James “Big Jim” Whitehurst, Jr. was a state trooper in Nottoway county, Virginia, in the late sixties. Later he became a sergeant for the state police, as a helicopter pilot. “He was 6’4″ before he put on his Stetson, and had hands like a bear”, as one of his buddies phrased it. Trooper Whitehurst gave me my first speeding ticket. I had gotten my license that day, and was going 105 in a 55 mph zone. When he pulled me over, I asked him if he could let me off, since it was my first infraction. As he handed me the ticket he said, “I wrote it for 74 in a 55. Count your blessings”, and strode off. I found out later that I would’ve gotten a reckless driving citation if the ticket had been for 20 mph or more over the speed limit, so he did me a big favor even though I held a small grudge about it for quite awhile.
One night in the little town where I grew up, there was a huge fight that involved about 100 people. It was about as close to a riot as I had ever seen in my life. They even rolled some cars over onto their roofs, and left them there. A lot of people were injured that day, both physically and emotionally. I drove through it, not knowing that my cousin, boss and a friend were watching with shotguns from the top of a feed store, hoping it wasn’t going to spill up into the building. They had agreed that if worse came to worst and the mob stormed the rooftop, they’d defend their own lives.
Whitehurst slid up to the group below, alone in his patrol car. When he got out, he had a pump shotgun in one hand, but was unaware of the potential backup on the roof. He shouted to the people in the parking lot, “All right, that’s enough! Everyone go home, fun’s over! Time to call it a night!” One smart-mouthed kid in the front row said, “Who in the (blank) is going to make us go home?” Jim strode over to him, grabbed the young man by the back of the neck, bent him over double, and ran him across the parking lot into my boss’s truck. It dented the door and the kid fell back, dazed, onto the ground. Trooper Whitehurst racked a shell into the shotgun and boomed, “Okay, I asked you people nicely to go home. Now I’m TELLING you. GO HOME, OR SOMEBODY’S GOING TO GET HURT!!!”
They left. 100 to 1. Walked away.
The guys on the roof sucked their breath in and said to each other, “Holy Moses, did you see that?!?!”
I asked my boss later if he was going to get his door fixed. He said, “Nope. That’s the prettiest dent I ever saw in my life.”
Jim Whitehurst has passed, but if anyone knows his children, please tell or email them this story.
The America I Knew 
To the author of this story… My name is Kim Whitehurst, the oldest daughter of Big Jim Whitehurst. I stumbled on a message sent through FBs Messenger back in July… (I don’t have the time for FB and rarely use it unless it’s to look at pictures of our grandchildren.) Today, however, I am so glad I did! Dad used to tell this story all the time! He had A LOT of stories – as you can imagine! We always thought that maybe it was a tad “embellished” as kids but as time wore on, we came to realize that feats of heroism were simply “all in a day’s work” for for him. He absolutely loved his job and used to say he could not believe people paid HIM to do it! There isn’t a day that goes by that we don’t think about him. He was one-of-a-kind for sure! And goodness gracious couldn’t we use more like him today in this crazy world of “defunding the police” and dozens of other infractions that have caused people to not only shy away from this profession – but remain grossly underpaid and disrespected. Reading this story meant SO MUCH to me! I never knew men were on the roof watching! I suppose that is how the story lives on even today. What you may not know is my Dad, later in life, became known as “The Gentle Giant” and “A True Virginia Gentleman”. He retired from the Virginia State Police to stay home with my Mother who had been diagnosed with (ALS) Lou Gherrig’s disease. She was originally given 3-5 yrs. to live, but lived 23 yrs. with Dad by her side, refusing to put her in a “nursing facility”. She died peacefully in our home – and like most “true loves”, he passed less than 3yrs later. Thank you so much for this! I’ll be sure to tell my Brother, Little Jim and sister, Tracey. Merry Christmas!
Kimberly Whitehurst-Lloyd
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Love this. I never got to meet him, but being my late husband was a retired police officer from Dinwiddie I heard of him. Never forget the kick out of my husband when he told me of trooper Whitehust taking him up in the helicopter. And of course my husband had just had lunch (being his first time up) that ride didn’t last long. Lol. He was a well thought of person. And so is his daughter Kim, miss playing ball with you at Sharon Baptist. Merry Christmas to you.
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Sounds like Jim. One of the very best people I ever knew.
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