Though it now seems hard to believe, the Florida Legislature once voted to close public schools and other institutions as a "last resort" against desegregation. Gov. LeRoy Collins vetoed the bill and the House sustained that decision. History has acknowledged Collins' courage but has not been so attentive to all the legislators who risked their political careers to stand with him.

Some of that neglect was rectified last month, 43 years after the showdown, when the Tallahassee Interdenominational Ministerial Alliance honored Dempsey J. Barron at a small ceremony between the old and new Capitol buildings. Though he was a freshman from a Panhandle constituency heavily opposed to desegregation, Barron survived that controversy and went on to serve two more years in the House and 28 in the Senate.

Barron, who had been a child of poverty, told people that going to school was more important than the person you sat next to, and that's how he voted each time the bill came up. He also backed Collins' fight for fair apportionment of the Legislature, another cause with only tenuous support at home. Years later, he instituted the single-member districting system that this month elected a black senator to represent what was once part of Barron's old two-member district.

The Ministerial Alliance ceremony was a poignant event. Barron, once the most forceful and influential senator, is in frail health. He could hardly be heard when he spoke, except by the microphones. But the fire in his eyes was unabated.

Barron controlled the Senate for most of his tenure, to the frequent dismay of liberals and moderates. Fiercely conservative on most matters, Barron wouldn't even let President Jimmy Carter lobby him for the Equal Rights Amendment, which suffered a fatal defeat in Florida as a result. He was also a regular nemesis to Gov. Reubin Askew (1971-1979) in the House. Their disputes were legend. But so was their collaboration when Barron gave Askew instrumental support in reforming Florida's judiciary.

Barron also sponsored the privacy amendment to the Florida Constitution, which the state Supreme Court later interpreted to guarantee a Florida woman's right to an abortion. That outcome was as significant as any that might have come of the ERA -- about which Barron, in recent years, has admitted to second thoughts.

Many of the critics who hailed his defeat for re-election in 1988 soon had second thoughts of their own. Barron always knew when the time had come to untangle a legislative impasse, and without him the Senate scarcely knew how to do it.

We tell this story primarily for the benefit of Florida's newly elected legislators, who might draw several lessons from it.

One is that courage in defense of principle does matter and will not be forgotten.

Another is that politicians should not overstay their destinies in Tallahassee or let their constituents suspect them of lavishing too much attention on the big lobbies. When Barron's constituents were ready for a change, they didn't need term limits to make it. There is no single "right" time for everyone, but the eight years imposed by the 1992 term limit initiative are clearly too arbitrary, too few.

We remarked at the time of his defeat that the secret of Barron's influence had not been simply that he was so strong, but that so many other senators were so weak. Death, retirement and campaigns for other offices had eliminated too many of those who were his peers in experience and leadership.

The saddest consequence of term limits is that there will be fewer such giants hereafter.

For more on new legislators

No ordinary time (11/19/00)

Dear state leaders (11/12/00)

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