Everything Be Awright

If Doc Oliver truly knew my birth name, I never heard him use it. I was always "Miss Decatur Daily." It didn't matter if I was covering his beloved Ardmore Police Memorial ceremony or if I was standing at a crime scene. "Come here Miss Decatur Daily," he would say in his Tennessee twang and then point at a photographer. "Take our picture together."

Doc with his wife Doris and me in May. The last photo I had made with him.

Doc earned his nickname when he was a high schooler and helped a fellow student who sustained a sports injury. He spent more than 40 years in law enforcement and was a former sheriff in Giles County, Tenn., and served as police chief of Ardmore for 32 years. He retired in 2009 and battled health issues until his death earlier today.

Doc was one of Limestone County's great characters you couldn't help but love. I guess he had to be. His Police Department was located in the basement of a former Baptist church, and he was chief in a town that is in two states and four counties. As he often said, he had to keep 13 politicians happy, including two mayors, which could be tougher than battling crime.

Those who knew Doc knew his Doc-isms. He was forever asking folks, "Y'all doin' awright-n-everything?" and saying, "Everything be awright" at the end of his conversations. His conversations could last longer than tent revival sermons. I remember one cold Sunday night that Sheriff Mike Blakely called me during church services about a murder in Ardmore. I waited outside for hours for a photo and information, even huddling once for warmth in the coroner's car until Blakely made me move the coroner's car out of the driveway.

Doc got worried about me getting cold and sent me to the Police Dept. and swore he would speak to me as soon as they questioned their suspects.

By 1 a.m., I was about to fall asleep in the department lobby. I finally heard Doc and the sheriff bringing the suspects out and got my perp walk photo. Before I could ask Doc any questions about the murder, however, he started telling me stories about pranks the sheriff had played on him during his career. This lasted nearly an hour, but I knew if I wanted the exclusive I needed to laugh and listen, and as tired as I was, I couldn't help but laugh at the antics he and the sheriff used to pull.

I shot this photo of Sheriff Blakely and Doc Oliver at a crime scene

Doc was a natural at talking to the public and his prisoners. I interviewed him once for a story about his department being in a church, and he stressed that he never forced his inmates to repent, but he did offer them a chance to attend worship services and get their lives right with God. He would take them to be baptized if that was their wish.

When youngsters in town would act up, he said he would get them up early on Saturday mornings to do community service, such as stirring pots of stew for a chicken stew fundraiser. He was a community chief and relied on common sense to handle issues in his town.

This personable policeman will be greatly missed. The emptiness left at Fried Green Tomatoes where he often dined will be felt. The silence left now that his storytelling days have ended will be painful. The void left in the community he served more than three decades will be unfilled. But we will find comfort in remembering his mantra that will echo through Ardmore for years to come, "Everything Be Awright."