I don?t know if Corn Griffin carried a gun in his capacity as police officer. I assume he did. But not a club. He didn?t have to?not with those fists?
Barney Fife: In a jailhouse, down in Dixie, fightin? crime and riskin? life, Dwelled a sheriff and his buddy, pistol-packin? Barney Fife. Oh my darin?, oh my darin?, oh my darin? Barney Fife! He?s a deadly crime-stopper, what a copper, Barney Fife. Then one day there come a-ridin? two bad men to rob a bank. But Fife was tricky, a dead-eye dickey. Now they?re locked up in the tank?
Andy Taylor: Oh my Barney, oh my Barney, had a jail and couldn?t lock it. Had one bullet for his pistol, had to keep it in his pocket.?The Andy Griffith Show
We all know that Sheriff Andy Taylor rarely carried a gun??When a man carries a gun all the time, the respect he thinks he?s getting might really be fear. So I don?t carry a gun because I don?t want the people of Mayberry to fear a gun. I?d rather they respect me??and never a nightstick. I don?t know if Corn Griffin carried a gun in his capacity as police officer. I assume he did. But not a club. He didn?t have to?not with those fists.
Born in Blountstown, Florida, on July 24, 1911, Griffin turned pro in 1929. He did all right, winning 39 of his first 52 fights, good enough to be seen as a likely contender for Max Baer?s heavyweight crown. That perception went all blurry on June 14, 1934, when Jim Braddock stopped him by third-round TKO at the Madison Square Garden Bowl in Long Island City, New York. Following his defeats of John Henry Lewis and Art Lasky, Braddock took the championship from Baer on June 13, 1935, while Griffin?s career fell flatter than Deputy Barney Fife?s rendition of ?Oh My Darling Clementine.?
Griffin lost 11 of his last 12 fights. He beat Adolph Wiater on points at Marigold Gardens in Chicago, Illinois, on November 5, 1934, but lost to Yale Okun (twice), Tony Cancela (three times), Bob Godwin, Paul Marques, Buddy Baer, Joe Knight, Clarence Burman, and Barney Brock, who won by unanimous decision at Bay High Gymnasium in Panama City, Florida, on July 4, 1936. Griffin celebrated the nation?s birthday by retiring from the ring with a record of 40 wins, 22 by knockout, 21 losses, and three draws.
Following a stint in the Army during World War II, Griffin became a police officer in Columbus, Georgia. He didn?t carry a nightstick because, according to Florida?s Panama City News-Herald, ?his old one-two sledgehammer-like fists are as good as ever.? The good people of Mayberry, er, Columbus were sorry when Griffin died at 61 on January 9, 1973. They called him ?The Gentle Giant.?
Well I remember the time back in the winter of ?50 when I was walking the beat with Corn, reminding him of when I put him down and took him out in the first round of an unsanctioned bout on a New York City pier on a freezing night ?round about Christmas of ?28, when Opie?s dog, Floyd the Barber, named after Floyd, the barber, came a-barking. ?What?s that, boy?? said Corn. Me, I didn?t have to inquire no further. I?d studied dog talk under the tuberose of one of them Buddhist yetis or swamis or something or other when I was stationed in the Himalayas after the Great War. The dam had gone and done burst, that?s what Floyd was telling us. Corn did all right, and it?s no good saying he didn?t. Perched on one shoulder, he had Ellie Walker, that good-looking but kinda uppity lady pharmacist, the one who didn?t like Opie saying ?ain?t.? On the other, Helen Crump, the schoolmarm, but they didn?t make schoolmarms looking like that when I was a kid. Me, I had Nurse Mary Simpson under one arm and Ellen Brown under the other. Ellen worked in the barbershop, always wanting to give manicures to the men, holding their hands and suchlike, and causing no end of ruckus with the wives. She looked like that gal on the TV, Barbara Eden. It was just like Andy done told her: ?Nature?s been good to you. I mean, real, real, real good. I can?t remember when I?ve seen nature spend as much time on one person.? But I beat out Corn by having another nurse, Peggy McMillan, draped around my 19? neck. Don?t know what happened to Opie, what with all the girls all wet and all. Anyway, speaking of necks, remind me to tell you one day about the time I was giving Sonny Liston a pointer or two just prior to his taking the title from Floyd Patterson back in ?62 when it dawned on him that his neck, at 17??, was smaller than mine. He got so mad?and that?s how he won the title. Well, that and the pointers. ?The left! The left! Hands up, chin down! And don?t forget them knees! C?mon! Never need a reason, never need a rhyme. Kick your knees up, step in time. Knees up Mother Brown. Knees up, knees up, never let the breeze up, knees up Mother Brown.? Oi! He won, didn?t he?
