THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1995, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, October 23, 1995 TAG: 9510210038
SECTION: DAILY BREAK PAGE: E1 EDITION: FINAL
TYPE: Profile
SOURCE: By MAC DANIEL, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 194 lines
IN THE DIM light of the council's chambers, a lone public speaker approaches the dais. And in a deep and beautifully smoky North Carolina twang comes a familiar introduction.
``Sam L. Callis,'' he says. ``Thirty-five-thirty-three Sleepy Hole Road. Suffolk.''
Just about every one of his many appearances begins this way. Just about. Not always. Because there are times when Sam L. Callis is so taut to launch into his latest critique of big-spendin', tax-raisin', uncarin' city government, that he forgets to say who he is.
``Mr. Callis?,'' interrupts the mayor, speaking a little louder to help Callis hear. ``Could you please state your name for the record?''
And Sam does. Then Suffolk's 77-year-old meeting mainstay; a self-proclaimed conservative who reads pro-labor newspapers and has voted Democrat in every presidential election; the man who was once asked to ``step outside'' by the city's mayor - lets the local body politic know where they've gone astray and, occasionally, where they've done good - some good.
Doesn't matter who you are. Sam Callis will likely barbecue the collective hind ends of whomever happens to be sitting in the 10 cushy taxpayer-financed seats in front of him. It's his job.
Since ``the last time I met a clock'' as a ship welder and later as a bridge tender in 1980, ``I haven't done anything but piddle around here and chew up on the council,'' said Callis. ``And they need some chewin' up.''
He loves the political spotlight. But after trying twice, he has never won the chance to sit in his own taxpayer-financed seat.
When he first ran for council in 1984, the Suffolk News-Herald quoted Callis as saying:
``I have spoken more to the council and wrote more letters to the newspapers than any other citizen in Suffolk. Maybe I could be more effective if I was one of them. I hope so.''
When he lost for the second time in 1988, he declared that the Suffolk City Council wouldn't have Callis to kick around anymore.
By the time the next meeting rolled around, Sam said he would attend - just not as often.
``I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of getting rid of me,'' he said.
To some in Suffolk, Callis is an out-and-out gadfly, dismissed as uneducated or just plain wrong. Callis couldn't care less.
``I guess they say I'm a son-of-a-bitch,'' he said. ``Don't bother me.''
Others see him as one of the few accurate political barometers in Suffolk.
To them, he is one of the few critics still able to see the forest for the trees; a man who warned the council not to sell its water to Portsmouth; a man who saw problems when Nansemond County merged with the city of Suffolk in 1974; a man who has admonished the council for not having more control over development.
All, so far, have been losing arguments.
Through it all, he has attacked problems rather than personalities while letting the council know how its actions affect, as Callis says, ``the average people.''
He has a reputation for sometimes being inaccurate in his criticism. And his transcontinental tangents are legendary.
Callis recently approached the dais to criticize a minor change in the city code, only to end up complaining about being unable to burn trash after 4 p.m.
``Mr. Callis,'' interrupted the mayor. ``I think you're a little off the mark.'' And Sam began again.
Few of Suffolk's public speakers, however, have remained as critically loyal as Callis, even if his time in the political spotlight is limited to five minutes per meeting.
He stays involved for many reasons. Most of all, he's here to make sure council honors its word. Because ``If you don't honor your word,'' Callis says, ``you're not much.''
Callis was a sharecropper's son born in Harrellsville, N.C., on Sept. 6, 1918. His family raised tobacco, peanuts, corn ``and a few hogs'' during the hot Piedmont summers of the Hoover Depression.
He still harks back to the government class he took in eighth grade, learning about politicians and promises as Hoover pledged ``a chicken in every pot.''
He graduated from high school at age 15. At one time, he was one of the state's top debaters.
``He would have gone to college,'' said Jessie, his wife of 54 years. ``But it was the Depression.''
He left his family's farm at age 22 and began working for the Civilian Conservation Corps. But after four months of planting dune grass outside of Manteo, N.C., at $1 a day, Callis soon had enough.
``Here I'd been killin' grass on the farm,'' said Callis, ``and now I'm down there plantin' it.''
He landed a job at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard as a helper at 54 cents an hour and later as a welder at 94 cents an hour. After being laid off and later rehired, he stayed there until 22 years ago, when he became a tender on the James River Bridge.
His interest in politics and his vocal opinions always have been part of his life.
``He was born that way,'' Jessie said. ``He's always been that way, ever since I've known him. I don't mind saying that because I say that to his face.
``I don't get involved in his little quirks. He wears the pants.''
The two met after Sam wrote a letter to the local paper. Jessie can't recall what the letter was about. All she remembers is the name of the writer - and that she disagreed with his opinion. She told him so later. The rest is history.
Outside of his duties at council, Callis spends his time tending to chores and cows on his 31-acre farm, rummaging around town and relaxing on his porch with his four newspapers and a gang of farm cats.
``I think I've got a pretty good understanding of government,'' said Callis. ``But I still don't understand why they do what they do.
``There are people I won't vote for and there are some who won't speak to me, but I don't know of anyone today who I'm on non-speaking terms with.
``I don't agree with nobody on everything,'' Callis added, ``I just sympathize a lot with the underdog 'cause I've always felt I was an underdog.''
S. Chris Jones, Suffolk's mayor, is a man with little time for anything other than work at his pharmacy, the council and family. He drinks Mountain Dew as though it were a secret elixir and fills prescriptions at a blistering pace, all while asking about sick loved ones and proper dosages.
But when Callis' beat-up Oldsmobile Cutlass Cruiser - the one with the ``I Am Sick of Higher Taxes in Surprising Suffolk'' bumper sticker - chugs into a parking space in front of Jones' Bennetts Creek Pharmacy, the mayor has a tendency to make time for Callis.
Callis sometimes brings Jones a watermelon from his farm, but never does he offer it directly to the mayor.
``Your wife likes watermelon,'' asks Callis, ``doesn't she?'' And Jones accepts it, of course, for his wife.
``Sam knows what's going on in the community,'' Jones said. ``He'll call me and tell me what they're talking about at the Wal-Mart and around town. At other times he won't call for weeks. Then finally I'll get a call and he'll be saying `I'm not coming up there no more. You ain't never got time for me.' ''
(The mayor does an excellent Callis impersonation.)
``All the while, Sam has remained a pretty good prognosticator. He's always had a keen interest in the city and I think the city's better for it, really.''
Jones admits that Callis can be hard-headed.
``But he does it all because he really cares,'' Jones said. ``I think that speaks volumes about somebody. I think the world of Sam.''
Even critics give Callis credit.
``He's not refined, in a certain sense,'' said former Suffolk Mayor Andrew Damiani. ``I think people find him to be a change of pace on council. He adds an extra dimension. I guess he's got some following, but the council doesn't take him that seriously.
``At the same time,'' added Damiani, ``he can't be wrong all the time.''
There are many tales both about and from Sam Callis.
The most remembered occurred as Callis publicly chastised then-Mayor J.W. Nelms Jr. for getting an extraordinarily low assessment on his home. During Callis' harangue, a fiery Nelms stood up in the middle of the meeting and asked him to step outside.
Few people can remember who ended up becoming the voice of reason. In the end, neither man fought, let alone stepped outside.
Soon thereafter, after years of signing up over the phone to speak at council meetings, Callis was forced to change when the Suffolk City Council passed a resolution requiring public speakers to sign up in person one week before any council meeting.
Callis said he believes this was a means to quiet him. City officials say it was not.
``There was no ulterior motive here,'' said Councilman Thomas Underwood, who was assistant city manager at the time. ``It wasn't geared towards him.''
Even if it was, it had no effect. Sam continued to speak. And the change soon was reversed.
Callis was once an excitable speaker, comparing the city council to Castro and Cuba. Back then, one city official was quoted as saying city council members had to ``endure'' visits from Callis. Council members now admit he has mellowed.
In a way, he has suffered for his concern. Callis once received 25 blood transfusions for a bleeding ulcer, a condition he blames on ``worry and thinkin' too much.'' He survived after the local Moose Lodge held a blood drive for him.
``That,'' he said, ``was one of the reasons I stayed in.''
Traditionally, the Suffolk City Council never has given a direct response to criticism from public speakers, most of whom are met with silence from beyond the dais.
Neither are public displays of approval or disapproval allowed. Applause is rarely encouraged. During every council meeting, a Suffolk police officer stands at the back of council chambers to escort rabble-rousers from the building.
Here, after public speakers try to stir up the pot, the most one can expect is a customary goodbye from the mayor.
``Thank you, Mr. Callis,'' says the mayor. ``Have a good evening.''
``Humph,'' grunts Callis. ILLUSTRATION: [Color Photos]
CHRISTOPHER REDDICK
The Virginian-Pilot
Sam L. Callis, 77, says, "I don't agree with nobody on everything. I
just sympathize a lot with the underrdog 'cause I've always felt I
was an underdog."
Callis stands before Suffolk's City Council members while the vice
mayor, Curtis R. Milteer, left, and the mayor, S. Chris Jones,
listen.
by CNB