Admiral Larry Franklin

In the past couple of weeks, I lost two old friends.  First, former Louisville Police Chief Richard Dotson died, and then, Larry Franklin passed away too.  I knew both of these gentlemen, and they, in turn, were good friends with one another.

I previously described my long relationship with Chief Dotson (http://www.ilocalnews.com/louisville-downtown-community/richard-l-dotson-louisville%E2%80%99s-chief-police), and I feel it ironically appropriate to say a few words about Larry Franklin.

Larry was a few years ahead of me at Valley High School, but by the time I was invited to join the Valley High debate team (Kentucky State Champs, 1960), Larry’s name was something of a legend in forensic circles.  Not only was he a proficient debater, but he was also named “Mister Valley High” in his Senior year.

Larry went on to Annapolis, and served on submarines during the Vietnam War.  Our paths crossed later, when we were classmates at University of Louisville’s Brandeis School of Law.

He was good at his job.  As Kentucky’s preeminent trial attorney, he won over 20 cases with jury verdicts in excess of a million dollars.  His representation of the plaintiffs in the 1988 Carroll County bus crash gained him national recognition.

Widely known for his kindness and generosity, he was benefactor to many charities, and mentor to many aspiring young lawyers.  He was soft-spoken and meticulously organized in the courtroom.  Juries loved him.

In spite of his rigorous schedule as a trial lawyer, Larry found time to serve in the Navy Reserve; finally retiring as a two-star Rear Admiral.  Not bad for a Valley High boy.

It’s odd how circumstances conspire to connect people.  In the late 1970s, I served as Legal Advisor to the Louisville Police Department, while Richard Dotson was Chief.  We were both cigar smokers, and many afternoons, after conducting business, we would sit in the Chief’s office and fire up a couple of stogies.  Those were simpler times, before Mayor Jerry Abramson and the Metro Council made such manly behavior criminal.

Chief Dotson’s wife was always on him to give up smoking, and one day, as I lit up my cigar in his office, he announced that he had quit the nasty habit.  Cold turkey.  Unlike many other ex-smokers, he was not evangelical about it, and never once tried to dissuade me from my vice.

Then the day came when I stopped by his office for a chat and noticed a box of Montecristo Habanas on his desk.  These contraband cigars could be found on the black market for about $25 a pop, so a box of 50 was worth more than a grand.

Montecristo Habanas are reputed to be the finest cigars in the world.  Jack Kennedy used to love them, and the story goes that after the failed Bay of Pigs invasion fiasco, he decided to impose a trade embargo against Castro’s communist Cuba.  The day before the embargo announcement, he sent his aide, Pierre Salinger, around to all the Washington tobacco shops with instructions to buy up all the Montecristo Habanas he could find.

Old JFK had his own little secret stash of fine smokes, while depriving the rest of us of that luxury.  It wasn’t until President Obama lifted the embargo that Americans could legally smoke Cuban cigars.  I smoked them every chance I had.  I smoked Cubans in Vancouver, Nassau, London, Amsterdam, and Moscow; but not in Louisville.  Forbidden fruit.

Chief Dotson explained to me that the box of Montecristo Habanas was a gift from his old buddy, Admiral Larry Franklin.  Seems Larry had just returned from his Summer cruise to Guantanamo Bay, and picked up a box at the Post Exchange.  Cuban cigars were dirt cheap at the PX, and nobody had the audacity to search the carry-on luggage of a Rear Admiral, upon returning to the States.

After Larry went to all that trouble, Dotson didn’t have the heart to tell him he’d stopped smoking.  No reason to hurt his feelings.  Then, the Chief looked at me and said, “You want ‘em?”

Be still my heart.  Do I want them?  Is the pope a Catholic?

I took the box of Montecristo Habanas back to my office, and locked them in my desk drawer.  Every day, for the next couple of months, I would light one up in the afternoon, and stare out my office window at the statue of Thomas Jefferson, standing on the Liberty Bell, in front of the old courthouse.  I would revel in the illicit thrill of savoring one of the world’s best cigars, given to me by the Chief of Police, and smuggled into the country by a Rear Admiral.  Deep in the heart of every lawyer is a tiny criminal.

At the base of Jefferson’s statue are inscribed his words:  “I have sworn upon the altar of God, eternal hostility against every form of tyranny over the mind of man.”  I will miss Larry Franklin and Richard Dotson.  It was an honor to have known them.