Newton County's Diamond Studded Sheriff

Excerpt from Southern Is As Southern Does by Darrell Huckaby

It is been a long time since 1 saw that patented grin peeking out from under Junior Odum 3 ten-gallon hat. Too long. But not so long that I don 't remember. Nobody who ever met Henry Odum, Jr. will ever forget him. I can absolutely guarantee you that.

I can still see him standing against the wall in the old Newton County High School gymnasium, a lopsided grin on his face and a spirited twinkle in his eyes. He wore a ten gallon hat, cocked to one side, a white uniform shirt, western cut pants, and cowboy boots. A diamond studded horseshoe pin held his tie in place. The gold star he wore proclaimed that he was sheriff of Newton County, and lct there be no mistake about it—He was the sheriff.

Sheriff Odum, was one of those rare individuals who lived life with passion. He worked hard and played hard. His larger than life persona left an indelible memory on all those who knew him, and he remains a legend to those who lived in Newton County during the sixties and seventies.

Everyone has a story to tell about Junior Odum. Many are outrageous, many are funny, many are poignant, but they all carry a similar thread – they all portray a giant of a man with rough hewn exterior and a heart of gold.

Many remember his association with Newton County basketball. He rarely, if ever, missed a game, home or away. He would drive a patrol car, leading the team’s bus to places as close as Social Circle or as far away as Murray County, in the northwest comer of the state. He loved the team, and they loved him. He was not above using his blue lights and siren to clear a path for the Rams when traffic got tight. Legend has it that on a couple of rare occasions when the Newton team was trailing during their legendary l29 game home court winning streak, the Sheriff threw the power switch, throwing the gym into darkness, shaking up the visitors a bit, and giving the home team a chance to compose themselves. I haven’t run across anyone willing to confirm that story at least not on the record.

With my own eyes. however, I saw a Newton County student being accosted by a law enforcement officer from Hart County for his part in a fight that broke out near the end of a hotly contested region toumament game in the Hart County gym. Sheriff Odum approached his fellow officer and said in his deep voice, “I wish you’d let me take care of that troublemaker. I’ve been watching him for a long time and I'd really like the chance to take care of him myself.”

The local deputy seemed more than happy lo extend professional courtesy to the visiting sheriff, who grabbed the malefactor by the collar of his coat and roughly escorted him out of the gym. I followed to sec what would transpire. The sheriff walked the student to his car and pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his bulging wallet. He handed it to the startled youth and remarked, “There, that ought to take care of you. Now get on home and stay out of trouble.”

Junior Odum’s interests went far beyond high school basketball, of course. He was born on his fami1y’s farm in North Covington in 1918. He married Eloise Luke in 1938 and the couple had three children; Henry Ill, Mary Jane, and Luke. Daughter, Mary Jane Arrington, says that, next to family, her father’s first love was the 350 acre farm he inherited from his parents. “He loved horses, of course, and loved to ride. I worshipped my daddy, and from the time I can remember. he and I spent time together on the farm, lots of time. He taught me to ride and take care of the horses. Of course we had dairy cows. I00. We milked twice a day and sold the milk to Sealtest. One of the highlights of his year was the annual rodeo he put on. I've never seen anyone love a piece of land as much as Daddy loved his ranch.”

His love for his 1-and created one of the greatest controversies in Henry Odum Jr.’s life. In 1961, he was informed by the state that a new highway, I-20, was going to cut a wide swath through his property. He was adamant that the road would not go across his land. Mary Jane laughs when she remembers that “the highway people would come out and survey and put stakes all over our land. A: night, Daddy would go out and pull the stakes up. They must have surveyed that spot a dozen times.”

Unwilling to sell, at any price, Odum finally resigned himself to the fact that the state could legally take his land, but balked at what he considered an unfairly low offer. He decided to take his chances with a jury of Newton County citizens and sued the state for more compensation. It came as no great surprise to him that the jury decided for him and against the state.

Junior Odum’s career in law enforcement spanned forty years. He served as a deputy for Sheriff John Berry for a number of years before being elected himself in 1964. Long time Newton High basketball coach, Ronald Bradley, remembers “Henry loved Newton County and he loved being sheriff. He took a great deal of pride in being sheriff. He cared about the people of Newton County. He thought of them as his people and thought it was his personal duty to take care of each and every one of them.”

The sheriff and the coach developed a great respect for one another and became fast friends. Bradley remembers spending a lot of time with the lawman and would often accompany him on patrol. Sheriff Odum would also accompany Bradlev on scouting expeditions and trips to see former players compete in college. Bradley fondly recalls Odum’s dry wit, often spiced with rather salty language.

“We went to Auburn one day, to see (former Ram standout) Tim Christian play in an afternoon basketball game. When we arrived on campus, a PE class was practicing fly-fishing in front of the gym. The Sheriff just shook his head and remarked, “I’ll tell you one (blank) thing. If I came over here and found my boy fishing in the parking lot, I’d take his (blank) home.”

On another occasion, Bradley and Odum were at the Atlanta airport when a couple of rowdy looking guys in their mid-twenties stumbled out of an airport bar and began making fun of the way the Sheriff was dressed. “Why are you dressed like that?” one of them asked.

He replied, “I’m in uniform.”

“Uniform?” responded the stranger. "What in the world do you do?"

Sheriff Odum pulled back his coat, displaying his star and his pearl handled revolver. “l just ride around Newton County, locking up drunks like you," he said to the wide eyed pair who departed the scene, quickly and quietly.

Another time, the Sheriff was accosted on the streets of Atlanta by two young toughs who began harassing him about his dress. One of them reached up to take the ten-gallon hat off Odum’s head and found a cocked derringer pressed against his forehead. “You touch that hat and they’ll be scraping you up off this sidewalk,” promised the Sheriff.

Bradley later asked him, "Henry, would you have really shot the guy over your hat?”

He remembers the response he was given. “Well, it wouldn’t have been just my hat. If I had let him take that he would have wanted my wallet, and then my jewelry, and then my boots. I’d look like a damn fool walking around downtown Atlanta without my boots, and I didn’t plan on looking like a fool.”

Major Bob Hunter, of the Conyers police force, got his start in law enforcement by working as a part time deputy under Sheriff Odum. He calls him a father figure who was a “No holes barred, in your face lawman," but one who had a “tremendous passion for people.” Hunter insists that “his exterior image wasnot the real man. He cared deeply about people and would do anything to help when he could."

Hunter remembers that on Christmas Eve the Sheriff would take local prisoners home to be with their families. Because they had so much respect for Odum, no one ever took advantage of his kindness and failed to return on time. He also, according to Hunter and others, was constantly taking food or money to families he knew were in dire straights. Carol Harris, long time county Tax Commissioner, who worked with the Sheriff in the county courthouse for close to twenty-five years, concurs. “Sheriff Odum was a giver. He would literally give people the shirt off his back. He loved to make people happy.”

His daughter, Mary Jane, agrees. “If Daddy knew someone needed something, he was going to try and get it for them. l don’t know how many times someone commented on liking his boots and he just took them off and gave them to the person. One time he found out that a girl at the high school couldn’t afford a dress for the prom. He got one of my dresses out of my closet and took it to her."

Criminals didn’t get to see that side of Junior Odum. He was known to be tough as nails and not afraid of anything. Heaven help you if you ran afoul of the law on his watch. FBI agents, GBI operatives, and Georgia Statc Patrolmen all share great respect for the former lawman. “Tough, fearless, and fair,” were words used over and over to describe Henry Odum, Jr., the lawman.

Mary Jane remembers that being the daughter of the county sheriff had distinct disadvantages. She claims that few boys asked her out on dates, which is hard to believe, knowing how beautiful she was and is. “I think they were afraid of Daddy," she reveals. “And l couldn’t get away with anything."

The worst part of being the sheriff ’s daughter, according to Mary Jane, was the phone calls in the middle of the night. She recounts laying awake after those late night calls, wondering what type problem he had encountered, listening for him to come home,and worrying that something would happen to him.

“I remember," she said. “that they would sometimes stake out a moonshine still for two or three nights in a row. He really got a kick out of busting up a still. They would take the moonshine and pour it in the gutter in front of the courthouse.”

When pressed to remember specific cases. Mary Jane recalled the time her father was trying to catch a local man who had killed his wife and pulled her fingernails out with a pair of pliers. “I couldn’t imagine somebody being that mean. Daddy said he had poured molasses on the soles of his shoes and walked through dry leaves so the dogs couldn’t track him. Everyone in the county was scared that Daddy wouldn’t catch him and I was scared he would. “Late one night, Daddy was driving by an old church in Oxford and saw a glow coming through the window. He had a hunch that that was his man. He walked right into that church, all by himself, and arrested the guy."

Mary Jane remembers the day her father passed away. “Mama called me on the phone and said that Daddy was having chest pains but wouldn’t go to the hospital. I rushed down there (from Conyers) and talked him into going to the office. He wouldn’t let us call an ambulance but said he would go in a patrol car. First, of course, he had to dress. He put on his tie and his hat and his cowboy boots. Garland Curtis, one of thc deputies, came and picked him up. He stood for a long time, looking out over his farm, before he would get in the car. I think he knew he wouldn’t be back.”

Sheriff Henry Odurn, Jr. died on Feb. 24, 1976. It was a sad, sad day for Newton County. Their “Diamond Studded Sheriff" was gone, but he left behind a legacy of good will, fond memories, and outrageous stories that will transcend time.

I’ve said it of others - but it’s no less a compliment. Junior Odum was much a man. There is no higher praise than that.

Diamond-Studded Sherriff