Richard F. “Dickie” Scruggs

Trial-lawyer-turned-prisoner pushes for ‘Second Chance’ for adult learners

    Richard F. “Dickie” Scruggs was heralded as Mississippi’s richest man and the nation’s most prominent trial lawyer after his successful litigation against Big Tobacco and the asbestos industry. Movers and shakers across the state and nation jockeyed for his time and attention – and for his money. Almost everywhere he went, people knew who he was, what he did, and why it mattered.

    But in 2008, no one was jockeying for Scruggs’ attention or support.             Instead, he was sitting in a federal prison as inmates – many who were there on drug or sex abuse charges – refused to sit near him or look him in the eye.

    “It was absolutely terrible,” recalled Scruggs, who was released from federal prison in Montgomery, Ala. in March 2014. “I had been abusing pain medicine for several years after a back surgery. So my body was withdrawing from those pills after so much abuse. There was the physical pain of that, but also there was rejection from the outside and from people I was in prison with. I wasn’t just a nobody – I was someone who even prisoners didn’t want to associate with.”

    Scruggs says he soon realized his fellow prisoners thought he was there for either child pornography or child sex abuse charges.

    “My roommate came in and told me everyone thought I was a cho-mo – a child molester,” he said. “I said, ‘Hell no, I’m not.”

    Scruggs said it was his embarrassment over his crimes that caused him to initially create the wrong impression.

    “When I first got there and people asked, I didn’t want to say I was there because of judicial bribery. People would then avoid me – they wouldn’t make eye contact. They got up and moved to a different table when I sat down to eat,” he said. “I didn’t realize I was creating even more problems for myself because they were getting the wrong idea about me.”

    Early on in his prison time, Scruggs said he struggled to get through the day.

    “It was a bleak and soul crushing experience,” he said. “There was this hopelessness. I was pretty despondent, especially as I was trying to get the pills out of my system and really accept where I was and what had happened. After that, I got into a daily routine. I really started to create a little life for myself there in prison. Things got better.”

    Scruggs, one of the architects of the multi-billion dollar tobacco lawsuits of the 1990s, pleaded guilty in 2008 to attempting to bribe Henry Lackey, a circuit court judge. He also pleaded guilty in 2009 to improperly influencing Hinds County Circuit Judge Bobby DeLaughter in a civil lawsuit. He was sentenced to five years in federal prison on bribery charges and seven years on improper influence, with the sentences running concurrently.

    Scruggs said he has now found his purpose – and the beginnings of a sense of personal redemption – through his assigned prison job, teaching math classes to inmates preparing to take their GED tests so they could earn their high school equivalency. He later taught classes in American history, which many of the inmates seemed to enjoy. The man who made billions started out making $5 a month as a tutor, and later moved to making $15 a month. But the lousy pay didn’t dampen his mood.

    “There was one inmate – a big, happy guy,” he said. “And what we were working on was hard for him a lot of the times. One day, he got something right and I told him I was going to run over and kiss him right on the mouth. I was kidding, but it really was the best feeling – seeing those lights come on and people really understand, and also to believe in themselves and realize that they had a chance to be successful.”

    Scruggs said his students had many struggles as they strived to earn their GEDs. Many had dropped out before completing the ninth grade, so they hadn’t mastered basic algebra concepts. Many also struggled with reading. Almost all were weak students when in school, and were nervous about returning to the classroom – in prison or otherwise.

    Teaching was even harder, Scruggs said, because prison policy required inmates who didn’t have high school diplomas to be taking courses to help earn their diplomas. Prisoners who didn’t participate wouldn’t be viewed as cooperative inmates who deserved credit for good behavior, he said.

    “A lot of what I did was motivating them – especially some of the new students. A lot of them were scared to death – they were afraid. But they didn’t want to let anyone know that.”

    Scruggs says that it’s also his experience teaching that has given him a renewed sense of purpose in his post-prison life. Scruggs, who can no longer legally practice law, has launched Second Chance Mississippi, a nonprofit organization established to work with the state’s extensive community college system to help adults who have dropped out of school to earn their GEDs, while also receiving workforce training in fields like welding or culinary arts.

    As part of his effort, Scruggs has been zig-zagging the state, talking to church groups, civic clubs, senior organizations and anyone else who will listen to his message of hope and redemption – both for himself and for the students he hopes to reach. One thing he said he wants to do is have groups encourage at least one adult to begin work on their GED, and to then provide “wraparound services” to them when they hit a difficult patch. For example, if a student needed help paying their utility bills or paying for childcare or buying a laptop to do their classwork, that could be provided by the organizations.

    “Some people have asked me why I don’t just write a big check,” said Scruggs whose attorneys’ fees on the tobacco litigation have been estimated at about $1.6 billion. “But I think the problem is bigger than that. A lot of support is needed – and that support doesn’t just come in the form of money.”

    Scruggs has already met with several key economic development leaders in Meridian, and says he would like to secure support in the business community for his work. He said he also hopes to meet with education leaders in coming weeks.

    “Meridian is definitely a place with a strong interest in workforce development,” he said. “Some good things are happening there.”

    Meridian provides GED preparation through Meridian Community College. Since January, about 30 people have earned their high school equivalency degrees through programs at the college’s adult education center and at other sites.

    Jennifer Whitlock, longtime adult education director at the college, said her students often get derailed by outside concerns, including family troubles and changes in job schedules.

    Scruggs acknowledges that some people statewide might not fully embrace his efforts – and he understands that some who are watching might regard Second Chance Mississippi as a project designed to rehabilitate his tarnished image as much as to help struggling adults get back on track.

    “This is part of a rehabilitation of my image – it absolutely is,” he said. “But more than that, it’s about giving me a sense of purpose – that’s what I lacked when I was in prison. I think it’s OK that it is rehabilatory to me, as long as it’s also helping other people.”

    Scruggs said that before he went to prison, he was already getting tired of practicing law, and was looking for a different focus.

    “I like to think I would be doing this even if I didn’t go to prison,” the 69-year-old said. “Before, I was already getting tired of law. I was looking for some other crusade that wasn’t tied to a legal endeavor. I like to think I would have ended up doing this even if prison hadn’t intervened … It just happens that being a math tutor in prison is what caused me to see this particular need and why it’s important.”

    Scruggs said he has thought a lot about how he got so off track that he landed himself in federal prison. And he doesn’t have all the answers sorted out just yet.

    “It’s a very difficult question for me and I’ve never been able to formulate a satisfactory answer,” he said. “I think the (prescription pain) pills I was taking lowered my defenses … I knew at the time I shouldn’t have done it. I’m not blaming the pills. I made the choice. I can’t answer in my own soul how I let my own guard down like that. I guess I thought I was out there doing good work, and that if I did make a mistake I should get a pass. That was sort of the feeling I had.”

    Scruggs said there also was a certain swagger that came with being so widely known – both in Mississippi and beyond.

    “I never truly felt like I was bigger than the law … But ego was part of it – hubris.”

    He said he also felt an intense pressure to top his previous successes.

    “I was often looking for the next big thing. It’s a really slippery slope,” he said.

    Scruggs said much of prison life was initially jarring for him. He was particularly stunned by the lack of inmates who didn’t have high school diplomas, as well as the number who were unable to read.

    He said he quickly realized that for some people, prison had become an acceptable way of life.

    “There are people who do not have educations – and I really believe education is a huge part of it – who don’t have a lot of options,” he said. “Being in prison begins to feel comfortable to them. They might not like everything about it, but it’s what they know. It’s where they feel most comfortable.”

    “Many people get out, and they figure they will make the most of the time they are out, until they get caught and go back in,” he said. “They know they can function in prison culture. Going back isn’t a big threat to them. It’s one of the hardest things to break.”

    Scruggs said his time in prison made him more aware of the privilege his education represented, and also how fortunate he was to have family supporting him back home.

    He said his wife, Diane, was instrumental in paving the road for his return to his life in Oxford.

    “She was incredibly tough during all of this,” he said. “She was stoic and she kept her head up. She was always involved in civic and religious groups. She was a tremendous ambassador for our family. She made it safe for me to come back. She loves Oxford and Mississippi. I think that she’s the biggest reason we have been able to stay.”

    Initially, Scruggs said he had a difficult time imagining how he could ever live in Mississippi again.

    I thought I was going to be run out of the state,” he said. “I got terrible press … I didn’t think I would be able to get service in restaurants. I thought people would cross to the other side of the street when they saw me coming.”

    None of that happened, though.

    “People didn’t cross the street when they saw me. They walked right up and said hello. I am sure there are people who say things I don’t hear. But I haven’t lost my family and I can’t even name a single close friend that I’ve lost because of this experience. I know I’m fortunate.”

Scruggs said that while he is striving to partner with religious leaders in his new effort, he also still has some spiritual battles to fight himself.

    “People say you either embrace God or reject God when you are on the inside,” he said. “I guess I did both. I can’t say that my faith was very strong when I was in prison. When things got the bleakest and the most dire, I prayed. But most of the time, I was definitely shaking my fist at the Lord. I did it a lot because of my situation, but also because I saw extreme injustices done to some of the other inmates there – some of the old men who were in bad health and who died in prison. Some of the people who I felt had sentences that were too … extreme.

    “There was an anger there, and it’s still there at times. But I want to believe. I want to have a strong faith. It’s something I’m still working on, really.”