THE VIRGINIAN-PILOT
Copyright (c) 1996, Landmark Communications, Inc.
DATE: Monday, April 15, 1996 TAG: 9604150054
SECTION: LOCAL PAGE: B1 EDITION: FINAL
SOURCE: BY LAURA LAFAY, STAFF WRITER
LENGTH: Long : 153 lines
There is an iguana in Roanoke named after the new state Parole Board chairman, E. Montgomery ``Monty'' Tucker.
The iguana lives in the home of Roanoke's clerk of court, Morgan Scott. It was a gift from Tucker to Scott's 12-year-old son.
``Something about the way that iguana looks'' reminded his son of Tucker, says Scott. ``It's a friendly iguana. Plus, it's a vegetarian.''
Tucker, the Republican appointee of a Republican administration notorious for baring its teeth and hissing, is kind of a friendly guy himself. Associates describe him as a ``company man,'' but with a heart.
A sort of political vegetarian.
``I count as many friends on the Democratic side as on the Republican side,'' he says. ``I'm convinced that most things can be accomplished in a civil manner. You can have opposing views, but I feel like they can be resolved in a dignified fashion.''
In that sense, Tucker is a far cry from his predecessor, John Metzger. A former state GOP political director, Metzger was a get-tough ideologue famous for following his own path. Under his stewardship, Virginia's parole grant rate dropped by more than half and became the lowest in the country.
Metzger resigned from the board in November amid allegations that he illegally backdated parole revocation warrants, denied parole without consulting the board, and made sexually and racially offensive remarks to its members.
Metzger left the remaining four members of Gov. George F. Allen's handpicked parole board battle-weary and fragmented. Tension persisted under Metzger's temporary successor, Criminal Justice Services Director Bruce Morris. One board member, Sandra Combs, resigned in March.
The situation has improved.
``It's a much better working atmosphere now,'' says board member Joseph F. Lewis.
``Not just because Metzger left, but because, hopefully, there has been some growth between and among all of us. The situation we went through hopefully made us a stronger group and gave us a better understanding of how to work with each other and each others' different points of view.''
Under Metzger, the parole grant rate hovered at around 16 percent. Although it isn't expected to change much under Tucker, who spent 20 years as a federal prosecutor, life on the board will probably be more sedate.
``You won't have a lot of scandal there once he really takes control,'' predicts Doug Pardue, an investigative reporter who knew Tucker during his 20-year stint in the U.S. attorney's office in Roanoke.
According to Pardue, Tucker is ``probably one of the true pure bureaucrats. I don't mean that in a bad way. I mean he'll do what bureaucrats are supposed to do: run things the way they're supposed to be run.''
Blue-eyed and red-suspendered, with a low-slung basketball belly and thinning gray hair, the 57-year-old Tucker plays classical music in his office and talks about ``balance'' and ``judiciousness.'' It doesn't bother him in the least to be compared to, or the namesake of, an iguana. He has heard worse.
``As a former prosecutor,'' he notes philosophically, ``I can expect to be compared to just about anything.''
Although the General Assembly abolished parole for all prisoners convicted of crimes committed after Jan. 1, 1995, most of the state's inmates remain eligible for early release. According to the Department of Corrections, 22,111 of Virginia's 25,236 prisoners have parole eligibility dates.
Considering their cases takes work. Parole board members spend their time meeting with the families of inmates and crime victims and reviewing the reports and recommendations of parole examiners who interview eligible prisoners. The chairman doesn't vote, except to break a tie. In such cases, Tucker will be a hard sell.
``Generally speaking, in the great majority of cases, the sentence that the court or jury has imposed is the sentence that should be served,'' he says. ``. . . If I err, I'm going to probably err on the side of public safety. I can't emphasize that enough.''
Still, he is not a hard-nosed ideologue. Former colleagues and associates use words like ``easygoing,'' ``reasonable'' and ``decent'' to describe him. Despite 20 years spent prosecuting cases in the U.S. attorney's office for the Western District of Virginia, he has made no apparent enemies. Even lawyers who have opposed him have nothing but praise for his skill, integrity and sense of fair play.
``A lot of these guys (federal prosecutors) kind of assume the role of prosecutor and judge,'' says Arthur Strickland, a Roanoke lawyer who represented Enten Eller, the defendant in one of Tucker's most highly publicized cases.
``It's not uncommon to find bullies throwing their weight around and overcharging people just to basically beat them down. But Monty never struck me as being a very dogmatic, ideologically driven prosecutor. He was always evenhanded and fair.
``I think that commends him to the parole board. I would rather have a person like Monty Tucker on the parole board than someone who wants to put more people to death and wants life without parole for all marijuana dealers. You know the type. They might be politically attractive, but I don't think that serves the function of the parole board. If you're going to have parole, you need someone who's tough but fair. And Monty will be that.''
Tucker, whose parents came from Southside tobacco-farming families, grew up in Richmond, Amelia County and Warwick (now Newport News). The first member of his family to attend college, he saved money for law school by working as a prep school teacher in Birmingham, Ala., and an office supply salesman in Norfolk.
In 1967, at 28, he went to Washington & Lee University Law School. After graduation, he joined the Richmond law firm of Hunton & Williams and handled civil litigation for three years. Then he joined the U.S. attorney's office in Roanoke.
As an assistant U.S. attorney, ``I did anything that came through the door,'' says Tucker. ``Fraud, bank fraud, firearms violations, mail fraud rings. What we were seeing in Roanoke in those days was pretty typical of other rural areas.''
The prosecution in 1977 of Joseph Whitehead, then commonwealth's attorney of Pittsylvania County, was one of the more notorious cases in which Tucker was involved. Whitehead was convicted and sentenced to 10 years in prison for accepting money and sexual favors in exchange for protecting a truck stop prostitution ring.
Another widely publicized case, which Tucker himself tried, was the 1981 prosecution of Eller, a 20-year-old college student who refused to register for the draft because of his pacifist religious beliefs. Eller was convicted, ordered to register and sentenced to community service.
``The prosecution's position was, `We are charged by the law to do this,' '' recalls Tucker.
Over the years, says Tucker, he became less involved in prosecuting and more involved in office administration. In 1986, he hired a new prosecutor, Jerry Kilgore, and supervised him for six years. Kilgore, who has since become state director of public safety, is now Tucker's boss. Not surprisingly, he is fond of his new employee.
``I learned a lot from Monty and a lot of my style came from his management style,'' says Kilgore.
``He was a great person to work for, and he was willing to get in and do every part of the job.''
In 1990, after 17 years as an assistant U.S. attorney, Tucker became head of the Roanoke office. But his time at the top was short-lived.
On March 23, 1993, two months after Bill Clinton was sworn in as president, Attorney General Janet Reno asked for the resignations of every U.S. attorney in the country. Tucker had to quit.
``I have no ax to grind with anyone about that,'' he says cheerfully. ``Comes with the territory.''
Tucker spent a few months trying to relax and fish, then was offered a job setting up a litigation office for the Federal Deposit Insurance Corp. office in Dallas. Newly divorced, he welcomed the chance.
He loved Dallas, he says. But when Kilgore tapped him to take over the parole board after the resignation of former chairman John Metzger, Tucker jumped at the chance to return to Virginia and be closer to his daughter, a senior at Washington & Lee.
Inmates moan at the news that their chances of parole are in the hands of a board controlled by a former prosecutor, but Tucker sees his background as a plus.
``I feel real comfortable in this position because of my experience over the years,'' he says. ``Not just as a prosecutor but as a member of the criminal justice system. . . . I think I've got a balanced view of what an inmate faces when he or she is incarcerated.''
KEYWORDS: PROFILE BIOGRAPHY PAROLE BOARD CHAIRMAN by CNB