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Friday, December 21, 2007
Tom Murphy, an institution with the power
The Atlanta Journal-Constitution
There is a majesty to the rituals of government, from the sanctity of the oaths neighbors swear to serve their fellow citizens according to the rule of law, to assemblages like the one Friday to pay tribute to former House Speaker Tom Murphy, a man described by the current speaker as “a giant of Georgia politics.”
Combine eloquence and sincerity with the grandeur on the institution that is the Georgia House of Representatives and, whether political friend or adversary, and the farewell is a tribute that honors him the politics of the state he served.
One moment, in particular, stands out.
Both House Speaker Glenn Richardson and his predecessor, Terry Coleman, the lieutenant who served Murphy loyally and patiently before getting a brief opportunity to be speaker, spoke. Below the podium, Murphy’s flag-draped coffin, carried into and out of the chamber by 10 resplendent Georgia State Troopers.
The speaker’s chair directly behind the podium sat empty, draped in black ribbon.
Neither he nor Coleman would occupy it while Murphy was in the chamber, said Richardson.
But the most touching moment came at the end, after both had delivered their eulogies.
Coleman offered prayer “that his legacy of service will forever remain an example and an inspiration to all who serve in public office.”
And then, joined by Richardson, he declared: “I adjourn this service, Sine Die.”
The “Sine Die,” declaration means literally that the proceeding is adjourned without a fixed day to gather again. On the final day of every session, the speaker pronounces it and then rushes from the chamber, pausing for farewell bows, before leaving the floor. It’s a signal that the business of state is over; the business of ordinary life resumes.
It is an old and treasured tradition of the House.
Another Tom Murphy may exist one day. It won’t be in our lifetimes. Coming along now, Tom Murphy couldn’t be Tom Murphy.
When he came to power in 1974, rural white males ruled. The system, like that of Congress, honored seniority. Intelligent and ambitious men willingly accepted long apprenticeships, recognizing that once in power they could enrich their communities with state grants, employees and facilities. It was an orderly world with clear rules and roles: bring Atlanta money home, just as the role of Georgia’s senators and congressmen was to get in positions of power so money from the Northeast could be transferred South.
Murphy adapted when women and blacks came. He did it by ignoring ardent feminists and vocal black activists while drawing in those inclined to work within the system. He had well-publicized road-to-Damacus conversions, often stemming from personal experiences, that caused him to champion aid to Atlanta.
The reality is, however, that even before Murphy left office in 2002, the old rules had changed. His party’s power base had shifted from rural Georgia and had given it a nearly unmanageable coalition of rural whites, blacks and intown liberals. While rural white generally conservative men still dominated, had the Legislature not addressed the concerns of key constituencies, including Atlanta and DeKalb County, he could not have survived.
Murphy became an institution because he became the power in a homogenous institution fighting for independence where rules were clear and legislators were inclined to wait their turn. That House no longer exists. Neither does the Georgia that saw, through the camera’s eye, a rough-hewn autocratic figure who defined its politics. Georgia is a microcosm of the nation. It can’t be led by brute force — or by leaders who effect that style.
At the service for Murphy, the old and the new gathered. Most every living politician of historical significance, men and women whose contributions created the modern Georgia, was there. His life and his service touched them all — from, as Coleman noted, an era of ” post-war turbulence through the dot-com boom — then bust; from spittoons under the desks to lap tops on top of the desks.” No rigid man could have survived to become the longest-serving speaker in the nation’s history. Sine Die.
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