Officer down . . . almost!
Police Chief Jim Brown
This was different!
Responding to a 10–32 call (man with a gun) at a street address, you could make your approach with consideration of a likely angle of attack.
But this?
This was different.
A hot and humid July afternoon in 1977 and several us from Hahira PD, Lowndes County Sheriff’s Office (LCSO), Georgia State Patrol (GSP) and a dog team from Valdosta State Prison were in the woods north of Hahira (1) and just south of the Cook County line between US 41 and I-75. We could hear bloodhounds baying as they searched for the scent of Horace Twiggs, a large male who had just tried to kill Hahira Police Chief Jim Brown with Jim’s own gun. Twiggs still had the weapon, a Smith and Wesson Model 66 .357 magnum loaded with armor piercing bullets.
As a patrol officer with little over a year’s experience, hunting a man in the woods, who had a proven intent to kill a police officer, was a new experience for me. The woods were so thick in places we could’ve walked within 10 feet of Twiggs and never seen him. The potential angle of attack . . . 360 degrees.
We felt like walking targets!
For me it all started when I received a phone call from Mrs. Pafford, the city secretary. She had the added responsibility as the daytime police dispatcher. I was sitting at home on the couch reading when my wife handed me the phone and said Mrs. Pafford wants to talk to you.
“Jim’s in some kind of trouble,” Mrs. Pafford said matter-of-factly.
“What kind of trouble?” I asked.
“I don’t know, he just called on the radio and it sounded like he needed some help,” she replied.
Chief Jim Brown, born on Christmas Day 1952 in Quitman, Georgia was born to be a cop. It ran in the family. Except for a two year break his dad was Boston, Georgia police chief from 1956 to 1975. Jim’s goal since he was a kid was to be a Georgia State Trooper, which he later accomplished.
Jim’s eyesight was better than 20/20. He could predict the outcome of unfolding events and could read people like an open book. He was a great mentor.
As police chief he was the only officer on duty during the day. Back-up was hardly ever readily available.
But . . . he rarely, if ever, “needed some help.”
Chief was very capable.
Taking time to put on my uniform would have been a really dumb idea. I quickly buckled on my service belt over my jeans, securing the four belt keepers, and drove two blocks to the station. The chief’s patrol car was not there. Slipping into the driver’s seat of one of the other squad cars I called Jim on the radio.
“M784-A, what’s your 20?”
“I’m at the county line on 41,” he radioed back.
“A guy just took my gun and tried to kill me!
He’s up here in the woods!”
I’ll let Jim tell how it happened.
“I was driving east on Main Street by Player’s Bar and saw two guys fighting. I stopped and arrested them both for disorderly conduct. When I tried to arrest Horace Twiggs he said he wasn’t going, ran and jumped in a dark blue Ford Falcon. I gave chase in my patrol car until he got out of his car and ran behind a house on Hall Street.
Running after him I tackled him and we began to wrestle in the dirt. Somehow he got both arms around me and reaching my gun he ripped it out of the holster breaking the strap and pressed it hard against my right chest. My academy training kicked in and I got my hand between the hammer and the frame of the revolver so it wouldn’t fire. I remember Twiggs pulling the trigger at least three times cutting the web of my hand between my thumb and first finger.
As he kept pulling the trigger I clearly recall having a flashback to Ray City Police Chief Ed Giddens’ flag draped coffin.(2)
I thought I was about to die!
(Note: Chief Giddens was shot and killed by armed robbers February 11, 1976. It was supposed to be his last day on the job.)
I was able to throw him off of me and run back to the car for the shotgun. I zig-zagged just knowing I was about to be shot in the back!
The shotgun wasn’t there!
I got in the car and backed up. Luckily, I had injured his knee during the scuffle and he was unable to chase me back around the house. He hobbled to the Falcon, got in and drove away at a high rate of speed. I gave chase and we eventually headed north on Union Road, right on Brigman Road and north on US 41. He bailed at the Cook County line.
Mrs. Pafford didn’t understand me when I called it in during the chase, but GSP dispatch overheard and began to send back-up.”
When Jim gave me his location I raced north and on arrival gave him my revolver, a Smith and Wesson Model 66 loaded with .357 magnum 125 grain hollow points. I got my Ruger Mini-14 .223 with a 20 round magazine out of my patrol car.
Eventually the dog team arrived, we spread out and the search began.
It was hot . . . and humid!
The sweat dripping off our foreheads and stinging our eyes was not helping.
And searching for a suspect in a dense wooded area who’d made a damn good effort to kill a cop? Well, let’s just say
. . . the pucker factor was strong!
The dogs caught Twiggs’ scent. Not knowing how quickly they would come up on him, the dog handlers kept shouting,
“Show us your hands or we’ll shoot! . . . Show us your hands or we’ll shoot!”
Twiggs, a Viet Nam vet and trained in martial arts, had made himself a little “hidey-hole hut” and still had Jim’s .357 . . . waiting.
Hearing the dog handlers approaching in the distance and multiple officers stalking him through the woods, Mr. Twiggs had time to consider his immediate future. He made his best decision of the day. Tossing the weapon aside he surrendered.
Horace Twiggs was transported to the Lowndes County Jail and held there until he went to court several months later. Instead of pleading guilty to attempted murder of a peace officer he stood trial, defended by Jesse T. Edwards. He was found guilty of a lesser offense.
His sentence?
Wait for it . . .
Six months served!
Congratulations, “Jesse T.”
After the search and capture was over that afternoon and I was back home, I sat back down on the couch and picked up the material I had been reading when Mrs. Pafford had called.
“Well, that’s interesting!” I thought.
It was the annual publication from the FBI titled Law Enforcement Officers Killed and Assaulted for 1976.
True story.
— — — — — — — — — — —
(1) Hahira (pronounced Hey-Hi-Ruh) is a small south central Georgia town in Lowndes County just off I-75 approximately 29 miles north of the Florida line. In 1977 the population was approximately 1,500. Unique for such a small town it had an elementary and middle school, two banks, a small hospital with an emergency room (Smith Hospital) and two bars (Player’s Bar, which had a black side and a white side, and Lucas’ Bar, which served only black customers).
(2) https://www.odmp.org/officer/5422-chief-of-police-james-edward-giddens
Ed Giddens was Police Chief of Ray City, Georgia (which had a population of probably less than 1,000 in 1977). On Wednesday, February 11, 1976 Chief Giddens was shot and killed after being abducted by three robbery suspects. Chief Giddens had stopped a vehicle that was speeding. Unbeknownst to him, the three suspects had just committed an armed robbery in Adel, Georgia. After abducting the chief, the suspects drove around trying to figure out what to do. They told Chief Giddens they were going to let him go and that he had to swim into a river so they had time to drive away.
As he followed their instructions and swam away one of the men shot him in the back with his own service weapon. The suspect then entered the water and shot him several more times. The three suspects were eventually apprehended. The shooter was executed on May 18, 1989. A second suspect died in prison in 1978.
Chief Giddens had only been with the agency for one year and had also served (with) the Lowndes County Sheriff’s Department prior to becoming chief. The night he was killed was supposed to be his last night with the department as he had turned in his resignation. He was survived by his wife, son and two daughters.
