BusinessTN

Within weeks of taking the bench in 1991, Judge Walter Williams was making local headlines for cleaning up Chattanooga's City Court, which traditionally had the ambience and decorum of a Greyhound station at midnight. He replaced broken furniture, implemented a dress code and sent loitering attorneys scurrying from his chambers (and straightening their ties). Over the next 12 years he attracted national press, popular support and professional criticism for his no-holds-barred methods: Using duct tape to silence a defendant's profanity. Paddling a gangsta wannabe (with thumbs-up from Mom). The methods were public enough, and just frequent enough, to define his judgeship. In 2003, when he retired to private practice, Williams' style was either heroic or half-cocked, depending upon whom you asked. If Chattanoogans agreed on anything about Judge Williams, it was that the man had no time for foolishness.

It seems incongruous, then, that Williams has been written into the last, undignified chapter of the story of the late James Brown. In recent years, the singer's legal peccadilloes became as famous as his music, and his 2006 death sparked an undignified family squabble so intense it took 10 weeks just to bury the body. The Godfather of Soul's romantic dalliances resulted in at least eight self-proclaimed children (two DNA-confirmed); his grandchildren, as yet uncounted, will be the only named beneficiaries of his will, which provides for their education. Busy with paternity questions and legal challenges by Brown's known children, the estate's trustees appointed a five-person board, including Walter Williams, to create the "I Feel Good" educational trust for disadvantaged students. The board has broad control over disbursement of the trust, worth $350 million, the bulk of Brown's wealth. (The singer's posthumous generosity isn't surprising, Williams notes; behind the gaudy headlines, Brown habitually handed out money to strangers in need.)

Brown's generosity has given Williams another opportunity to fulfill what he once considered his judicial mandate: to use hands-on means to change lives. For each well-publicized City Court case involving duct tape or a paddle, there were hundreds involving less dramatic means. Williams has helped nearly 900 of his defendants earn G.E.D.s and numerous others go to college, land a job or get off welfare. Williams admits he'd like to return to lower court, which he considers the only place a judge can step out of the box to direct the disenfranchised and polish "the diamonds in the rough." In the meantime, he's been thinking creatively about the "I Feel Good" trust—$350 million, he says, is a pretty big box.