Courtroom Dedication to Judge Robert L. McCrary

In the rolling pines of Jackson County, Florida, where the courthouse clock kept time for both justice and tradition, Judge Robert L. McCrary, Jr. presided with quiet dignity. By the time Clarence Earl Gideon stood before him in 1961, McCrary was already a seasoned presence in Florida’s legal world.

Last Friday afternoon, lawyers, judges, friends, and family gathered in the circuit courtroom where Judge Robert L. McCrary, Jr. had presided for part of his 42 years on the bench for the dedication of the courtroom in his honor. Former Judge John Roberts, former long-time public defender Herman Laramore, and grandson Bowen McRae told stories about their experiences with McCrary.

McCrary’s path to the bench had begun decades before Gideon. A product of Florida’s public schools and later a graduate of the University of Florida’s law program, he returned to Marianna with a deep respect for order and a gentleman’s belief in duty. His reputation grew swiftly as a county judge, a role that, in rural Florida of the 1940s and ‘50s, required a deft touch with both law and local politics.

 He handled everything from probate disputes and juvenile matters to misdemeanor trials with a firm but empathetic hand. Farmers, merchants, and mill workers alike knew McCrary as a judge who listened patiently, ruled clearly, and rarely raised his voice. His courtroom demeanor was more fatherly than fearsome—he preferred resolution to retribution.

In the mid-1950s, recognizing his steady hand and deep knowledge of the law, Florida’s Governor LeRoy Collins appointed McCrary to the Fourteenth Judicial Circuit Court—a significant promotion that placed him over a multi-county region, including Jackson, Bay, Gulf, Calhoun, Washington, and Holmes counties. Now wielding broader authority, McCrary presided over felony trials, civil suits, and constitutional matters.

The shift from county to circuit court was no small leap. In his new robe, McCrary carried more than his gavel—he carried the weight of precedent. He developed a reputation across the circuit for meticulous preparation. Lawyers knew better than to come into McCrary’s courtroom unprepared. Though never flashy, his legal mind was sharp and rooted in the principle that courts must be predictable, even-handed institutions.

 It was in this role as Circuit Judge that McCrary encountered Clarence Earl Gideon in 1961.

The courtroom was warm, humid, its ceiling fans beating a slow rhythm. Gideon stood alone, charged with felony theft. He had no attorney. He asked McCrary directly for one, invoking the Constitution. But under Florida law at the time, McCrary’s hands were tied.

 “I’m sorry, Mr. Gideon,” he said from the bench, “but unless this is a capital case, I am not permitted to appoint counsel.”

 It was not spoken cruelly—just as fact. Gideon, armed with a borrowed law book and a defiant belief in his rights, defended himself. The result was a foregone conclusion. When convicted he was sentenced to five years in prison.

But then came the miracle. From a prison cell in Raiford, Gideon wrote his now-famous handwritten petition to the U.S. Supreme Court. The Court took his case. When Gideon v. Wainwright was decided in 1963, the ruling changed American jurisprudence: every criminal defendant, regardless of income, must be provided legal counsel.

 When the case returned to McCrary’s court, the tone was different. Clarence Gideon now had a skilled defense attorney—W. Fred Turner—by his side. McCrary, ever the procedural purist, ensured that the retrial met every new constitutional standard. The courtroom watched as Turner picked apart the state’s witnesses, exposing inconsistencies that Gideon, untrained, had never known to press.

 The jury deliberated just over an hour before returning with a not guilty verdict. McCrary, reading the decision from the bench, gave no sign of personal emotion. But later, in quiet conversation with colleagues, he acknowledged what had passed through his courtroom. “The law evolved before our eyes,” he reportedly told a fellow judge. “And we adapted, as we must.”

As the sun set behind the old courthouse one spring evening, McCrary sat in his chambers, penning a note in the margins of a law book. He underlined a passage in the Constitution and wrote quietly:

“Justice is not static. It moves with the conscience of the nation.”

 Judge McCrary continued to serve the circuit court for several more years. By the time he retired, he had presided over thousands of cases, but none more famous—or impactful—than that of Clarence Gideon. The courthouse in Marianna still whispered his name, especially among older attorneys who remembered his steady hand, his belief in fairness, and his unshakable loyalty to the letter of the law—even when history came knocking.

When McCrary passed away on July 28, 1994, he left behind not just a career, but a legacy—a reminder that even those who follow the law precisely can be part of its transformation.

That was reiterated by former Judge John Roberts and former public defender Herman Laramore at the dedication of the courtroom of the courtroom. Roberts fondly recalled Judge Robert L. McCrary as a mentor, friend, and deeply principled man who influenced many young lawyers. Known for his kindness and wisdom, Roberts said, “McCrary supported newcomers like me, helping me feel welcomed in Mariana by introducing me to fellow judges. McCrary’s guidance was subtle yet impactful.” Roberts said, “Not somebody that tells you what you did wrong, but just tells you, you can do better.” He was a family man, proud of his children and grandchildren, and his love for them was evident in every conversation. He said he was a decorated World War II veteran who participated in D-Day with the 101st Airborne, surviving intense battles and carrying that discipline into his judicial career. Roberts said, “McCrary was instrumental in early cases like Gideon v. Wainwright.” Roberts also said McCrary was deeply involved in his church, teaching Sunday school, and mentoring younger generations. “His legacy includes vivid courtroom memories, like advising young lawyers or even amusing moments, such as defendants fearing harsh sentences if he wore white shoes.” As Roberts concluded, “Judge McCrary has been dead for over 30 years and I still miss my friend, Judge Robert L. McCrary.”

Former public defender Herman Laramore fought back emotions as he told of his experience and time with McCrary, “It’s an honor to speak about a man I deeply admired—Judge Robert McCrary. I first met him in a dove field; he loved hunting, but nothing more than his family. Our paths crossed again when he swore me into the bar in this courtroom in 1971. I later served as his public defender for 20 years until his retirement in 1991. Practicing before him was a daily lesson in professionalism, wisdom, and fairness. He held firm standards: punctuality, courtroom decorum, dress, and respect. He treated everyone as he would want to be treated.”

Laramore continued, “Judge McCrary’s understanding of people made him a great judge—he had the heartbeat of the community. He served in World War II with the 101st Airborne, fighting in the Battle of the Bulge. He was decorated with two Bronze Stars, a Presidential Unit Citation, and more. He retired as a lieutenant colonel. He loved his wife Allie, and his children Mike, Margaret, and Roseanne. Appointed to the bench in 1959, he served 42 years—12 as the first chief judge in the Fourteenth Circuit. “He was my mentor and my friend, and it’s fitting this courtroom bears his name. We’ve had good judges since, but there will never be another Judge McCrary.”