Buford Pusser: The Real Walking Tall Sheriff

For fifty-seven years, he was America’s folk hero—the sheriff who survived an ambush that killed his wife. Then they exhumed her body. Was the legend a lie?

Buford Hayse Pusser was born December 12, 1937, in Adamsville, McNairy County, Tennessee.
At 6’6″ and 250 pounds, he was massive. A former Marine discharged for asthma. A professional wrestler known as “Buford the Bull.”

In 1959, he married Pauline Mullins in Chicago—a divorced mother of two. They had a daughter together, Dwana.

In 1961, the family moved back to Adamsville. Buford became police chief when his father retired.

In 1964, at age twenty-six, Buford ran for sheriff against incumbent James Dickey. When Dickey died in a car accident, Buford was elected to become Tennessee’s youngest sheriff.

With a promise to clean up McNairy County without a gun, his preferred weapon was an ax handle.

In his first year, he destroyed eighty-seven illegal moonshine stills.
He went after the Dixie Mafia and State Line Mob that had earned the area the nickname “Murder City U.S.A.”

In November 1964, thugs hired by moonshiners stabbed Buford seven times and left him for dead. He survived.

In February 1966, during a shootout at the Shamrock Motel, Buford killed Louise Hathcock—owner of the nightspot, girlfriend of gangster Carl “Towhead” White, alleged ringleader of the local crime syndicate.

In January 1967, Buford was shot three times by an unidentified gunman. He survived.

Then came August 12, 1967. At 4:30 a.m., Buford received a call about a disturbance near the state line.

The story goes that Pauline insisted on riding along—she hoped her presence would prevent attacks. As they drove down New Hope Road near New Hope Methodist Church, a black Cadillac pulled alongside.

A hail of bullets smashed into the car. Pauline was struck in the head.

Buford floored the accelerator and sped away, then pulled over to help his wife. The Cadillac roared up again with even more gunfire. Pauline, 33, was hit in the head a second time and died almost instantly.

Buford was shot in the face—his jaw nearly blown off by what he said was a .30-caliber carbine–but barely survived.

Investigators counted eleven bullet holes in the car and picked up fourteen spent cartridge cases at the scene.

Buford couldn’t attend his wife’s funeral. He was hospitalized for nearly three weeks, requiring extensive plastic surgery to rebuild his shattered jaw. An armed deputy guarded his hospital room door in case the assassins returned.

Pauline was buried before an autopsy could be performed. The killers were never identified but Buford swore it was the State Line Mob.

For the next seven years, Buford pursued them with thunderous vengeance, this time carrying a .357 Magnum revolver and an M-16 rifle.

By 1970, when term limits forced him to step down, he had arrested over 7,500 criminals.

The press called him “the unkillable cop” and by 1973, the movie Walking Tall made him famous.

Actor Joe Don Baker played Buford as the fearless sheriff fighting corruption with nothing but a hickory stick and righteous fury.

The film ended with the ambush, Pauline’s murder and Buford’s shattered jaw.
America fell in love with the legend.

On August 20, 1974, Buford attended a press conference in Memphis. He’d just signed a contract to play himself in Buford, the sequel to Walking Tall.

That evening, he went to the McNairy County Fair to shake hands, sign autographs and talked to his thirteen-year-old daughter Dwana.

Then he headed home in his specially modified Corvette. On a long stretch of road between Selmer and Adamsville, the car veered off at high speed and smashed into an embankment. It burst into flames.

Among the first to arrive was daughter Dwana who
pulled her giant father from the burning wreck.
He was already dead.

Buford Pusser was thirty-six years old. Local speculation suggested sabotage by the State Line Mob as their final revenge.

The Tennessee state trooper who responded to the accident, Paul Ervi, later became sheriff of McNairy County. He claimed Buford died from drunk driving without a seatbelt.

Buford’s death cemented him as an American legend and folk hero.

Then, in January 2024, the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation announced the case remained active and had received new tips.
They discovered something shocking: Pauline Pusser’s body had never been autopsied, so in February 2024, they exhumed her remains.

On August 29, 2025, after a three-year investigation, District Attorney Mark Davidson announced the findings:

If Buford Pusser were alive, prosecutors would have sought his indictment for Pauline’s murder.

Forensic evidence showed Buford’s jaw wound was a “close-contact wound” and likely self-inflicted from pressing a gun against his own face.

Davidson cited the opinion of Dr. Michael Revelle, an emergency medicine physician and medical examiner, among the evidence used to come to this conclusion. Revelle pointed out that cranial trauma sustained by Pauline Mullins Pusser did not match interior crime-scene photographs of the vehicle.

Evidence also suggested Pauline had endured domestic violence before her death.

“This case is not about tearing down a legend,” Davidson said. “It is about giving dignity and closure to Pauline and her family and ensuring that the truth is not buried with time.”

“The truth matters. Justice matters. Even fifty-eight years later. Pauline deserves both.”

Pauline’s younger brother, Griffon Mullins, said the investigation finally gave him peace.

“You would fall in love with her because she was a people person,” he said. “She was just a sweet person. I loved her with all my heart.”

Buford’s granddaughter, Madison Garrison Bush, vowed to take legal action against the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation.

“Do I believe my grandfather killed my grandmother? I absolutely do not.”

The Buford Pusser Museum in Adamsville remains open. An annual award, a ceremonial Pusser-autographed bat, is still given to sheriffs who best emulate his crime-busting ways. Past winners include Joe Arpaio from Arizona and David Clarke.

Pauline Mullins Pusser was thirty-three when she died. She was a cook at the county jail and kind to prisoners. “A people person,” her brother said.