Jim Houston: No-nonsense Judge Land often crossed lines

Muscogee County Superior Court Judge John Land was a fixture on the bench and in the politics of the six-county Chattahoochee Judicial Circuit long before I came to Columbus in 1969 as a fledgling TV reporter.

My memories of Judge Land -- he was always “Judge Land,” and in my more than 30 years of covering courts and politics for TV and the newspaper, or editing stories for the paper, I never heard anyone call him John -- began back in 1971, when Columbus was moving into the new Government Center tower looming above its outdated and antiquated courthouse.

All of the courtrooms in the new structure were modern, featuring wood-paneled walls, carpeted floors and theater seating for the spectators.

When Judge Land saw the seating, he ordered the plush furniture removed and replaced with the hardwood pews from his old courtroom. “I don’t want anyone to be comfortable in my courtroom,” he said with a sly smile, a familiar trademark to those who knew him, but one that hinted there was a serious message in his quip.

But there was bite to his politics, especially for those he viewed as crossing whatever line he viewed as appropriate. Back in the 1960s, when the Columbus Police Department was facing charges of corruption and mismanagement -- highlighted by a burglary ring operated by some officers while on duty -- a Muscogee County grand jury delivered a presentment whose content was highly critical of the positions supported by Judge Land and his supporters.

Judge Land immediately ordered the presentment expunged from the public record, empaneled a new grand jury and received a presentment favoring the positions he supported.

He also took great pride in being viewed as a stern, no-nonsense judge who was tough on crime. He looked down from his bench on many convicted offenders brought before him, listened to profound pleas for mercy from lawyers, family members and the offenders themselves, then imposed the maximum sentences without blinking an eye.

One national magazine came out with an issue examining judges deemed to be the toughest on crime. On that cover was a depiction of Judge John Land holding a noose, with the headline, “The Hanging Judge.” I can still see Judge Land holding that issue in his hands and smiling.

But there was a humorous side to Judge Land, even in the serious business of dispensing justice.

One man convicted of burglary, who had previously served time in prison, was ordered by Judge Land to serve a 12-year sentence for his latest crime. The man looked up at the judge and said, “But Judge -- I can’t DO 12 years.”

Judge Land looked down and, in a grandfatherly voice, urged, “Son, just do the best you can.”

One of the alleged tools of Judge Land’s political power was his role in leadership of “The Fish House Gang,” a collection of people deeply involved in local politics in the six-county circuit that included Muscogee, Harris, Taylor, Talbot, Marion and Chattahoochee counties. It was said that many important decisions on what was to be done and who was to do it in those counties were drawn up, manipulated or thwarted by that “gang.”

No news organization had ever managed to infiltrate that group or witness its proceedings. But after I had been covering local courts daily for several years, Judge Land asked if I’d like to see what “The Fish House Gang” was all about. It was meeting that night and I could go as his guest, if I liked, he said.

I liked. When I sat down at the Pritchett’s Fish House on Hamilton Road that night, there were about 40-50 men from throughout the region present. Some I knew; most I didn’t.

As we ate catfish, cole slaw and french fries, one man stood up and, pointing at me, loudly asked, “What’s that reporter doing here?”

Judge Land immediately smiled and replied, “He’s my guest. Any more questions?”

There were none.

Of course, there was no general discussion of anything political that night -- no agendas outlined, no plans discussed, no actions ordered -- at least not near my table.

Way back in 1975-76, reporter Paul Harasim and I were involved in a prolonged investigation of conditions in the Muscogee County Jail. In the process, we asked then-Sheriff Jack Rutledge for access to all reports of deaths that had occurred in the jail while his office had jurisdiction over it. He refused and we sued to obtain those reports.

Judge Land presided over the case and, as Rutledge sat in the witness chair responding to questions from the city attorney, the judge interrupted and asked the sheriff whether the files we sought were the products of investigations by his office. The sheriff said they were and the judge told the city attorney to continue with his questions.

At the case’s conclusion, Judge Land ruled that the files were investigative files and the sheriff was not required to release them to the public.

The Georgia Supreme Court overturned the case, ruling in a precedent-setting case that investigative files from cases that were concluded were public record. The case was sent back to Judge Land, who reconvened only to learn that the files being sought were “lost.” He suspended proceedings until the files could be found.

They were never found.

Judge Land was a proud man who cherished his reputation. Late in his career, when he was rumored to be set to retire and allow someone else to become chief judge of the circuit, the Georgia Supreme Court admonished him for overstepping his judicial bounds in a local case involving an attorney who was a bitter adversary of Judge Land’s.

Instead of retiring, Judge Land sought re-election and served four more years. He wasn’t going out with that stain on his record.

These are just some thoughts that speak of the nature of the man we all knew as Judge Land. He was a man many disagreed with, some fought with at every opportunity, some supported with a fierce loyalty and about whom everyone had an opinion.

He hated the newspaper, never to allow a kind word about it to cross his lips, but he could at the same time be kind, courteous and helpful to a reporter from that newspaper.

He was a complex man with whom I often disagreed. But I liked him.

Jim Houston was the first journalist to win the Charles L. Weltner Freedom of Information Award from the Georgia First Amendment Foundation. He retired from the Ledger-Enquirer in 2007.

This story was originally published December 2, 2011 at 12:08 AM with the headline "Jim Houston: No-nonsense Judge Land often crossed lines."