to Division Q and the murder cases moved along, Judge Beverly’s petite stature took on a much larger judicial presence. She held “chambers” each morning before taking the bench. Her desk at the far end of the counsel table was always awash in “Southern Reporters” and highlighted pre-sentence investigations in preparation for multitudes of evidentiary hearings and sentencings. Sometimes the stacks of books were taller than she was. She must have worked long evenings, but she was always prepared.
Her chambers had the air of an after-church coffee. She often brought coveted home-baked goodies. She was unfailingly cheerful and cordial. She greeted each attorney by name, recalling particulars such as new babies or recent vacations. She shared funny stories about her own children.
Total civility prevailed. No one would have dared raise a voice or slam a fist. And in this atmosphere, ironically, the conversations ultimately revolved around violent crimes, lengthy prison sentences, remorse and rehabilitation, life and death.
After chambers she took the bench, a padded or cushioned bench, so she could see out. She welcomed everyone in her genteel North Carolina accent and went about the business of the day. She had an uncanny ability to ferret out the truth. More than once she would stop a defendant being sentenced, mid-exculpatory explanation, and slice his excuse to ribbons with cagy questions. I imagine that talent kept her children on the straight and narrow.
With her unique maternal perspective, she gently attempted to comfort and console the mothers whose children she sent to prison, a kindness that was unexpected. She was not afraid to give second chances to those who were deserving, often cautioning that she was the ultimate probation officer.
The two first-degree murder trials were long and hard. My kindergarten witness was terrified into speechlessness, and only gentle reassurances from Judge Beverly, who knew a thing or two about talking to children, put her at ease enough to testify.
The photos were unbearably gruesome, but when they were passed to the Judge, she nodded at them as if they were vacation snapshots. When jurors gagged and turned green, she called a little recess for their benefit. Her law partners and her beloved Phil came to watch in the evenings, to marvel at her command of what could have become a circus.
After the verdicts, one defendant waived a jury sentencing recommendation, gambling that this nice little lady from Deerwood did not have the chutzpah to sentence him to death. He gambled wrong. Nothing in her background had prepared her for it, but she found the grit and strength to sentence both men to death.
Over the next years we moved on with our lives. Judge Beverly rotated into civil and family divisions where she was known for her cordial geniality, fairness and good sense. She treated litigants and lawyers with respect, never correcting or chastising them in the presence of others. Her marvelous family grew up and became the outstanding citizens we all knew they would be back in chambers. She was so delighted when “her Tommy” followed her onto the bench last year. She adored her grandchildren and shared their successes.
It was a different world when I met Judge Beverly. It was not easy being a woman lawyer in the ‘70s. There were not many of us. There was occasional but very real chauvinism from some on the bench. There were no mentors to turn to for advice on handling the hazing.
My guess was that Judge Beverly experienced it in some form, and I remember thinking, “if she can do this, maybe I can too.”
She was wonderfully supportive and encouraging to all the young women she encountered. She was a role model and a trailblazer, but she shunned accolades and limelight. She always said she was just doing her job. She did it very well.
We will miss her so much, a larger-than-life combination of grace, intelligence, humor, compassion and gumption, all compacted into that diminutive elegant frame.