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In the early '60s, McNairy County was overall very peaceful place, but the state line, the Mississippi-Tennessee line, was a different deal. Back in the 1960s, Highway 45 ran right through the state line area. Literally being on the state line, you had that blurring of lines between Mississippi and Tennessee, and there was always a question about who was in control there. Welcome to Mississippi, and over here it's welcome to Tennessee. And this is the state line right here, where the state line mob was born and all the criminal activity took place.
These criminals felt like they could get away with anything. There was a lot of death there, a lot of murder. It was just this hotbed of criminal activity. Mafia had the judicial system on their side, prosecutors, judges, and whatnot in the court system as well. It's sad to think about. People shouldn't have to live like that under the thumb of the criminal activity. If corruptness and crime goes unchecked and there's no accountability, you know, it destroys communities. Even as a young cop, as heavy-handed as he took it, Buford Pusser was a no-nonsense, go-by-the-law lawman. He was ridding his county of a nuisance crime, as he called it,
and saving homes from alcoholism, as he put it. Well, he was Buford the Bull, and McNairy County was his china shop. Buford soon found evidence, however, that the county's criminal element ran much deeper than a few backwoods moonshiners bootlegging untaxed whiskey. The state line mob is who you would worry about here in McNairy County. The state line mob actually started out as a bunch of moonshiners. There was moonshine cuz that's how they were making money. Moonshine was a lucrative business. That was the birth of the people who were going to run that state line with an iron fist.
August 12th, 1967, before daybreak, Buford receives a call at home that there is a fight at one of the clubs down at the state line. This is one of the things that ties it back to his campaign promise. He said he will answer every call. And Pauline wanted to go with him because the family had planned on going on vacation that day. She was afraid that he would get down there and start talking to someone and they wouldn't get out of town. So, she says, "Well, if you're going, I'm going." Buford and Pauline get in the car. He believes that this is just going to be a quick deal. Unfortunately, this is a day
that his life will change forever. In the wee hours before dawn, Buford drove his Fury down this road, New Hope Road, at a high rate of speed. And I get up close to the bridge and all of a sudden these lights come on. Black Cadillac pulls out behind them. The ambush car went around him right about here and forced him off in this narrow area and they got him trapped and cornered right here. Then they opened fire with an automatic rifle. His driver's side window was down. The bullets went through the open window. Pauline flopped over into his lap. Buford didn't really realize that Pauline had been shot. He kind of tucks arm around her head and then he slumps down in the car and
he starts to take off to try to outrun everybody. Buford guns it. His car was fast and he gets away from the Cadillac. And he puts a lot of distance between him and the Cadillac and he pulls over to look at Pauline to see how bad she's hurt. Well, she's hit in the head, she's dead. I can't imagine dealing with that. When Pauline was taken from him, it more than broke him. It tore part of his soul. And that's when his attackers catch up to him again. The car's right on top of him and gunfire hits again. They plow his car full of automatic rounds. His jaw was shot practically off of his face.
The car goes on. They think they've killed him. He looks up in the rearview mirror, finds out that his lower half of his face is hanging. It's just um inhuman bloody pulp. Buford named several people as suspects in the ambush of him and his wife. The suspects that Buford Pusser named were Carmine Gaglardi, the hitman Gary McDaniel and George McGann. He thought Kirksey Nix and he thought Toehead White was in charge of it. Obviously, there was an investigation, but there never was enough evidence to charge anybody with the crime. Pauline Pusser's murder is a cold case. In the months that followed, one by one, things began to happen to each of
Buford's prime suspects. Whether or not Buford Pusser took vengeance for Pauline, the cycle of violence in McNairy County took one final turn on the night of August 21st, 1974. When Buford visited a fair with his daughter Dwana and her friend. Just hundreds of people there. They all wanted to talk to Buford. And Dwana's thinking her dad's going to sit here and talk for hours. She said, "Love you. See you at home." They leave. They're going about 2 minutes. Buford caught up with them and passed them. And Dwana said, "Look at my daddy show out."
Buford was in his red Corvette. He had it at a high rate of speed. And Miss Shirley Durbin in the right front seat. She said, "Lord, I hope he don't get killed between here and home." And 13-year-old Dwana said, "Please, Miss Shirley, don't even say He had loose gravel, lost control, and he slid into this embankment. His impact was so hard, his head hit the steering wheel, and he ejected out through the top of the T-tops to the back of the car. And this is where he died. They drove 6 miles. And there was Buford's body laying beside the Corvette. And Dwana picked her 250-lb daddy up and towed him She said, "Of all the things that he went through, I wasn't going to see him burned by that car.
And Bill Ford was only 36 years old when he died. And Bill McCoy was the most notorious rum runner during prohibition. He didn't really drink, but he didn't agree with prohibition, either. Who says you can't stand up for what you believe in and make a little money at the same time? On January 17th, 1920, the 18th Amendment, prohibiting the manufacture, sale, and transport of alcoholic beverages went into effect. Congress passed the law with the intent of protecting Americans from the scourge of drunkenness. But instead, they gave rise to a new kind of outlaw.
Prohibition was the noble experiment that failed miserably. Rum running was the practice of going to a place where you get liquor, mostly it was Bahamas, and putting it in a boat, and carrying it to the United States. Rum is a big misnomer. Americans didn't drink rum. At the time, their preference was good American rye and bourbon. Later on, when they started getting liquor from England, it was Scotch and gin. Bill McCoy's journey into rum running began with humble roots, a far cry from his later exploits on the open ocean. In 1920, when prohibition goes into effect, international waters are considered 3 mi offshore line.
This is a law that had been established in the 18th century, essentially as far as a cannonball could go at that point in time. As long as Bill stayed outside that 3-mi radius, he was safe as if he was in his mommy's arms. There was no law that could touch him there. He was in international waters. He knew the maritime law and found ways of getting around that law. What he did was he created a company up in Canada and registered under the British flag. Flying the British flag, he was not subject to US laws.
He would set out in neutral waters, which was not illegal, sell his rum to the rum runners, and they would actually, you know, take the risk of delivering the alcohol. McCoy anchored his British-registered boat at a rendezvous point outside the 3-mi boundary, where smaller, less conspicuous boats could load up on illicit booze and make the dash to points on shore. Bill saw a golden opportunity that was just wide open going to Nassau and bringing rum back up to New York, New Jersey, Florida, North Carolina, Georgia. Everybody that touched the coast, he could outfit them with liquor.
Bill McCoy's rum running empire had made him public enemy number one with the US Coast Guard, and for good reason. Well, summer of '23, Bill says he's having the funnest time of his life, and he's also making the most money in his life. On one ship, he was clearing $100,000. Bill had up to seven ships. As there was more and more individuals getting involved in rum running, piracy becomes common. Violence becomes more and more common. Rum row becomes a very dangerous place as the rum runners get more brazen in their ability to contend with one another.
The more money that's at stake or involved in any venture, the more unsavory of the characters are that are attracted to it. You know, there's people out there that do not care what they have to do to take what's yours from you. As time wore on, the entire rum running business becomes more dangerous. Not only do you have more people trying to seek fast riches and more people with a more flexible moral code, but you also see the government become more stringent in stopping this. Both sides just keep upping their efforts to try and outdo or stop each other, and the violence just starts to take a more prominent role in it.
Bill started arming his crew, start giving them pistols and shotguns, and uh he also had 50 caliber machine guns mounted on the decks of his boats. When it got to the point, you know, that he had to mount a machine gun on his boat just to keep people that are not supposed to board your ship from boarding it, ultimately people are going to die. And at what point do you say enough? Bill McCoy's cat and mouse game with the US Coast Guard finally came to a head. On November 23rd, 1923, Bill McCoy's vessel Tomoka, previously Arethusa, is stopped by the Coast Guard cutter Seneca and boarded.
The Seneca got closer to the Arethusa than McCoy should have let it. And they sent a boat over with a fellow named Perkins on it and some other troops with him. They boarded the Arethusa and they drew their pistols. Bill came to the point that he either had to fight or flight. McCoy sort of pretended to give in a little bit or something like that. So, the Seneca turned around and says, "Okay, follow us into Staten Island." And McCoy did that for a while and then he looked for his opportunity where the wind was and turned around and he started to make a run for it. With a Coast Guard crew on board, McCoy gives the order to set sails and try and flee the Coast Guard immediately fired a warning shot.
The Seneca fires several shots as it becomes clear that Bill McCoy is going to continue to try and outrun. That's when Seneca puts a shot just over the pilot house. And uh wound several of the crew, and that's when McCoy realizes his time is up. It's either face the music or he and his crew are going to be killed. He knew that the next shot wouldn't be a warning. He reluctantly agrees to haul down his sails and give up to the Coast Guard. After that, the US Coast Guard seized Arethusa and towed him into New York City, and Bill was arrested for rum running against the Volstead Act.
The law that 3 miles was international water, he adhered to it. Still, it wasn't enough to keep him safe in the end. History will remember Bill McCoy as the father of rum running. The way he did it, the way he took the chances, and skirted around the law, he left a great big footprint for any future moonshiners or rum runners to fill. Between 1930 and 1940, Georgia was at its peak production of illegal moonshine. And in Meriwether, Georgia, the kingpin of moonshiners was John Wallace. John Wallace was born in 1896 in Alabama. John Wallace was born into a privileged world. His family was wealthy. At the age 11, John's father died.
Forced his mother to move back home to her family in Meriwether County, Georgia. He was not flashy. He owned a very old, beat-up old car. He didn't even have a telephone. He lived in a very modest home, but he knew how to use the money make friends and influence people. He would buy the cows and build the barns and help people out in order to obligate people to him. One of the many tenant farmers that was beholden to John Wallace's iron rule was a young man by the name of Wilson Turner.
Turner willingly and knowingly took the extra cash to run liquor for John Wallace. John Wallace, he's hiring a lot of people, everyone's got a job, everyone's making money, so everybody loves John Wallace. John Wallace was very likable. He was a charmer, but they were very well aware that he seemed to have sort of temper tantrums. But somewhere in the spring of 1948, Turner was working for Wallace and things just got a little bit sideways. The dispute between Wilson Turner and John Wallace started over 20 gallons of moonshine. The revenuers were watching the roads and John Wallace had told the people who had made the moonshine that they couldn't sell the moonshine until the coast was clear.
Wilson Turner really needed his money. He had bought a brand new pickup truck and he needed to make a payment on it. So he took his 20 gallons and he successfully sold them. Wallace found out about Turner's bootlegging and you know, he cut him off. John Wallace took the money away from him, which made Wilson mad. John told him to get off his property, even though he had a crop in the field that he had not gathered his portion of it. He had to move off and leave it. So Turner, he's desperate for money. So one night he sneaks onto Wallace's farm and steals two of his prize cows.
Now these are not ordinary cows. These are Grimsley cows that cost him more than $3,000. Well, once that Wallace had figured out his cows were missing, that Wilson Turner had taken them. You know, nobody sees Turner again. He disappears from the earth. One thing that Wallace really hadn't banked on is the spot where Turner's truck ran out of gas was 1 mile inside Coweta County. John Wallace made a mistake. He crossed the county line. John Wallace, his kingdom was in Meriwether County. He's in a new town and there's a new sheriff.
April 23rd, 1948, Sheriff Potts had called Hardy Collier and told him he wanted him to bring John Wallace to his office. Sheriff Potts, they just won't talk to him. Sheriff Collier just said, "If you want John Wallace, you got to go get him yourself." So, he reaches out to Wallace. Wallace is kind of, you know, at this point he still thinks he's going to get away with this. So, he gets his buddies, his attorney, they said, "Well, let's go meet with the sheriff." Well, what they didn't expect is they would show up at Sheriff Potts' office and he starts putting handcuffs on him.
I said, "Well, what's going on?" "You are under arrest for the murder of Wilson Turner." So, Potts, you know, he's running into nothing but dead ends. Someone has been murdered in his county without actually having a body. And then all of a sudden, a anonymous witness comes up. An informant told him two field hands, Albert Brooks and Robert Lee Gates, had helped John Wallace remove the body. So, Brooks and Gates, they was actually tenant farmers, just like Turner was, and they worked for Wallace's empire. They confirmed that this attack did take place. Turner was killed in Coweta County and disposed of on that farm.
You know, Wallace done turned his corpse into a well on his farm. And they got the grappling hook. Some kid down the well. Started pulling it up. Pulling, pulling. And there it was. Turner's beaten body was pulled up to the top of the well, and Gates and Brooks, they knew Wilson. So, they were scared to death at this point. June 14th, 1948, the state of Georgia versus John Wallace. All the eyes of the state of Georgia right here. Five days after the trial had started, the jurors emerged from this room.
You could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was on the edge of their seats. Was he going to pay the ultimate price and go to the electric chair for the crimes that he had committed? What was going to happen to Albert Brooks and Robert Lee Gates, who had put their lives on the line to convict this man? On June 18th, 1948, John Wallace was convicted of murder in the first degree. After the jury deliberated for 70 minutes, John Wallace was convicted of first-degree murder and ultimately sentenced to the electric chair. This sent a shockwave through the county.
People thought Meriwether John Wallace was untouchable. For this to be done in 1948 with the testimony of two black tenant farmers against a powerful white man, unheard of, but justice was served like it should be. Wallace appealed the case numerous times. It went all the way to the Supreme Court. Each time they came back with the same verdict. Guilty. November 3rd, 1950 brought about the execution of John Wallace.
