As a young reporter with The Robesonian, I remember sitting in a Robeson County Superior Courtroom when the late Joe Freeman Britt casually sauntered up the side hallway. A hush suddenly fell over the courtroom.

That was the over-size kind of effect he had here. Britt already had that reputation when I met him in the late 1970s.

I was flattered that he invited me into his office. He told me he liked my writing. It “made sense,” he said. I was more flattered.

Britt told me the story of how he became a strong advocate for the death penalty after being against it as a law student. He had pictures to go with the story.

The photos were of a man’s severed head and hand. He said the murder was committed by two men who had conspired to commit life insurance fraud. A dog dug up the body parts, and they were arrested.

More often than not, Britt told me, pre-meditated murder in Robeson resulted in a quick guilty plea to second-degree murder and a 20-year sentence. In this case, a life was worth $10,000, and after seven years, murderers were home and free.

A life in Robeson County was worth just seven years in prison, and that was wrong, Britt said. His goal was to raise the value of life in this county by raising the penalty. He called it deterrence.

Before Joe Freeman Britt, Robeson was law less. Disputes were too often settled outside the law. The Sheriff’s Department in the state’s largest and poorest county was not about keeping order, especially in minority communities. The department did not have radio contact with their deputies in much of the county.

In the mid-1970s, one of Robeson’s most famous “joints” was the scene of a shootout with five to six men wounded, one badly. The deputies took the injured men’s statements and walked away — with no charges filed.

The young district attorney was not so reticent. Britt closed Dreamland forever, along with several others. He told the press that Robeson County was turning a page in history.

I have other memories of Britt. Once, I passed him on the road to Laurinburg where he also served as Scotland County’s district attorney. Cigar in place, Joe was driving about 50 miles an hour in his very long, 1965 Chrysler convertible with the top down — larger than life!

Then, there was Velma Barfield. Britt ordered 11 bodies exhumed and charged Barfield for four murders. Years later, I asked him how many people she had really killed. Ever the professional, he still had no comment.

District attorneys are elected officials. I saw another side of the prosecutor in an embezzlement case involving an employee who stole — at least — $40,000 from the town of Pembroke. Britt called the town’s mayor and manager to the stand to ask them what they thought the punishment should be. They didn’t know, and Britt did not press for a prison sentence.

There is one more story. My wife and 4-year-old daughter were touring the empty court rooms and bumped into Britt, who was then a Superior Court judge. My daughter took to him instantly. Sitting on his lap, he handed her the gavel. Kindness from a very tough guy in a tough profession.

Life was not worth much for many people in Robeson when Britt became district attorney. Did he change that?

I believe so by sheer force of personality. He loomed large in the minds of murderers who were hauled into his courtroom. Perhaps, he was successful deterring many murders.

Charged with first-degree murder, who would want to sit in the court room facing Joe Freeman Britt?