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the wires and out of the teletype<br />
machines resting against the back<br />
wall, as well as the local stories<br />
written by the paper’s reporters. You<br />
would hear an occasional laugh,<br />
snort or muttered comment from<br />
Duard as he worked his way through<br />
the night’s writings.<br />
Dishonesty in reporting,<br />
laziness in fact finding and failure to<br />
confirm sources were not acceptable<br />
in Duard’s world. He demanded, and<br />
usually got, quality work from his<br />
staff. Despite his disappointment in a<br />
reporter’s occasional transgressions,<br />
Duard was invariably civil when<br />
discussing the shortcomings with a<br />
chastened writer.<br />
One of his most abiding traits<br />
was fairness. The reporter who found<br />
himself called on the carpet was<br />
always given a chance to voice his<br />
side of the story. Duard never aimed<br />
his criticisms at the person. His goal<br />
was to correct the sin, it was never<br />
to crucify the sinner. You always<br />
knew where you stood with Duard,<br />
and wherever that was, you were left<br />
standing with dignity intact. No one<br />
ever left a meeting with Duard head<br />
down and tail tucked.<br />
Everyone — from the lowest<br />
copy boy to the most powerful<br />
politician or influential business<br />
leader — was treated with respect<br />
and courtesy by Duard, no matter<br />
how much he might disagree<br />
with a person’s position. Duard<br />
acknowledged and accepted their<br />
right to disagree with him. But at<br />
the same time, he was no coward.<br />
He never hesitated to take on an<br />
unpopular cause if, in his mind, that<br />
position was the right one.<br />
The strength of Duard’s<br />
character continued when he later<br />
became editor of the Post Herald.<br />
He butted heads with a variety<br />
of people he felt were doing a<br />
disservice to Birmingham, the state<br />
and the country. But in so doing,<br />
Duard wrote editorials that were<br />
thoughtful, filled with facts, oldfashioned<br />
common sense and devoid<br />
of personal vendettas and sarcasms.<br />
There was no posturing. There was<br />
no preening. History has proven his<br />
positions were the right ones.<br />
Two incidents stand out in my<br />
mind when thinking of Duard and<br />
the Post Herald. The first was, of<br />
course, the Sixteenth Street Baptist<br />
Church bombing that took the lives<br />
of four girls. The horrific brutality<br />
of that morning almost brought the<br />
Post Herald newsroom to its knees.<br />
Since the bombing occurred on a<br />
Sunday after the Birmingham News<br />
had gone to press, the Post Herald<br />
was slated to be the first local paper<br />
to report on the disaster.<br />
Duard was devastated, for he<br />
knew what was coming — more<br />
bombings, more shootings, more<br />
riots and more deaths. However, he<br />
soon composed himself, marshaled<br />
the forces of the paper and prepared<br />
the story and the many sub-stories<br />
surrounding it for publication the<br />
next day. There was a job to be<br />
done, and in typical Duard fashion<br />
he made sure it was completed with<br />
honest excellence. His pride in, and<br />
fulfillment of, his work was never<br />
more evident.<br />
The second occurred late one<br />
night when the Associated Press<br />
National Wire suddenly sounded<br />
10 loud beeps, a signal that a story<br />
of major importance was about to<br />
be transmitted. Duard snuffed out<br />
his cigarette and shuffled over to<br />
the teletype machine as the words<br />
slowly rolled off the printer. He<br />
tore the article off and went back<br />
to his desk to read it. After a few<br />
moments, he moaned softly and<br />
began to cry.<br />
The story was about the murder<br />
of Mrs. Viola Luizzo, a 39-year-old<br />
Detroit housewife and mother of<br />
five who had traveled to Alabama to<br />
join the protestors. Mrs. Luizzo had<br />
been shot in the head while riding in<br />
a car with a black male. A member<br />
of the Klan, who was with three of<br />
his fellow Klansmen — including<br />
one who was an FBI informant —<br />
fired the fatal shot. Again, there was<br />
a story to be covered, and Duard set<br />
aside his personal feelings and went<br />
to work.<br />
Whenever I think of Duard and<br />
the effect he had on my life, I’m<br />
reminded of that kind, brilliant man<br />
who, by words and deeds, showed<br />
a room full of crusty, old reporters<br />
and a group of impressionable young<br />
people that integrity in one’s work,<br />
honesty in everything, civility,<br />
courtesy, respect and fairness to<br />
all, candor, dignity and courage —<br />
no matter how difficult or costly<br />
— are far more important than<br />
money, position or title.<br />
He was a true professional and I<br />
wanted to be like him.<br />
2.) Abe Berkowitz<br />
Halfway through my second<br />
year in law school, my wife Sheila<br />
got a substantial raise, which meant<br />
I could go on part-time status with<br />
UPI and work only the weekends.<br />
However, I still needed a supplement<br />
to my UPI wages. The UPI Bureau<br />
— a big name for a tiny office with a<br />
desk, a teletype transmitted and four<br />
teletype machines — was in a corner<br />
of the Post Herald newsroom, and I<br />
saw Duard every night. I happened<br />
to mention my hunt for a second job,<br />
and he immediately called a lawyer<br />
friend to see if there was an opening<br />
in his firm for a clerk. The lawyer<br />
was Abe Berkowitz. There was an<br />
opening. I was hired. And another<br />
person of heroic stature entered my<br />
life.<br />
A native of Meridian, Miss.,<br />
and a graduate of the University<br />
of Alabama School of Law, Mr.<br />
B. couldn’t get a job anywhere in<br />
Birmingham in 1936. So he hung out<br />
a shingle and went to work, building<br />
a practice that ended up as one of the<br />
city’s most respected. A man short<br />
in height, Mr. B. always appeared<br />
much larger due to his bigger-thanlife<br />
persona and resonating bass<br />
voice. He ran his then-small firm as<br />
an extension of family, and the quiet<br />
competence and camaraderie that<br />
permeated its uncluttered hallways<br />
and neat offices were extraordinary.<br />
There was one set of rules, and they<br />
applied to everyone — from Mr. B.<br />
to the newest associate. There were<br />
no exceptions.<br />
Abe was a problem solver, a<br />
master communicator, and a skilled<br />
negotiator. Rich people and poor<br />
people, blacks and whites, Christians<br />
and Jews all sought Mr. B. when faced<br />
with difficulties. And he tackled<br />
their problems with an untiring<br />
dedication to their resolution. A true<br />
advocate for quality in all its forms<br />
— and a trusted confidant — his<br />
advice was never given to advance a<br />
personal agenda.<br />
Mr. B. was also called upon<br />
frequently to mediate lawsuits,<br />
contract disputes and disagreements<br />
between lawyers. These weren’t<br />
Voir Dire • <strong>Spring</strong> <strong>2016</strong> 21
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