L.B. Boyette, former Florida Highway Patrol Trooper, is one of those persons you like immediately. At least I did. In the mid 1950s, when I first met him, the FHP had a limited number of troopers stationed throughout Florida. My husband, Vince, and L.B. were stationed together in Baker County for a period of time in the '50S. I knew from first-hand experience that their commanding officers were hard-nosed, go-by-the-book sort of men. Their duty and allegiance was expected to be to the FHP, and some commanding officers went so far as to instill in the men that their job came before their family. Therefore, the men were completely in tune to keeping the Florida HighWay Patrol Trooper letter of the law with all I's dotted and all T's crossed.
It was here in Baker County where troopers like L.B. and my husband, Vince, learned a lesson in the honor of humanity. It's hard to explain, but most of those on the outside of the law, making illegal whiskey, set up a set of competitive rules between them and the law that they theorized to be a respectable 'fair contest.' The bootleggers didn't ask, or expect, the troopers to break the law for them, but they considered their terms 'fair play' and steadfastly expected the troopers to heed.
The only experience with moonshine during these years was from my grandfather who, after grinding sugar cane and making syrup in the fall each year, would save the 'skimmings.' After they fermented for awhile, he would distill them, into moonshine, maybe yielding two or three gallons. He used this as a medicine for himself, his family and of course, us children.
I came in contact with my first real, dedicated bootlegger, in the person of A.J. Hodge. I had heard about him from other officers -- how wild, reckless and daring he was. I sort of admired him, you know, like an old west outlaw .. not really bad, just, wild, full of life and recklessness.
Then one day I was on duty in the Sanderson area. At this time, I was parked under two oak trees, a favorite observation point of mine near the Sanderson overpass and S curve, watching traffic. A.J. came along traveling west on U.S. 90, driving about 30 miles per hour. He went down to Hoss Keller's store, made a U-turn with his souped-up Chrysler, and by the time he went the short distance back to me he was traveling about 80 mph. Needless to say, the race was on. "He had to slow down slightly to make the S-curve over the overpass, which gave me a chance to get my 1956 Ford up to his speed. We went to Glen St. Mary, turned north on 125, took the dirt road about two miles north of town there that runs by Bob Burnsed's house, and went back and forth on most of the roads in that area, pawing up the ground in dust and dirt, sliding and skidding. Finally I lost him up in the Taylor School area. "The next day, I found A.J. at a service station in Glen. I arrested him for speeding and reckless driving.
This, I found out later, was considered unfair and a violation of 'Rules of the Game,' which was, if the bootlegger outran you, or got away, you were supposed to let him go. He had won the game. I ever saw it as a game. "Maybe that's why AJ. never liked me. We had other run-ins later on, some more serious than a traffic violation. "And from this time on, there were many wild chases, mosly bootleggers and individuals in the liquor business trying out the new trooper to see if he could drive good enough to catch them or had the ability to out-drive them.
During a foot race, my service revolver fell out of my holster. I searched for my gun. Man, I had to find it. Since I was relatively new on the job, I felt my sergeant would never understand this ... and since I was still on probation I could even get fired, but I never found the gun. "I went back to my car, drove back through the mud an trees to Hwy 125 and headed south toward Glen, trying to decide how to tell my training officer, about the pistol. I was tired and aggravated and worried about my gun. "Two or three miles down the road, I saw a muddy, wet, young fellow sitting on the shoulder of Hwy 125. He waved for me to stop. I did and he walked over to the passenger side of the car and got in. He said, 'I'm Harold Combs. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out my shiny handgun and said, 'You might need this sometime. There's a bunch of mean people in this county. I found it back there in the woods.' Then he said, 'I need a ride to Taylor, can you take me up there?'. I took him to Taylor.
In January 1957, Ed Yarborough took office as sheriff of Baker County. Wilber Mobley was his first deputy, and later on, G.W. Rhoden joined the force. This really signaled the end of the big business of bootlegging in Baker County. As Sheriff Yarborough turned up the heat, the bootleggers became more shifty; many moved their operations outside of Sheriff Yarborough's jurisdiction. Many moved over into the Georgia Bend area.
L.B. retired in 1985. Today he enjoys a life of farming north of Winston Salem, North Carolina, near the Virginia state line.
Please leave the ink pad and stamp in the cache they are not swag.