One of my favorite books on American history and sociology is David Hackett Fischer's Albion's Seed: Four British Folkways in America. Fischer examines how various British subcultures transplanted themselves to America, and how they've fared in their geographic and cultural enclaves. As a southerner with Appalachian roots, I find Fischer's analysis of the Scottish and Black Irish warrior tradition, which lives on today in the southern piedmont and Appalachians, spot on. Among other things, this subculture inclines toward the model of the heroic frontiersman, or highwayman, righting wrongs, defending his people, and "doing the right thing" regardless of what the neighbors or folks in Washington may think. Historical models include President Andrew Jackson, General Douglas MacArthur, and the James gang founded by Frank and Jesse James.
Scotch-Irish warrior culture lives on in some rather curious legal institutions in the area. Tennessee, for instance, still maintains the office of Constable, an elected but unpaid law enforcement officer (he has to furnish his own badge, gun, police cruiser, and equipment, and he need receive no law enforcement training) who has equal authority with county sheriffs (a more modern and professional office) to enforce laws, provide emergency service, get cats out of trees, and punish wrongdoers. The Constable is a sort of one-man adjunct to law enforcement, elected by the people and sent out like an unguided missile to punish crime, without training and with only the equipment he can afford.
But what sort of man, in this economy, wants an unpaid job which comes with such danger and authority? In the case of Roane County Tennessee Constable Mark Patton, county authorities who are trying to oust him from office allege that it's a bully and a thug so dangerous and unstable that even his fellow law enforcement officers and the mayor fear him.
Patton, elected constable for the Kingston area in 2006, has posed for pictures on the Roane County Courthouse steps clutching a large stick reminiscent of Tennessee Sheriff Buford Pusser, made famous in the movie “Walking Tall.”
In Patton's case, it's alleged, the big stick isn't just a weapon: It's a metaphor for his style of law enforcement.
The ouster complaint alleges that Patton’s misconduct “shocks the conscience of the residents of Roane County,” that he has threatened law enforcement officers and elected officials, that residents fled in fear of his appearance on the courthouse steps in August, and that the sheriff was “forced to draw his sidearm … to protect himself from the defendant.”
Patton in September allegedly assaulted residents in Kingston City Park. The complaint says he has pursued a “personal vendetta” including a pattern of “stalking, intimidating and harassing various individuals.”
Patton, it's alleged, has arrested sheriff's deputies who stopped friends for traffic violations, and last year maced a group of young men for the offense of playing basketball in public. The county sheriff has issued a public safety warning, directing citizens who are being stopped for traffic offenses to drive to the sheriff's office before getting out of their vehicles.
Why does 21st century Tennessee need an office that appears to amount to the position of "elected town bully"? Defenders of Patton and the office claim tradition, "We've always had a constable." Perhaps it's time to set tradition aside. I'm sure that in Massachusetts, many swore when the office of Witchfinder General was finally abolished, but the state doesn't seem to have suffered too much in the intervening centuries.