Murdered former mayor deserved better than somber funeral

By Andrew Dys - The Herald

YORK -- The lady stood and sang for the hymns, and she sat and closed her eyes for the prayers.

She sat for a funeral in a First Presbyterian Church with its trademark metal steeple-topped sanctuary so filled past capacity that extra pews were brought in at the back. Mourners literally walked in off the street for this man who always had an open door.

The rows upon rows were filled with so many who had made a living in the law. The same way Melvin Roberts, the unwilling guest of honor at this funeral, made his living.

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Roberts, who helped so many people in 55 years of practicing law, died after he was attacked outside his York home Thursday evening.

This 79-year-old man deserved a celebration-of-life service to commemorate a life lived roaring out motions and pleadings as Roberts did – fighting for clients who could not pay the rent or his legal bills.

Instead, it was a somber service about a murder victim by an assailant or assailants yet uncaught.

Still, the lady named Robin Jones, who is no lawyer, sat near the front. She was far in front of a congressman, John Spratt; miles ahead of an appeals court judge, Paul Short, who sat in the far back. In front of prosecutors and judges, she sat, because she had gotten there early to get a good seat.

She even sat in front of a peach farmer named Ben Smith. You know somebody like Melvin Roberts was loved by regular people when the farmers sit in front of the judges.

And when it was over, Robin Jones walked out quietly, alone through the middle aisle, and quickly down the steps of the church.

“Melvin Roberts was just so nice,” said Jones, who rented her home from Roberts.

But this lady was so moved by his kindness in her dealings that she came to the funeral and sat in the front so she could pay her respects to a man who never cared if somebody rented a house or owned the whole town.

That was Melvin Roberts.

One of Roberts’ two sons, Ronnie, admitted in church that if people only knew the outside of Melvin Roberts – the “gruff” side – they didn’t know his father.

Melvin Roberts grew up poor on a farm in McConnells, “way out in the country” as people such as Roberts used to say. The reason he went into law was to help people just like his family.

Roberts charged people based on income. Broke clients paid the least. But they got the best Roberts had to offer, as did those who owned Cadillacs, like Roberts eventually would.

Roberts had a 1972 Caddy so big the chrome grille in front would be in Clover while the red taillights were still in York.

“He didn’t care if somebody was black or white, purple or brown, American or Chinese,” Ronnie Roberts said. “It just didn’t matter to him.”

Like most in the audience – in shock since word spread that Roberts was a murder victim – the family sat stunned.

Roberts would have no chance to be roasted with jokes and toasts by his legal colleagues in York County – of whom he was senior both in age and years of service. No champagne upon retirement.

Melvin Roberts died a murder victim, and that church filled with people sat and shook its collective head about it.

“He told me, ‘Ronnie, I’m gonna die one day,’” Ronnie Roberts told the audience, “But we never thought it would be like this … Somebody took him from us.”

The preacher who gave the eulogy, the Rev. Barry Yates, told the audience that Roberts sold hot dogs and insurance as a young man to pay for college and law school. He then practiced law because – as Roberts saw it starting in 1955 – “no one was defending the people.”

Just ask Antonio Mobley, Yates told the audience.

In the audience at the funeral, silently, sat Mobley, one-time client of Roberts. Last year, a jury found Mobley not guilty of a murder that both Mobley and Roberts claimed from the get-go that Mobley did not do. Roberts used the justice system to prove that.