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As the top cop at the Roanoke sheriff department, George McMillan was straight out of central casting.

Large and imposing. Gregarious and effusive.

Whether the next election was a month or two years away, McMillan spent his off hours campaigning for the job. He was an enthusiastic and accessible fixture at community functions -- a minority job fair, a Little League baseball game, a parade. Friendly, hand-shaking, confident.

In an elected position, McMillan was the consummate politician.

But this week, the testimony of woman after woman in a sexual harassment case made him out to be a predator -- a serial groper who preyed upon women who worked for him or who wanted to.

Workplace sexual harassment complaints are nothing new. Oftentimes, they are classic cases of "he said, she said." And sometimes, jurors find themselves hard-pressed to believe the plaintiffs, the vast majority of whom are women.

On Wednesday afternoon, jurors believed "her" -- plaintiff Lespia King. Despite McMillan's forceful denials, it was hard not to.

King was not alone in her complaints. Nine other women -- sheriff's department employees, contractors or applicants -- spoke up after King came forward. They told a federal jury that they had suffered the same kind of behavior at McMillan's hands -- literally.

This was no ordinary "he said, she said." It was a he said, she said, she said, she said, she said, she said, she said, she said, she said, she said, she said.

King's 2005 lawsuit against McMillan and the sheriff's office peeled back the covers of a workplace in which the sheriff questioned women about their sexuality or subjected them to lovey-dovey e-mails or the "McMillan hug."

The latter embrace was no ordinary hug. Witnesses alternately described it as a butt-grabbing or breast-fondling maneuver, depending on whether McMillan delivered it from behind or in front. Either is way over-the-top behavior that no woman should ever have to put up with in the workplace.

Experts would call the sheriff's office under McMillan's tenure a "hostile" work environment.

"Hostile" doesn't quite cut it for me. McMillan's actions as described in sworn testimony by the female victims were humiliating, demeaning, fear-inspiring and power-tripping.

Real men don't behave that way.

Whatever adjective you want to heap on it, sexual harassment is a shame. And McMillan should feel ashamed.

"Since the '60s, we've been saying, 'Thou should not discriminate, thou shalt not harass,' and we're still doing it," said Gloria Elliott, a Roanoke workplace consultant and executive coach.

Sexual harassment isn't solely about sex. It's also about power. And that's what gave McMillan the advantage over the women who worked for him. He was plenty powerful. He was a popularly elected sheriff and a huge power broker in the local Democratic Party.

Too often employees suffer in silence rather than take on the employer.

"There's a lot of people blaming themselves, 'Who will back me up?' " Elliott said. "The ... fear is they'll get you, even if you win a complaint, there'll be retaliation. People do feel alone. They greatly fear retaliation, being black-balled or retaliation from other co-workers."

That's what makes King all the more courageous for stepping forward and saying, "no more."

Her lawsuit opened the floodgates for the startling accusations from other women, and showed us: It only takes one.

Shanna Flowers' column appears on Sundays, Tuesdays and Thursdays.