Henry M. Coxe III: president of The Florida bar.

• Author: Pudlow, Jan
• Position: Testimonial

A murder trial flung Hank Coxe and Gloria Fletcher together in a bungalow in Starke.

Both were defending prison guards charged with beating the life out of death row inmate Frank Valdes. Rather than commute to their respective homes and families in Jacksonville and Gainesville for five months, they rented a place near the Bradford County Courthouse.

Coxe would sit on the front stoop scribbling notes for a trial that could mean life in prison for their clients. On the night before final arguments, Coxe was so deep in thought, amazingly, he tuned out the sirens and didn't realize until the next day a house two doors down had burned to the ground.

During that intense trial, Fletcher learned a few things about Coxe: "He likes vanilla ice cream, cheap wine, and the man needs no sleep."

She also learned Coxe has a talent for injecting humor in the most humorless of situations. Coxe lives by his favorite line from Smokey Robinson: "You have to laugh to keep from crying."

During the long jury selection, held at the fairgrounds livestock pavilion so the defendants could have a jury of their peers, even if the courthouse was being renovated, Fletcher looked over at Coxe's computer screen and saw this rolling banner: "Wanted: Hank Coxe. Last seen in Bradford County picking a jury."

That playfulness inspired Fletcher to put Bambi sheets on Coxe's bed. Jokes and pranks went on for months, helping them keep sane until their clients' eventual acquittals.

Mention Hank Coxe's name and most everyone first remarks on his great sense of humor, a roaster with comedian's timing, a great storyteller who doesn't scrimp on the details. Just ask him about the time he was trapped on stage at the Florida Theater, live with Morton Downey, Jr., and a hostile audience, appearing as the no-good liberal defense attorney against the death penalty, three days before Ted Bundy's execution.

A consummate schmoozer, Coxe has a social side and community spirit that won't quit, causing Sen. Jim King, R-Jacksonville, to quip, "If there was a Junior League for men, he'd be president."

Even his top adversary in court, Fourth Circuit State Attorney Harry Shorstein, says, "Hank is such a friendly, likeable person. I think if you interviewed every one of my assistants, they'd say they like him."

Looking a tad rumpled in his trademark khakis and blazer, the same outfit he's worn since he was a young prosecutor, Coxe ambles slightly slouched through life with a good nature that draws out the best in others. He's as comfortable in a tux roasting a senator as he is pulling to the side of the road, whipping out a pole he keeps in his car, and fishing off a bridge on the St. Johns River.

So quick to laugh at himself, Coxe brings out the sense of humor in others. Stephen Goyer, the senior pastor of his church, Riverside Presbyterian, said solemnly, "He's a no-good lying scoundrel who needs more forgiveness than anybody I know." The reverend bursts into laughter before continuing: "Seriously, though, the Bar is lucky to have him. He is of deep character; he's brilliant; and he's hilarious."

But there is also a very serious side to Henry Matson Coxe III, the new president of The Florida Bar. During that long trial in Starke, Fletcher saw his reflective side.

"He possesses a rare quality of being able to take everything in and digest it before his mouth opens. A lot of things are said in the heat of trial that you can't take back," Fletcher said.

"The strength he brings to the Bar as a criminal defense lawyer is a strong connection to the Constitution and a deep understanding of the rules and how they need to be protected, along with protecting individual rights. He will tell you his job is to make sure everybody plays by the rules."

Sixties social activist parents helped shape Coxe's compassion and empathy, revealed by his deep commitment to provide legal services to the poor and his longtime membership in the Bar's Public Interest Law Section, dubbed the "conscience of the Bar." Though he has a reputation as the go-to lawyer for the well-heeled Jaguar football players, doctors, and public officials, he seizes opportunities to help kids in jams.

His first job as a prosecutor dug up dirty details of the worst side of life, while representing the State of Florida in a court of law brought out the best of his professionalism.

His current job as a criminal defense attorney at Bedell, Dittmar, DeVault, Pillans & Coxe renews his commitment to keep the system honest on a daily basis.

As leader of 78,000 members of The Florida Bar, 58-year-old Coxe will bring both a sense of humor and a sense of justice.

"Of course, the first thing people see and think of is Hank's wonderful sense of humor, which endears him to everyone," said John DeVault, managing partner of the firm and former Bar president in 1995-96.

"It also enables him to defuse many difficult situations. Through his humor, he is able to put people at ease and let them deal on a more rational and less emotional level with issues that sometimes are very difficult and emotion-charged.

"He also has a tremendous ability to think through and come to resolution that melds different points of view into a solution. He is a facilitator, someone who is able to take in a lot of different viewpoints and bring them together in a way that brings everyone together."

Jennifer Greenberg, executive director of the Florida Innocence Initiative, saw that skill in action watching Coxe work behind the scenes to get unanimous Bar Board of Governors support for doing away with the deadline on DNA post-conviction testing.

"There is an upper echelon of criminal defense lawyers, those with the right philosophical understanding, who put themselves out, who really, truly understand and contribute a lot under enormously hostile conditions. He is one of those," Greenberg said in April, while Coxe was immersed in a court-appointed, first-degree child murder trial.

"Hank is unique in that he brings all of that understanding, passion, empathy, but he doesn't keep it to himself. He is determined that he is going to participate to the fullest extent he can and make things better for the long run. And that I find truly extraordinary."

Social Conscience Inherited From Parents

After Jacksonville civil rights and criminal defense attorney Bill Sheppard met Coxe's parents at their home in New Jersey, he instantly understood where Hank got his big heart.

"They were both screaming radicals," Sheppard said. "My understanding and my respect for Hank evolved exponentially from having dinner with his parents. His father was working in a soup kitchen for the homeless, as an elderly retired gentleman. His dad gave me a button from the soup kitchen that said, 'Feed the hungry.' I carried it for years and finally gave it to Hank when his dad passed away.

"You can see where Hank's drive comes from. He's not becoming president of The Florida Bar for the hell of it. He's president of The Florida Bar because he wants to make a difference."

Hank Coxe was the middle child of Ellen and Henry Coxe, Jr., born in Wilkes-Barre, Pennsylvania. The family moved to Alpine, New Jersey, when Hank was two. On the eastern border of the Hudson River opposite Yonkers, New York, Alpine is now home to the rich and famous, like Eddie Murphy and Mariel Hemingway, retreating to their 16,000-square-foot mansions costing a dozen million dollars.

Back when Hank was a boy in Alpine, his house was a modest 800 square feet in a tiny town of 600 people. School didn't go past the sixth grade, so Coxe had to go to the next town to finish high school.

He agrees with Sheppard's take on his parents.

"The ACLU was the most moderate organization my mother belonged to," Coxe said. "My mother comes out of Vassar College in the '30s, the most wide-eyed screaming liberal you ever saw in your life. Add to that she had friends from Vassar who married people--when Joe McCarthy was at his peak in the early '50s--who got blackballed and had their careers destroyed. There's nothing the government could say that my mom trusted on its face," Coxe said.

Even though the family scraped by with little money, at the end of the year his mother always proudly wrote four $5 checks to the same four organizations: the American Civil Liberties Union, Americans for Democratic Action, the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People, and Planned Parenthood.

Proving opposites attract, Coxe's dad, a WWII Pacific Theater veteran, was totally different from Coxe's mother.

She was the liberal Democrat wearing her Adlai Stevenson button in 1952 and 1956, and he was the Republican sporting an Eisenhower pin on his lapel.

"His mother was the joiner out front with her politics, the talker who made people think about their own beliefs," said Coxe's wife, Mary. "His father was the quiet doer, making sure things got done."

Though he was a quiet guy, Henry Coxe, Jr., possessed a dry wit he passed down to his son, Hank. Working long hours as an adjuster for fire and theft loss, he was never home much in the evenings. Blessed with manual dexterity and a kind heart, in his spare time, most weekends he'd go around town fixing whatever neighbors needed fixing; a broken screened door or a car that wouldn't start.

"I remember when I got my first legal job in the state attorney's office. I called him and he said, 'How much do they pay?' And I didn't want to tell him because it was almost exactly the most he had ever made in his life," Coxe said. "It was tough to say that, but his reaction was proud: 'Good!'"

The Great Depression forced his father to bail out of Brown University after two years. His mother was forced to leave Vassar to care for a sister suffering from tuberculosis, so Coxe became the first in his family to graduate from college, receiving his bachelor's degree from The University of the South.

Hank was in his first year in law school at Washington and Lee University when both of his parents drove 300...