In the Pursuit of Justice: Brittany Henderson ’11

In the Pursuit of Justice: Brittany Henderson ’11

In the Pursuit of Justice: Brittany Henderson ’11

How the notorious criminal Jeffrey Epstein was brought to justice.

By Derek Herscovici ’14

Brittany Henderson smiling with the city behind her
When the world learned the long-awaited truth about Jeffrey Epstein — the mysterious billionaire who used wealth and connections to become perhaps the worst pedophile in American history — Brittany Henderson ’11 could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

For years, she and her law firm partner/mentor Bradley J. Edwards sought justice for Epstein’s victims, slashing through a jungle of legal quagmires, government obfuscation and a vast network of shadowy ‘fixers’ to reach its core.

Their efforts succeeded in securing charges that ultimately placed Epstein behind bars. It is because of their work that the world knows him and the decades of abuse that countless girls and young women suffered because of him. Their journey to pull the phantom from the dark is detailed in their book “Relentless Pursuit: My Fight for the Victims of Jeffrey Epstein” released March 2020.

“One of the last conversations that Brad [Edwards] and Jeffrey [Epstein] had was Epstein joking that if there was ever a book or a movie, he wanted to make sure that his character was played right,” says Henderson. “We made sure there’s some perspective from the good guys and the bad guys.” A South Florida native, Henderson came to Auburn wanting to help people. She set her sights on becoming a doctor, but soon was inspired to become a lawyer and interned with the Lee County Courthouse during her senior year.

But the political science grad’s first real experience came while she was still attending law school at Nova Southeastern University. As a law clerk working for Brad Edwards, she had unknowingly stepped into a years-long fight against Epstein.

The story of Brad Edwards’ takedown of Epstein began years earlier, in 2008, when Courtney Wild, former victim of Epstein’s, walked into his office. Epstein had just been given an extremely lenient sentence — a few months in a minimum-security prison, followed by several months of house arrest — and even then, he continued to flout the rules of his sentence. Meanwhile, the ruling was kept secret by Epstein’s lawyers and prosecutors, leaving his victims completely in the dark.

Why government prosecutors had given Epstein such a lenient sentence was and remains a mystery, even today, but the ruling was a clear violation of the Crime Victims’ Rights Act (CVRA), which guarantees the rights of victims to know the outcome of their federal crimes’ cases. While the other lawyers moved on to the next case, giving up on Epstein, Edwards dug in his heels.

“Brad made it his life’s mission to make sure justice was served to Epstein. Had he given up on the fight when everyone else did, I’m sure Epstein would still be hanging out on his island in the Virgin Islands right now.”

When Henderson joined the fight in 2014, Edwards was in the middle of two separate cases, one a personal lawsuit filed by Epstein, the other the CVRA case representing Epstein’s victims. In the case of the latter, the U.S. government had for years fought to not turn over any evidence related to Epstein’s first cakewalk prison sentence using delay tactics. Epstein was aided by an army of high-powered celebrity lawyers like Alan Dershowitz.

The case immediately changed the direction of Henderson’s own legal career.

“As I read through the emails the government sent to Epstein’s attorneys, I was thinking ‘these people should be in jail. How is this possible?’ They were supposed to help the victims, but worked with the bad guy to make sure [the victims] didn’t know what was going on,” recalls Henderson. “It created this fire in me; I just couldn’t stand it. I wanted to do whatever it took for the rest of my career to make sure that things were fair for victims.”

Henderson hadn’t even graduated law school when she and Edwards wrote the summary judgment motion that led to a ruling that the victims’ rights had in fact been violated by the government. At the same time, another now-grown Epstein victim named Virginia Roberts had come forward with new, hard evidence, photographs and dozens of names that Edwards and Henderson interviewed to build their case.

“You think ‘this is unbelievable,’ but it really is unbelievable that it happened to this girl when she was 17, and she’s sitting here ready to stand up and fight against the people who did this to her.”

Henderson was an invaluable resource for the case, able to sympathize with women who felt recalcitrant speaking about their past. Sometimes the same age as the victims she was interviewing, she became more than just a lawyer for her clients; she became a friend and confidante, too.

Henderson traveled everywhere that Edwards did, interviewing dozens of new victims as well as meeting regularly with Epstein’s lawyers. On one occasion, she even met Epstein. “I only spoke with Jeffrey Epstein once, and you know that he’s a bad guy, you know that he’s done so many horrible things, but just from the charismatic energy that he had, you get a great perspective on how so many women ended up being manipulated and abused by him.

Man and woman smiling with another woman standing behind them
A photo used as evidence in Virginia Roberts’ lawsuit. (L-R) Prince Andrews, Duke of York, Roberts and Ghislaine Maxwell
He had this energy about him that made you want to talk to him, [but then] take a step back and say, ‘wait a minute, this is a really, really bad guy.’”

With the evidence provided by Roberts, Edwards and Henderson began building cases against key Epstein associates like Ghislaine Maxwell, Epstein’s onetime girlfriend-turned “procurer” of young girls, and Jean-Luc Brunel, a talent scout for a modeling agency that Epstein would exploit for his sexual deviancy.

The closer they got to Epstein himself, the higher the stakes would get. On one occasion, they had to hide a victim in an undisclosed hotel after she was being followed. In other instances, Epstein would call Edwards directly from a private number that appeared only as “0000000” immediately following an important meeting, raising the question of whether their own office had been bugged with secret recording devices.

“It became this running joke ­— Brad could not call Jeffrey, but Jeffrey could call Brad, so if there was something Brad wanted to talk to [Epstein] about, I would look up at the ceiling and say ‘Jeffrey, can you call?’ and on more than one occasion, within minutes of that happening, Epstein would call Brad.”

Once, a mysterious package arrived at the office with no return address; both were scared to open it. Though a direct attack on Edwards would be an obvious retaliation from Epstein, Henderson felt an attack on her would not be out of the question. As the CVRA suit began to make its way through the Federal courts, it gained the attention of prosecutors in the Southern District of New York (SDNY). Unlike the non-prosecution deal he received in Florida in 2007, Epstein had no prior immunity in New York where he operated for decades.

Henderson and Edwards continued to interview former victims, employees and associates of Epstein, while secretly cooperating with SDNY prosecutors to build an airtight case against him. Once the prosecutors had enough evidence, they could secure a warrant for his arrest.

“Brad was able to use the CVRA as cover when Epstein started to get suspicious as to why girls were being interviewed again. But those interviews were actually not for the CVRA case, but for the Southern District of New York.”

In 2019, the SDNY prosecutors arrested Epstein stepping off his private plane in New York. When the judge set a bond hearing for July 18, 2019 to determine if he could walk free, Henderson and Edwards flew to New York with their client Courtney Wild to be there in person. Before the judge delivered an opinion, they asked if the two victims present, Wild and Annie Farmer (represented by a colleague) wanted to speak. Just five feet from Epstein, each woman told the judge why Epstein should be in jail.

“Honestly, I’ve never seen anything more powerful in my entire life,” said Henderson. “The courage they had to get up and say those words to the man who had abused them, it’s really unfathomable. The next time [his] victims had the opportunity to say anything about Epstein in court was after he had died.”

As was widely reported, on August 10, 2019, Epstein was found dead in his cell from an apparent suicide, despite being on strict orders to monitor him around the clock. Though there was, and is, widespread speculation that he was murdered, Henderson and Edwards both believe the jarring shift in his lifestyle — no outlet for his sexual desires, a cramped, dirty prison cell and “rough” treatment at the hands of his guards — ultimately proved too much for him.

Whatever the true reason, it was a frustrating end to a frustrating case. But the Epstein saga is far from over. Today, Henderson and Edwards currently represent over 50 Epstein victims against his estate, in addition to remaining hopeful that charges will be brought against Epstein associates like Ghislaine Maxwell. The two also spent hours after work for months writing “Relentless Pursuit,” whittling over 800 pages into the concise, compelling book now available in stores.

“Brad and I spent so much time trying to distill the book down to what people would actually care about — there were so many things that happened, and so many hyper-technical legal events, and I feel really good about the feedback we’ve gotten so far.”

In 2019, Henderson was made a full-time partner at Edwards Pottinger and now devotes her life representing victims of sexual assault beyond Epstein to all over the United States. After all she and Brad Edwards have been through, she says she can’t imagine working with anyone else.

“I’ve learned that you get out of things what you put into them. When you treat something like a profession, it’s different than when you treat something like a job. We treat this as our lifestyle, and I feel like we’re really able to help people by giving everything we have to what we do.”

Brittany Henderson with Brad Edwards holding a book

Edwards and Henderson following the release of “Relentless Pursuit: My Fight for the Victims of Jeffrey Epstein” released March 2020

Fair Play

Fair Play

Fifty years ago, an abstract clause tucked inside new education legislation changed women’s sports forever. How Title IX transformed life at Auburn and opened doors for women beyond the playing fields and courts.

Living the Creed

Living the Creed

Alumni around the world live The Auburn Creed in remarkable ways. Meet three who have dedicated their lives to making an impact on others by serving the underserved and giving hope to the hopeless.

Fair Play

Fair Play

Fifty years ago, an abstract clause tucked inside new education legislation changed women’s sports forever. How Title IX transformed life at Auburn and opened doors for women beyond the playing fields and courts.

Living the Creed

Living the Creed

Alumni around the world live The Auburn Creed in remarkable ways. Meet three who have dedicated their lives to making an impact on others by serving the underserved and giving hope to the hopeless.

Rattle and Strum

Rattle and Strum

Rattle and Strum

For 25 years, two Auburn grads have brought the world’s best singer-songwriters to the Plains for concerts in a local landmark. The story of the acoustic music series with the unforgettable name. 

By Todd Deery ’90

KATIE LAMAR JACKSON ’82 doesn’t remember the exact date. “I apologize — my memory seems so bad today,” she says. But she remembers the day It was a beautiful, crisp, sunny afternoon in Auburn. Fall of 1994. People had brought blankets, their dogs and picnic baskets and were sitting on the lawn at Pebble Hill in Auburn. Dozens of them. And they were watching underappreciated Alabama songwriter Steve Young sing and play guitar.

Jackson was anxious. For the past several weeks, she and her sister Jay Lamar ’80 had hustled and planned to make the event happen, and now it looked like it was a success. Jackson couldn’t believe it.

“We were shocked that anyone showed up,” Jackson said. “Just stunned. But, I thought, how great it would be if we could do this again?”

Jackson would do this again. And again. And again. Using equal parts luck, ingenuity and determination, she started bringing renowned singer-songwriters from all over the world to the Plains, averaging a dozen or more shows a year. From that sunny day in 1994, Jackson, Lamar and Littleton spawned one of the longest-running and most-respected acoustic concert series in the country.

One that virtually every musician who has strummed a 12-string has played or wanted to play. One that the Folk Alliance International named a special award for contributions to folk music in 2017. One that, despite its success across the country and even the world for almost 25 years, few Auburn people know about.

One they would give the improbable and very memorable name of Sundilla.

A Shoestring Budget without the Shoestring

Jackson wants you to know she’s not a musician. “The only thing I can play is the radio. And I guess Pandora now,” she laughs.

But she is a huge music fan and a writer, having spent more than 25 years working at Auburn, mostly in the communications and marketing department in the College of Agriculture. She also has been a freelance writer for decades. She got the idea for Sundilla while interviewing Young for a magazine article in early 1994 at City Stages, the Birmingham, Ala. music festival.

“Later that year, Steve called me and said, ‘I’m going to be coming back to Alabama and I would love to play in Auburn. Can you suggest some venues for that?’” Jackson said. “At the time, the only venues were pretty much bars. And most of those weren’t ‘listening’ venues.”

They appreciated the Southern hospitality that Sundilla offered and started to spread the news.

Jackson, Lamar and Littleton decided to create a concert where the performer was the focus. Lamar was then the director of the Caroline Marshall Draughon Center at Pebble Hill and booked the lawn. They posted a few fliers around town, and people showed up.

“It’s called being stupid and fearless, I guess,” Jackson laughs. “Just dive right in and go. ‘This would be cool, so let’s try it.’ And then the phone didn’t stop ringing.”

Musicians were starting to call Jackson, because musicians talk when they play a concert series that does things right. They appreciated the Southern hospitality that Sundilla offered and started to spread the news.

Those first few years would establish the reputation of Sundilla that exists to this day. Sundilla treats the artists and the music with respect. Jackson would often let musicians sleep at her house. Volunteers made meals. And on concert nights, Jackson and her growing team would set up all the equipment, leaving the musicians only to worry about playing a great show.

And what about haggling over the box office? The music industry is littered with stories of unscrupulous promoters and venue owners. Not here. Throughout its history, a remarkable 90-100% of the ticket sales would go to the performer, leaving the series just enough money to scrape together the next show.

“It was a shoestring budget without the shoestring,” Jackson said.

Finding appropriate venues was an early obstacle. It was friend and early volunteer Mary Littleton ’88 who suggested they form a 501(c)(3) and approach the local Unitarian church, which is nationally known to partner with local communities. In 1995, they found a new home in the Unitarian Universalist Fellowship Church where most concerts are held to this day (see box below). It would be the perfect match of performance and venue.

Man singing and playing a guitar on a small stage
The self-described “thrift store-Americana” duo, The Rough and Tumble, perform at Sundilla on Jan. 10, 2020.
Where John Denver Is Next to Elvis

Current Sundilla President Bailey Jones ’87 is surprisingly tall and gives off the easygoing vibe of a liberal arts professor. He thinks before he speaks. He seems to stroll when he walks and blends into a crowd effortlessly. So, it’s easy to mistake this thoughtfulness for a lack of passion.

But ask him what he gets out of all the work he does for Sundilla, and he answers excitedly.

“I get the music, and it’s music that I want to hear,” Jones said. “Not what some guy sitting in some office running the radio station wants me to hear.”

It’s the kind of formatless music that used to appear on the radio he heard as a kid while doing laundry near Lake Martin in Alabama.

“We didn’t have a washer or dryer. So, we would take our laundry to the laundromat in Red Hill, Ala. They had the greatest jukebox in the little café next door,” Jones said. “It was the kind of thing you could listen to all day. John Denver would be next to Michael Jackson, who was right next to the O’Jays, who were right next to Elvis. There were no genres. It was all just good music, and that’s kind of what we try to do with Sundilla.”

Jones grew up in Birmingham, attended Samford University for two years, then transferred to Auburn to study, of all things, reptiles and amphibians. While that may sound like a great background for the music business, he soon switched gears, earning two bachelor’s degrees in journalism and radio and television in 1990.

After doing some video and TV work, Jones moved back to Auburn in 1997 and got a job with a snake removal company, a job he says, “is as bad as it sounds.” And seasonal. In 1998, he started volunteering for Sundilla, after reading about it in a local paper. After two shows, he was on board as a permanent volunteer.

In 2001, Jackson asked him to handle booking for Sundilla. And with no experience, he said yes. Turns out, the hardest part of doing bookings was wading through the dozens of musicians who wanted to play. Sundilla’s reputation remained strong.

In 2005, Jackson’s work and personal life were too much to give Sundilla the time it needed, so Jones took over the concert series for good, continuing the legacy that she started.

The Musicians and the Audience

So why the incredible appeal for musicians? Jones said it’s because Sundilla has always been about two things: the musicians and the audience. They are flexible with their dates — if a musician needs to perform on a Tuesday, they can do a Tuesday. They have volunteers who cook for the musicians and provide a warm place to stay.

Another reason is geography. Auburn is close to Atlanta and Birmingham. It’s near I-85 and Highway 280.

“At times it’s been because we were kind of an oasis,” Jones said. “In fact, our unofficial motto for a long time was, ‘We’re a great place to play on your way somewhere else.’”

But attend a show and you’ll see it’s more than that. The Unitarian Universalist Fellowship Church was built in 1865 by freed slaves. It’s a warm space with high ceilings and incredible natural acoustics, and the stage is softly lit and just large enough for a band. Audience members bring fresh-baked cookies and sandwiches to snack on preshow.

Volunteers at a small merch table in the back greet everyone who walks in. Most nights, “Wildman” Steve Bronson, former owner of venerable Auburn record store, Wildman Steve’s Records, does the sound. And when the performance starts, everyone does something amazing: they listen. Going to a Sundilla show feels less like a concert and more like a family reunion with incredible live music.

Southern singer-songwriter Kate Campbell ’86 has put out 18 albums and played with everyone from Emmylou Harris to John Prine. But she notices the same thing when returning to Auburn to play Sundilla, something she’s done four or five times since the late 90s.

“The staff treat us so well, and the audience is not in some bar talking. They are in a listening room and appreciating what you’re doing,” Campbell said. “The place gives off a certain vibe as soon as you arrive for soundcheck. There aren’t many venues like it in the southeast.”

In 2017, the Southeast Regional Folk Alliance (SERFA) awarded the Unitarian Church and Sundilla a SERFA award for major contributions to folk music. According to Jones, they’re the only venue to ever receive the award.

What the Folk The Legend of How Sundilla Got Its Name

ASK KATIE LAMAR JACKSON OR BAILEY JONES what Sundilla is named after and they both laugh. It’s kind of a long story. And like all long stories, it’s wrapped in a bit of mystery.

But the story goes something like this. The current home of The Sundilla Concert Series is the Auburn Unitarian Universalist Fellowship Church at 450 East Thach Avenue.

That building was originally the Ebenezer Missionary Baptist Church and was the first African American church built in Auburn after the Civil War. It was finished around 1870 by freed slaves using hand-hewn logs transported from miles away by mules.

Before the church was built on the land, the Creek Indians owned it and the man who represented them was named Sundilla. Thus, a concert series was named — so we think.

No matter the origins, Jackson loves the name. “I love the way that it ties back to our local history. The name gives it its own personality.”

“It might be the same as our War Eagle,” Jones says. “The truth might not actually be as good as the story.”

Auburn’s Growing Musical Community

The influence of Sundilla on the local music community is also unmistakable. There are now several smaller, musician-friendly venues around town and a growing community of local players and listeners. The Gogue Performing Arts Center has a full season of shows and concerts, and Opelika this past May held its first Opelika Songwriter’s Festival, which brought in musicians from all over the world. Jones did the booking and landed big names like Dan Navarro and Shawn Mullins as well as a slew of professional musicians and up-and-comers.

Two singers performing in front of a large audience

For Mark DeGoti, associate professor of trumpet in the Department of Music at Auburn, a live concert series like Sundilla is incomparable to listening to music on the radio or online.

“They [live concerts] are integral to the community and help create a bond and sense of culture in Lee County,” he said. “Seeing musicians perform live helps give the audience a better understanding and appreciation for the work and talent involved in their craft.”

The art of music is further explored in the Sundilla Radio Hour, which features music and conversation with independent, contemporary folk musicians. More than 335 episodes have been produced and are available as podcasts and run on Troy Public Radio.

Despite its success, Jones worries most about the graying of the audience and Sundilla’s difficulty attracting students to its shows. And while the series is known nationally and internationally, it remains largely unknown to many in the Auburn community. For Sundilla to continue to grow, that must change.

A lobby sign explains how Sundilla’s “listening room” is all about the music and musicians. It reads Sundilla is a music venue specializing in the performing and touring singer-songwriter and acoustic musician. We encourage a listening atmosphere when the performer is on stage and ask that you respect that for the sake of your fellow audience members. We encourage talking and socializing before and after the show and during intermission. Thank you!
A lobby sign explains how Sundilla’s “listening room” is all about the music and musicians.

“I am proud that some little silly idea that started off on a lark has so sustained and grown into something bigger,” said Jackson. “And I love the idea of supporting artists of any sort—musical, writing, visual, dance—all of those things, so I’m probably proudest that we’ve been able to bring something both to the community and to those performers too.”

Jones, who counts many of the musicians as friends, agrees.

“I’m glad I get to hear so much great music at these events,” Jones said. “Everybody here seems to be enjoying it. So, good for us, good for them and good for the musicians. Most of these people, they couldn’t make a living if they weren’t really nice, really personable, really interesting. Who doesn’t need more friends like that?”

So why the incredible appeal for musicians? Jones said it’s because Sundilla has always been about two things: the musicians and the audience. They are flexible with their dates — if a musician needs to perform on a Tuesday, they can do a Tuesday. They have volunteers who cook for the musicians and provide a warm place to stay.

Another reason is geography. Auburn is close to Atlanta and Birmingham. It’s near I-85 and Highway 280.

Rough & Tumble's dog, Puddle, sitting.
Rough & Tumble’s dog, Puddle, watches the Sundilla performance from on stage.
Strokes of Genius

Strokes of Genius

Auburn Alumna Rada Owen trains Annette Bening for her Oscar-nominated performance in “Nyad.”

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

From blind dates to football games to chance meetings in the classroom, Auburn alums reflect on how they found love and everlasting romance on the Plains.

Strokes of Genius

Strokes of Genius

Auburn Alumna Rada Owen trains Annette Bening for her Oscar-nominated performance in “Nyad.”

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

From blind dates to football games to chance meetings in the classroom, Auburn alums reflect on how they found love and everlasting romance on the Plains.

Her Way: The Anne Rivers Siddons Story

Her Way: The Anne Rivers Siddons Story

Her Way: The Anne Rivers Siddons Story
More comfortable defying social norms than abiding by them, author Anne Rivers Siddons dragged Southern womanhood into the modern age.

By Derek Herscovici ’14

Anne Rivers Siddons sitting next to a lamp smiling

ANNE RIVERS SIDDONS ’58 was not one for convention. For the bestselling author and activist who explored her Southern heritage in the modern era, it was something to celebrate as well as cast off.

Although she passed away on Sept. 11, 2019 at the age of 83, she leaves behind a literary legacy that helped redefine the role of Southern women and challenged social and literary conventions.

“She needed to write,” said her stepson David Siddons, a strategic account executive with Nike. “I’d ask, ‘What’s the genesis of your writing,’ and she said, ‘Subjects I care about: the South, crazy relatives, land, race, the role of women.’ The thing Anne always told me — she absolutely had to write.”

Subjects I care about: the South, crazy relatives, land, race, the role of women

In her Fairburn, Ga. high school, Anne was elected both cheerleading captain and homecoming queen and graduated magna cum laude. As a columnist for the Auburn Plainsman, she earned notoriety for her acerbic wit and unapologetic takes on everything from “teatime” and U.S. foreign affairs to Elvis Presley and poltergeists. But it was her pro-integration views following the integration of Little Rock High School in “Death of a Columnist” (11-18-1957) that would cause her removal from the paper.

“What we are advocating when we gather in howling mobs like animals and throw stones and wreck automobiles and beat helpless individuals is wrong, and I don’t care from which of the myriad angles you choose to look at it,” she wrote. “It’s still wrong.”

Anne’s experiences manifested itself in her debut novel, 1976’s “Heartbreak Hotel,” where sorority girls at fictional Randolph University experience a civil rights awakening.

By then, she was working in advertising for Atlanta Magazine, married to Heyward Siddons and helping support his four boys aged 8 to 15 from his previous marriage. If her parents thought it was strange, the feeling was mutual, recalls David.

“She talked about her folks like she was in some ways an alien to them,” said David. “She said ‘growing up and being in college in the fifties, I’m expected to be ‘pinned’ by my junior year, married with a child by 23, then join the Junior League.’”

Though David recalls the success of “Heartbreak Hotel” following its big-screen transformation as 1989’s “Heart of Dixie,” he has more vivid memories of her second novel.

The Siddons moved to a classic Tudor home in an old Atlanta neighborhood near Lennox Square, in part for its proximity to undeveloped woodland. Always fond of animals and nature, David witnessed the horror Anne felt from her attic-turned-writing room when she saw the telltale pink stakes of a new home popping up next door.

“She’s very upset,” recalls David. “She’s looking at the pink stakes going up and she goes ‘House next door. How about a haunted house? How about a house that’s haunted before it’s even built? How about we introduce the architect who builds a house that preys on the individual vulnerabilities of whoever moves in?’”

Anne wrote a 40-page outline for what would become her only foray into horror, 1978’s “The House Next Door.”

“Much of the walloping effect of ‘The House Next Door’ comes from its author’s nice grasp of social boundaries,” writes horror-fiction icon Stephen King in his book “Danse Macabre.” “Siddons is better at marking the edges of the socially acceptable from the socially nightmarish than most.”

Vintage Barbie doll dressed as a Bride

Anne was not just unconventional in her writing career, but in her own life as well. At his brother’s U.S. Navy retirement ceremony, the entire family waited for the inevitable clash between David Siddons’ biological mother, Nancy, and his father. What happened instead, David remembers, washed away “30 years of acid.”

While discussing their family’s cottage in Brooklin, Maine — inspiration for Siddons’ 1992 book “Colony” and several others — Siddons graciously invited Nancy out the following summer for not one, but two parties in her honor.

“Anne goes, ‘Nancy, you love Maine the way that I love Maine.’ And then my mom just waxed on about Maine with Anne. They’re having this conversation and I’m thinking, ‘this is unbelievable,’” recalls David.

In her later years, Anne channeled much of her financial resources to causes she cared about most: the environment, animal rights and, most notably, Auburn University.

Siddons contributed $100,000 in 2014 to fund the Heyward and Anne Rivers Siddons Endowed Scholarship. David recently authorized another $100,000 commitment and envisions the endowment continuing year after year.

“People say I’ve broken the mold, and in a sense, I have,” she said in a 1991 interview with People® Magazine. “And yet, sometimes, I can feel in my bones a woman who’s been dead 100 years wagging her finger at me, telling me that a lady doesn’t make waves, a lady doesn’t confront. Sometimes I find myself deferring to some old gentleman with no sense at all. It’s not easy to escape.”

Siddons’ pro-integration column so irritated administrators that she was asked to leave The Plainsman.
Fair Play

Fair Play

Fifty years ago, an abstract clause tucked inside new education legislation changed women’s sports forever. How Title IX transformed life at Auburn and opened doors for women beyond the playing fields and courts.

Living the Creed

Living the Creed

Alumni around the world live The Auburn Creed in remarkable ways. Meet three who have dedicated their lives to making an impact on others by serving the underserved and giving hope to the hopeless.

Fair Play

Fair Play

Fifty years ago, an abstract clause tucked inside new education legislation changed women’s sports forever. How Title IX transformed life at Auburn and opened doors for women beyond the playing fields and courts.

Living the Creed

Living the Creed

Alumni around the world live The Auburn Creed in remarkable ways. Meet three who have dedicated their lives to making an impact on others by serving the underserved and giving hope to the hopeless.

The Next Peak

The Next Peak

The Next Peak

Frostbite, bankruptcy and leukemia couldn’t keep one alumnus from a lifetime of adventure.

By Derek Herscovici ’14

Mount Everest with a sunset in the back

WHAT WAS HUGH MORTON ’69 THINKING when he felt his toes freezing on the slopes of Mount Everest? The same thing he told himself when the housing market collapsed and his homebuilding company tanked. The same thing he told himself when he was diagnosed with leukemia: Don’t stop. Keep going.

In countless journeys around the globe, he faced perils of all kinds, only to find a way forward and out.

“You’ve got to meet the challenge,” said Morton. “Meeting the challenge can be harder than overcoming it.”

An economics graduate at Auburn, he earned his MBA while working as a graduate teaching assistant. He was working in the banking industry for over a decade when, in 1986, he decided to join a guided trek through the Himalayan mountain range. Catching sight of Mount Everest at 18,000 feet, Morton was captivated. He decided to spend the next five years training with a group of experienced climbers, making his first summit on Mount Baker, which is located in Washington, in preparation for the real thing.

Man with yellow reflective sunglasses on

When his climbing partner Todd Burleson finally called and formally inducted him into their Everest team, he was ecstatic. But that night, he dreamed he reached Everest’s penultimate point, the Hillary Step, only to slip and fall off the mountain. He woke up in a cold sweat.

Regardless, in 1992 Morton was able to summit Everest on his first attempt, a feat difficult even for experienced climbers. As he descended the Hillary Step, he slipped. Hanging off a 7,000-foot cliff, Morton realized it felt familiar.

“In that dream, I visualized to myself what I would do up there and darn it if I didn’t have to do it,” said Morton. “Everything I imagined ended up happening, except it wasn’t on the way up, it was on the way down. I got back down there and someone said ‘damn good way to make a widow out of your wife.’”

Back home in Atlanta, a lack of a tangible goal left Morton in limbo. When Burleson invited him to tackle the Seven Summits, he jumped at the chance. Over the next 33 years, he would scale 85 mountains around the world, overcoming obstacles on every one.

While summitting the Matterhorn in Switzerland, Morton and his climbing partners were trapped in a ferocious thunderstorm that nearly killed their entire team. Electricity was charging through their bodies, even after reaching basecamp. On his first attempt to summit Mount Elbrus in Russia, Morton brought his daughter Whitney along. When she slipped headfirst down an icy ridge, he had to dive with a body-block to halt her fall.

It’s not the summits that count — it’s the experiences, it’s the shared cultures, the sharing of challenges with other people.; Morton (left) with climbing partner Willi Pritti atop the Vinson Massif in Antartica.

The first time he attempted to summit Chimborazo in Ecuador, they had to turn around in the face of 100-mph winds.

On Mount McKinley, now called Denali, in Alaska, Morton and his climbing partners narrowly escaped freezing to death after the ice cave they slept in collapsed during the night. While summitting the Vinson Massif, the highest point on Antarctica and the last of Morton’s Seven Summits, his legs froze nearly to the point of frostbite and would not feel normal again for another six months.

Morton was able to fund his adventures through his successful homebuilding business, Peachtree Homes, which he launched in 1991. He estimates he built more than 200 homes by 2006, but when the 2008 Recession collapsed the housing market, he was sleepless for weeks. When his wife took him to the doctor, they learned he had leukemia.

“It came at a bad time — the housing market was falling apart, and I had to deal with that, too. I needed to get the stress off; that’s when I started trying to dwindle [Peachtree Homes] down, finally decided to close it altogether in 2013.”

Morton could have declared bankruptcy like most other companies, but it would have left his hundreds of employees without pay. Peachtree Homes’ swan song was the expansion of Fort Benning in Columbus, Ga., which he used in part to pay off all his employees. Morton is still proud of that.

“I didn’t want to owe anybody anything; it took a big chunk I had stored aside to do it, but I’m not complaining. If I’m not rich, I’ve got a wealth of experiences with people that is worth more than any money.”

At work on his third book, a mountain-climbing memoir, he still finds time to climb a few easy peaks at 72. But, in the end, he says it was not the peaks that he remembers most. It was the experiences — struggling up the mountain, long days trapped in desolate, snow-capped peaks — that matters most.

“It’s not the summits that count — it’s the experiences, it’s the shared cultures, the sharing of challenges with other people. You don’t throw in the towel when things get tough,” said Morton. “The key to life is persistence — hang in there until the job is done.”

Strokes of Genius

Strokes of Genius

Auburn Alumna Rada Owen trains Annette Bening for her Oscar-nominated performance in “Nyad.”

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

From blind dates to football games to chance meetings in the classroom, Auburn alums reflect on how they found love and everlasting romance on the Plains.

Strokes of Genius

Strokes of Genius

Auburn Alumna Rada Owen trains Annette Bening for her Oscar-nominated performance in “Nyad.”

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

From blind dates to football games to chance meetings in the classroom, Auburn alums reflect on how they found love and everlasting romance on the Plains.

The Hotel That Auburn Built

The Hotel That Auburn Built

The Hotel That Auburn Built

It was something of an accident, that Kim Wirth ’96 even saw the sign at all. A communication executive with The International Paper Company.

By Derek Herscovici ’14

The Collegiate Hotel lobby with blue chairs and a grand piano
IT WAS SOMETHING OF AN ACCIDENT that Kim Wirth ’96 even saw the sign at all. A communication executive with The International Paper Company, Wirth had driven down from Memphis to Auburn University for another of her annual recruiting trips when she saw the “For Sale” sign on the corner of Thach and Gay Streets.

The old Wittel Dormitory, an Auburn landmark, was on the market for the first time in more than half a century. Wirth instantly reached out to the realtor, even before calling her husband. When she did call Brian Wirth ’95, she told him it was urgent.

Now, a little more than three years later, what was once a dusty relic of a bygone era has transformed into a new Auburn institution, boasting 40 fully furnished rooms, a golf cart taxi service for guests of the hotel and a rooftop bar with nearly 360-degree views of Samford Hall and downtown. For the Wirths, it was an opportunity to not only honor the past, but breathe new life into the venerable location.

“We’ve always been drawn to older homes, like kind of reimagining them,” said Kim. “I told my husband, ‘If we don’t take this opportunity, this leap of faith, I’m going to kick myself every time I drive by that corner and it’s something else.’ If it got torn down, I think my heart would have broken a little bit.”

Kim and Brian in front of the Bar at Wittel, the hotel's art-deco lobby bar.

Wittel Hall opened in 1946 as Auburn’s first dorm for women at a time when most female students were not allowed to live off-campus. Dave Wittel ’39, the original owner, operated the dorm and lived in part of it with his family. In a standard practice of the time, men were not allowed past the lobby without someone yelling “man on the hall,” a rule that carried through to 2016 when Kim and Brian came to tour the space.

As the former vice president of development and cost forecasting for DreamCatcher Hotels, Brian quickly realized that the site’s location and size would be ideal for a new boutique hotel, the first of its kind on the Plains.

Throughout the renovation process, the Wirths remained in contact with the previous owners, Pat Wittell Tremaine ’66 and husband Leslie Tremaine ’68, to preserve the original hardwood floors, fireplaces, the exterior brick awnings and much of the furniture that dates to the early 20th century.

“It fit what we’d always done with repurposing older homes,” said Brian. “We’ve always enjoyed the challenge of working together and making it something new again. [The building] had kind of outlived its day as a dorm, and we just felt the way it was set up would be a great opportunity for a hotel.”

The Wirths joke that The Collegiate is “the hotel that Auburn built” for how many alumni were involved in its design. Besides themselves, Amanda Whitaker ’01 and Rebecca Conrad ’89 served as the architects for the project, H. Montgomery Martin ’78 of Montgomery Martin LLC served as the general contractor and several Auburn engineers all contributed to the final design.

Drawn in by the history, unique floor plan and location only two blocks from Toomer’s Corner, they both agreed the building was well-suited for new life as a hotel, but they both had strong opinions about how the finished product would look. At the heart of their collaborations is a good-natured, competitive spirit that began the moment they met at Auburn.

Brian's and Kim's posing together for a photo at a formal party in 1993

Living off-campus his sophomore year, Brian’s roommate would invite friends over to use their washer and dryer, on the condition that they cooked dinner. One day, his roommate’s friend brought Kim over.

“We got to talking about basketball,” Brian recalls. “Kim had been on a state championship basketball team, [and] I was the fraternity, beer-drinking guy. So, we challenged each other to a game of basketball and she almost beat me. We went out on our first date after that.”

After graduation and marriage, they started renovating historic homes around the country. Some of their first renovations were in Washington D.C.’s Staten Park and Union Station neighborhoods, along the Gulf Coast and a few in Auburn dating back to the 1940s, all while caring for their three children. “We were Chip and Joanna [Gaines] before they were cool,” said Kim, referring to the stars of HGTV’s “Fixer Upper.”

Despite their conflicting ideas, they both work well together.

“I have big ideas, and then he was really good at trying to figure out how to cost-effectively implement it without saying, ‘No you can’t have that,’” said Kim. “I’m wildly creative and he’s a very practical engineering man, so we kind of meet in the middle. It makes for a lot of fun projects, for sure.”

One of their earliest decisions had to do with the room layouts; Kim wanted each to have its own personality, while Brian, concerned with economies of scale, wanted to keep details consistent. In the end they compromised on 13 different configurations for their 40 rooms, each with its own one-of-a-kind, locally sourced artwork.

Other times, it was the “happy surprises” that determined the hotel’s direction, like when they discovered that the attic had unparalleled views of Samford Hall and the surrounding area.

“You don’t even know that you have this amazing view because nobody had a rooftop area around here,” said Kim. “I think that was the first time we said we’re going to have a rooftop bar.”

As they continued renovating, other discoveries included original hardwood floors, beautiful exposed-brick walls and historic furniture. The dorms on the “garden level” were transformed into pet-friendly rooms, each with their own patios.

But the Wirths were also conscious about straying too far from the building’s history and decided not to build to their maximum height to retain the old dorm’s distinct shape.

“I think that was the first time we said we’re going to have a rooftop bar.”

These days, the Wirths are more than just Auburn business owners; they are residents, too. When they sold their house in Memphis to move to Auburn, they acquired the house next door to Wittel — previously occupied by 10 male Auburn students — and renovated it for themselves.

As operators as well as owners, keeping the Collegiate at 40 rooms allows them to manage the hotel without bringing in an outside company. Though concierge work is a new experience for both, the Wirths enjoy being on the frontlines of guests’ Auburn experience. From putting toilet paper out to roll Toomer’s Corner after sports wins to operating a complimentary golf cart shuttle around town, they go above and beyond to deliver the perfect experience on the Plains.

They have also hired student interns interested in hotel management and hospitality services to work the front desk.

Collegiate Rooftop Bar overlooking the Auburn campus
“The nice thing about our space is, we’re so small, they can learn everything from housekeeping to the front desk to sales and marketing,” said Kim.

Students are not just working at the hotel. The venue’s rooftop bar has become a popular place for dates, sorority formal pictures and unexpected gatherings. Many of their guests were onetime residents of Wittel Dorm. Nearly all of them call to ask if the floors still have shared bathrooms and often request rooms where their old dorms used to be.

At the front desk in the lobby, a library of Glomeratas greets guests as they check in, one of The Collegiate Hotel’s newest traditions.

“If you’re an alumni and you’re in [the Glomerata], you find your picture and sign your name,” said Brian. “We’ve had groups of people come in and go through the rows of the Gloms, and they find their family members or uncles or their friends that have already signed in and know they’ve been here, so it’s pretty neat.”

Whether its repurposing history or creating new traditions, The Collegiate Hotel marks the growing evolution of Auburn.

“It used to be, the only reason you would come to Auburn was if you’re going to school, you’re going to a game or your kids went here,” said Brian. “Now, Auburn’s become a destination itself.”

Outside of the Collegiate Hotel
Strokes of Genius

Strokes of Genius

Auburn Alumna Rada Owen trains Annette Bening for her Oscar-nominated performance in “Nyad.”

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

From blind dates to football games to chance meetings in the classroom, Auburn alums reflect on how they found love and everlasting romance on the Plains.

Strokes of Genius

Strokes of Genius

Auburn Alumna Rada Owen trains Annette Bening for her Oscar-nominated performance in “Nyad.”

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

Auburn Love Stories: How They Met

From blind dates to football games to chance meetings in the classroom, Auburn alums reflect on how they found love and everlasting romance on the Plains.

The Park Protector: Leah Hoffman ’75

The Park Protector: Leah Hoffman ’75

The Park Protector: Leah Hoffman ’75

A lifelong quest to ensure everyone’s right to a good time.

By Derek Herscovici ’14

Leah Hoffman smiling standing in front of a hedge

Strolling on any of Pinellas County, Florida’s parks, beaches or sports facilities, it can be easy to assume they are always ready for action. But away from the public eye, hundreds of officials and staff members work throughout the year to keep them in pristine condition, no matter the season. Without them, the city’s most critical public works would fall into disrepair and its recreational activities left without a home.

Still, Leah Hoffman ’75 isn’t looking for recognition or fame. The former president of the Florida Recreation and Parks Association, Hoffman’s career of keeping her home state pristine and ready for play spans more than 40 years. From growing turf and building playgrounds to scheduling soccer tournaments, Hoffman learned to balance ecosystem and economy in a state that knows no ‘off’ season. It’s more than being “a ‘jock’ who knows how to mow a lawn.”

“You can’t keep playing on a field and expect it to stay in good shape if you don’t maintain it,” says Hoffman. “As the years have gone on, the parks and recreation has taken on a lot of different roles, from just doing summer camps to where they’re doing huge special events and sports tournaments. They have to maintain good ecological and environmental sensitivity in their park system [and] in their natural resource areas.”

These days, Hoffman is semiretired and living in Seminole, Fla., just up the beach from her hometown Pass-a-Grille. Though the Pinellas County today is known for its number of parks and beaches, in the ‘60s much of it was still small coastal fishing communities and retirement homes. When it came time to look for colleges, the Hoffman family toured the requisite state schools, but also visited Auburn. One of the things that immediately endeared the school to her was the football team. “My high school didn’t really know what football was,” Hoffman laughs.

After earning her degree in education, she was dead set on becoming a teacher, but after a year in the classrooms of Pasco County schools and St. Petersburg Junior College (now St. Pete College), she was already looking to do something else.

That’s when she saw the job opening for a full-time recreation supervisor. After the parks’ staff was joined with the recreation staff, the position began to grow on her. It also gave her a greater appreciation for the combined work the department as a whole.

“We can’t look at us as either the “park” people or the “recreation” people; we have to look at it as a unit, as one. We have to work together in order to make the system better.”

Hoffman had worked for the city of St. Pete Beach as a “recreation leader” during her summers home from Auburn, helping chaperone kids to nearby Busch Gardens and Sunken Gardens or to the newly opened Disneyworld in Orlando. On other days, they would play games like floor hockey in the gym or tennis outside. Anything to keep the kids busy until their parents picked them up at 5 p.m. What she never expected was the impact she left on the students.

“I can’t say I regret getting out of education because, in a way, I really didn’t,” says Hoffman. “The money was never great, but I get a lot more reward when I’m able to see that I’ve done some good for some kids that may have been on the cusp of the wrong side of the tracks, and they made good on that.” In 1980, Hoffman was named assistant director and parks superintendent of St. Pete Beach, a position she held until 1996. Working for the Parks & Recreation was easier back then, she says. City programs weren’t expected — or pressured — to recoup their monies and taxpayers footed most of the bills.

But still, she often was at city council meetings, advocating for the department or defending budget items from commissioners who cared more about the bottom line than the benefits.

Especially in the 1980s and 90s, Hoffman worked long and hard to fight budget cuts while ensuring that her department had the staff and resources to accomplish the mission.

a little league baseball team smiling for a photo
Coaching Little League Baseball in Wichita Falls, Texas 1991

“Not one of my favorite things to do, but that’s part of the job,” she says. “Particularly if [city council members] had questions to ask you about an event or a certain project or your budget, you need to be able to give ‘em the facts right up front.”

Even with a dwindling budget, Hoffman and her team were able to accomplish a lot. Among their public improvement projects were new lights and irrigation systems at ballfields and transforming the city’s “sandlots full of sandspurs” into functional recreation areas. She helped initiate St. Pete’s first “Dune Project,” which helped protect beaches against erosion and flooding. Even Hurley Park in Pass-a-Grille got a makeover that included a basketball court, playground, improved baseball field and bathrooms — something the beachfront property desperately needed.

Hoffman was recruited as city operations manager for the city of Tampa in 1996. It was similar work, but on a completely different scale.

Only a few minutes across the bridge, Tampa had a population of at least half a million compared to the 10,000 living in St. Petersburg. From her headquarters at the Tampa Zoo (present-day Lowery Park), she was responsible for keeping the city’s southern quarter beautiful — a job easier said than done.

“I’m not one that just sits back and watches my guys,” says Hoffman. “I would actually get out there and the guys out there never had that before. I said, ‘well, why can’t I push a shovel or a broom too?’”

When one of Hoffman’s coworkers from the City of Tampa became a city director of Wichita, Kansas, he took her with him. Among the learning curves she had to pick up was preparing for the weather: snow days and tornadoes — not hurricanes — constituted Wichita’s biggest natural emergencies.

Managing the city’s diverse recreational programs was also a huge priority. In addition to massive soccer tournaments and adult softball leagues, she oversaw inter-city football leagues, after-school tutoring, arts and crafts, public basketball courts and more. In one instance, rather than tear it down, Hoffman’s team transformed a public swimming pool dating to the early 1900s into a splash park for kids. When the events of 9/11 hit Wichita’s airline industry-driven economy, Hoffman found a position opened as an operations manager with the Pinellas County Parks & Rec department. More budget cuts took her from Pinellas to a seat on the Marion County, Fla. Board of County Commissioners.

“[The] Lord was looking out for me,” Hoffman says. “When a door closes, a window opens somewhere.”

In 2011, after beginning at the ground-level, Hoffman was elected president of the Florida Parks and Recreation Association; she went to work immediately. Central to the success and longevity of the FRPA, Hoffman says, is demonstrating the value that parks and recreation have as a resource for the community.

One of the first things she did as president was rebrand the association with a new logo centered around the theme “It Starts in Parks,” a motto that is still used to this day.

“If you think about it, growing up everybody likes to go to the park: you might learn to swing your first bat there or get on your first swing or first slide. Recreation is not just throwing a ball out and letting kids play; you have to be able to mold them in learning new activities that, potentially, could be a lifelong event for them,” says Hoffman. “Sometimes, kids don’t know what to do unless they’re pointed in the right direction and have the right assistance. So, you have to be a professional when you’re in this profession; just because you can throw a ball or slap a hockey puck, that’s not all that it takes. You have to be a mentor.”

Leah Hoffman standing next to a man accepting an award
Hoffman receiving the Florida Recreation and Parks Association’s Lifetime Achievement Award in 2019

In 2019 Hoffman received the Florida Recreation and Parks Association’s Lifetime Achievement Award amidst family and a multitude of friends. Despite all the positions in all the departments she’s held over the years, she still says she was “stunned” to find out. The trophy is still on her coffee table.

“I worked hard because that’s something that I believed in, it’s just something I did. You go there and do what’s best for your profession,” she says. I was very honored that my peers felt that I deserved this award.”

Hoffman uses the phrase “official retirement,” because while she is no longer a full-time employee, she’s still involved with conferences, local and regional meetings and more, dispensing advice and helping register new members.

She is heartened to see her personal motto “keep doing, keep giving” being taken up by more people, especially younger generations.

Recently, she’s encountered former pupils enrolling their own children into city programs. Some even have jobs with the city now and continue the work she did.

“Police and fire are essential, but so is parks and recreation,” says Hoffman. “What happens if people don’t have a place to go to exercise or take out their frustrations in a good way by doing some hoops, hitting some balls or going to a golf course? It is important.”

Fair Play

Fair Play

Fifty years ago, an abstract clause tucked inside new education legislation changed women’s sports forever. How Title IX transformed life at Auburn and opened doors for women beyond the playing fields and courts.

Living the Creed

Living the Creed

Alumni around the world live The Auburn Creed in remarkable ways. Meet three who have dedicated their lives to making an impact on others by serving the underserved and giving hope to the hopeless.

Fair Play

Fair Play

Fifty years ago, an abstract clause tucked inside new education legislation changed women’s sports forever. How Title IX transformed life at Auburn and opened doors for women beyond the playing fields and courts.

Living the Creed

Living the Creed

Alumni around the world live The Auburn Creed in remarkable ways. Meet three who have dedicated their lives to making an impact on others by serving the underserved and giving hope to the hopeless.