The Miers They Missed

"In a very informal way, she took me under her wing and allowed me to see the things that she did in the practice of law, and I have modeled what I've done after that," said Shonn Brown, an African American associate hired by Miers in 1998 who is up for partner this year. Brown said Miers's support went beyond law. When she told Miers in 2000 that she had become engaged, Miers insisted on throwing a wedding shower.

"It was for about 50 people," Brown recalled. "She hosted it at her home and invited our families." Miers cooked all the food, too.

There is no question among those who know her that Miers's values came from her life experience. An older brother, Harris "Buddy" Miers Jr., who owns a health care business, recalled that their mother used to read poetry to her five children, attaching a lesson to each poem. "I remember her reading 'The Boy Stood on the Burning Deck,' " he said, "and from that would come a lesson about devotion to duty and the need for courage." When Sally Miers made rice pudding, Buddy Miers recalled, the children would thank her and she would respond: "I enjoyed making it. It is better to give than receive."

"When you hear this all your childhood, it gets programmed," he said.

Although raised in affluent North Dallas, Miers faced hardship as a college freshman when her father was incapacitated by a stroke, leaving his real estate business in shambles and the family in debt. Miers was going to drop out of college until her mother-- who herself had been forced to leave school in fifth grade to care for younger siblings --called the president of Southern Methodist University and persuaded him to give her daughter a scholarship and a job in the computer lab. SMU's support allowed Miers to finish college and then law school, where she made law review and was one of eight women in a graduating class of 97.

About the same time, Sally Miers hired a Dallas attorney named Otto Mullinax, who untangled Harris Miers Sr.'s business dealings and rescued the family from debt. Mullinax, well known as a lawyer for labor unions and Democratic causes, became a hero to Harriet Miers and her family, and she said in a 1991 interview that he made her aware of the power of the law.

"Role models are very important and heroes are needed in our society," said Buddy Miers. "He was a hero to all of us."

Miers seemed to have a talent for thriving under fiercely demanding male bosses who intimidated most men. Her father had been one; so was U.S. District Judge Joe Estes, for whom she clerked, and Stanley Neely, a senior partner who supervised and ultimately championed her as a young associate at what was then Locke Purnell. It was Estes who called Neely and insisted that the firm, which had never hired a female attorney, give Miers an interview.

"He called me up one morning and told me that she was coming over to interview with us, and he proceeded to tell me what he thought about her, which was the highest praise I've ever heard," Neely told Texas Lawyer in 1996.

"I don't think she has ever stopped feeling indebted to people who helped her out when she needed help," said Jim Martin, a Dallas attorney who was engaged to Miers in the early 1970s. "That sense of responsibility to others was absolutely overwhelming in her as a guiding principle. It was always: I need to measure up to the confidence placed in me."

Ultimately, Martin said, he and Miers realized that her sense of responsibility to her work was taking precedence over their relationship, and they ended their engagement.

Miers navigated the roles of first female partner and first female president of the Dallas and state bars while staying well inside the conventions of Southern womanhood. "She was very shy, very feminine, very quiet, but never timid," said her friend Ann Simmons, who was hired as a paralegal at Locke Purnell when Miers arrived as the first-ever female associate. Simmons remembered the men's surprise when Miers, a high school and college tennis player, came to the firm's annual softball outing and clobbered every pitch she got.

"Here comes this little feminine woman hitting the ball harder than them," Simmons said. "Harriet does it quietly, and when it's done, she doesn't make a big deal out of it."

Miers's colleagues said she always put the interests of the firm and the law ahead of her own. As a city council member, she cast the deciding vote for a redistricting plan that ensured the election of more minority members, while abolishing her own seat. Her partners selected her to lead the firm as it went into a merger, said Glendenning, "because she had this unusual ability to sublimate herself and put what was best for the firm ahead of what was best for her." As a tribute to her sense of fairness, he gave her a compass for her 50th birthday engraved: "To Harriet Miers, whose moral compass always points 'do right.' "

Much of what offended conservatives about Miers came from speeches she made as state bar association president, in which she explored practical solutions to such emotional issues as abortion and prayer in schools. Friends say the speeches reflected the Miers they knew, who searched hard for fairness and justice. Conservatives said they saw a closet liberal lurking in what she said.

One of many speeches Miers submitted to the Judiciary Committee may suggest how she will go on from here. Leadership, she said, requires staying true to one's beliefs whether they are popular or not. "That we do not receive acclamation or maybe lose an election is not a finding we were wrong," she said. "It simply means we lost."

Russakoff reported from Dallas; Davis reported from Washington. Staff writer Jo Becker and researcher Lucy Shackelford contributed to this report.