Legendary Les

Les Binns was probably the most beloved and most revered man on Marco Island in the mid-1960s. Binns combined the toughness of a World War II Veteran with the kindness of a favorite uncle. He was, it seems, the right man, at the right place, at the right time.

"He wasn't a father figure,” said Ken McLaughlin, who met Binns as a 10-year-old in 1968. "He was more like the uncle figure that tried to steer you the right way. He was, I thought, the right man for the right job. Being the only deputy on the island way back then, he didn't believe every legal infraction justified an arrest. He wasn’t exactly like Andy Griffith, but he was kind of like that in how he handled things. Somewhat more informally than I think they would do now."

Dave Johnson moved to the island in the 1950s as a one-year-old. Johnson grew up to become a county sheriff’s deputy. Binns was his first boss.

 "Les was a lieutenant then,” Johnson recalls. "He subsequently became a captain. He ran the place. Les came there in 1966."

Binns came to Marco from Green Cove Springs in Clay County, Florida. He was recruited by former county sheriff Doug Hendry.

"Doug Hendry hired him away from Clay County Sheriff's Office,” Johnson, 67, said. "He actually flew in dirigibles or airships in the North Atlantic hunting subs in World War II. That's something a lot of people don't know about Les.”

Johnson agrees that Binns was the right man for the job on Marco Island.

"That was the time when the Mackle brothers had just bought Marco,” Johnson said, “and development started. They knew that they needed a full-time law enforcement presence, so they put Les down here by himself. And for a couple of years, he worked by himself until it got too busy. Eventually, the substation ended up with 25 officers before the city took it over. When I worked with him, there were about five of us that worked the station. He was a good guy. He really was. He lived over on Robin Court. They had a cabin boat that he kept at Marco River Marina. He enjoyed that. And he had a German Shepherd he called Fuzz.”

Binns and Fuzz are inextricably bonded in the memories of Marco Islanders of that era. Goodland artist Tara O’Neill was taking a lunch break at her Goodland gallery and reminiscing about Fuzz.

“Everybody loved Fuzzy,” O’Neill recalls fondly. "I don't know what he would have done in a criminal situation. I mean, we all petted him. He was as easy going as Les. I'd be really surprised if Fuzz ever barked at or bit anybody. I would. I really would not believe it.”

Johnson admits that while Fuzz may have looked intimidating, he was more of a pussycat.

“Fuzz was something else,” Johnson laughed. "He was the funniest dog in the world because if you got near him, he'd growl. But he didn't have a mean bone in his body. He was all bluff. Fuzz went everywhere with Les.”

Johnson said that Binns worked around the clock.

“The best thing about Les was when he was working alone, people would call him at the house. Even when I worked for him, he was there at the office every day, and he would sit there and people wouldn't call dispatch if they had a problem, they'd call him. Les was the most people-friendly guy I ever knew. There were guys that would go into the office - you could set your watch by them. They'd go by a certain time every day and just shoot the bull with Les. Those were the days, the old neighborhood law enforcement.”

Johnson remembers a time when Binns had to get tough.

 “It was 1967 or 68,” Johnson recalls. “Some labor trouble on the island, and the heavy equipment operators went on strike, and they brought in scabs, for lack of a better word. Things got tense, and the guys grabbed some of them and hurt them and created a lot of trouble with the police officers. Les responded by himself. They didn't hurt Les. They liked Les, but they grabbed him.”

Binns was known to sit in his cruiser at the foot of the Marco Bridge, with Fuzz sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

“It was such a small place then,” Johnson said, "that anything that was going on, the coming on and off the island, people stealing stuff, they'd take it off the island. So if he got an idea of something being stolen someplace, they'd just go sit and wait. And sure enough, here they'd come off the island they'd go and they'd catch them.”

McLaughlin remembers the first time he met Binns. He was at his favorite hangout, at the 7-Eleven (now Kretch’s) that used to be across from the Marco Cemetery on Bald Eagle Drive.

"I happened to be there hanging out,” McLaughlin said. "I think I rode down on my Schwinn Stingray. Here pulls up Les, and he got out of the car and sort of demanded to know who I was. So I told him, and we got to talking about fishing. And it came out in this conversation that I didn't know how to clean a fish. He told me to meet him at the Marco River Marina at a given time. And I did. He introduced me to Red Stier, who's another guy you could write stories about. He asked Red to teach me how to clean a fish. And Red did. Took me out to one of those tables and taught me how to clean the fish. What Les did after that, I thought, was sort of remarkable. He went up and talked to the charter captains that worked out of the Marco River Marina. I remember one of them was Captain Teddy Naftel. He spoke to some of them and basically kind of got me this job where I would show up when they came back from their charters and clean fish for the clients. I did it for tips. So I kind of got my first job through Sergeant Les Binns.

Alonzo Addison grew up in Goodland when the village was rough and tumble. He remembers Binns as an officer who related to the kids.

"I just remember that he was super nice,” Addison said. "He had that German Shepherd, and he always had something to stop and tell us kids. And it was always something nice. He looked like a character on a TV show. That's the way I remember him. He looked like he was out of central casting.”

"I remember him breaking up fights and telling them to shake hands and go home and don't fight no more tonight,” Addison said. “There was some altercation when the 7-Eleven used to be on Bald Eagle, and the Islander bar was open. I remember I was walking by when there was some altercation in the Islander bar. I remember some guy pulled a knife on another guy. And when I was walking by there, Les Binns was putting the guy in the back of the car, taking him to Naples. He was a very fair guy. He would give everybody a second chance. He didn't like taking people to jail. He was pretty even-handed." 

Addison said Goodland was a wild place when he was growing up in the 1970s.

"The Wild, Wild West,” he laughed. “It was a little fishing village. It was quiet. I remember you had the tin canners. And they would come in Mar-Good in season time. You had the Drop Anchor trailer park. You had the Marco Lodge, you had the Goodland Food Store where the Little Bar sits. I remember my mom used to give me a dollar and tell me to run up to the store and get a Pepsi and a Reese’s Cup.”

"When I was a teenager and started coming up, all the drug smuggling, all that stuff, it was crazy around here. I was a little bit of hell on wheels myself,” Addison said. “I thought Les Binns was this larger-than-life man. He was definitely in the right place at the right time, you know. I had massive respect for Les Binns."

Addison said Binns was a good role model.

"I went awry from what should have been,” Addison said. “There was so much pot in the early 70s around here. I started smoking pot, and one thing led to another, and I'm not going to lie about it. I've done my thing. I was in kitchens for 45 years. I worked myself to death. I started working with Stan Gober when I was old enough to stand on a milk crate and wash dishes. I couldn't even carry them over to (Stan’s son) Jay. They were cooking, and I couldn't even carry the plates over to them because they were too heavy.

O’Neill recalls Binns pulling over a car she was a passenger in. Her brother was the driver.

“It was so typical Les Binns,” O’Neill said. "It was probably right around 1970. Okay. We must have had at least seven kids packed in this little car of his. There was probably beer drinking. Some of us were. I know I was underage, so I probably wasn't drinking. Some of the others were. I think he must have run a stop sign and was probably speeding when Les pulled him over. And Les looks at all of us kids jammed in this car. He can see beer cans on the floor. He looks at Kevin, and he says, 'Well, I'm going to give you a choice. I'm going to take you down to the station, or I'm going to take you home to your father.' And my brother looks at Les and says, 'Well, hold on, let me check with the others.' And Kevin turns around, and Les swats him right in the back of the head. He said, 'Go home and I'm following you.' I mean, my dad was a fun guy and all, but, you know, he could have a temper when we were just crazy kids. It was just so typical of Les. 'You want to come to the station? Or should I just take you home to your father? I'm following you all the way to your street.' And he did. Because of that, we probably behaved a little better. I think he was stern with a tender heart. I can't think of any cop I would have rather learned a lesson from."

As a teenager, McLaughlin was pulled over by Binns, just blocks from his parents’ house.

“Later on in high school, there were times when he probably could have arrested me for things, but didn’t,” McLaughlin said. "He pulled me over one night and I guess I reeked of pot. He asked me, 'Do you have any on you?'  And I had a little in my pocket. He confiscated it. He probably also could have arrested me for driving under the influence. Weed was pretty readily available back then and cheap. It was right there by the Marina. I almost made it home. I guess I was weaving or something. And here come the lights. He basically tried to steer you the right way. And I guess he did because I ended up graduating high school and graduating college and graduating from law school. I could have been an inmate of the Collier County Jail, but I wasn’t, because of the way he handled things informally.”

Johnson has nothing but respect for his old boss and the legacy he left behind.

"Les was a good guy,” Johnson said. "He was a good boss. In later years, he lived up by Manatee Road for a long time. And then he got sick. He got ill and passed. And when he passed, a family member asked if I'd help them out. And we took his ashes down to sea. That's his internment spot."