Share
For two decades, Robert Potter ran one of the nation's toughest courtrooms, but he never liked the nickname “Maximum Bob.”
Potter died Thursday at 86.
Although he was known for his stern lectures and long sentences, friends and colleagues described Potter as kind-hearted and humble – a man of character and integrity who believed in the conservative cause and good government.
“To say he was a giant seems inadequate,” said U.S. District Judge Bob Conrad. “In the dictionary, next to the words ‘integrity' and ‘courage,' there should be a picture of Judge Potter.”
“Even in retirement, there was a sense of his lingering presence in the courthouse. Courtroom No.2 … is known by everyone as Judge Potter's courtroom. That will never change.”
Potter's son, Bob, said his father died about 5:30 a.m. at Carolinas Medical Center. He'd suffered several strokes and developed pneumonia, his son said.
Among Potter's most celebrated cases were the 1989 sentencing of PTL evangelist Jim Bakker, who bilked millions from followers of his TV ministry, and his controversial 1999 ruling that stopped race-based school assignments in Charlotte-Mecklenburg Schools.
School board member Larry Gauvreau, one of the parents who sued to end race-based student assignment, called Judge Potter's ruling “a huge gift for Charlotte.”
“The judge freed us from decades of race-based artificial control through the federal court system,” he said.
Mecklenburg County commissioner Karen Bentley said Potter's landmark decision helped a fast-growing district create a more stable school system.
But former school board member Louise Woods said: “It was a ruling that in many ways has divided us.”
Potter's decision has led to the “resegregation” of Charlotte schools and hurt the quality of education for minorities, said Luke Largess, a lawyer who represented the families of black students in the lawsuit.
Still, Largess said Potter always treated him with respect. “I was very touched when during the trial he called me to the bench to ask how I was doing when my brother had died.”
In a 2000 interview with the Observer, as the federal judge prepared to retire from the bench at age 77, the white-haired, soft-spoken judge talked about his sentencing philosophy, his reputation and what he had hoped to accomplish on the bench.
“I'm here to do a job,” Potter said. “I'm not here to win a popularity contest.
“The only deterrent we have against some people who commit crimes is punishment that is meaningful to them. The only one I know is prison.”
Born in Wilmington, Potter went to Catholic schools for 10 years. He received chemistry and law degrees from Duke University.
In the late 1960s, Potter gained a reputation as an outspoken conservative during one term on the Mecklenburg Board of County Commissioners. He opposed urban renewal, open-housing laws and many anti-poverty programs.
It didn't take long for Potter to make a name for himself as a tough judge.
Just months after his appointment to the bench in 1981, a convicted drug dealer appeared before him hoping for probation. The defendant had come with a top Republican official and several preachers who vouched for his good character and upstanding family.
Potter wasn't impressed. He slapped him with 12 years in prison.
“It's the crime that counts with me – not that he came from a fine family,” Potter said.
In 1990, Potter admonished a violent drug gang for preying on the black community. He sentenced its 22-year-old leader to life in prison, plus an additional 145 years.
“Drugs hurt so many young people,” Potter told the Observer. “It ruins their whole life. I tried to get these drug dealers to shape up. You put one away and 10 take their place. But if you don't put that one away, you've got 11.”
Potter's average prison sentence was 7.4 years – 11/2 times the national average, the Observer reported in 1986. His average sentence in drug cases was 10.6 years – twice the national average, federal statistics showed.
Potter was also known for lecturing criminal before sending them away.
In 1989, when he sentenced Jim Bakker to 45 years in prison after one of Charlotte's most sensational trials, the judge, who is Catholic, said: “Those of us who do have a religion are sick of being saps for money-grubbing preachers.”
In 1985, before Potter sent a Wilkes County drug dealer away for 75 years, he chastised drug dealers: “They don't care about what happens to the families of people who receive drugs – the many children maimed physically and mentally. It's the money. That's all they care about.”
Behind his desk at the federal courthouse were signed photographs of U.S. Sen. Jesse Helms and President Reagan, who appointed him to the bench. There also were photos of his wife, Kathleen, three children – all lawyers – and his grandchildren.
Potter demanded punctuality. He thought it rude to keep jurors waiting, and fined late lawyers up to $5 a minute.
Potter took exception with the nickname “Maximum Bob,” a tag initially hung on him by prisoners. “I don't give everybody the maximum,” he told the Observer in 2000. “I've tried to be fair and honest. I've tried to be fair to the government and the defendants.”
The sentencings took a toll on the judge.
“I didn't enjoy sending anybody to prison,” he said. “There's no pleasure in that. But it's my job.”
Potter also had a sense of humor.
Scattered around his conference table were cartoons he'd collected from newspapers and magazines. In one, a defense lawyer tells his imprisoned client: “The judge looked at that new evidence I dug up and gave you another eight years.”
Then there was the time Potter was sitting in court listening to a recorded telephone conversation between two drug dealers talking about a trip to Charlotte.
One dealer said to the other: “Don't go to the Western District of North Carolina. There's a son of a b---- up there who will put you away for the rest of your life.”
Potter smiled as he recalled the story in 2000: “That made me feel like maybe I was doing some good.”
