Cornerstone of this feud for feisty sheriff is school pride

Every town needs a Bill Watson. Every defunct high school ought to have one, too.

Watson is the unfiltered, pugnacious sheriff of Portsmouth. A guy who blew into office on a populist wind in 2005, replacing an entrenched member of the Democratic political machine. His predecessor had lost his driver's license in a DUI that couldn't be covered up once the media found out about it.

During his tenure, Watson has emerged as a champion of the old port city's working class who seems to relish his repeated run-ins with the suits at City Hall.

On Aug. 9, for instance, he approached the lectern in City Council chambers, slipped on a pair of sunglasses and demanded that the politicians return $1.8 million they'd trimmed from his budget. At one point in his diatribe, Watson asked how he was supposed to cover 55 emergency routes with just 49 emergency vehicles.

"You all might need a consultant to figure that out," he said, smirking.

Watson ended his rant the way he frequently does, by reminding council members that they can't tell him what to do.

"I don't work for you," he sneered. "I work for the people."

Looks like he's at war with City Hall once again.

In addition to running the jail and securing the courthouse, Watson is a proud product of Cradock High School. Like thousands of other grads, he still mourns the passing of his beloved alma mater, which closed almost 20 years ago.

"I was heartbroken," said the former school band member. Watson described the years he spent at the three-story school as "some of the best of my life."

When the doors closed for good, Watson did something no one else thought to do. He paid $1,000 for what he says were the rights to the school's name and its logo. He has a canceled check dated May 21, 1991, to prove it.

"I didn't want the school to ever be forgotten," he explained.

But how did he even know the name was for sale?

"I'm 20 years ahead of the city of Portsmouth," he boasted.

Like many of us, Watson has strong emotional ties to his high school. He's still bitter the school was closed, charging that officials allowed it to become dilapidated in order to shutter it.

When a developer recently became interested in the property and it was clear the school might be razed, Watson had one more idea that was ahead of its time: He said he asked the assistant city manager if he could take the "1952" cornerstone and give it to the Cradock alumni group.

Richard Hartman remembers the conversation differently. The interim deputy city manager told The Pilot that he believed the cornerstone would stay in place until demolition was under way.

City honchos are griping that the sheriff took the cornerstone and left an unsightly hole in the building without permission.

"All of a sudden, Richard Hartman has amnesia," Watson said Tuesday.

The sheriff said he wouldn't have agreed to wait because he wanted the 300-pound souvenir in time for the "Come Home to Cradock" festivities later this month.

When I asked if that cornerstone had any special significance, Watson - class of 1965 - said it was right next to the place where he used to go to have a cigarette.

"I had a smoking pass," he added.

Smoking passes for students. Those were the days, eh?

Feuds between the jail staff and city honchos are part of the entertainment in Portsmouth. This one is different. It's about school pride and a chunk of a building that's about to bite the dust.

City officials should let the sheriff win this time. They have nothing to worry about until they see chisel-wielding inmates chipping away at the cornerstone in City Hall.

News researcher Maureen Watts contributed to this column.

Kerry Dougherty, (757) 446-2306, kerry.dougherty@cox.net