ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1995, Roanoke Times
DATE: Sunday, December 31, 1995 TAG: 9601020074
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
DATELINE: BEDFORD
SOURCE: RICHARD FOSTER STAFF WRITER
THE OUTGOING SHERIFF of Bedford County exits public life with the admiration and respect of most of his constituents. But critics say his was not a spotless tenure.
For five hours one September day in 1983, Bedford County sheriff's deputies and state police waited anxiously outside a house on U.S. 460, held at bay by an armed robber who was holding a high school girl hostage.
After a countywide crime spree, the robber had abducted the girl as she walked to her uncle's. During the high-speed chase that followed, the robber fired his gun at a car driven by Bedford County Sheriff Carl Wells, lodging a bullet in the passenger door.
Police snipers looked through rifle scopes and waited for the right shot. The girl's parents and older sister stood by nervously.
At a nearby convenience store, Wells, wearing a ball cap and his trademark aviator sunglasses, calmly propped an elbow on a pay phone and negotiated with the scared robber as if he were talking to an old friend.
"Will I let you have what? A shower?'' Wells asked in his booming baritone. "I sure will. I'll let you have a bar of soap, too."
Minutes later, the sheriff walked over to the house and brought the girl out, draping his massive arm protectively over her shoulder. The robber was taken into custody unharmed.
"It was just an excellent example of how Carl reacted to pressure and how well he responded to it," said Bedford County General District Judge Jim Updike, the former commonwealth's attorney.
"He was sheriff 24 hours of the day. If there was a serious crime committed, he was there, day or night. And as a friend, he was the same way. If you need him, he's always on call."
No doubt that's how a lot of people in Bedford County will remember Carl Wells as he retires today and makes way for new Sheriff Mike Brown. Wells, who turns 60 this week, was the personification of law enforcement in Bedford County for more than a generation.
After almost 22 years as sheriff, however, Wells leaves a legacy of contradictions.
For most of that time, he was "Big Daddy," or "The Bear," a fatherlike figure who watched over the county and could be found playing Santa Claus at the local Moose Lodge or, with a good-natured laugh, putting on a dress to raise money for charity. As sheriff, he performed weddings for many a local couple and, as a private citizen, he was a leader in Bedford Baptist Church.
He was a familiar face on the evening news around the state, leading some of Western Virginia's most infamous murderers out of the courtroom. He served as president of the Virginia Sheriffs' Association, was on the executive board of the National Sheriffs' Association, and managed Updike's unsuccessful bid for the Democratic nomination for state attorney general.
However, in recent years, Wells fought health problems, bad publicity and squabbling among his deputies.
Reports of officers' drinking on duty and a much-publicized investigation of commingled funds assaulted him from one side while a power struggle stirred among deputies who wished to succeed him as sheriff.
None of it harmed his popularity.
"The people who have known Carl his whole life and who have supported him, they know of his entire career as sheriff," Updike said. "The difficulties of the last couple of years didn't affect how those people feel about Carl, and I think those people are the majority of citizens in Bedford County."
Wells, who declined to be interviewed for this story, was the son of a Bedford County farmer and grew up with a strong work ethic. He was a "solid citizen in school," an above-average student who was "pretty serious about everything he did," according to his high school government teacher and football coach, Sherrill Coleman.
Wells' commitment to public service began in high school. He is remembered in the 1954 Bedford High School annual as the "helping hand" of the school and was voted "the hardest worker and most cooperative."
The hulking youth was also voted "biggest eater." A natural athlete, Wells threw discus and shot put in track and field and was a star player on his high school football team, the Otters from 1951-54.
Wells, who played offensive center and defensive tackle, "was a good-sized boy for that particular era," Coleman said.
During one game, Coleman recalled, the team got off to a slow start and was trailing. Wells was at the bottom of a pileup when his own linebacker bit him on the leg and told him the other team was responsible.
Wells was so angry, Coleman said, he made five or six tackles, blocked a punt, intercepted the ball for a touchdown and made a safety for two points.
That toughness worked to Wells' advantage in 1959. Then a 23-year-old maintenance worker, he was sitting at a lunch counter and was offered a job by Sheriff Rucker Mitchell.
"I can remember when I first met him in General District Court, he was the biggest man I'd ever seen," former Commonwealth's Attorney Harry Garrett Jr. said. "Carl could pretty easily control folks with a word - and I don't mean by having to raise his voice.
"Over the years, of course, his weight has shifted - back then it was mostly from his chest and not his gut. He was a behemoth of a man."
At a retirement dinner held for Wells recently, a story was told about how a canister of tear gas once misfired and hit Wells. The lawman knocked down a fence as he ran away from the gas.
Wells worked as a road deputy until 1963, when he quit to campaign for Chief Deputy Jack Cundiff, who ran successfully against Mitchell. When Cundiff took a state job in 1974, Wells was appointed his replacement.
The county's population, which now numbers almost 55,000 by some estimates, was only about 26,000 then.
As sheriff, Wells didn't forget the lessons he learned as a deputy. It wasn't unusual to see Wells searching for a missing child or up all night at a crime scene.
"Carl was the kind of guy I didn't mind calling up at 2 in the morning to ask, `What would you do in this situation?''' said Fred Russell, former chief of police for the city of Bedford and now a deputy chief in Richmond.
"I always said cases are won or lost before you get into the courtroom and Carl recognized that, too," Updike said, "We had a team effort.
"Carl would always be there. There wasn't ever a situation where the men would come in the next morning and tell Carl what was going on. He was there himself."
County Registrar Marie Batten recalled how her son, then a ninth-grader, ran away from home one night years ago.
"This had never happened before. I had called all of Kevin's friends. No one knew where Kevin was." She called Wells. "Carl said, 'Give me 45 minutes and if he hasn't come home, I'll come into town and help you look for him.'''
Word spread that the sheriff was going to come looking for the boy; Kevin called home 45 minutes later, just as Wells was getting ready to leave.
"Always and forever, I'll remember Carl Wells for just listening to this hysterical mom and making me feel better," Batten said.
The accomplishments of his administration were many - the establishment of a chaplain's program in the jail, 911 dispatching, Drug Abuse Resistance Education in county schools, electronic monitoring of inmates and the first phone system for inmates in a Virginia jail.
Over the years, Wells' stature in the community grew, at first through his appearances at virtually every county event, be it a rescue squad fund-raiser or a chitlin' dinner, then through the solving of several high-profile murders, including the double slaying of Boonsboro couple Derek and Nancy Haysom.
The trial and subsequent conviction of the Haysoms' daughter Elizabeth and her lover Jens Soering, both University of Virginia honor students, brought national media attention to Bedford County and Wells.
With his bald pate, suspenders and tie, dark sunglasses, barrel chest and deep voice, Wells was the ideal picture of a Southern sheriff.
But the spotlight shone both ways. In 1990, the Sheriff's Office was rocked by reports of deputies' drinking on duty. One deputy admitted that he had been drinking as part of an undercover assignment before he was called to a murder scene to collect evidence, though a judge later ruled that the officer wasn't intoxicated at the time.
Three deputies were suspended for drinking on duty; later, another deputy resigned after wrecking a county vehicle while intoxicated.
Also, a special investigator stated that Wells had drawn $15,000 in interest from employee payroll funds deposited into his personal bank account. Wells stopped the practice before the General Assembly outlawed it in 1994; the investigator found that Wells had committed no wrongdoing.
But Wells fought a bitter battle with the Board of Supervisors over the interest, eventually settling for $2,000, which he paid to the county. The sheriff believed he had been convicted by the media that once loved him, and he accused them of "crucifying" him.
All the while, he fought a successful but painful battle with bladder cancer.
By the time he announced his retirement last summer, no one was surprised. Five candidates had already lined up to run for sheriff in the biggest and most expensive race in Bedford County history.
"It hurt him from the inside," Updike said of Wells' troubles. "But on the outside, he continued on as the same Carl Wells."
Ruth Crouch, the manager of D. Reynolds, a clothing store Wells owns in Bedford, said, "He's still the same person. Since he's had his surgery, he puts on a good front. But he's not always feeling as good as he lets on.
"Most of the people that came in the store before the election said, 'I wish he would run again.' He could've won."
Updike said, "I haven't noticed any change in him, and that's what I admire about him. Carl handles adversity with great strength and courage. After he endured [cancer], he'd be around the courthouse and he was the same old Carl. You'd never know he had been in the hospital."
Others say Wells' legacy is tarnished.
"He's not going out in glory like he wanted," said Steve Rush, a former lieutenant who was once Wells' heir apparent and who was demoted for drinking on duty and has since quit the Sheriff's Office. "There's a certain [group] of people who respect him, but I think most people are glad to see a change."
Now, his friends say, Wells is looking forward to retirement and spending more time with Ora Dale, his wife of 38 years, and his two grandsons on the family farm.
He has passed his legacy of service on to his son, David, a Roanoke County policeman, and his daughter, Bonnie, a nurse at the Medical College of Virginia.
But his influence extends far beyond his family, those who know him say.
"While Carl's way too young to be my father, if you could pick your dad, he's the kind of guy you'd want," said former Bedford Police Chief Russell. "He was always there for advice."
"To me, and for those of us who are native to Bedford County," said Batten, the county registrar, "he's a part of our family. ... He is symbolic of what Bedford was."
LENGTH: Long : 189 lines ILLUSTRATION: PHOTO: WAYNE DEEL/Staff. Carl Wells, in the minds of manyby CNBsupporters, transcended the office he held for nearly 22 years.
color. KEYWORDS: PROFILE