CAPE GIRARDEAU LAWYER BRINGS COLOR TO MISSOURI COURTROOMS

Albert Lowes shuffled up to a courtroom lectern Tuesday, seeking justice
for a man who he claimed was only defending his emus.

Punctuating the argument with his booming cadence, Lowes wound his way
through an explanation of how his client, an exotic-bird farmer, happened
to end up making two trespassing teen-age boys strip naked before the
barrel of a shotgun.

"Why, he was just giving them a little discipline," Lowes told the appeals
court's three-judge panel. "He marched them off, and the devil take the
hindmost."

The judges exchanged puzzled glances and asked Lowes what he meant about
the devil.

"The next time you appear, perhaps you could give us a glossary of your
terms," Judge Richard Teitelman suggested.

Lowes' choice of words rarely are misunderstood. His speech, typically
filled with a variety of obscenities and colloquial phrases, have colored
Missouri courtrooms for 41 years. Over that time, the defense attorney's
style has attracted high-profile clients charged with financial fraud,
trafficking narcotics and sexual crimes with teen-agers and children. Many
were found not guilty, and this reputation draws seemingly hopeless cases
to Lowes' office looking for a miracle.

If a client can afford him, former Marine Lowes said he is ready to wage
war in court, regardless of the crime.

The style is part of the persona of perhaps the most aggressive,
hard-working and hard-drinking trial lawyer in Southeast Missouri.

"Al Lowes loves his country, he loves the law, and he loves his wife," Cape
Girardeau County prosecutor Morley Swingle said. "All else is subject to
all-out attack."

A farmer's son

Lowes grew up on a farm just north of Oak Ridge, Mo., and later in Perry
County. He keeps a drawing of the small wooden-slat house where he was born
on his office wall.

His father gave him, his brother and two sisters a motto for living that
has guided Lowes ever since: Play hard, but work hard first.

"The wisdom in that is if you finished work on a farm at 7 in the evening,
you didn't have energy to do anything else," Lowes said.

Lowes joined the Marine Corps two weeks after graduating from high school
in Perryville, Mo. He was sent to California to train in aviation
mechanics, but a sergeant looking for a stenographer changed that.

Lowes ended up in Korea in 1952, working for two two-star generals. Friends
back home wondered what Lowes was doing overseas, since FBI agents
questioned them about him. They later learned their friend handled
top-secret dispatches.

He left the Marines after four years as a staff sergeant, convinced that he
should study law. Watching lawyers in military court marshals persuaded him
it wasn't hard.

"The way some of those fellows slop around, I figured I could do that,"
Lowes said.

After graduating from the University of Missouri-Columbia law school in
1959, he came back to Cape Girardeau County looking for a job. Former state
Sen. Albert M. Spradling Jr. convinced attorney Robert Buerkle to hire him,
Lowes said.

Lowes spent his early years handling insurance claims. That's where he
built his reputation for taking cases to trial more than most attorneys.
"People come to me for that," he said. "Almost any lawyer can write a
decent deed or contract, but trials are where you have more fun."

His own language

Witnesses questioned by Lowes don't always enjoy themselves.

In a case involving the son of a Missouri State Highway Patrol officer who
was accused of exposing himself to women as he pulled into convenience
store drive-throughs, he asked a teen-age witness, using a slang word, if
she had ever seen a male's genitalia.

"I speak the common vernacular. That's what people understand."

But he might not completely understand them. He trusts his wife, Peggy, to
correct his insights about the meanings of what female witnesses say in court.

"She's my best buddy," Lowes said.

Former lawyer and regional Democratic Party leader Edward Downs likes
Lowes' language just fine. The two represented each other on occasion.

"When you listen to one of Al's cases, you don't have to guess at what he
means," Downs said.

Lowes was a natural defense choice for Downs, who pleaded guilty to cocaine
trafficking in federal court in 1993. Downs, then 72, admitted to buying
cocaine for distribution from a Florida dealer.

Downs could have received 40 years in prison but was sentenced to 55 months.

Lowes is critical of harsh punishments for drug crimes. Arrests for small
amounts of marijuana or cocaine waste time and resources, he said, although
Lowes does favor strict sentencing for crack cocaine and methamphetamine.

"I'm all for treatment of the poor devils," he said. "Some of them need to
be in the pen but not near the ones that are there."

Adams and Lowes

Missouri State Highway Patrol trooper Blaine Adams shares an odd-couple
relationship with Lowes. Adams, who is third among Highway Patrol troopers
for career DWI arrests, said he helps Lowes financially, although not
intentionally.

"He's made a lot of money off my arrests," Adams said.

Lowes said Adams exaggerates but is a good officer as long as he stays
clear of the "drunk box."

It's one of Lowes' pet phrases. The "drunk box" is a breathalyzer for
measuring blood- alcohol levels. "Vampiring" is when a blood sample is
taken from a driver suspected of drinking. "Dead soldiers" are empty
bottles of alcohol or cans of beer.

When Lowes speaks with his own terms in court, Adams pretends not to
understand, trying to force him to use other words. It's a game, Adams said.

"When I ask him to explain himself, he'll say 'Now, Blaine, I know you
weren't valedictorian of your class...,'" Adams said. "He tries to make you
mad."

Lowes dismisses criticism of his approach to questioning witnesses. He said
he'll do whatever it takes to win for his client.

Adams said he doubts Lowes' good intentions. Lowes too often convinces
people facing their first DWI offense to go to a jury trial. First offenses
nearly always result in a suspended sentence, the trooper said. "So not
only does someone end up with a DWI conviction on their record if they
lose, but they pay him a fee," Adams said.

Although Lowes declined to say how much he charges, attorneys and officers
familiar with his work said $10,000 for a serious criminal case is about
average.

Lowes has his own doubts about how Adams and other troopers operate.

"I don't like some of the corners those troopers cut," he said. "They lay
by the saloon waiting for you. We've got too many police. Just look at what
happened to those Bush girls."

Smoking cigars

Aside from the color of court, Lowes' days are predictable. Seven days a
week, he works. Five days a week, he eats lunch at the Drury Lodge, usually
with former senator Spradling. On Saturdays, he starts drinking with his
buddies around noon. On Sundays, after attending St. Mark's Lutheran
Church, he'll go to his office for several hours.

Lowes' hard work always makes him prepared for court, which is a reason why
he is allowed to speak and act uniquely from other lawyers, said A.J.
Seier, former Cape Girardeau County circuit judge and prosecutor.

"As a judge, you'll hear him and say, 'Oh, it's just Al Lowes,'" Seier
said. "He's not contemptible. His terminology is just a little different
from the rest of us."

Lowes uses books on tape and cigars to relax. He doesn't waste time on
fiction, he said. Book tapes of Roman and military histories fill an office
shelf. "The Republic" by Plato, "The Secret War Against Hitler" by William
Casey and "Into the Storm" by Tom Clancy are some.

Several yellow boxes of 65-cent Swann cigars from Tampa, Fla., are in
another corner of the office. Lowes wouldn't waste money on expensive
cigars when a less expensive, good-quality brand is available.

Various photos of his two sons and daughter hang on the walls. The two sons
still live in Missouri, but his daughter has worked as a management
consultant in Australia and Japan for several years.

"She's our super achiever," Lowes said.

Danita Lowes credits her father for expanding her world view from an early
age as she accompanied him to jails when he was working and bars when he
wasn't.

"It made me very street wise," said Danita Lowes, a Tokyo resident. "I was
around a mix of people, and it helped me to see different angles to things
early on."

Her father still gives her an example of great integrity, she said.

"When he said things, he always meant them," she said. "This creates a
foundation for a child. He would never put a questionable thing on his taxes."

Lowes said he was proud when his daughter, valedictorian of her 1981
Jackson High School graduating class, told him she could drink more beer
than any of her peers.

"It was very amusing to him," Danita said. "He thought it was indicative
that I had my priorities straight."