Police, phones, and all-around progress: A snapshot of 1920s Monticello

Rebekah Sheats
Contributor

One hundred years ago, Monticello may have been a quiet little town, but its police force was one to be reckoned with. This might seem surprising since the town usually only had one officer on duty at a time, but history assures us that this was indeed the case.
When a Ford car was stolen in Milton (near Pensacola) on Sept. 2, 1924, sheriffs along the Florida panhandle were notified and asked to be on the alert for the stolen vehicle. Sheriff Grover Allmon of Jefferson County received the notice and thought it likely that the thieves would continue east along Highway 90. If so, they would pass directly through his jurisdiction. Almon contacted Sheriff Stoutamire of Leon County, and the two agreed to meet in Lloyd that evening to discuss joint action on the case.
As Almon motored from Monticello to Lloyd that afternoon, he passed a car that appeared to match the description of the stolen vehicle. Arriving in Lloyd, he quickly phoned the garages and filling stations in Monticello and asked them to be on alert for the incoming vehicle. His quick thinking paid off. Shortly after his call, the Ford car stopped at the Dixie Highway Garage in Monticello. Sid Howard, who worked at the garage, approached the vehicle to assist the men inside. When the driver asked for a road map, Sid suspected something was wrong and called in other locals for assistance. In short order, they had taken the stolen vehicle and its two occupants into custody.
The speedy arrest and capture of the stolen car was accomplished by quick thinking, ready action, and the use of telephones (a technological advance that revolutionized law enforcement agencies in Jefferson County). The telephone was a mainstay of the local police force—that is, until it stopped working.
Why did it stop working? Well . . .
In 1924, a bond issue was passed to provide the funds necessary to pave the main streets in the downtown Monticello area (both Jefferson and Washington Streets were still dirt roads at the time). Folks optimistically forecasted that this step would launch their town well on its way to becoming a city of the future. “Monticello is getting to be more metropolitan every day,” the Monticello News informed its readers in late September of 1924. “Now when we get the streets paved and a few other things done, you will see things move sure enough.”
Alongside the paving issue, one of the main topics of interest in 1924 was the growth of the town. An editorial during that year noted: “One thing we need badly here is more homes for sale or rent. The housing problem is one of considerable interest, and the opening for someone in this line is good. We must have houses to build a town.”
But new homes and housing options generally bring new residents. What would an influx of newcomers do to the character and spirit of the town? It was a question worth asking, according to locals. One Monticello native noted in 1926, “We must remember that cities have characteristics the same as people and that Monticello’s characteristics represent the average of those living here.”
And what was the average of those people living in Monticello? Apparently, they were mostly respectable, law-abiding citizens. This was an immense relief to the town since it wasn’t equipped to handle much crime.
This brings us back to the phone issue. In the early 1920s, the town of Monticello had one phone reserved for the policeman on duty. If he had to make a call to request assistance or notify neighboring towns of some danger, he would use the police phone. When the downtown streets were paved, however, this phone stopped working. It appears the pavers inadvertently disconnected the line—an easy thing to do but a difficult thing to fix (if the modern history of Jefferson County telephone lines is any indication of the problem).
Regardless of whose fault it was, the policemen of Monticello were in the difficult position of having no way to communicate with the outside world if a problem arose. The problem was solved easily enough during working hours; the policeman merely borrowed the phone of one of the local merchants downtown. But after the shops had closed for the night, the cop on duty had no phone at his disposal. A concerned citizen wrote of the problem in August of 1926: “The officers would have a hard time notifying other towns in case of trouble at night.” A front-page article addressed the issue in the Monticello News and concluded with the sensible statement: “There should be a police phone in good working order all the time for the protection of the town.”
The matter seemed urgent enough to merit immediate attention, but at that moment the city council was concerned with “more important” matters. A major change was coming to Monticello. Then as now, most traffic coming into or leaving the city traveled around the courthouse located in the center of town. This traffic pattern had never posed a problem in the past, but now that the downtown roads were paved, it appears drivers were passing through town at an increased level of speed. Potential trouble was brewing as cars from four directions all converged on the courthouse circle. There had never been an ordinance limiting the direction a vehicle could travel around the courthouse circle, and oncoming vehicles passed each other around the circle as they would on any other road. Now that the roads were paved, the city council deemed it time to change this. On Sept. 7, 1926 the council approved a traffic ordinance that made the drive around the courthouse a one-way street. It would take the residents some time to realize this law would be enforced, but eventually the pattern of traffic around the courthouse would present a similar picture to the one we enjoy today.
Meanwhile, the police force of the small town continued with its meager resources to protect its citizens—with a phone or without one. When two young men driving a car with a California tag broke into a Monticello filling station one night in December 1926, they quickly learned that the single policeman on duty wouldn’t be caught sleeping on his watch. The out-of-towners had loaded twenty-five gallons of gas into their vehicle and were pulling out of the station when officer Z. Lewis stopped them. That ended their night’s joyriding. For Lewis, it was just one more day in the life of a small-town cop.