The Wrong Man
By Judge David Barnett

The story of my apprehension by law enforcement began on a hot summer afternoon in 1963 or 1964.  I was employed for the summer by the Oklahoma State Soil Conservation Board as a roadman on a survey crew.  The crew was working on a long-term project to plot out flood control lakes and ponds in the Jack Creek watershed and survey various sites along Jack Creek in the eastern part of Tillman County.

The crew was working at a site about 15 miles east of Frederick.  We spent the entire day working in the field, only stopping for a sack lunch.  The day was fairly uneventful, except that the occupants seemed to be studying us.  At around 4:30 in the afternoon, we loaded up our 1961 International Travelall with survey equipment, including axes and machetes, used to cut through the brush along the creeks. 

Two high school friends, also employed for the summer, were the other two occupants of the Travelall as we left the worksite.  One of them drove as we headed to Frederick.  As we left the dirt county line road and pulled onto a gravel road to proceed toward the highway, we noticed a late model Plymouth car pulled in right behind us.  The car had red lights hidden in the grill and was occupied by a man in a black suit, white shirt and a black tie.  We slowed down so he could pass but he stayed the same distance behind.  After we pulled onto the highway and headed to town, we drove very fast and he stayed the same distance. 

After we had sped up, then slowed down, with no effect on the distance between us and the Plymouth, we discerned that he was following us.  The reader must remember that we were country boys.

As we got closer to town, our alarm level rose because we had figured out that the guy in the Plymouth must be with the FBI. (At that time, they were the only law enforcement people we knew of who drove unmarked cars.)  Then, as we approached the sale barn, just over a mile east of Frederick, we saw many OHP cruisers and other police waving at us to stop, but our driver thought he should go on past the parked cars and pull over on the side of the road. By the time he got the car stopped, there were at least half a dozen officers surrounding us, all with drawn and cocked shotguns or pistols. 

They were yelling at us and threatening to shoot us if we didn’t get out and spread eagle against the car.  As I got out of the car, I found myself looking down the barrel of a 12-gauge shotgun, piloted by Lyndon Lovett, an OHP trooper whom I had known much of my life.  I said, “Mr.  Lovett, it’s David Barnett, Frank’s boy.”  Mr. Lovett advised me to shut up and lean against the car, whereupon I was searched.  Then, when the name on my driver’s license matched the name I had given to Mr. Lovett, he finally recognized me and advised the other officers that we were local boys and were not the escapees.  We were told that we could go.  Great, I thought, “If only I can get my knees to quit knocking, maybe I can walk away from this nightmare.”

Well, we left without demanding or receiving any explanation, and didn’t find out until we got home that we had been mistaken for three convicts who had escaped from El Reno Federal Reformatory and had been the subject of an intense manhunt all day long.  Authorities had lost track of the three men in the Wichita Mountains, only 15 to 20 miles north of our worksite.  Through the airplane’s surveillance, they had seen us out in a pasture and assumed we had stolen the Travelall from a farm.  We then began to understand the mysteries of only moments earlier.

  It was with no regret that I laid to rest my short career as a wanted man.  However, even though I have worked for many years as an attorney and many more as a district court judge, I still suffer from a mild panic every time a law enforcement vehicle summons me. It often brings me memories of the time when I was sought as a fugitive from justice.

Judge Barnett is associate district judge in Tillman County.