Mississippi Today
Former Mississippi sheriff’s deputy describes rampant violence by ‘Goon Squad’
Former Mississippi sheriff’s deputy describes rampant violence by ‘Goon Squad’
In a series of interviews from prison, a former Mississippi sheriff’s deputy described for the first time how he and others in his department regularly entered homes without warrants, beat people to get information and illegally seized evidence that helped convict people of drug crimes.
His statements corroborate many aspects of an investigation by The New York Times and Mississippi Today that uncovered a two-decade reign of terror by Rankin County sheriff’s deputies, including those who called themselves the “Goon Squad.” They also shed new light on the deputies’ tactics and the scope of their violent and illegal behavior.
The former deputy, Christian Dedmon, who once led the department’s narcotics division, told Mississippi Today in emails and phone calls that drug raids occurred in suburban Rankin County, outside Jackson, almost every week for years.
He said deputies regularly brutalized and humiliated suspects to get them to share information during the raids. And he said they often seized evidence without a legally required warrant, raising questions about possible wrongful convictions in hundreds of narcotics cases stemming from the raids.
For some raids, he said, the deputies would falsely describe emergency circumstances that gave them cover for searching without a warrant; for others, they would falsely claim that evidence was in plain sight.
He said deputies were entering homes without warrants so often that in 2022 a senior detective warned him that prosecutors in the district attorney’s office had noticed and had demanded they stop.

The violent raids continued until at least 2023, when Dedmon and five other officers barged into a home without a warrant and then beat and tortured two Black men, Eddie Parker and Michael Jenkins. One of the deputies shoved a gun in Jenkins’ mouth and shot him, shattering his jaw and leading to a federal investigation. Dedmon and the other officers pleaded guilty last year and were sentenced to prison.
“I lived a lie for long enough,” said Dedmon, who is serving a 40-year sentence. “I owe the truth to my daughter, to every person in Rankin County and to law enforcement as a whole.”
District Attorney Bubba Bramlett has declined to share details on how his office has approached a review of drug cases for possible wrongful convictions.
But reporters found dozens of pending drug indictments that were dismissed, some of them citing the fact that deputies associated with the Goon Squad were unavailable as witnesses.

According to local defense lawyers, the district attorney’s office is not reviewing cases where defendants pleaded guilty, ruling out a vast majority of drug cases involving the deputies. Dedmon estimated that there were hundreds of home search break-ins without warrants in recent years.
In their guilty pleas, six law enforcement officers, five of them deputies, admitted they had broken into a house without a warrant and brutalized Parker and Jenkins. Prosecutors described how the officers tried to conceal their actions by placing a gun at the crime scene, destroying surveillance footage and using drugs from another bust to falsely incriminate the men they attacked.
Dedmon said the actions officers took that night were extreme. He said that a majority of drug raids involved suspects who were buying or selling drugs, but that violence and a willingness to bend the rules to enter homes were common.

The most frequent approach was a “knock and talk,” where deputies would tell those inside that they would not be arrested or that it would be easier for them if they cooperated, he said.
That might be a lie because they might be arrested or charged, he wrote. “It’s not illegal and is often used as a tactic to lie to violators to get them to cooperate and make your job easier.”
Dedmon said the deputies would also carry out a “buy bust,” where an informant would enter a home, buy drugs and “then we would kick the door in upon them leaving.”
He said deputies knew that after securing a home, they should seek a search warrant from a judge and then wait at the property until they were cleared to gather evidence. That rarely happened, he said.
Instead, he said, deputies would immediately start their search and in their subsequent reports cite “exigent” circumstances, which the U.S. Supreme Court has ruled allow a warrantless search. The court has held that officers do not need a warrant if they believe an informant is in danger, if a suspect is about to destroy evidence or if they face a similar emergency.
Eve Brensike Primus, a University of Michigan Law School professor and the director of the Public Defender Training Institute, said if the evidence seized in a warrantless drug raid is critical to a case, “that would be a serious Fourth Amendment violation that would result in reversal on appeal.”
The Fourth Amendment is designed to prevent arbitrary and harassing police searches through a warrant requirement, she said. “We want police to go to a magistrate or judge to get a warrant before they search a home because homes are so private, and we want a judicial check on the police officer’s determination of probable cause beforehand.”
Previous reporting by The Times and Mississippi Today documented 17 cases where victims and witnesses alleged misconduct by Rankin County deputies, often involving the same men convicted in the Parker and Jenkins case. Some described being beaten or choked or having guns shoved in their mouths until they confessed. One man said deputies shoved a stick down his throat until he vomited. Another said deputies used a blowtorch to melt metal onto his skin.
Dedmon said he and some other deputies learned their techniques from Brett McAlpin, a longtime narcotics investigator in the department whom federal prosecutors described as molding officers “into the goons they became.” He said McAlpin handled writing up many of the raid reports and taught deputies how to use violence and humiliation to get information from drug crime suspects.
“The goal was to create as much chaos as possible to prevent such behavior in Rankin County,” Dedmon said. “That’s how they solved cases and prevented drugs from being sold in the community.”
He said he knew the violence was wrong, but he idolized McAlpin, who is now serving 27 years in the Parker and Jenkins case.
“He was the first person I ever saw destroy people’s property out of his own hatred for the way they lived,” Dedmon wrote in an email. “Sickly enough I grew to believe that it was the right thing to do!”

He said it was McAlpin who passed on a warning from a prosecutor in the district attorney’s office demanding that “the warrantless entries had to stop.” Dedmon said the warning was specifically aimed at him, according to what McAlpin told him. “He said to me that times are changing at the D.A.’s office,” Dedmon recalled.
In a written statement, Jason Dare, the lawyer for the Sheriff’s Department, said Dedmon’s remarks insinuate “that investigators with the Rankin County Sheriff’s Department do not procure search warrants for residential searches. Such a generalized accusation against our investigators is false, defamatory and easily disproven through readily available public records.”
In 2023, while investigating allegations against the Goon Squad, reporters for Mississippi Today and The Times sought copies of warrants related to nine raids by the unit. The department did not provide the warrants and referred reporters to the district attorney’s office, which declined to release any documentation.
Dare said Dedmon’s statements to Mississippi Today show the former narcotics investigator “admits that he knew right from wrong and admits to falsifying reports to the Sheriff’s Department, both of which show that the training and policies of this department taught him how to legally and properly perform his duties. Assuming these statements are accurately reported, they show that Dedmon made the choice to commit criminal acts and is incarcerated as a result.”
Dare said the sheriff “has remained committed to the safety and protection of Rankin County citizens.” Last week, the Rankin County Board of Supervisors passed a resolution praising the sheriff for helping save the life of a man who shot himself.
In a 2023 press conference, the sheriff declared that he knew nothing about the violence that his deputies were carrying out. “The badge worn by so many has been tarnished by the criminal acts of these few individuals,” he said. “I’ve tried to build a reputation here, tried to have a safe county, and they have robbed me of that.”
Dedmon said for the sheriff to get on TV and “act as if we’re just some crazy guys that slipped through the cracks is insane, political and misleading.” He said he’s seen more than a dozen different officers use excessive force, “but I’m the one paying the price for it.”
That criticism should not detract from “some really good law enforcement officers” in Rankin County, he said. “Any community has to have proactive patrolmen and narcotics officers to be safe.”
Krissy Nobile, director of the Mississippi Office of Capital Post-Conviction Counsel, said Dedmon’s statements make it obvious that Rankin drug cases need to be reviewed for possible wrongful convictions.
“These perpetrators controlled the institution that was supposed to investigate these heinous crimes, leaving the victims no recourse,” she said. “Mercifully, post-conviction allows attorneys to look back when our institutions fail — especially when the failure is of this magnitude.”
She said her office was willing to carry out this task and would need $400,000 in extra funding from the Mississippi Legislature to hire an additional investigator and part-time lawyers to review the cases.
Matt Steffey, professor of law at Mississippi College, said prosecutors are expected to seek justice, not just convictions, and have a responsibility to examine possible wrongful convictions, “especially where the problems are as acute, profound and well documented as they are in the Goon Squad cases.”
The Mississippi attorney general’s office, which prosecuted the Goon Squad cases with the Justice Department, also has the authority to review the Goon Squad cases.
But MaryAsa Lee, its communications director, said the office wasn’t examining any cases.
Peter Neufeld, co-founder of the nonprofit Innocence Project, said the district attorney “has a constitutional and ethical obligation to notify every defendant in every conviction in which these cops played a role in the arrest or prosecution.”
That has yet to happen, according to lawyers representing some of the defendants.
Neufeld said that the U.S. Supreme Court’s decision in Brady v. Maryland requires prosecutors to disclose any evidence that might clear a defendant, even if the evidence arises after that person’s conviction.
“I’ve been involved in multiple situations where prosecutors notify hundreds of convicted defendants where there is misconduct far less egregious than that attributed to the Goon Squad,” he said.

More than a decade ago, Lane Fikes of Carthage said McAlpin snatched him out of his truck and joined other officers in beating him. “They pretty much beat up anybody,” he said. “That was their M.O. [Method of Operation].”
The next day, “I went to the emergency room,” he said. “I had cracked ribs.”
Hospital officials urged him to report it, but he said he knew if he did, he would get payback from deputies.
“As far back as I remember, you didn’t mess around in Rankin County,” he said. “If you did, something like this was going to happen.”
In 2013, a Rankin County grand jury indicted Fikes on charges of selling meth. Fikes, a Celebrate Recovery leader who has been sober since 2016, said he was addicted to meth at the time but that he wasn’t selling it.
Prosecutors kept pressuring him to plead guilty and said he would face 30 years in prison if he didn’t take the deal, he said. “They get in your head. ‘What did I do? Do they have something on me?’”
He wound up borrowing money to hire his own attorney, Beverly D. Poole, who pushed for prosecutors to share the evidence against her client, including all video and audio recordings.
After prosecutors turned over evidence, Poole told the judge that prosecutors had failed to share everything.
When she finally glimpsed the video of the drug buy, Fikes was nowhere to be seen. The judge dismissed the indictments, and Fikes walked free.
“If I had accepted their charges, I would be in prison,” he said. “How many other people have they done that to?”

Jeremy Travis Paige, who had been convicted in Hinds County of selling marijuana and receiving stolen property, said McAlpin pulled him over on Aug. 1, 2018, and knocked him out with a blow.
When he came to, “I was being dragged into my house by narcotics officers,” he recalled in his complaint to the U.S. District Court. (The incident report mentions the traffic stop but nothing about taking him to his house.)
Goon Squad officers broke into his home without a warrant after a woman sold drugs to a confidential informant and then claimed he put her up to it, he said. “I got beat down and tortured for hours. I was in handcuffs the whole time.”
Officers “tried to force me to do drug deals off my phone,” he said. Instead of setting up deals, he texted family.
At one point, Paige said McAlpin, a longtime Master Mason, saw him wearing his grandfather’s Masonic ring. “He said, ‘You don’t deserve to wear that,’ and he slapped me in the face real hard,” Paige said. “He about knocked me out.”
McAlpin swore in a statement that he never hit Paige, but extensive injuries can be seen on his face in his jail booking photograph.
Paige said it was still daylight when the beating by McAlpin and other officers began, and he wasn’t booked into the jail until 1:30 the next morning. “No human being should be treated the way I was treated that night,” he said.
An April 2019 grand jury indicted Paige for selling meth. “I don’t see how the grand jurors indicted me when I wasn’t even there [at the drug sale],” he said. “There was no video, no audio, nothing.”
Less than a year later, he sued the Rankin County Sheriff’s Department, McAlpin and Sheriff Bailey for the beating. Rankin County officials responded that Paige wasn’t due a dime because “qualified immunity” protected McAlpin’s actions, and the lawsuit was eventually dismissed.
While sitting in jail, Paige rejected each plea deal until he was told if he didn’t accept the final offer, he would be prosecuted as a habitual offender and receive the maximum sentence of 80 years in prison, he said. “They threatened me with my past.”
He pleaded guilty, and the judge sentenced him to five years in prison. He is now on parole.
He would like to see his case and others like his investigated for possible wrongful convictions, he said. “I’m doing time for a charge I didn’t commit. We need to see how deep the corruption goes.”
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
Mississippi Today
New Stage’s ‘Little Women’ musical opens aptly in Women’s History Month
Ties that bind, not lines that divide, at the heart of “Little Women” are what make Louisa May Alcott’s beloved novel such an enduring classic. More than a century and a half since its 1868 publication, the March sisters’ coming-of-age tale continues to resonate in fresh approaches, say cast and crew in a musical version opening this week at New Stage Theatre in Jackson, Mississippi.
“Little Women, The Broadway Musical” adds songs to Alcott’s story of the four distinct March sisters — traditional, lovely Meg, spirited tomboy and writer Jo, quiet and gentle Beth, and artistic, pampered Amy. They are growing into young women under the watchful eye of mother Marmee as their father serves as an Army chaplain in the Civil War. “Little Women, The Broadway Musical” performances run March 25 through April 6 at New Stage Theatre.
In a serendipitous move, the production coincides with Women’s History Month in March, and has a female director at the helm — Malaika Quarterman, in her New Stage Theatre directing debut. Logistics and scheduling preferences landed the musical in March, to catch school matinees with the American classic.
The novel has inspired myriad adaptations in film, TV, stage and opera, plus literary retellings by other authors. This musical version debuted on Broadway in 2005, with music by Jason Howland, lyrics by Mindi Dickstein and book (script) by Allan Knee.
“The music in this show brings out the heart of the characters in a way that a movie or a straight play, or even the book, can’t do,” said Cameron Vipperman, whose play-within-a-play role helps illustrate the writer Jo’s growth in the story. She read the book at age 10, and now embraces how the musical dramatizes, speeds up and reconstructs the timeline for more interest and engagement.
“What a great way to introduce kids that haven’t read the book,” director Quarterman said, hitting the highlights and sending them to the pages for a deeper dive on characters they fell in love with over the two-and-a-half-hour run time.

Joy, familial warmth, love, courage, loss, grief and resilience are all threads in a story that has captivated generations and continues to find new audiences and fresh acclaim (the 2019 film adaptation by Greta Gerwig earned six Academy Award nominations).
In current contentious times, when diversity, equity and inclusion programs are being ripped out or rolled back, the poignant, women-centered narrative maintains a power to reach deep and unite.
“Stories where females support each other, instead of rip each other apart to get to the finish line — which would be the goal of getting the man or something — are very few and far between sometimes,” Quarterman said. “It’s so special because it was written so long ago, with the writer being such a strong dreamer, and dreaming big for women.
“For us to actualize it, where a female artistic producer chooses this show and believes in a brand new female director and then this person gets to empower these great, local, awesome artists — It’s just really been special to see this story and its impact ripple through generations of dreamers.” For Quarterman, a 14-year drama teacher with Jackson Public Schools active in community theater and professional regional theater, “To be able to tell this story here, for New Stage, is pretty epic for me.”
Alcott’s story is often a touchstone for young girls, and this cast of grown women finds much in the source material that they still hold dear, and that resonates in new ways.

“I relate to Jo more than any other fictional character that exists,” Kristina Swearingen said of her character, the central figure Jo March. “At different parts of my life, I have related to her in different parts of hers.”
The Alabama native, more recently of New York, recalled her “energetic, crazy, running-around-having-a-grand-old-time” youth in high school and college, then a career-driven purpose that led her, like Jo, to move to New York.
Swearingen first did this show in college, before the loss of grandparents and a major move. Now, “I know what it’s like to grieve the loss of a loved one, and to live so far away from home, and wanting to go home and be with your family but also wanting to be in a place where your career can take off. .. It hits a lot closer to home.”
As one of four sisters in real life, Frannie Dean of Flora draws on a wealth of memories in playing Beth — including her own family position as next to the youngest of the girls. She and siblings read the story together in their homeschooled childhood, assigning each other roles.

“Omigosh, this is my life,” she said, chuckling. “We would play pretend all day. … ‘Little Women’ is really sweet in that aspect, to really be able to carry my own experience with my family and bring it into the show. … It’s timeless in its nature, its warmth and what it brings to people.”
Jennifer Smith of Clinton, as March family matriarch Marmee, found her way in through a song. First introduced to Marmee’s song “Here Alone” a decade ago when starting voice lessons as an adult, she made it her own. “It became an audition piece for me. It became a dream role for me. It’s been pivotal in opening up doors for me.”
She relishes aging into this role, countering a common fear of women in the entertainment field that they may “age out” of desirable parts. “It’s just a full-circle moment for me, and I’m grateful for it.”

Quarterman fell in love with the 1969 film version she watched with her sister when they were little, adoring the family’s playfulness and stability. Amid teenage angst, she identified with the inevitable growth and change that came with siblings growing up and moving on. Being a mom brings a whole different lens.
“Seeing these little people in your life just growing up, being their own unique versions, all going through their own arc — it’s just fun, and I think that’s why you can stay connected” to the story at any life juncture, she said.
Cast member Slade Haney pointed out the rarity of a story set on a Northeastern homestead during the Civil War.
“You’re getting to see what it was like for the women whose husbands were away at war — how moms struggled, how sisters struggled. You had to make your own means. … I think both men and women can see themselves in these characters, in wanting to be independent like Jo, or like Amy wanting to have something of value that belongs to you and not just just feel like you’re passed over all the time, and Meg, to be valuable to someone else, and in Beth, for everyone to be happy and content and love each other,” Haney said.
New Stage Theatre Artistic Director Francine Reynolds drew attention, too, to the rarity of an American classic for the stage offering an abundance of women’s roles that can showcase Jackson metro’s talent pool. “We just always have so many great women,” she said, and classics — “To Kill a Mockingbird” and “Death of a Salesman,” for instance — often offer fewer parts for them, though contemporary dramas are more balanced.
Reynolds sees value in the musical’s timing and storyline. “Of course, we need to celebrate the contributions of women. This was a woman who was trying to be a writer in 1865, ’66, ’67. That’s, to me, a real trailblazing thing.
“It is important to show, this was a real person — Louisa May Alcott, personified as Jo. It’s important to hold these people up as role models for other young girls, to show that you can do this, too. You can dream your dream. You can strive to break boundaries.”
It is a key reminder of advancements that may be threatened. “We’ve made such strides,” Reynolds said, “and had so many great programs to open doors for people, that I feel like those doors are going to start closing, just because of things you are allowed to say and things you aren’t allowed.”
For tickets, $50 (discounts for seniors, students, military), visit www.newstagetheatre.com or the New Stage Theatre box office, or call 601-948-3533.
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
Mississippi Today
Rolling Fork – 2 Years Later

Tracy Harden stood outside her Chuck’s Dairy Bar in Rolling Fork, teary eyed, remembering not the EF-4 tornado that nearly wiped the town off the map two years before. Instead, she became emotional, “even after all this time,” she said, thinking of the overwhelming help people who’d come from all over selflessly offered.
“We’re back now, she said, smiling. “People have been so kind.”


“I stepped out of that cooler two years ago and saw everything, and I mean, everything was just… gone,” she said, her voice trailing off. “My God, I thought. What are we going to do now? But people came and were so giving. It’s remarkable, and such a blessing.”

“And to have another one come on almost the exact date the first came,” she said, shaking her head. “I got word from these young storm chasers I’d met. He told me they were tracking this one, and it looked like it was coming straight for us in Rolling Fork.”
“I got up and went outside.”
“And there it was!”
“I cannot tell you what went through me seeing that tornado form in the sky.”
The tornado that touched down in Rolling Fork last Sunday did minimal damage and claimed no lives.
Horns honk as people travel along U.S. 61. Harden smiles and waves.
She heads back into her restaurant after chatting with friends to resume grill duties as people, some local, some just passing through town, line up for burgers and ice cream treats.


Rolling Fork is mending, slowly. Although there is evidence of some rebuilding such as new homes under construction, many buildings like the library and post office remain boarded up and closed. A brutal reminder of that fateful evening two years ago.


















This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
Mississippi Today
Remembering Big George Foreman and a poor guy named Pedro
George Foreman, surely one of the world’s most intriguing and transformative sports figures of the 20th century, died over the weekend at the age of 76. Please indulge me a few memories.
This was back when professional boxing was in its heyday. Muhammad Ali was heavyweight champion of the world for a second time. The lower weight divisions featured such skilled champions and future champs as Alex Arugello, Roberto “Hands of Stone” Duran, Tommy “Hit Man” Hearns and Sugar Ray Leonard.
Boxing was front page news all over the globe. Indeed, Ali was said to be the most famous person in the world and had stunned the boxing world by stopping the previously undefeated Foreman in an eighth round knockout in Kinshasa, Zaire, in October of 1974. Foreman, once an Olympic gold medalist at age 19, had won his previous 40 professional fights and few had lasted past the second round. Big George, as he was known, packed a fearsome punch.
My dealings with Foreman began in January of 1977, roughly 27 months after his Ali debacle with Foreman in the middle of a boxing comeback. At the time, I was the sports editor of my hometown newspaper in Hattiesburg when the news came that Foreman was going to fight a Puerto Rican professional named Pedro Agosto in Pensacola, just three hours away.
Right away, I applied for press credentials and was rewarded with a ringside seats at the Pensacola Civic Center. I thought I was going to cover a boxing match. It turned out more like an execution.
The mismatch was evident from the pre-fight introductions. Foreman towered over the 5-foot, 11-inch Agosto. Foreman had muscles on top of muscles, Agosto not so much. When they announced Agosto weighed 205 pounds, the New York sports writer next to me wise-cracked, “Yeah, well what is he going to weigh without his head?”
It looked entirely possible we might learn.
Foreman toyed with the smaller man for three rounds, almost like a full-grown German shepherd dealing with a tiny, yapping Shih Tzu. By the fourth round, Big George had tired of the yapping. With punches that landed like claps of thunder, Foreman knocked Agosto down three times. Twice, Agosto struggled to his feet after the referee counted to nine. Nearly half a century later I have no idea why Agosto got up. Nobody present– or the national TV audience – would have blamed him for playing possum. But, no, he got up the second time and stumbled over into the corner of the ring right in front of me. And that’s where he was when Foreman hit him with an evil right uppercut to the jaw that lifted the smaller man a foot off the canvas and sprayed me and everyone in the vicinity with Agosto’s blood, sweat and snot – thankfully, no brains. That’s when the ref ended it.
It remains the only time in my sports writing career I had to buy a T-shirt at the event to wear home.
So, now, let’s move ahead 18 years to July of 1995. Foreman had long since completed his comeback by winning back the heavyweight championship. He had become a preacher. He also had become a pitch man for a an indoor grill that bore his name and would sell more than 100 million units. He was a millionaire many times over. He made far more for hawking that grill than he ever made as a fighter. He had become a beloved figure, known for his warm smile and his soothing voice. And now he was coming to Jackson to sign his biography. His publishing company called my office to ask if I’d like an interview. I said I surely would.
One day at the office, I answered my phone and the familiar voice on the other end said, “This is George Foreman and I heard you wanted to talk to me.”
I told him I wanted to talk to him about his book but first I wanted to tell him he owed me a shirt.
“A shirt?” he said. “How’s that?”
I asked him if remembered a guy named Pedro Agosto. He said he did. “Man, I really hit that poor guy,” he said.
I thought you had killed him, I said, and I then told him about all the blood and snot that ruined my shirt.
“Man, I’m sorry about that,” he said. “I’d never hit a guy like that now. I was an angry, angry man back then.”
We had a nice conversation. He told me about finding his Lord. He told me about his 12 children, including five boys, all of whom he named George.
I asked him why he would give five boys the same name.
“I never met my father until late in his life,” Big George told me. “My father never gave me nothing. So I decided I was going to give all my boys something to remember me by. I gave them all my name.”
Yes, and he named one of his girls Georgette.
We did get around to talking about his book, and you will not be surprised by its title: “By George.”
This article first appeared on Mississippi Today and is republished here under a Creative Commons license.
://mississippitoday.org”>Mississippi Today.
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