The Abduction Of Sammy Lee (2) “Come on Mr. CB. This man’s gonna shoot me. My momma needs me to mow the grass this afternoon.” Sammy Lee’s eyes were as big around as a moon pie and he was suddenly sweating hard. “I don’t care if he does shoot you. I mean I like you and all Sammy Lee and you’ve been a fair hand, but this man is taking money from me. Quit your whining and take it like a man.” “You gonna let this boy get shot over $48?” Number One seemed to be stunned over this concept. Sammy Lee also seemed taken aback by the small amount of cash the heist seemed destined to produce. “$48?!! You gonna let him shoot me over forty-eight lousy dollars? Man how you go to church on Sunday? 48 dollars. You tight as dick’s hat band Mr. CB. You surely are. My momma wouldn’t let me work here she know you gonna let some bad men shoot me for 48 dollars.” “Shut up Sammy Lee. I’m trying to think here. This won’t look too good at Sunday School that’s for sure. The preacher will be giving this sermon for a month of Sundays. Maybe I can hit ‘em with some pond worms. They ought to just shoot us both and be done with it. Man alive I’m gonna have to let these fools walk. Just that quick CB knew that he would have to let the men go. No getting around it in any scenario that he could envision. He had been right up to the edge of punching a couple of holes in something and he was still feeling the need to shoot someone or something. Backing off was not going down easily. He calmly placed the gun back on the counter and let out a prolonged sigh. Every dog will have its day. “Alright. Have it your way. Let the boy go.” “I don’t believe we will. There may be a whole county full of old fools like yourself that want to be heroes. No sir – we’re just going to let this young man take a ride with us. Sort of like an insurance policy. Yeah that’s what we’ve got here – a hostage.” Number One seemed pleased with himself for developing this new strategy, but Sammy Lee did not seem as excited about the prospect of being held. If it were possible his eyes were now bigger than moon pies and his shaking was noticeable. Number One and Number Two backed out of the store’s front door and threw Sammy Lee into the back seat of their get-away machine amid some hollering and some cussing from CB. Quick as that, they left leaving CB standing by the wrought iron furniture set wondering if he’d ever see Sammy Lee or his 48 dollars again. The get-away machine did not leave rubber or even seem to be in a particular hurry as it left. It was an old Dodge Dart that looked as if he had some hard miles on it. The tires did appear new, but the paint job left a lot to be desired. The radio antenna was missing and the back left window gone with a piece of cardboard duct taped in place of the former glass work. This road monster did not appear capable of high speed and this left CB with some feeling that perhaps the ensuing pursuit might end quickly. The license plate was mostly covered with mud and left the store owner (and former law man) somewhat dismayed as he could only make out the middle 2 letters: BM. He was able to determine that the plate was from the Heart of Dixie. This puzzled CB to no end –weren’t many Yankees from Alabama. He hustled back into the store to find out where those local paragons of law enforcement might be. Every second was vital in the recovery of his money. And Sammy Lee. “Hello. This is the assistant Chief of Police. How may I be of service?” “By getting the hell down here and finding these kidnappers. Time’s a-wasting. You got to go son. It’s time to earn that paycheck.” Charlie Bill could be forgiven if he was a bit animated on the phone. This situation was breaking new ground in our home town. “Whoa now. Slow down a minute. Who is this and what are you talking about kidnappers? Ain’t nobody worth kidnapping around here.” Big Bob sought to bring the situation under control. “I’m the person that’ going to see you unemployed if you don’t get my money and my employee back. And it better be PDQ. I got company coming over tonight and Martha don’t like it if I’m late.” CB, removed from the immediate crisis was rolling now and venting his rage over not getting to punch these hood’s tickets on the first person that he talked to. “It’s CB you ninny and my store’s been robbed and they took Sammy Lee with ‘em.” This was not a situation that was in the Assistant Chief’s handbook and all those years of polishing chrome and watching the crossing guards had not really prepared Big Bob for this. He stared dumbly at the receiver and considered his response. Where is the Chief? Probably around at Widow Smith’s house. They ain’t compensating me to deal with criminals. What do they think I am – a police officer? Jesus, Joseph and Mary this ain’t going to end good. “Well CB. How are you doing today?” This seemed like a sensible start to Big Bob. “How do you think I’m doin’ you moron? I just got robbed and near bout shot. Good God son, are you deaf? I need some policing done here and need done it right now.” The steam was still building and CB’s face was getting to be the color of a bright sunset. “Get your big, sorry behind in that car that you been washing all day and get after ‘em. They gonna get away. Them boys is probably half-way to Newton by now. Or Florida or God knows where and they got my money. And Sammy Lee.” “Well now hold on CB. This situation is goin’ to call for some back-up. Some investigating work. We may have to call in the state boys or even the feds. Kidnapping is a federal offense you know. I ain’t about to go chasing some unknown perpetrators willy-nilly all over the place without knowing what I’m getting into. We’re goin’ to go by the book here.” There, thought Big Bob. “You quit investigatin’ them donuts and get your butt in the road. Go by the book. You can’t even read the book if you had one to read. And another thing; don’t go acting all high and mighty on me. I know what kidnapping is – I was the Sheriff of Early County for 18 years, so don’t go tellin’ me what the law is. You just go find them hoods that took my money. And Sammy Lee.” “Alright CB, don’t blow a gasket. I’m rolling.” Big Bob put the receiver back in the cradle and grabbed the keys. Good thing I checked all the fluid levels while ago. Might need ‘em. Big Bob slammed the hood shut after putting the radiator cap back in place, wiped the last residue of Turtle Wax off the door handle, fired up the siren and put the police cruiser in the road. The siren caught the attention of the boys in the barber shop. One glanced at the calendar to make sure it wasn’t May Day. Sirens were rarely heard in town and at one city council meeting there had been a motion to disconnect them, calling them a noise hazard. Bob had not traveled 200 yards when it occurred to him that he had no idea where he was going or what or who he was chasing. It was with some trepidation that he pulled into J’s food store 3 minutes later. “Please tell me you didn’t stop for coffee. They done gone you fool. Ain’t no bad guys here. I need you to be after them and not sucking down coffee.” CB had passed the sunset color some minutes ago and was now approaching what looked to be super-nova status. “Well I need to know which way they went and what they were driving and if they were armed and how many of ‘em there was and that sort of thing. Come on CB, be reasonable.” “It was 2 of ‘em in a ’64 Dodge Dart, looked like it used to be green, Alabama tags, had the letters BM in the middle, one of ‘em had a sawed- off pump, one had a pistol the size of a washing machine, and they went that way.” CB pointed down highway 45, roughly in the direction of Colquitt, and he was now approaching the point of meltdown. “They are most likely in South America by now seeing as it has taken you half the day to show up.” Bob was not a complete fool so he hurried back to the cruiser and now with a general direction in mind he opened the big Crown Vic up and left CB in a cloud of road dust, still standing by the patio furniture set. Bob knew that a robbery and kidnapping in one day was enough. He wasn’t looking to add homicide to the list. Most especially if it was his. Events accelerated from here. Big Bob raced off in search of the bad guys. It was afterwards confirmed that Bob did burn two tanks of gas and searched for 48 hours with only brief stops for the necessities and to question potential witnesses. At some point the Chief showed up at J’s and was immediately reduced to a pile of ashes when Mount CB finally blew. The question about the faint odor of perfume surrounding the chief was never answered to CB’s satisfaction. After a few perfunctory questions, remains of the Chief returned to cruiser 1, and he returned to doing what ever it was he did. The boys in the shop concluded that he spent the next 2 days grilling his informant network. It should be noted that the only known member of this network was Dub, recently retired from the peanut mill, who had suspected ties to key underworld figures in the locality. Sam Dewberry, was tasked with manning the hot-line and acting as liaison for whatever agencies might become involved. This seemed a logical choice since it would not involve operating a motor vehicle or employing weapons of deadly force. At some point other agencies did show up. Lots of them. State troopers, county sheriff’s vehicles from 6 surrounding counties, police cruisers from every town in driving distance that had a cruiser, 2 fire trucks, 4 ambulances, a SWAT vehicle from Atlanta, and of course the G-men. They were most easily recognized as they were the best dressed and none of them were fat. Their socks matched and they had nice ties. There was even a National Guard contingent that rolled in with a mobile kitchen to serve coffee and donuts for the length of the ordeal. A team of blood hounds was brought down from Columbus to aid in the search and Sammy Lee’s sister was in hysteria as she handed over a selection of Sammy’s dirty clothing to the dog handlers. I have often since thought that the large number of law men involved was due to the fact that there was nothing else going on in Southwest Georgia at the time (or most times for that matter). It could of course have been CB calling in favors from his old cronies or it could have even been the huge degree of concern over the plight of Sammy Lee. Your call. I never did decide. With the arrival of all of this extra help came the camp followers. I counted 4 separate helicopters at one time as they would come into Fred Ansell’s crop dusting service for fuel before zipping off to continue the search. There were news vans from Albany, Tallahassee, and Dothan struggling at various times to get interviews with CB, Big Bob and Sammy Lee’s momma, who was in a near catatonic state of break-down, and anyone else who seemed vaguely connected with the event or Sammy Lee’s past. One newscaster (who proved to be remarkably ahead of his time and a trend-setter without peer) dubbed the event “The Snatch of ‘73” on the spot. There were rumors that a crew from Atlanta was in town but I never saw them. There were even a couple of teams from the secret service and the ATF and one of those 3-letter agencies that no one had ever heard of before. Rumors of the two desperado’s connections to organized crime and counterfeiting, DB Cooper and even the Lindbergh baby kidnapping were circulating within 10 minutes of their arrival. Their gravity was only reinforced when it was learned that all three late arriving groups conducted separate interviews with each member of the local intelligence apparatus right there in the barber shop. Trauma experts and grief counselors were flown in for family and friends and the Red Cross set up a tent in the parking lot of the IGA. One of the Hugh gang (a band of local entrepanuers involved at various times in stock cars, pulp wooding and moonshine) even sold “Bring Sammy Back Alive” commemorative tee- shirts in the parking lot right there by the Red Cross tent. A local country band (really just 4 rednecks that all thought they could sing and play like Hank Williams) set up a quick fund-raising concert for the family and there were a multitude of growling burgers sold from the mobile growling trailer which had previously only been used for Bible School or softball tournaments. It remains to this day a shining moment in our town’s history. Nothing before or since has ever created the electric, circus-like atmosphere that descended on us over those 2 days. We were on the map. I shamefully remember at one point being so swept up in the excitement that I actually forgot about Sammy Lee. Of course all good things must come to an end. After 48 hours without a peep or a clue as to the whereabouts of Sammy Lee, the cash, the car, or the villains, the mass of law enforcement begin to drift away with promises of continuing to work the case and assist as needed. The ones from farthest away went first. Those from Washington that worked for the more esoteric braches of our government apparently packed up right after getting the straight scoop from the barber shop. The news crews, not finding a story larger than the Hugh Gang. Followed them. Then the state boys and the guard and finally most of those from the surrounding counties and towns. Each of them left with a stated deep regret and mentioned that they could no longer afford to ignore pressing issues in their own territories, counties, towns and precincts. I believe that they were mostly bored and once the party was winding down decided that $48 and a missing semi-literate black boy wasn’t all that pressing. I never faulted any of them, that’s the way of the world and our town’s moment had passed. They had offered their help for a poor black boy until the time it looked like their help wasn’t doing any good. Then they just left. That’s all. This left the Chief and his department to deal with the aftermath. This largely consisted of a grieving Sammy’s mother and a still semi- furious CB. CB wasn’t so testy as he normally would have been as he figured he had recouped most of his losses through donut and coffee sales to visitors. He even managed to unload some of those red-wigglers to the dog handlers from Columbus who said they were going fishing on the way home. It was another story for the Chief though. Post-event assessment and analysis was at a Watergate level at the barber shop, following what was now viewed as a total failure of pre-attack intelligence and operational readiness on the Chief’s part. The spooks up town were outlining to any customer that would listen the likely disastrous political backlash that was certain to catch the Chief come the next election. In an attempt to pre-empt this political upper-cut, 1 week to the day after Sammy Lee’s abduction, the Chief scheduled a press conference to be held in the main room of City Hall. This was actually the only room in City Hall and most people thought we should have renamed the place “City Room with a Roof Over It.” He had invited all of the local media. This consisted of the county newspaper; the editor of said paper also being the post master. Because of this fact the press conference had to be scheduled at noon because this was during the post master’s lunch break. His plan was to announce a program of sweeping reforms that were needed in his department, while at the same time expressing his concern to the family and assure them that he would never rest until this case had been cracked. Also there was a rumored plan that the Chief was going to launch a pre-emptive strike of his own and offer Big Bob up as the sacrificial lamb to the gods of law enforcement incompetence. Whether this was true or not remains unknown. About 45 seconds into his prepared statement, the Chief was interrupted by a commotion in the back and all thoughts of his statement disappeared as Sammy Lee curiously asked, “What y’all doing?” It turned out that Sammy Lee had been unceremoniously dumped out of the get-away car on the curve at Nicholsville. This was all of about 3 miles from CB’s store and the timing indicated he had been a free man before CB had even gotten off the phone with Big Bob. Asked as to his location for the previous week Sammy Lee said that he had been fishing. “It was a pretty day and them bad men had scared me pretty good. Plus I was sweatin’ like a hog so I figured that I would go on over to the mill pond and take a swim an’ cool off, it bein’ right there. Well when I got there I decided that Momma would like a good mess of fish so I went on over to my cousins house down the road and got a pole and went back. I caught a good string of trout and cleaned ‘em up back at Tyrone’s place then I remembered I was supposed to be at work and Mr. CB was gonna be mad and I’d get fired and then Momma would be mad and so I just hung out for a week. Stayed to Tyrone’s house and made him promise not to tell nobody. Finally decided I’d come on back and take my medicine.” Thus ended the press conference. Of course Charlie Bill gave Sammy Lee his job back him being a celebrity and all. The story of the abduction has changed over the years and I now find out that it was a group of 6 Red Brigade terrorist that did the kidnapping and CB’s roll in cracking the case has grown over the years. Sammy Lee’s momma did eat the fish and put something extra in the plate on Sunday. The hives that appeared on the first day of the abduction were gone within a month and an occasional heart flutter was the only reminder that she was left with of that terrible time. The bad guys were never heard from again and the Dart was never spotted. Ike Smith did find an old car tag from Alabama about 4 years later while running a bottom plow in a field near the Baker county line. The Chief stayed on until retirement or death (it’s about the same thing in our town and once I moved I was never really sure which had happened). Big Bob is the chief now and those sweeping reforms never got implemented. The case involving CB’s money is still open. I think the force is down to one car which undoubtedly has doubled the available time for law enforcement activities and saved on Turtle Wax. The intel-shop has closed now and the head analyst did in fact die. He has not been replaced yet so now you have to go to Blakely to get a hair cut or to find out what terrorists are planning in our region. During my last visit home I was rummaging around in my old room and found one of those “Bring Sammy Back Alive” tee-shirts and wondered for a while what the Hugh Gang was up to these days.
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Copyright © 2004 Mark A Stuart |