Murder for Two Dollars

Donald was tired. Just like every other night, he had worked at the bar until closing. He was a mainstay at the Cutty Sark Lounge on Mobile Highway. It was a neighborhood bar where people could sit and enjoy conversation…and, if they needed to, bend Donald’s ear with their personal problems. He was kinda like a therapist.

He lived only two houses down from the bar on Lynch Street. As he walked the short walk down the lonely residential street on July 21, 1984, he passed the large hole in the street that was being worked on. All of the barriers and flashing lights warned motorists to steer clear.

Just as Donald passed the hole, a man popped up out of it and aimed a 12-gauge shotgun at him from behind. The man pulled the trigger and, within five feet of Donald, the great blast of shotgun hit him in the back.

A 12-gauge shotgun blast sends nine pellets the size of a shirt button out of the muzzle at 1400 feet per second. At five feet, it tore through his intestines and heart. A few minutes later, a lady that heard the shot ran out from her house to check on him. He tried to say something, but couldn’t. He died on the street.

Donald was a lifelong Pensacolian. Beginning as a child, he was always the one to “do something.” He was in a play, he was involved in sports. And, when the time came to step up for his country in the Vietnam conflict, Donald became a United States Marine.

He spent nine years in service to his country and, when he got out, he was wearing sergeant stripes.

Escambia County Sheriff’s Office Investigator Doyle Thomas wasn’t given much to work with. Donald’s wallet was gone, but friends and family said he never carried much money. Occasionally, he took the receipts home with him. Maybe that was it. But, no, the night’s takings were found in the safe where he had placed them before locking up on the night he was killed.

Then came the break, and it came in the way that many breaks come in major cases – mouth-running. A person contacted the Sheriff’s Office and reported that two men – Ronnie Brunson and Jerry Milam had been bragging about the murder.

At the time, I was serving as a Corrections Officer at the Escambia County Jail. I knew Ronnie. When I read about what he had done, I was irritated with him, but sorta sad at the same time. He had just thrown his life away.

In 1983, I had to fight Ronnie when he refused to go into his cell.

“I ain’t goin’, Mike,” he said to me.

“C’mon, Ronnie,” I said to him. “You gotta go. You know that.”

“I ain’t goin’,” he repeated. “You’re going to have to make me.”

He was a scrapper – I’ll give him that. He was small, but he put up a fight. It took me a while, but I finally got in him there. Then we both sat down and rested!

When I read in the newspaper that Ronnie had been arrested for murder, I was assigned to the Transportation section. I knew that I would see him later that day when I took him to his first appearance at the courthouse.

Ronnie was a likeable guy. He usually wore a smile, and with it, a hint of mischievousness. Ronnie’s problem was his temper and his failure to think things through. Kinda like Esau in the Bible, he often acted before he thought. That sounded to me like what happened early on July 21, 1984.

“Hi, Mike,” he said when I saw him. But he wasn’t wearing his usual smile.

“Hey, Ronnie,” I said, matter-of-factly. He wasn’t in the mood to talk and, quite frankly, neither was I. He sat in silence – which was uncommon for him – the entire way to the courthouse and back.

Ronnie and Jerry were charged with First Degree Murder. Apparently, Ronnie had heard that Donald had hundreds with him that he took home for the night from the Cutty Sark Lounge. After Ronnie pulled the trigger, both men went through Donald’s pockets. They found nothing but his wallet, which contained two dollars.

Jerry got 25 years. Ronnie was sentenced to life in prison. It wasn’t his first time there. He had been there before and was caught after an escape. This time, though, there would be no escape.

Ronnie died in prison in 2024…just before Thanksgiving. A life…no, three lives wasted.

Sad.

Michael Earl Simmons is the creator of “Sweet Tea Murders,” true stories of forgotten crimes that occurred in Pensacola and along the Gulf Coast. Michael Earl is a retired Pensacola Police Officer, former Homicide detective, author and historian. For more stories, and for tickets to his live shows and downtown walking tours, go to sweetteamurders.com.