Wyeth and Millie: The story of a dog and the judge who loved her
By Bill Haltom
Throughout our history, we Americans have always been moved by stories about boys and their dogs. Who among us does not get a tear in the eye and a lump in the throat just thinking about Timmy and Lassie, or Roy Rogers and Bullet, or Nixon and Checkers?
The first movie I ever saw was "Old Yeller." I was only 4 years old as I sat by my father in the old Malco Theater in downtown Memphis watching "Old Yeller," in all of his canine technicolor glory, on the silver screen.
Who among us has not been thrilled by the adventures of Rin Tin Tin or Benji or the 101 Dalmatians? As far as I'm concerned, "Lady and the Tramp"was the greatest love story ever written.
But we members of the Tennessee Bar Association can now add another compelling story to canine folklore. It's the legend of Millie, the beautiful little dog who for many years presided over Division 1 of the Shelby County Circuit Court. Get ready for a warm, fuzzy feeling, folks. You're about to read about Wyeth and Millie, the story of a dog and the judge who loved her.
Our story begins during the Christmas holidays of 1991. The holiday season started out bleak and joyless for Judge Wyeth Chandler. Just before Christmas, the judge's poodle, Mollie, died at the age of 16. (As they used to say on the Alpo commercials, that's 112 years old to you and me.) Mollie had been Judge Chandler's best friend since the days when the judge had been the sometimes-controversial-but-always-colorful mayor of Memphis. Mollie's death was a blow to Judge Chandler. However, the Christmas season is a time for hope, and Judge Chandler's wife, Beverly, gave her husband the perfect Christmas gift. The gift was named Millie.
On Christmas morning 1991, Judge Chandler held in his arms little Millie Chandler, a six-week-old miniature poodle who looked remarkably like Mollie.
It was a case of love at first sight, and the judge and Millie became inseparable.
When the Christmas holidays ended and Judge Chandler returned to court, he brought Millie with him. From January of 1992 until his retirement from the bench several years later, Millie came to court with the judge every day. The judge wore black robes. Millie wore white fur.
Each weekday morning, the bailiff of Division I would cry, "All rise!" Judge Chandler and Millie would walk into the courtroom from their chambers, and assume the bench.
During court proceedings, Millie sat on a small pillow at the judge's feet. Generally she could not be seen by the lawyers, litigants, jurors and spectators assembled in the courtroom. She would just sit quietly and unobtrusively, listening to the proceedings and keeping her thoughts to herself.
Judge Chandler can recall only one occasion when Millie commented on the evidence. Unfortunately, a transcript of these proceedings is not available. However, Judge Chandler recalls that the proceedings went something like this:
COUNSEL: What color was the light when you entered the intersection?
WITNESS: It was green.
MILLIE: (from under the bench): Grr! Grr!
WITNESS: Uh, well, uh …
THE COURT: Are you sure you don't want to change your testimony?
While Millie was seldom seen in the courtroom, she could sometimes be observed in the judge's lap during non-jury proceedings. However, lawyers who appeared in Division I soon learned that it might not be Millie you saw in the judge's arms. Millie, like her famous fellow Memphian Elvis, had her share of impersonators.
Specifically, Judge Chandler had a stuffed toy version of Millie that he kept under the bench. Actually, it was a golf club head cover that looked like a miniature poodle. It looked exactly like Millie.
The judge, who has a flare for the dramatic, was known to sometimes pull the "toy Millie" out from under the bench and throw it at lawyers, in mock exasperation.
"I had a lawyer in my courtroom one time who I thought was getting out of control, so I just threw the stuffed Millie at him," recalls the judge. "He screamed at me, 'Don't take it out on the dog!'"
The judge and Millie were both creatures of habit. They began each morning with a pre-court ritual of coffee, peanut butter and jelly. The judge would drink the coffee while Millie would enjoy the peanut butter and jam.
After the morning court session, the judge would take Millie out to the courtyard or to the lawn on the south side of the courthouse so that Millie could, in the judge's words, "take care of her business." Once a month, the judge would take Millie to "some doggy beauty salon" where Millie would get her hair done, or more accurately, her fur done.
Millie generally appeared in court each day wearing a bright orange bow, a tribute to the judge's alma mater, UT, and Millie's favorite team, the Volunteers.
There were a few rare days when Millie did not accompany the judge to Court. "Every once in a while," the judge remembers, "we had a real serious case on trial, and even though most people didn't even know Millie was there at my feet, I just sometimes thought it was best to leave her at home during the proceedings."
But on most days, Millie was right there on the bench (or, more accurately, under the bench), quietly listening to stories about car wrecks, on-the-job accidents, and broken marriages or hearing some lawyer explain why he needed a continuance. (Grr! Grr!)
And during those anxious moments when lawyers (like me) were waiting for a jury to return, Millie was back in chambers, calmly lapping up some peanut butter and jelly.
A few days ago, I got a phone call from Judge Chandler's secretary. She said the judge wanted me to know that Millie had gone to heaven. I called the judge's house and left a message on his answering machine. And then I left my office, walked three blocks to the Shelby County Courthouse, and spent a few moments in the Courtroom of Division 1, remembering the days when Millie and the judge presided.