The Last Ride of the Old Peacekeepers: The Moment Within the Moment

By Bill Matthews

The Last Ride of the Old Peacekeepers is a compilation of over 125 stories and pictures of some of the hilarious, dangerous, and emotional interactions that Bill Matthews enjoyed during his thirty years in law eenforcement.

He recalls moments when he was called upon to put his life on the line as well as behind-the-scenes details that never show up in incident reports. He also takes stock of those decisions that happen in a moment inside a moment—decisions that can and do change lives forever. Most of all, he celebrates the brotherhood of officers that he loves.

The stories he shares all occurred from 1977 to 2008, before the reformation of police departments when officers were taught to use their hands without hesitation—to save the lives of suspects, the public, as well as their fellow officers.

The overall account serves as an important reminder that police officers are human beings that work tirelessly to put away the bad guys to keep everyone safe.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Archway Publishing
• Release date: Mar 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9781665739740

Bill Matthews

Bill Matthews earned a degree in criminal justice and is a graduate of the Tennessee Law Enforcement Training Academy. He was the chief detective in a small town in East Tennessee. He now spends his days writing about the many escapades of his career in law enforcement. He lives in East Tennessee with his wife and a plethora of animals, from peacocks to pigs.

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THE

LAST RIDE

OF THE

OLD

PEACEKEEPERS

THE MOMENT WITHIN THE MOMENT

BILL MATTHEWS

Copyright © 2023 Bill Matthews.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by

any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying,

recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system

without the written permission of the author except in the case of

brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Archway Publishing

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.archwaypublishing.com

844-669-3957

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or

links contained in this book may have changed since publication and

may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those

of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher,

and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are

models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Scripture taken from the King James Version of the Bible.

ISBN: 978-1-6657-3973-3 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-3972-6 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-6657-3974-0 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023904112

Archway Publishing rev. date:  03/07/2023

The Times They Are a-Changin’

—Bob Dylan 1964

CONTENTS

Preface

Chapter 1     The 1970s

Chapter 2     Higher Education (1980s)

Chapter 3     The 1990s

Chapter 4     The 2000s

Chapter 5     Peacekeepers’ Daily Encounters

Chapter 6     Soul Savers

Chapter 7     A Necessary Evil: Informants

Chapter 8     Search Warrants: Raids

Chapter 9     Evil

Clover County Jail, 1979

Jack Bryan, Rod and Staff magazine, 1979

1979 equipment—blackjack, knucks;

flashlight; loaded gloves

PREFACE

In 1977, I met a legend—the one and only Sheriff Larry Wallace. He hired me as a jailer and then promoted me to deputy. After our initial interview, he called me back in to let me know I had been hired. When he shook my hand, it felt like a vice grip swallowed my fist, and he looked me in the eye and said, Welcome to law enforcement.

I knew two things right then. I didn’t want to let this man down. And if I did, he could pull my soul from my body and make me confess to anything. To this day, I have never called him by his first name.

Sheriff Wallace was special. When he walked into a room, his presence demanded respect, even by those who knew nothing about him. The three and a half years I served under him, he had me along on raids and standing guard on serious interviews. I observed the way he took control and command of every situation during questioning, raids, and search warrants. This respect is where legends are born.

In illegal liquor raids of beer joints, executing search warrant of drugs houses, in marijuana fields, during fugitive apprehensions, and at murder scenes, his attendance was an indescribable energy.

In 1980, he left this position as sheriff to become Tennessee Bureau of Investigation (TBI) agent in charge of Middle Tennessee and was then promoted to colonel of Tennessee Highway Patrol and, finally, became the director of TBI. Through both Democratic and Republican governors, he remained and had a state-of-the-art TBI headquarters constructed in Nashville. His handprint is on each of the law enforcement officers in this book. No one has had such an impactful career in Tennessee law enforcement. When he retired from the TBI, he continued his passion for law enforcement, both by being instrumental in beginning the Criminal Justice Department at Tennessee Wesleyan University and by becoming the foreman of the grand jury for Clover County. His was a life well lived.

I had a heartfelt conversation with him a week before he died. Director, I want to apologize for what I did fifteen years ago and the choices I made at the end of my career that ruined my career and reputation; I was embarrassed, and it left me on the outside of the only job I loved. I destroyed my life.

In his weakened state, he took command of the conversation. He said, Bill, you shouldn’t have done what you did. That was fifteen years ago. For thirty years, you made a difference. You and your guys made an impact and took evil off the streets and made our city safe. One choice does not negate your thirty years of service, but it will be all that anyone talks about. You still have a life to live, and I hope this book gives you the platform to give back.

Then he told me he loved me.

I received a call that he had passed, and time stopped. I always appreciated his patience with me, correcting me when needed and having faith in me when I was eighteen years old. But it was what he told me in the end that helped me close the book and put my life at peace.

The Last Ride of the Old Peacekeepers is a compilation of over 125 stories and pictures of some of the hilarious, dangerous, and emotional interactions of my thirty-year career in law enforcement. In its pages, you’ll find the moments we were called upon to put our lives on the line and behind-the-scenes actions that didn’t show up on the incident reports. You’ll find the decisions that happen in a moment inside a moment—decisions that can change lives forever. And you’ll find the brotherhood of officers I love.

The book will invite you inside the life of an officer and the moments that demand an instant decision. These stories happened between 1977 and 2008, before the reformation of police departments, when we were taught to use our hands without hesitation to save the lives of both the suspects and our fellow officers. It was the greatest job I could have ever asked for.

I began as a jailer and ended as chief of detectives. I loved the action and satisfaction of keeping the streets safe, but along with the high moments came heart-wrenching sadness and daily fighting for the truth.

To hear a mother tell a child, Be good, or that policeman will put you in jail, angered me to the core. She had no idea what I would go through to protect that little one. Or to watch a defense attorney sway a jury into believing a child rapist was innocent and have to remain silent in court. It disgusts me knowing the mother would plant this in her child’s mind.

Looking back now, I don’t think any new officer is ready for the launch of the emotional roller coaster. The ride includes great highs as murderers are found guilty after hours of investigation and horrible lows to find dead babies at the feet of abusive adults. The years added up, and the memories of horrible sights had been etched in my mind. In the last stage of my career, a yearning for peaceful clarity was found in alcohol and pain pills, leading to a dreadful end to a life I loved.

I hope you enjoy the adventures ahead as you laugh and cry and learn that most officers work daily to put the bad guys away to keep you safe and know that there is life after addiction and failure.

Remember, even the good guys need a bad guy.

Get ready for The Last Ride of the Old Peacekeepers.

October 29, 1944–August 6, 2022

Main Characters

Larry Wallace, TBI director, Clover County sheriff, colonel of Tennessee Highway Patrol. A man of vision, who knew where the future of law enforcement needed to go and served a career second to none.

Amy Arnwine, clerk. The hub that kept the wheels of the police department turning.

Richard Brogan, TBI supervisor. Crime scene investigator, interviewer, case management expert.

Chuck Zeigler, chief. The chief who was able to implement changes to elevate the police department into the future.

Steve Bebb, judge. The modern-day Judge Parker of Western lore.

Sidney Mathews, Jr., sergeant. With his leadership, we learned what the moment inside the moment meant.

Robert Reeves, US attorney, TBI assistant director, prosecutor for the Tenth Judicial Circuit, attorney, Clover County sheriff’s deputy.

Robin Nation, Theresa Grant, Jack Bryant, who worked with Department of Human Services (DHS); Angels on Earth; Woman of the Well; the Hope Center, an advocacy and social services organization; and Miracle Lake’s jail ministry.

Steve Mongo Moore. Search and destroy.

Scott Scooter Ervin. A man who would do whatever he was told, so be careful.

Patrick Upton. The best partner a man could ask for.

Hal Williams. A competitor who worked every day to be the best.

Don Long, Scott Webb, JJ Walker, Curtis Biggs, Terry Bowers. Five men who offered investigation talents, brains, and ability.

Joe Graves, sergeant. My mentor, whose teachings helped me throughout my career in investigations.

Heith Willis, CID US Army. The last hire I brought in as a detective. He could be a danger to us or them. I’m glad he’s on our side.

Freddy Shultz and Joe Guy, chief of police and Clover County sheriff. Part of the old school of law enforcement who are now in the lead, responsible for handing off the baton from the old peacekeepers to the new generation.

Rex Barton, captain. A stabilizing force who could diffuse a rough situation.

Tom Grubb, road deputy. A robbery, homicide, and drugs enforcement agent and LA Sheriff’s Department defense instructor. He’s currently smoking a peace pipe on an Arizona Indian Reservation.

1

THE 1970S

Just like Any Normal Night

A s I stepped through to begin my night shift, the screen door leading into the jail office squeaked and slapped just like any normal night.

I had begun my work as a jailer at eighteen years old, eight months ago.

There were fights some nights, but normally it was quiet. When a fight arose, as directed, I would radio for assistance and the deputy on call would arrive to help separate the prisoners. This particular shift, around three in the morning, I heard a fight start. Upon arrival of the deputy, we moved passed the cells of the sleeping and approached the cell with the angry inmates. The men were easily separated and moved to a different cell. Some inmates were aroused by then, and as I passed one unit, I noticed JC awake. He was peering through the window of the cell door, and his gaze caught mine. What a strange look he had—one that, at eighteen years old, I had never experienced. This moment is etched into my memory.

When it was time for my last round of cell checks, JC was hanging in his cell, dead. His cellmates were still asleep. What could I have done? It didn’t seem real. I had never seen a dead person. I had never seen a hanging. There were no words to express what I was feeling.

Learning the ten-codes was a major part of the onboarding of a new jailer/dispatcher. Cutting down a hanging victim was not part of my training. I used my pocketknife and asked two inmates to help hold his body as I sliced the bedsheet. Soon, the medical examiner, sheriff, and district attorney arrived to pronounce time of death and begin an investigation. I found out later that he had recently lost his wife. He was to stand trial in Alabama and Florida. He didn’t want to leave Clover County. He didn’t.

The Legal System Moves Slowly … Follows

Due Process … Until It Doesn’t

I need the jail keys, was all Detective Pickle said, as he, David Guy, and Sid Mathews Jr. came in the front door with a man. It was about eleven on a Saturday night. I had been a jailer for six months. I watched as they took him back, wondering what was going on. They returned to the lobby and handed me back the keys. Don’t put anyone in the cell with him, and don’t let anyone speak to him. Listen to him if he has anything to say, but don’t engage in any conversation.

I said OK and went back to dispatching calls and booking in others who came in.

In a few hours, about two, two well-dressed men arrived from Atlanta. They were homicide detectives looking for Detective Pickle. I walked them to his office, and he asked for the keys again.

They all walked together into the cell block. I could hear some conversation. The discussion got a little loud, and I heard what sounded like an open-handed slap. Well, maybe someone dropped something. The three men came back through the lobby, and I got the keys back again.

These men are going to stay in my office. I will be right back, Pickle said.

He came back in with Detective Guy and the general sessions court judge at three in the morning! Judge Fred Pruitt was about eighty years old, still in his nightshirt, wore black glasses, and had a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. I need the jail keys, Pickle said.

He and the judge and the other detectives took another walk down the cell block.

The suspect had been in Georgia and was on his way back home to Etowah, Tennessee. He’d stopped at the Chilhowie Steak House bar on Highway 411 in Etowah for a beer before he went home. After a few drinks, he began telling some guys there he’d had a problem with a guy in Atlanta and thought he might have killed him. The sheriff had ears all over town, so he soon received a phone call. Soon after the call, the suspect had been removed from his bar stool and taken to the jail cell.

He needed to be extradited back to Atlanta, but he refused. There were some convincing conversations, which happened in the cell, to help him change his mind. Detective Pickle wasn’t going to waste any time. So he drove to the judge’s residence, woke him up, and drove him to the jail, and they performed the extradition process in the cell at three in the morning.

This time, they came back with the suspect in cuffs and returned the keys for the one hundredth time. With a wink, Detective Pickle said, He always did want to go back to Atlanta.

Was this what was meant by a speedy trial?

And that’s the rest of the story in the year of our Lord, 1977.

Judge Fred Pruitt—have judge, will

travel, direct from central casting.

Julia March, Daily Post Athenian, 1979

I Bet That Felt Good

While I was a jailer in 1977, officers brought in an intoxicated man. He was cuffed and placed at the booking desk. Because he had been unruly, he remained cuffed. I was busy with a phone call as they placed him in the chair. Before I could get to him, he started banging his head on the desk. He banged so many times and so hard, he knock himself unconscious. We picked him up and took him to the drunk tank. When he woke up the next morning with a bruised forehead, on top of a terrible headache, he didn’t remember anything. He paid a fine, took two aspirin, and wondered how in the world he’d gotten the bruises. We never saw him again.

Bill Matthews and Rick Cornett—my jailer days.

The Old Bootleggers, a Breed of Their Own

I know today not many can tell you what a bootlegger is or what defines one. But make no mistake; in their day, bootleggers were as much a part of the workload for law enforcement as any other criminals. They were both men and woman, mostly middle-aged or older. On Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, they were as busy as any licensed business. Looking back, I have to laugh at how they conducted business.

They moved slowly through the community and down to the city to purchase trunk loads of liquor during the week and then came back and hid every bottle. They were shrewd and always acted like they couldn’t hear and were barely able to get around, like a neighbor you would want to help out. They knew how to take your dollar and make two. The women were a little sneakier than the men and had better hiding places.

I learned from my dealings with bootleggers how to write search warrants. My experiences with them would help me in years to come. As soon as we would raid their places and confiscate their goods, they would drift back down to the city and restock. Our relationships with each other were respectful and cordial. They knew we had a job to do, and so did they. Their breed is almost extinct now, and the legends of the bootleggers will soon just be found in history books.

Liquor raids were a major part of our duty.

From the left, Johnny Gee, Robin Watson, Bill

Matthews, Robert Reeves, David Guy. Robert

Reeves would become assistant US attorney.

George Collins, Daily Post Athenian, September 1979

Three Days to Rust

In 1978, I had only been a deputy a short time. I had never needed to fire my gun or even unholster it. One Saturday night, I was riding with Sergeant Sid Mathews when an Etowah Policeman was in pursuit of a vehicle, which left his city limits. The vehicle approached us from behind, and Sid took the lead in the chase. We followed the driver for about two miles on open road, and