Mobile mayoral candidate Spiro Cheriogotis wants you to believe that he was shaped by childhood trauma. In a campaign ad, he looks into the camera and says, “When I was 4, I saw a man try to kill my father. My dad defended himself and ended up in prison.” If that story were true, it would mean the justice system failed not once, but twice.
But this is a well-crafted fantasy—and the records prove otherwise.
Court transcripts, police reports and two separate jury verdicts tell a story far removed from self-defense. What actually happened that November day in 1987 was this: Nicholas Cheriogotis pursued a man he disliked, instigated a confrontation, and then shot him in the back. His son Spiro watched from the truck as it unfolded.
The victim was Allbun Lamar Smith, a former employee of Nicholas Cheriogotis. The two men had a history of hostility. On the day of the killing, they encountered each other on the road and, according to court testimony, exchanged gestures for miles—an escalating road dispute that might have ended had Nicholas not pulled into a random driveway, parked and waited for Smith to circle back.
When Smith drove past, Nicholas got out of his vehicle and approached Smith’s truck. Smith pulled a knife and cut Nicholas on the arm. At that point, Nicholas returned to his own vehicle, retrieved a .22-caliber handgun and opened fire—shooting Smith multiple times in the back and killing him.
The trial judge made it clear: “At any time, this tragedy could have been avoided had [Nicholas Cheriogotis] decided that the value of human life is more important than frustration, anger and confrontation.” The bullet that killed Smith, the judge emphasized, “entered the back of the deceased, and not the front. A senseless death occurred.”
Lamar Smith wasn’t just a name in a file or a footnote in a campaign ad—he was a father, a working man, and a human being who never got the chance to defend his own memory. His life ended in a stranger’s driveway. His story has been rewritten by the child who watched it happen.
That is the truth Spiro Cheriogotis is trying to bury beneath campaign spin. And he knows better. He served six years on the bench. He knows what self-defense looks like—and this wasn’t it.
Two separate juries convicted his father of manslaughter. The only reason there were two trials is because of a procedural error in jury instructions. The facts never changed. Nicholas was sentenced to 15 years in prison. But thanks to a judge who cited his “good job” and “good family,” he served just three years behind bars and the remainder on probation.
That’s not justice. That’s privilege.
After the conviction, Smith’s family filed a wrongful death lawsuit. They reached a $2 million settlement with the Cheriogotis family—but it was never paid. Court records show a pattern of alleged asset transfers: property moved to a construction company co-owned by Nicholas’ father and to his wife. In the middle of that legal battle, Nicholas filed for bankruptcy to avoid paying restitution.
He took a life, then walked away from accountability.
Now, more than three decades later, Spiro Cheriogotis is exploiting that tragedy for political gain. In his telling, Lamar Smith—a man shot in the back—is recast as the aggressor. Nicholas is recast as the victim. And the truth is discarded in favor of a carefully staged campaign narrative.
This isn’t reflection. It’s manipulation. This isn’t family trauma. It’s opportunism. And it’s grotesque.
Political campaigns are often built on stories. Candidates sell voters on the idea that their past shaped their principles, that their experiences forged their convictions. But when the foundational story is fiction, what kind of leadership does it produce? If a man can distort the truth about a killing he witnessed, what won’t he rewrite for power?
Spiro Cheriogotis didn’t just inherit his father’s name—he inherited the unresolved consequences of that day. But instead of reckoning with it, he’s repackaged it. Instead of acknowledging the tragedy, he’s rewritten it. Instead of truth, he offers myth. And instead of justice, he seeks votes.
This isn’t just a campaign built on a lie—it’s an identity built on erasure. By reframing a convicted killer as a victim and his victim as an attacker, Spiro Cheriogotis reveals not only his willingness to mislead, but his inability to honor the truth—even when it shaped his own childhood.
It’s not just dishonest. It’s disqualifying.
Leadership demands honesty. Public trust demands integrity. And when a man running for office rewrites a killing to win power, voters are right to ask: what else is he willing to distort?
Mobile deserves better than gaslighting wrapped in campaign polish. Spiro Cheriogotis has made it clear he’s willing to bend the truth, smear the dead, and exploit the justice system for personal gain.
That’s not character. It’s cowardice dressed for office—and it should end at the ballot box.
(Except for the headline, this story has not been edited by PostX News and is published from a syndicated feed.)
