ROANOKE TIMES
Copyright (c) 1996, Roanoke Times
DATE: Monday, May 6, 1996 TAG: 9605060075
SECTION: VIRGINIA PAGE: B-1 EDITION: METRO
DATELINE: SUFFOLK
SOURCE: DAVID POOLE STAFF WRITER
THE SUFFOLK DELEGATE will soon face the music now that the General Assembly has adjourned.
Del. Robert Nelms toiled in relative anonymity during his first two terms in the Virginia General Assembly.
The Suffolk Republican stuck to issues affecting folks back home and bided his time for an opportunity to run for Congress.
Then, a few weeks into his third term, Nelms was charged with indecent exposure in a Richmond park.
Since that unseasonably mild February afternoon, Nelms has provided fodder for media reports statewide, stirred a constitutional debate about legislative immunity and inspired some randy jokes.
And when Nelms launched a campaign to counter media reports, his efforts to escape the spotlight only intensified media attention.
His ``open letter'' to constituents, denying he was in Richmond's Byrd Park, led to detailed accounts of how police confronted him in a notorious gay cruising area nearby.
Back home, party activists - Republicans and Democrats alike - are considering options in case Nelms doesn't politically survive the ordeal.
Suffolk Mayor Chris Jones acknowledged that members of both parties tentatively approached him about running for the House of Delegates. Jones said he is not interested in Nelms' seat, which represents parts of Chesapeake, Suffolk and Isle of Wight County.
A defiant Nelms won't go without a fight.
Friends say the 36-year-old Suffolk native has too much invested in politics. He lists his occupation as a consultant, but those who know him well say he has turned his part-time position in the state legislature into a full-time job.
Friday, Nelms was incredulous when a television reporter asked whether he planned to resign.
``Certainly not,'' he replied. ``I have nothing to resign for.''
In Suffolk, the sentiment is embarrassment for the community and sympathy for Nelms, his wife and their preschool son. Many people interviewed last month said they would reserve judgment until Nelms gets his day in court.
Nelms has said he was walking in a Richmond park Feb. 15 when he stepped off the path to relieve himself. An undercover vice officer thought otherwise and charged Nelms with indecent exposure.
A judge dismissed that charge last month after Nelms cited a constitutional prohibition on the arrest of lawmakers during General Assembly sessions. Richmond prosecutors say they will ask a grand jury today to reinstate the charge, now that the assembly has adjourned for the year.
Regardless of the outcome, some people say they will give much closer scrutiny to the ambitious young man they sent to Richmond nearly five years ago.
``Before I'd vote for him again, he'd have to come and re-establish the trust I'm looking for in a public official,'' said Nils Melkerson, an office worker.
Rags to riches|
Like many who grew up in rural Nansemond County in the 1960s, Nelms had been told that with hard work and a little luck he might become governor one day, just like Mills Godwin Jr. from down the road in tiny Chuckatuck.
Nelms got his first whiff of power while working as a college intern at the General Assembly.
After college, Nelms moved into a farmhouse near Smithfield and hungered for a political career as unbounded as the peanut fields that stretched to the horizon. He dreamed of returning to Richmond as an elected legislator and, perhaps later, as governor.
``Yeah, he talked about it,'' recalled John ``Chip'' Carter, who roomed with Nelms in Smithfield. ``Somebody who wants to go into politics, you see yourself as governor one day.''
Nelms looks the part. At 6 feet 3, he stands out in a crowd. His attentive manner earned him ``Best Personality'' in his high school class.
He also has the makings of an all-American tale: The son of hard-working people and the first in his family to graduate from college becomes the public servant who never forgets from whence he came.
Nelms wove together these blue collar/country club threads in the ``open letter'' to constituents explaining how he simply ``took a leak'' in the woods.
``I grew up in a construction family,'' he wrote. ``Let me assure you that many a man did the same behind a bulldozer, dump truck or tree - including myself.
``My golfing friends have told me that we could fill our courtrooms and jails with a few days of undercover work in the trees at the local golf courses.''
The Nelms family scratched out a good living in Nansemond County, now part of the consolidated city of Suffolk. His rough-hewn, resourceful father swapped land, built roads, operated a trash dump and ran a summer restaurant at the Outer Banks in North Carolina.
The family did well., organized in 1966 by white parents who pulled their children out of public schools during desegregation, the youngest, was sent to the University of Richmond.
Nelms seemed to have made little impact at the private school. He made his mark off campus as an unpaid aide to then-Del. Fred Creekmore of Chesapeake. ``He did everything well,'' said Creekmore, now a judge. ```Enthusiastic' is the word to describe him.''
Nelms worked for Creekmore for three years after college graduation.
Returning to Suffolk four years later, Nelms took a job with a shipyard association and later with his brother's construction company.
He waited to make his political debut. His time came in 1991, when the General Assembly was under pressure to form as many black-majority seats as possible under the Voting Rights Act. The resulting reapportionment left venerable Suffolk Del. J. Samuel Glasscock, a Democrat, with a district highly favorable to Republicans.
Nelms ran an aggressive campaign and won. Two years later, he pummeled a well-funded Democratic challenger by a 2-to-1 margin. He ran unopposed for a third term last November.
His legislative accomplishments include highway money for a long-awaited Suffolk bypass; a law denying Workers' Compensation benefits to people injured while drunk or high on drugs; and a law aimed at giving developers leeway in disturbing wetlands.
Nelms sits at the front on the floor of the House, but like many junior legislators, his status is back-bench. He has cultivated few close friendships in the clubbish legislature, avoided controversial issues and generally kept to himself.
The Capitol press corps has been mystified by Nelms' accusation that his arrest was manufactured by political enemies in Richmond.
``Who on Earth would have a vendetta against Robert Nelms?'' a Washington Post reporter asked Friday.
``I don't know,'' replied Scott Leake, director of the Joint Republican Legislative Caucus.
Nelms was asked essentially the same thing in a phone interview last month. ``Hey, listen,'' he snapped. ``If I knew the answer to that question, I would be a very wealthy man.''
`Mystery' income|
In his 1991 campaign, Nelms described himself as an environmental consultant who deserved credit for winning federal money to dredge silt from Bennetts Creek, which was impassable at low tide.
Two years later, a group of Bennetts Creek landowners who hired Nelms learned that Congress had appropriated the dredging funds before they had agreed to retain Nelms for $5,000. One, Walter Price, said he is still waiting for an explanation from Nelms.
Today, Nelms lists his occupation as an import/export consultant, though politics appears to be his chief vocation. His legislative aide, Carol Lynn Shotton, confirmed that Nelms spends most of his time listening to constituents and working on their problems.
Some Democrats say they wonder if family money helps Nelms afford a Saab and a home in a nice, old Suffolk neighborhood.
His legislative salary is $17,640, and
Nelms filed financial interest forms indicating that his consulting business, the Nelms Corp., generated less than $10,000 in income during each of his first two years in the General Assembly.
``When we did our background checks, it was always a mystery to us what he did for a living,'' said Jack Eure, a Suffolk attorney who lost to Nelms in 1993.
In an interview, Nelms refused to discuss his consulting business or describe the services he provides.
``I have several clients,'' he said. ``... That's all private business, and it has no place in this article.''
Nelms refused requests for a face-to-face interview. He granted a 15-minute telephone interview last month. The Virginian-Pilot later submitted questions in writing at his request. He did not reply.
Legislative privelege
The fact that Nelms invoked legislative immunity to avoid prosecution, at least temporarily, has generated more of a stir than news of his Feb.15 arrest.
In a speech written for the annual Wakefield Ruritan Shad Planking last month, Lt. Gov. Don Beyer quipped that he had introduced a bill to repeal the immunity doctrine. The punch line: ``I thought maybe we could limit the exposure of a delegate or two.''
During an April 17 legislative session, snickering senators passed around an editorial cartoon depicting a naked Nelms hiding behind a banner proclaiming ``Legislative Privilege.''
In Suffolk, some people wonder why Nelms avoided going to court in the first place.
``We don't think it was right that just because he was in the assembly that they dropped the charges,'' said Maryanne Riddick, who works downtown.
Said Jack Eure, ``He could have just as easily have said, `Try me. I'm innocent. Let's get the facts out.'''
Nelms said Friday that he chose not to fight the case in court last month because his wife, Diane, was recovering from a serious operation.
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