Barrels of Lightning 

 

Oscar Driver was a big man so it took a lot to kill him. At almost six feet tall and close to 200 pounds, the first mayor of Saraland, Ala. appeared in control, ready for any challenge. Sure, he had his diversions but he could also focus and was used to achievement and acquisition. He carried civic heft.

Driver was a big man. So a shotgun was what it would take.

 

Genesis 

Follow U.S. Highway 43 north of out of Mobile – Old Telegraph Road they call it – and you’re immersed in the Gulf port’s blue-collar roots. Across the state docks, past trucking platforms and railyards, on by the paper mill stacks and beyond weathered warehouses, the ride is mostly rust and rivets.

Then comes Chickasaw, a small town-turned-suburb striving to maintain its leisurely, working class neighborhoods. Shade trees and porch swings are their icons.

On through town, travelers cross a bridge and emerge in Saraland, west of where placid Bayou Sara snakes up through the scrub pines and palmettos.

By the mid-1950s, a cluster of buildings had grown there and a tiny community begun. There was a hunting and fishing club, some watering holes and eateries, gas stations.

But authority sat in the town to their south, over the bridge and the bayou where they saw the world differently. Saraland was in the Chickasaw Police jurisdiction and Chickasaw was opposed to beer sales.

Saraland residents were fond of public relaxation and several arrests revolving their beer joints stirred irritation.

Founding Saraland council member Henry Dukes told a Capt. Painter in 1965 that the town began chiefly to insulate beer joints from Chickasaw. He said Joe Neal, owner of the café and the hunting & fishing club, was a prime force.

In March of 1955, Saraland residents filed a petition for incorporation in Mobile County Probate Court of a narrow strip along both sides of U.S. Highway 43.

“It didn’t take much time to get the names,” Took Skidmore said. ‘It was only about a 500-foot strip.” The April 22 ballot finalized it with 37 votes for and 26 against.

Next was an election to fill offices and a familiar name graced the top slot.

 

 

Pop 

Oscar Leon Driver born in Carrollton, Ala. on April 15, 1898.

He moved to Louisville, Miss. around 1918, and before long, Driver owned and operated a sawmill.

Oscar also met Manie Richardson, a young lady from a comfortable family. Their romance sent them to the altar and then on to Bigbee Valley, Miss. where Driver managed a lumber mill.

He rose through a succession of mill jobs around the Southeast until landing with Aluminum Company of America as foreman of a powerhouse in Mobile.

The Drivers’ lone son, Oscar Jr., was killed at Iwo Jima. Manie and Oscar grieved along with their daughter-in-law and grandchildren, Myra and Buddy. They lived with Oscar those days, calling him Pop as Oscar Jr. had. Buddy carried the family name forward as the third Oscar Leon.

“I spent weekends with them when they lived in Chickasaw,” Buddy said years later. “I guess that was up ‘til ’54 then we moved to Fairhope when my mother remarried.”

It was a drastic change for Buddy. His “home” had been the brick house at the intersection of 43 and Hilltop Avenue in Saraland. Now, had a new authority figure in his life, someone he didn’t want to push out the memories of his dad, ghosts that faded with each year.

“Now that I look back on it, it’s easy to see,” Buddy said. “My stepdad was a paranoid schizophrenic. He was treated over at the V.A. (hospital) in Biloxi. I remember him making all kinds of vulgar remarks, stuff that just wasn’t right.”

Buddy never settled in that new house. Raised voices were common and when he finally beat another boy, he was sent to live with his grandparents in Saraland.

“Pop wanted me to go to UMS, but that never happened,” Buddy recalled. University Military School was a place with cachet, where a great deal of socially prominent Mobile families had strong ties. “I stayed out there in Saraland, though.”

The Drivers welcomed the grandson. Oscar was settled into life with several business interests, the beginnings of a Saraland subdivision in hand and plans for a water company.

Manie owned Insured Loan Company in downtown Mobile, a byproduct of her family’s fortune. She told an investigator that “her father bought it for her because she was nervous and sick when her son was killed overseas” and that she had “$35,000 tied up in it.”

Oscar was a Shriner, a member of Abba Temple, a Master Mason, member of a lodge in Holt, Ala. and of Pleasant Hill Baptist Church.

Since before being elected mayor, Oscar owned and operated a beer joint in Saraland where investigators say “it was rumored he sold state store whiskey in violation of the law.” He also owned a hunting/fishing camp on Mobile River near Chastang where his gatherings could include up to 50 people at a time.

Driver was elected mayor, defeating C. C. Rogers by a 45 to 35 vote. The councilmembers , Henry L. Dukes, C. W. “Bill” Skidmore and others were proud as they took office in July of 1957.

Fond remarks about Driver are notable in investigative documents.

“We all liked Mr. Driver,” Bill Skidmore’s wife Took said. “They were well thought of.”

Dorothy Sanders was named town clerk.

But trouble came to city hall courtesy of those most entrusted with public safety.

 

Pat 

Norman W. Patrick answered to “Pat.” Born in Washington County near Charity Chapel, he moved to Prichard as a youngster. His story unremarkable, he eventually married a woman named Edna and lived with their two kids in a house beside Craft Highway.

Patrick was frustrated. He didn’t like the contemporary changes in the world, challenge to the social order ballooned his unease.

Eventually, Pat landed a police department job before Saraland came looking for a chief. Patrick had connections in the new municipality and the opportunity was ideal.

Saraland rented a building for the city hall and jail from Joe Neal, a chief proponent of incorporation. It was located across Hwy. 43 from the Driver home and near the back of the Country House Café and Beer Joint, also owned by Neal.

Joe Neal and Rufus Marlow organized a company for the purpose of offering bail bonds. Chief Patrick was also a partner in that business with a ten percent share of all bond fees.

Rumors cropped up in investigative reports that Patrick was dissatisfied with his meager share and salary, that this unrest led to his branching out into the protection of the white whiskey and dope business.

Moonshine shipments were frequent through the 300-person town. Subsequent chiefs seized as many as hundreds of gallons per year.

Aaron Kohn, chairman of the New Orleans Metropolitan Crimes Commission claimed he had info that drugs were shipping into Mobile’s port before heading to New Orleans. Rumors of ties to the Dixie Mafia lurked.

Former Press-Register reporter Moody Connell also made statements about Mobile’s Dixie Mafia ties. Connell described a Jimmy Vallas who owned several clubs and was looking to start a front for gambling on a local beach.

Former Saraland Chief of Police Buford Cryer believed Joe Neal was “in the dope business,” that drugs were sailed in from abroad, then put on smaller boats and glided beneath the Spanish moss, up river to a cabin. He described a call from Joe Neal with a warning about “going easier on the slot machines.”

Cryer also said he discovered a used car lot on Shelton Beach Road that backed up to an airstrip and was dealing in stolen cars.

But the ex-highway patrolman had the most to say about Patrick and his cohorts. 

 

Hoods 

It was an undercurrent in Southern life those days, one people didn’t like to talk about. It was in the area and in the institutions.

State documents named Saraland resident E. C. Bernard as Imperial Wizard of the Gulf Coast Ku Klux Klan, with members in North Florida, South Alabama, South Mississippi and South Louisiana. State’s informant Karl Darby said he heard Bernard and others discussing possible assassinations of civil rights leaders.

Another Saraland resident was named head of the local Klavern.

Other names peppered across the roster of Saraland’s police and fire departments were fingered as Klan members. Most importantly, they were all friends of Pat Patrick’s.

Prominent was Percy Green, owner of a Mobile plumbing business later cited as a Ku Klux Klan staging ground, a cross construction shop. Green was described as being close with the Imperial Wizard. He was also rumored to have been involved in the white whiskey business.

“Green just looked rascally,” Buddy said, “real rough.”

Former Police Chief James J. Robinson said the Percy Green gang was dubbed both “Murder Incorporated” and “Arson Incorporated” by Mobile cops.

When Patrick came to Saraland, Green was by his side. He started to ride with Patrick at night, prowling in the black-and-white station wagon that comprised the police fleet. 

When Green heard about the new water works plans, he saw opportunity. Patrick promised Green the slot as plumbing inspector. Percy bragged. Oscar heard. Driver put a stop to the idea of the new job.

Annexation talk emerged. Patrick was firmly in the camp of gathering more residents into the new town. He enlisted his fire department gang to aid in the effort.

Oscar opposed the doomed movement.

Green told his son to illegally vote in a Saraland election. Driver discovered it and turned the young man away. Green’s grumbling about Driver grew.

Patrick left town for a short while to campaign for state politician Jimmy Faulkner. Driver thought it bad behavior for a sitting police chief and let Patrick know.

Rumors circulated about Buddy Driver’s behavior, saying the 15-year-old was caught with dope, that Oscar knew and wasn’t happy. Patsy McElwain told investigators as much and pegged the boys Buddy hung out with at the Hunting and Fishing Club as the root. Service station owner J. A. Kelly told the sheriff’s office he heard similar.

Billy Mann said Patrick told him Buddy was “on dope.” Others from the chief’s crew spread word Buddy and Oscar were dealing.

State investigators did state Buddy once confessed to small burglaries in Saraland.

Driver began to have suspicions about Patrick’s involvement in the moonshine business. He claimed knowledge of a bust wherein some portion of 27 gallons of shinny disappeared on the way to the property room.

Henry Dukes told investigators how he and Driver researched Patrick.  He said paroled bootlegger Brat McFadden supplied information that Patrick was running whiskey in the police car and delivering it to black quarters near Saraland.

“You’ve got to admit it’s odd,” former Saraland Police Chief Trey Oliver said, “how places have a station wagon as their police car?”

Dukes went to U.S. District Judge Daniel Thomas who referred him to U.S. Attorney Ralph Kennamer. The feds said they could supply men and a car but had no money to make the buy.

Driver and Dukes secured $500 from a loan company.

The dice were rolled, plans set. The federal forces never appeared and the effort was squandered.

The informant turned up missing. When he was found in Butler, Ala., he told of receiving orders to leave town. 

Dukes was adamant that Patrick was involved in Klan activities.

Cryer described Dudley Mann, another frequent patrol partner of Patrick’s, as “small man, big gun.” Dudley and his brothers were part of the fire department gang and he shadowed Patrick. Cryer characterized him as easily influenced and a cross-burner.

Dudley was only 5 feet, 4 inches tall and when Oscar and Manie teased him about his size, it cut. Mann let it fester. 

He was one of the first members of the fire department and an auxiliary policeman. Dudley strutted, wearing a large pistol in obvious style. Driver put a stop to it. 

Meanwhile, a group of churchmen in Mobile County signed a proclamation urging racial integration on the municipal bus line. A rash of cross-burnings hit Saraland, all in yards of pastors who signed the document.

In June of 1958, a Dr. Marsh in Saraland was arrested on charges of selling barbiturates. During the few hours he was in jail, a cross was burned in his yard and the culprits ineptly set his car afire.

Marsh’s narcotics charge was later dropped. He relocated.

Driver was digging and stockpiling. S. D. Robinson, a colleague from the ALCOA site, told Sheriff Ray Bridges that Oscar had listed what he knew about Patrick.

He said Driver told him they had a barbecue benefit for the fire department, that Patrick was in charge and stole 50 percent of the take.

Oscar told him Patrick was “taking graft” and he was working on having the chief removed.

 

High summer 

August days dawn steamy on the Gulf.

On Aug. 6, 1958, Oscar arose hopeful. He was closer to key accomplishments, toward a cleaner town. Manie told Sheriff Bridges that Oscar was in and out on early errands.

Manie dialed the loan office to check on the girls. The unanswered ringing creased her brow. When Oscar returned from his errand, she gave him the keys and told him to go check on the St. Francis Street office before heading to the plant.

Oscar took his rose and cream Oldsmobile into town as locust song swelled in the shimmering heat.

Manie received a call from Oscar, “from the office” he said. He verified the clerks’ absence.

When he returned to the house, Manie asked, “Did you look in the safe?”

Oscar said no. She said, “You ought to have looked in there. There might have been something in there telling us why they left.”

Law enforcement concluded Oscar was never at the office. They know he visited Brikcrete Co., town hall and H. L. Duke so the 40-minute time frame didn’t allow him to make it into Mobile and back.

It was lunchtime. A sister to one of the absent employees called the Drivers, then arrived shortly. As they ate, they talked about the clerks, Betty Richardson and Doris Barnett.

Betty’s husband Carl was in a veterans’ hospital on the Mississippi coast, receiving treatment for a leg infection.

Barnett, a mother of five, was separated, her husband in Leake County, Miss.

But mostly, they talked about the women’s boyfriends, a pair of hardscrabble workers from Eight Mile. The girls met Billy and Bud Chattom four months prior in a Kushla night club and started keeping company on the sly.

Oscar pushed his glasses up his nose and jotted in his little pocket notebook. He would have to be at the powerhouse before long.

It was Barnett’s scheduled day off so the Drivers agreed to keeping calling her Saraland home from the plant and the house.

Manie was afraid of embezzlement. Oscar told Manie he talked to an auditor and the man was meeting them at the office at 8:30 the next morning. 

Oscar contacted Chief Patrick, asked a few questions about the Chattoms then told Manie they “had a bad record.”

Manie got nervous and called Buddy. She told investigators she gave him her keys instructed Buddy to ride into town and check on the loan office, specifically to open the safe and check for a note.

Buddy told Deputy Sheriff Bobby Jackson he tied up the dog, grabbed his friend Wesley Reed and they rode Buddy’s “motor scooter” into town around 5 p.m. 

Buddy opened the safe and called his grandmother. There was no answer so he phoned his grandfather at the aluminum company. He read Pop the note found in the strongbox.

 

“Mr & Mrs. Driver

I hate to do this but I got to leave wish I could tell you why but I can’t.

Doris and I are leaving together. Wish us luck we thank so much of you & Mrs. Driver. Someday I will contact you & let you know why.

Love, Betty & Doris”

 

Oscar told Buddy to put everything back as he found it.

 

At the aluminum company, Oscar made a handful of calls. He scrawled in the small notebook: 

GL 29367

                        3104 St. Stephens Rd.

                        Tag 2-83179 Plymouth

            Dorse            GR 13145

            B            GA 61399

            KT Hart     HE 81629

                                    GA 65239

 

He flipped it shut and smiled as he slipped it into his shirt pocket.

Robinson, Driver’s co-worker in the powerhouse, asked what was happening. The mayor kept his colleague abreast of the Patrick saga, of the things uncovered.

“Something big is going to break in Saraland,” Driver said. “You will see it in the paper.”  Robinson told investigators Driver said he “had some investigations to do that night when he got off from work and was in a big hurry to leave.”

The Saraland City Council was meeting the next night.

 

Chief Patrick said he caught wind of a shinny run on 43. He was adamant about surveillance that night and called the state agency to ensure their involvement.

Early in the night, Patrick sat in a state-owned ABC car with officer P. B. Shaw and auxiliary Saraland policeman Frank Pridgen. Patrick made sure both were there.

Parked near a drugstore spying traffic, Patrick suddenly suggested they take him to city hall so he could get the city car.

The chief also insisted they all remain in constant radio contact as they returned to Satsuma.

Patrick picked up his pal Rufus Marlow and proceeded to the intersection of Highway 43 and Shelton Beach Road, 1.5 miles north of town hall. For a man chasing bootleggers, Patrick was awfully conspicuous.

 

At 9 p.m., the Drivers’ phone rang. “Baby, this is the last time I am going to call you,” Oscar told Manie, “I am coming on home so you go on up and get to bed.”

She unlocked the back door, put Oscar’s supper on top of the deep freeze to warm and went to bed.

Buddy asked if he could cross the highway to “talk with the boys a while” at the hunting and fishing club.

Manie started to recline on the settee beneath the air conditioner, to relieve the sultry night. “No, I had better not do that,” she told herself, “because old Arthur will get me.” Her joints could ache from the chill so she went to bed.

 

Buddy and his friends were in front of the Country House Café & Beer Joint when highway patrolman J. D. Nance crunched to a stop on the gravel. Nance said he often used the telephone and bought “Co-Colas” at the adjoining hunting and fishing club.

One of the boys, Jodie Casey, told authorities they saw a shiny blue-and-white Chevy stop on Hilltop Avenue for about two to three minutes, then move on.

Ten minutes later, Buddy leaned on the patrolman’s fender and spied Oscar’s Olds heading up the highway. “There goes Pop,” Nance remembered Buddy saying.

The sedan turned onto Hilltop Avenue and Buddy saw the headlights hit the bushes and house as it pulled into the driveway. It was 10:45 p.m.

A cherry cigarette ember glowed in the shadows by the drive, then rose.

 

To be continued…