Moving Things Forward

Widely known as an honest, hardworking man of principle, state Sen. Ed Tarver is committed to helping Augusta get the recognition it deserves in Atlanta.

by Michael Ryan

Ed Tarver's military family moved around a lot when he was young. Except at dinner time.

"You didn't get up until you were finished," he recalls, "and you didn't move until you were excused."

But on one particular night many years ago, at Fort Sill, Okla., Tarver's non-commissioned officer father threw all the military-style rules out the window. The entire family got up from the dinner table to see the drama unfolding on television.

Augusta was aflame with a race riot.

"We just all got up and huddled around the TV," says Tarver, who was no more than a sixth-grader at the time. "There were buildings burning and people were angry, and the police officers with billy clubs and all. That was a picture of Augusta that we had not seen or I certainly had not ever seen before.

"We were certainly very disconnected from that, but that certainly was a lasting image in terms of the place that we always associated with home and where all of our family was. You ask when did I start living in Augusta: At that moment, we knew—or at least I knew—that Augusta was my home. There was a place that I had not lived for any length of time, but seeing it on the news, seeing it going through that controversy and turmoil, there was some connection....Even though we lived somewhere else, we knew that the military base at Fort Sill was not home. That place on TV that was burning and falling apart was our home."

Since he has been able, Ed Tarver has been trying to help that home however he can. Even by playing football when he really didn't want to. That's what happens when you're the biggest kid in class. Starting in kindergarten.

One of the things that I always noticed was that when the military would transfer my parents and they would take me to a new school, the first person that I'd always meet was the football coach or the basketball coach cause I was always the big kid. I think I did it more out of obligation, not that it was some desire that I had. Everybody expected me to do it."

So when his father, Luther, retired and the family moved to Augusta—both of Ed's parents were born in Blythe—the lumbering sophomore stunned everyone in the hallway of Glenn Hills High School during the requisite introduction to the football coach.

"I said, 'I'm not going to play.' Everybody was like, 'You're supposed to play football!' I ended up playing, but I think it took me through my first year of college to realize that that wasn't my expectation or my dream, but the expectation that others had for me. I wanted to go in another direction, so I did."

After a year of football on a scholarship to Morehouse College, Tarver did what he wanted to do. He came home to Augusta College and focused on academics. And though he joined the Army and became a field artillery officer for seven years after graduating with a bachelor of arts in 1981, he returned to the classroom to get a law degree from the University of Georgia—with a renewed appreciation for learning that his younger peers couldn't match.

"Going to class and reading cases and preparing for class was really a piece of cake when compared to having spent the last seven years with 155 (mm) towed howitzers and being cold and wet and rainy in the field," he says in his bass voice. "So I would laugh at my classmates who were complaining at how tough school was. I'd kind of think, 'Wait till you get out in the real world and you have to do a lot of stuff that you really don't want to do.'"

Tarver's attitude and perspective got even better with a clerkship under U.S. District Judge Dudley Bowen, one of the most highly regarded jurists in the region. "It was probably one of the better things that I've experienced professionally and personally. He changed my image of a judge. Judge Bowen was always gracious to his staff, to law clerks, to the lawyers that tried cases in front of him. He was always gracious, always professional. I learned a great deal from him.
It was more than a professional relationship."

Having been raised in a military family, enlisting in the military himself, then joining Augusta's oldest and largest law firm right out of law school in 1991—Hull, Towill, Norman, Barrett & Salley—Ed Tarver has lived his whole life with a guiding structure and a steel-reinforced foundation. Even with his mother, Maye, Tarver remembers a regimented approach to such things as education.

"We laugh about it now, but when I was a young child, my mother would crochet and she would give me a book and I'd have to sit at her feet and while she crocheted I would read to her. And we had the three-time rule: If I came across a word that I didn't know, she would tell me—but only three times. And the third time she would rap my knuckles with a little ruler. It kept me focused.

learned to read from my mother. When I went to school the first time, I could read." But, he laughs, he also developed a fondness for tough teachers.

As a result of all that guidance and structure, Tarver soon found he had pulled himself up by his bootstraps and was now in a position to give back to that community he once saw in flames.

And has he ever. He's been president or chairman of the East Georgia Easter Seals Society, Leadership Augusta, Leadership Georgia, Augusta Technical College, St. John's Towers Advisory Board, Richmond Academy Boosters, Augusta-Richmond County Citizens SPLOST Committee and, most prominent of all, the Augusta Metro Chamber of Commerce in 2001. He's earned the Fran Upton Volunteer Award from Easter Seals, the Leadership Augusta Community Service Award, the Alvin W. Vogtle Volunteer of the Year Award from United Way and more.

Maybe they thought he'd run out of civic projects when people started approaching him about running for political office in 2004.

"A need," he sums up, when asked why he ran for the state Senate. "There was an issue of political representation, and whether or not it was ethical and whether or not it was of the quality that would move the community forward. I was urged by several folks to consider running and I did. There were some offices at the time that were of concern. They were always in the media. The state Senate seat that Charles Walker was in was one that received a lot of scrutiny. It was no secret that he was under federal investigation, so there were a number of folks who were concerned about that.

The mayor's race was of concern. So it wasn't that I was drafted to run for the Senate; there were folks who had particular positions that they thought would impact the future of the community. And I was one of, I'm sure, a number of people who were approached about the possibility of seeking those positions.

Certainly a number of people have approached me about running for mayor and still do. It's not anything that I was interested in doing at the time." One reason: "I enjoy practicing law. It's what I've wanted to do since I was in high school. Being in the General Assembly allows me an opportunity to serve, but also to continue my profession. I couldn't do that as mayor or for some of the other positions."

But do they teach artillery guys all about mine fields? Cause that's what Tarver stepped into with his first foray into politics.

Initially he announced he'd run against long-time Senate power broker Don Cheeks. But before he could qualify, the courts redrew the districts—and Tarver was matched up against the equally formidable Sen. Charles Walker, once the Senate majority leader.

You would think that, when Walker was indicted just prior to the election, it would've helped Tarver. But it seemed to catapult Walker back into office. "Politics is interesting," Tarver shrugs, more gentlemanly than diplomatically. When Walker was ultimately convicted and removed from office, Tarver won the seat he now occupies in a special election in 2005.

One of the biggest mines Tarver steps over is the explosive issue of race. Because he is the only African-American attorney at his law firm, and because he took on the iconic Charles Walker, Tarver has to toe the line between working with whites in power and being seen as selling out by some black constituents. How does he deal with it?
"I deal with it by being who I am," he says matter-of-factly. "It has been my biggest challenge. Politically, it has been my biggest challenge. I think with each year that I've been in office, my constituents understand it more.

"I think that one of the reasons that folks in the black community have looked at me as the 'white man's candidate' is because I've had an opportunity to do some things that not a lot of African-Americans have had the opportunity to do in Augusta. I think to some extent that's fair. I think it's appropriate for those people that I represent to ask the question, 'How much will you be influenced by those 34 Caucasian men that you work with?' I think that's a fair question.

"I think it's also a fair question for women's groups to ask, 'In your firm there is one female partner—how will that influence your position on issues that will be of importance to women?'"

If they are fair questions, Tarver offers some sound answers—including awards on his legislative office wall from the NAACP and from a black women's group.

And more than ever, Augusta needs legislators who can cross lines of party and race and gender. Walker's political demise, and the near-simultaneous self- destruction of area state representative Robin Williams—also now in prison— have led to a steep drop-off in clout for Augusta under Atlanta's gold dome. It's something you can only rebuild a handshake at a time.

e have a ways to go. I think we're in a transition phase," Tarver reflects in his Senate office. "We had a lot of seniority—the Tom Allgoods, the Charles Walkers, the Jack Connells who were successful and who were able to bring home a lot of bacon to the community. Now our delegation is a lot younger. We don't have as much seniority, so we have to focus more on relationship building. It's not wise for me to come in and take a position that I'm not going to talk to any of the Republicans or communicate with any of the folks in leadership. I have to, in order to make some things happen for my community."

To hear his colleagues, he's doing just that.

"Ed's a gentleman first of all," says Sen. Bill Jackson, a Columbia County Republican. "He's very cognizant of what his community's needs are. He makes a good impression with people. He's sincere. He's businesslike about his business up here. And he's loyal to the things that sent him up here. He's a very nice guy to be on the same row with. I sit nearby him and I watch him, and he's a gentleman in every respect of the word."

"He's just a gentle giant," adds Sen. Regina Thomas, a Savannah Democrat and Tarver's office suite mate. "He's meticulous. His methodology is just right for the Augusta area and for the state of Georgia. He has his district at his heart. He works hard. And whenever there's something that he's in doubt about, he is not ashamed or afraid to ask.

"He even goes to the other side of the aisle and talks with them to see what's going on, get their version of it before he makes a decision. His decisions are informed decisions and I like that in him. He doesn't necessarily go along just to get along. He does what's right. And I commend him and I applaud him for that."

"I wish we had a roomful like him," says an earnest Lt. Gov. Casey Cagle, a Republican who presides over the Senate. "He's a guy that I can depend on when I need him. He's all about fighting for Augusta, which is what he needs to do. Ed is a very principled guy, and you don't have to worry about him saying one thing and doing another. And I appreciate that. It doesn't necessarily mean that we're going to agree on every issue, but having someone of his character, of his morals, is not just good for this body, it's good for the state and it's good for Augusta."

"He's just a good guy," says fellow Democratic Sen. J.B. Powell of Augusta. "He's straightforward. What he tells you, you can believe in and you don't have to go back and double check it. He's just straight across the board and I like dealing with people like that.

It's going to take a little time to get clout. But Ed is very well respected here, and we seem to be working pretty well with the majority party. Relationships are starting to form. It's taken a little time, but it's come a long way."

When you're a partner in a law firm, a state senator and everybody's favorite civic volunteer, carving out family time takes conscious effort. But family has always been Ed Tarver's foundation, and he talks about outings with his wife, Beverly, and 14-year-old daughter, Elizabeth, with all the precision of a field artillery man.

"It takes some coordination, but I like to find a movie that my 14-year-old daughter will attend with my wife and me. And we go and we load up on popcorn and chocolate and sodas and kind of sit in the back. (Elizabeth) sits between her mother and me, and her job is to hold the popcorn. In the movie theaters, nobody talks to you, nobody stops you to ask questions. Nobody bothers us for that hour-and-a-half or hour and 45 minutes. We're pretty corny."

That kind of closeness makes it difficult for Tarver to spend the legislative session in Atlanta. "The hardest part of being up here for me is that you have to leave your family and you go back to this empty apartment."

His first two sessions in the legislature, Tarver would get to his office early and stay late—often eschewing the myriad lobbyist receptions available to lawmakers in the evenings. He pretty much used his Atlanta apartment to shower and sleep, "'cause it's not home, it's just a place that you sleep while you're here."

This year is different, though. He's got a roommate he likes a lot. And his roommate has his name—though they call him "Eddie." Young Edward Tarver Jr. is a first-year law student at Georgia State University. And he's made Dad a lot happier about going home at night after a long day at the Capitol.

"It has really been great," the elder Tarver says. "I thought it was going to be a problem more for (Eddie) than me. It has been fun. He has attended some dinners with me. He's waiting for me when I come home in the evenings; it's not the reverse. I get to the condo late, he's waiting to hear about what happened during the day here at the Capitol. He tells me about law school and his experiences in class. That's how I end my days and that's how we start them. I'll call him this afternoon about 5 or 5:30 and, depending on how much progress he's made with his studies, he'll tell me whether or not he wants to come with me to one of these receptions or if I'll meet him later. I think he appreciates me calling to see if he wants to be my date tonight."

If Tarver is stoic, much of that is owing to the military experience. After he was born at Fort Hood, Texas, his family lived in Oklahoma, Germany and Texas, with any extended leave time spent with family in Augusta. Tarver's wife Beverly, meanwhile, had the luxury of growing up with friends in Augusta.

"One of the things my wife accuses me of," he says, "she says that there's kind of an artificial barrier—that I don't get too close to people because, for me in my life, every couple years we loaded up the family car and drove away and didn't come back and I left all my friends there."

But surely part of his stoicism is in his genes. Consider: While Tarver was back living at home and attending Augusta College, he once read in The Augusta Chronicle that his retired father was attending the Academy of Richmond County to complete his belated high school education. Through breakfast in the morning, through dinner at night, the elder Tarver across the table had never mentioned he was going to school. He simply enrolled and went to sit among teenagers. And Ed had to learn about it from the newspaper.

Tarver's stoicism also had to be helped along by Julius Coates, an African-American battalion commander at Fort Bragg, N.C. A no-nonsense, hard-charging career military guy, Coates believed in making decisions and taking responsibility for them. And he supported Tarver's notion of going on to law school—a notion planted, interestingly enough, back at Glenn Hills High when county attorney Robert C. Daniel made a vocational speech that changed Tarver's life.

"I remember going home and telling my parents, 'I think that's something that I want to do.'"

Given all this, it shouldn't surprise— but maybe still does—that in pondering a future legal career, it never occurred to young Ed Tarver that the rest of society might not be as encouraging to this strapping, intellectually engaged young black man as Col. Coates was.

"No," Tarver says with conviction. "But I grew up in a different environment. The first time I lived in a segregated neighborhood was when my father was assigned to go to Vietnam and he moved us back to Augusta (temporarily) to be near family. That was the first time in my life—I was in the third grade then—that I had ever lived in a neighborhood where all the other neighbors were African-American. Up to that point, we had always lived on military installations and the communities were integrated. I've always gone to a school where there were people of all races. And so (barriers) was not anything that I considered."

Asked what he's learned about campaigning, he doesn't hesitate: It's all about getting people to know you. "If you're not able to share that with them, then your platform and your budget proposals—none of that will matter until they get a sense of who the person is."

The sense that many have of Ed Tarver is that he is the consummate family man, a solid citizen and a budding statesman whom people in Atlanta are starting to watch.

"If folks see me that way, I certainly would be honored," Tarver says. "This is not about me; it's about moving our community forward. Long before I was elected, I recognized that we were the second-largest city in the state. Because of some things that happened, we were starting to be ignored pretty much. It's just time for Augusta to step up and assume that role. I think that we have the leadership in place now to make that happen."