Compromise is not part of the equation for Moore

GALLANT, Alabama (AP) --Alabama Chief Justice Roy
Moore is in the fight of his life over a Ten
Commandments monument, and his brother cant help but
think how little has changed since they were kids
growing up in this foothills town.

Then-11-year-old Roy had just caught a nice string of
fish and was heading home to cook them up when a group
of men stopped their car and demanded he hand the
catch over. Instead of giving in, he stood his ground,
with his fists clenched tightly in front of him.

Ill have to say, as little as we was, Roy stood up to
them, brother Jerry Moore recalls with a chuckle. And
they didnt get our fish.

Now, at 56, Roy Moores fists are still raised. His
defiance of a federal court order to remove the
5,300-pound commandments monument from the judicial
building rotunda has thrust Alabama into a thorny
debate over the separation of church and state.

Those who have known Moore through childhood, West
Point, Vietnam, and a sometimes stormy legal career
say the standoff is hardly surprising from a man who
has never compromised when it comes to his faith.

But critics say he is using his bench as a pulpit to
impose his religious values on others.

Roy Moore lives in a world where there isnt any gray,
says Auburn University history professor J. Wayne
Flynt. And I think he really believes that is true --
which makes him really scary.

Flynt says it is understandable that the man waging
this battle should have sprung from northeast Alabamas
Etowah County, a bastion of religious conservatism
that he says exemplifies the blue collar populism
embodied in the state motto: We Dare Defend our
Rights.

The oldest of five children, Moore grew up in houses
without toilets, bagging groceries at the Piggly
Wiggly to supplement his fathers wages as an itinerant
construction worker.

At the Gallant First Baptist Church, Moores pastor
gave him a King James Bible he still carries today.
Instead of the Ten Commandments, a framed copy of the
church covenant hung on the wall.

The Moore children went to Sunday school and played on
the church ball teams, but there was no one drumming
the Bible into their heads, says Jerry Moore, 11
months Roys junior.

Really, to tell you the truth, we was just plain, old
country folks, he says. It wasnt one of them things,
preach, preach, preach, seven days a week.

Still, Roy read incessantly and could quote long
passages of Scripture by heart, he says with unveiled
admiration.

Thomas Guest, president of the Etowah County High
School Class of 1965, remembers Moore carrying all of
his books from room to room so he would always be
ready to study -- or, at least, to demonstrate
studying at every opportunity.

His ambition knew no limits, says Guest, now a Florida
psychologist.

Moore was president of the student body his senior
year and represented the school at the Alabama Boys
State. His peers pegged him as most likely to succeed.

When Moore got his appointment to West Point, his
father borrowed $300 to get him there. Dick Jarman,
who was in the Beast Barracks with Moore, remembers
the future jurist vividly.

After a forced march in the blazing heat with full
combat packs, the whole squad would fall out panting
on the ground. Jarman remembers looking up and seeing
Moore standing there, fingers interlaced, lips moving
in prayer.

We would say, Roy, youve got to sit down and get some
rest here, Jarman says. I mean, you know Gods going to
help you to some extent. But youve got to do a little
bit of it for yourself.

While the other cadets were figuring out ways to go
drinking in town, Moore was leading Bible classes.
But, Jarman adds, he never proselytized or tried to
convert anybody.

Moore sent part of his meager allowance -- half a
second-lieutenants pay -- home to his family. When his
father died suddenly in his sophomore year, Moore
seriously considered dropping out to help out at home.

In Vietnam, Moores bible seemed to be the Army
handbook. The men of the 188th Military Police Company
derisively called him Captain America because of his
insistence on regulation haircuts and constant
salutes, and some of the men talked seriously about
fragging him.

His policies damn near got him killed in Vietnam, says
Barrey Hall, who served under Moore. He was a
strutter.

After serving his tour, Moore studied law at the
University of Alabama. He was deputy district attorney
in Etowah County from 1977 until 1982, when he lost a
bitter election for circuit judge. Following the
election, Moore spent 18 months soul searching,
training as a kick boxer and working as a cattleman in
Australia.

It was around this time that Moore carved a little
wood-burned miniature of the Ten Commandments that he
kept hanging in his office in downtown Gadsden. That
is, until Moore became a circuit judge and he moved
the plaque into his courtroom.

In 1995, the American Civil Liberties Union sued
Moore, claiming the plaque constituted an unlawful
establishment of religion. It took three years, but
the Alabama Supreme Court dismissed the lawsuit on
technical grounds, never ruling on the plaques
legality.

The case made Moore the Ten Commandments Judge and
turned him into something of a Christian folk hero,
winning awards from national religious organizations
and doing something most judges avoid -- speaking out
on the issues.

Moore said in a 1997 magazine interview: Weve turned
the Constitution and the First Amendment from a shield
to protect us into a sword to deprive us of our civil
and religious rights.

In a widely published poem titled, America the
Beautiful, Moore warned his fellow Americans that the
country under President Clinton was heading down the
wrong path.

America the Beautiful, or so you used to be.

Land of the Pilgrims pride; Im glad theyll never see.

Babies piled in Dumpsters, Abortion on demand,

Oh, sweet land of liberty, your house is on the sand.
...

Moore rode his newfound fame into the chief justices
chair in 2000. When, in the dead of night on July 31,
2001, Moore had the 21/2-ton Ten Commandments monument
installed in the Supreme Court building, the ACLU sued
again.

U.S. District Judge Myron Thompson declared the
display unconstitutional. After the 11th U.S. Circuit
Court of Appeals upheld that ruling, Thompson gave the
state -- not just Moore _ until Wednesday to remove it
or face daily fines of up to $5,000. On Thursday,
Moores fellow justices overruled him and ordered the
monument moved from its public place, saying they were
bound by solemn oath to follow the law, whether they
agree or disagree with it.

As Moore appealed to the U.S. Supreme Court,
protesters from across the country flocked to Alabama
in his defense, kneeling in prayer on the courthouse
steps. Some were arrested after refusing to disperse.

He claims to be a man who cares a great deal about
religion, but is allowing the Ten Commandments to be
the star attraction in a circus, says Ayesha Khan, an
attorney for Americans United for Separation of Church
and State, which joined the ACLU in seeking the
monuments removal.

Jerry Moore says his brother might never have erected
the monument, had others not pushed the issue.

Roys a fighter, he says. You dont push him, because
hell fight back. Its like putting kindling on a fire,
you know.

Moore declined repeated requests by The Associated
Press for an interview. But at a rally in Montgomery
last weekend, he told a crowd of several thousand
supporters that he would be guilty of treason if he
didnt fight for the monument.

Lets get this straight, he told the assembly. Its
about the acknowledgment of God.

There is no denying that Moores stand in the
courthouse doors has played well among the folks back
home.

Pastor Phillip Ellen of Crosspoint Community Church in
Gadsden has known the pugnacious Moore since high
school. He says the ACLU has picked the wrong guy to
tangle with.

If he plays you in checkers, hes gonna beat you in
checkers, Ellen says. If he plays you in the rule of
law, hes gonna go by the rule. Theres no compromise.
Hes not going to change.