Former Georgia House Speaker Tom Murphy will be remembered as a cigar-chomping country lawyer who towered over state politics when Democrats were at their zenith.
A cantankerous character in a white Stetson, Murphy detested seat belts and Republicans with equal zeal. Most people addressed him simply as "Mr. Speaker," and during his record run as House leader he often wielded more power than the governors he served.
Despite his rural roots, Murphy likely had a greater hand in shaping modern metro Atlanta than any other figure in state politics.
"I've had a good life," Murphy said during an April 2003 interview in his Bremen law office. "I'm very satisfied with the way it all turned out."
The Haralson County native was a Roosevelt Democrat whose reign spanned five Democratic governors, from Jimmy Carter to Roy Barnes. He lived long enough to see that power collapse and Republicans take control of both chambers of the Legislature and the governor's office.
"For more than a quarter-century Speaker Murphy was a dominant figure in Georgia politics. As a public servant, he always fought for the children of Georgia, our veterans and the disabled," Gov. Sonny Perdue said in a statement. "When he rose to speak, people listened, even if they disagreed with his politics. And when he said he was going to act, he kept his word. Speaker Murphy's spirit will forever be part of the General Assembly, and his love for our state should serve as an example for all of us."
Current House Speaker Glenn Richardson echoed the governor's comments.
"While the family of Speaker Murphy has suffered the greatest loss, all Georgians have lost a true friend and a great political leader," Richardson said. "The stresses and responsibilities the job of speaker creates are too many to be counted, and yet, Speaker Murphy handled it all with dignity and distinction for 28 years."
During nearly three decades as House leader --- 1974 to 2002 --- Murphy pushed through funding for MARTA and suburban freeways, and he sponsored construction of the Georgia World Congress Center and the Georgia Dome.
"Ironically, the best friend that the metro Atlanta area ever had was Tom Murphy," Barnes said in an interview before Murphy died. "He was a bridge between old and new."
Murphy presided over the House with an iron fist, but there was always a soft spot just behind his bulldog growl, especially for children's issues and the disabled. He was a child of the Depression, and the hungry people he saw in his youth forever shaped his political thinking. As a young lawyer he often carried his crippled brother up the stairs of the Haralson County Courthouse, where the two practiced law. As an aging speaker, he would remind House members every Valentine's Day to "go out and buy some flowers for your wife. Mine's been gone for 20 years, and I miss her every single day."
Loved to shred Republicans
Murphy also could play hardball with the most grizzled politicos, and often he seemed to relish the fight. When Zell Miller, then lieutenant governor, was running for governor, Murphy backed Miller's opponent. Suddenly, Miller's bill to create a state lottery stalled. An outraged Miller complained the bill was being buried in "Murphy's mausoleum." Murphy responded that if he had a mausoleum, Miller would be a candidate for interment.
Murphy seemed to take particular delight in shredding the small but growing number of Republicans in the state House, often ridiculing them from the speaker's podium, high above the House floor.
"Some people said he didn't know what to make of Republicans, but I think he knew what to make of them --- mincemeat," U.S. Rep. Lynn Westmoreland, a former House Republican leader, said before Murphy died. "He held that House as sacred ground, and I think he wanted everything that went on in there to be right in his eyes."
In the end, it was an upstart Republican, Bill Heath, who ended Murphy's career in 2002, defeating the old warhorse in his own backyard. Metro Atlanta and its GOP-dominated suburbs had inched into Murphy's once-rural legislative district, and an era had ended.
By the time he left office, Murphy was the longest-serving statehouse speaker in America --- so well-known that the State University of West Georgia announced plans to re-create his cluttered office as part of a campus museum.
"Grew with the state"
Thomas Bailey Murphy was born March 10, 1924, in Bremen, a west Georgia railroad town. His father, the mayor, was a railroad telegrapher and agent during the week, a Primitive Baptist preacher on weekends. As a red-haired youth, Murphy worked as a soda jerk at a drugstore and delivered newspapers. Nicknamed "Cotton," his sport was baseball. As a teenager, he played catcher on the town team, with the adults.
Murphy graduated from Bremen High School in 1941 at age 16, then attended North Georgia College in Dahlonega, where he was a boxer. From there, he went into the Navy and spent the remainder of World War II in the Pacific. He rarely spoke of the experience.
Murphy left the military with $400 in his pocket, which funded law school at the University of Georgia and marriage to Agnes Bennett.
Murphy and his older brother, James, crippled by rheumatoid arthritis, practiced law together after Tom's graduation, and in 1960, Tom Murphy took over his brother's seat in the Legislature.
He began his career when segregation held the upper hand in state politics, and he served as floor leader for segregationist Gov. Lester Maddox, who took office in 1967. In the complicated world of racial politics, the Murphy family was considered moderate on segregation.
"Speaker Murphy grew with the state," said former House Speaker Terry Coleman of Eastman, a veteran Democratic legislator who succeeded his mentor for two years --- until the chamber shifted Republican.
As speaker, Murphy became one of the architects of an alliance between urban African-Americans and rural whites that kept Democrats in control of state government in the decades that followed the demise of Jim Crow.
By the time Murphy cleaned out his office, that alliance was cracking. The same night in 2002 that Murphy was defeated, the state elected Sonny Perdue its first Republican governor in 130 years. Two years later, the GOP finally won control of Murphy's House.
"You know it would have been war over there with me and the governor and all those Republicans," he said after leaving office. "I'm glad I'm not over there. I'm too old to fight like that anymore."
A powerful speaker
In his heyday, "Mr. Speaker" often ruled autocratically, crushing challengers and occasionally restoring them to his inner circle.
"I have always loved a good fight. It makes the world go 'round," Murphy told Columbus journalist Richard Hyatt, his biographer. He battled every Democratic governor he faced, and most lieutenant governors, along with any Republican who dared cross his path.
At the height of his power, Murphy could kill legislation with a glance and resurrect it with a nod of his head. He disliked computers in particular and modernity in general, and he often bent legislation to fit those views. Even now, pickup truck drivers are exempt from the state's mandatory seat belt laws because the pickup-driving Murphy didn't like the restraints.
He struck many Georgians as the model of the backroom politician. But he frequently displayed a genuine concern for the underdog. He often recalled "good men, decent men" coming to his mother's back door during the Depression to beg for food, images that he said permanently shaped his view of the world and his approach to government.
Murphy was easily the most powerful House speaker in Georgia history. He had hardly any competition.
Before 1966, governors were virtual dictators in state politics. They controlled every aspect of the state Legislature, selecting House speakers and committee chairmen in both chambers.
Then came Maddox, who lost the popular vote to Republican Howard "Bo" Callaway. Neither won a majority, and the race was thrown to the Legislature. Lawmakers gave Maddox the governorship. But the price was the independence of the Legislature.
It was Murphy who defined the power of the speakership over nearly three decades, using the state constitutional provision that gave his House primary control over budget matters.
Adapted to change
His first term as speaker began in 1974. White rural Democrats controlled state government --- the country boys came to the city every January, and they ran the show.
When the Legislature was in session, Murphy lorded over power breakfasts at the downtown Atlanta Sheraton. Doors opened at 5:45 a.m., and the fare was always the same: eggs, grits, bacon, cheese toast and strong coffee.
Murphy quickly showed himself to be somewhat different from many of his country brethren.
As speaker pro tem, Murphy played a crucial role in the creation of MARTA. As speaker, he pushed through funding for the Georgia World Congress Center, which would become the soul of Atlanta's convention business. U.S. presidents and their betters have partied in the center's massive Thomas B. Murphy Ballroom.
"Atlanta is the capital of Georgia and the economic center of the Southeast. And we've got to do everything we can to keep it that way. We can't afford to sit around and let it be replaced in that role by Jacksonville or Charlotte or Orlando or some other city," Murphy said in 1986.
Murphy appointed Albert Thompson of Columbus, an African-American, as his chairman of the House Special Judiciary Committee, the first such appointment in the state's modern history.
Over the years, his conservative House reflected every change that shook Georgia. "Women arrived, blacks arrived, Republicans arrived. He brought them all into his power circle. Except Republicans," said Richard Hyatt, his biographer.
He was the most constant feature of state political power, adapting to maintain at least 91 votes in the 180-member House.
Contradictions abounded. The speaker was an opponent of the Equal Rights Amendment in the 1970s, saying "the women in his life" didn't approve. Yet he kept a lid on attempts to prohibit abortion in Georgia.
Every decade or so, Murphy beat back a Democratic challenge to his authority. "If you think you can run over me ... it ain't going to happen," he told freshmen legislators in 1993. The defeated were exiled for a time, then brought back into the fold. With a huge gavel in one hand and a fat cigar in his mouth --- by 1976 he had quit smoking them, instead chewing them into pulp --- Murphy employed humor, sarcasm and fear to keep sometimes rowdy legislators in line.
Two of his more notable quotes from the podium: "You done quit legislating and gone to meddling now," and "The lady's ability to articulate exceeds my capacity to understand."
Staff writer James Salzer contributed to this article.
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