By: Neil and Walker Fetner

The night of November 16, 1974, began as just another routine shift for Officers Allen Lee Harmon, Otis Lee Robison, and Reserve Officer James Hines. As they patrolled the quiet streets of Lincoln, Alabama, they had no way of knowing that by dawn, their world—and their town—would be changed forever by an act of unspeakable horror.

Shortly after midnight, the officers spotted a Dodge Challenger swerving recklessly along U.S. Highway 78. A danger to himself and everyone on the road, the driver had to be stopped. Near the intersection of Alabama Highway 77, the officers pulled the vehicle over and approached with measured caution. The lone occupant identified himself as Hugh Worthington of Birmingham. His breath reeked of sn alcoholic beverage, his speech slurred, his balance unsteady. When he failed a series of sobriety tests, the officers made the routine decision to place him under arrest for driving while intoxicated.

But this was no routine arrest.

With the suspect in the back of the patrol car, the officers began their drive south toward the Talladega County Sheriff’s Department, believing their job was done. What they did not know—what they could not have known—was that the man in their custody had smuggled a weapon into the vehicle.

As the patrol car cruised down the darkened highway, the night exploded with gunfire.

From the back seat, the suspect unleashed hell. A small-caliber pistol, hidden from view, became an instrument of death. The first shot struck Officer Allen Harmon—a fatal wound delivered before he could react. The gunman then turned on Officer Otis Robison, his next victim, in a ruthless ambush. Blood soaked the seats, the dashboard, the very fabric of the night.

Behind the wheel, Reserve Officer James Hines had mere seconds to act. His partners were down, the gunman was still firing, and he was next. In a desperate bid for survival, Hines yanked the steering wheel, sending the vehicle careening off balance. Then, with sheer instinct guiding him, he threw open the driver’s door and hurled himself from the moving car, rolling violently onto the pavement.

Dazed, battered, but miraculously alive, Hines reached for his weapon and fired at the fleeing murderer. But the killer had already vanished—swallowed by the dense, unforgiving woods along Choccolocco Creek. The highway lay in silence, broken only by the distant sounds of sirens. One officer was dead. Another lay fatally wounded. And a ruthless fugitive was on the loose.

A TOWN IN FEAR

For the next eleven days, the people of Lincoln lived in terror. A manhunt of unprecedented scale unfolded across Alabama as law enforcement scoured the state for the cop killer who had shattered their town’s peace. Roadblocks were set up, vehicles searched, officers patrolled the highways with weapons drawn.

Then, the truth emerged—an even darker revelation than they had feared.

The man they were hunting was not Hugh Worthington. Worthington, an optometrist from Birmingham, had been robbed earlier that month. His identity had been stolen by a far more dangerous individual—an escaped prisoner named Russell Hopson Hurley, Jr.

Hurley had escaped from the Calhoun County Sheriff’s Department, assuming another man's name and embarking on a path of destruction that led to the deaths of two police officers.

The breakthrough came with an anonymous tip: Hurley was hiding in a motel in Irondale, Alabama. Authorities descended upon the location, prepared for a final, bloody confrontation. But when the moment of reckoning arrived, the coward who had executed two officers surrendered without a fight. His reign of terror had ended—but justice had only begun.

JUSTICE SERVED - BUT NOT FINISHED

On April 18, 1975, Russell Hopson Hurley, Jr. was convicted on two counts of first-degree murder. The verdict was clear, the punishment swift: two consecutive life sentences. But the horror was not over.

In November 1980, the unthinkable happened—Hurley escaped once again. A nationwide manhunt ensued, law enforcement scrambling to prevent yet another tragedy. This time, his freedom was short-lived. Within a month, he was captured in the State of Illinois and returned to prison, where he would remain until his death on January 22, 2006. He took his final breath behind bars, a caged animal, until the very end.

A LEGACY OF SACRIFICE

The loss of Officers Harmon and Robison left an indelible scar on Lincoln, Alabama. Their families, their colleagues, their town—none would ever be the same.

Officer Allen Lee Harmon was just twenty-seven years old, a Vietnam War veteran who had already given so much to his country. He left behind a grieving wife, Carol, and two young children, Brian and Kelly. 

Officer Otis Lee Robison, only twenty-two, was known for his kindness and the warmth he shared with all who knew him. His sister Sandra, devastated by his murder, honored his memory in the only way she could—naming her daughter after the brother she lost too soon.

Now, fifty years later, their sacrifice is permanently etched into the heart of their community. On November 15, 2024, the City of Lincoln honored these fallen heroes in a way that ensures they will never be forgotten. 

Thanks to the efforts of Senator Lance Bell, Representative Randy Wood, Mayor Lew Watson, the City Council, Chief Darren Britton, and Deputy Chief Neil Fetner, a one-mile stretch of Alabama Highway 77—between mile markers 74 and 75—now bears the name "Harmon-Robison Memorial Scholarship Fund."