CIRCLEVILLE, Ohio – Even amid the jumble of details dating to the early days of the Eisenhower presidency, Pickaway County Sheriff Dwight Radcliff hasn’t forgotten much.

The still-energetic 80-year-old can rattle off names, cases and other facts with startling recall as he tells tales of a law-enforcement career stretching to 1953.

“Y604L,” Radcliff says, reciting the plate number of the 1957 Chevy driven by a suspect in the first homicide he worked, and solved, after taking office as sheriff in 1965.

To many residents of Pickaway and colleagues in law enforcement, Radcliff is himself an unforgettable man. Franklin County Sheriff Zach Scott lauds his neighbor to the south as an “icon, not only in Ohio but nationally.”

As Radcliff prepares to hang up his gun belt after 48 years in the family business, he ranks as the nation’s longest-serving sheriff.

He attributes his longevity to passion for his job and always being a straight dealer, whether with the people, his deputies or the prisoners in his jail.

“I know people. If you don’t lie to them, they’ll take care of you. Treat people how you like to be treated yourself,” Radcliff said from his memorabilia-packed office. “I’ve always meant what I said and said what I meant. I’m proud of that.”

He isn’t sure what he will do in retirement. Aside from a four-year stint selling cars, law enforcement is all Radcliff has known.

All in the family

Charles Radcliff, the manager of a dairy co-op, was elected sheriff in 1931, moving into the residence at the jail where his wife, Sadie, served as matron. A year later, their son Dwight was born, his destiny seemingly set.

Dwight Radcliff began shooting crime-scene photos for his father as a teenager in the 1940s, and he hired on with his dad as a full-time deputy in 1953. But Charles Radcliff lost a primary race in 1960, sending him to the sidelines and his son to the car lot.

Over his protests, Radcliff said, a couple of supporters dragged him to the board of elections in 1964 and “made” him run for sheriff as a Democrat.

Radcliff won election, the first of what would be a dozen such wins.

Radcliff came to know his county, and its people, as no one else did. He knew everyone, it seemed. He could tell you where they lived and what they did for a living – illegally or otherwise.

When detectives couldn’t get anywhere questioning a suspect, they would call in the boss, said Lt. John Monce. “Dwight can get stuff out of people because he knows their dad, their mom, their relatives. They’ll talk to him.”

Radciff’s son, Robert, likewise grew up at the county jail where Betty, Dwight’s high-school sweetheart and bride of 59 years, also served as jail matron and office manager before retiring a decade ago after 37 years.

“Robbie,” as the Radcliffs call their son, was hired by his father as a jail deputy in 1980 and rose to lieutenant before retiring this year so he could run for sheriff, successfully extending the family legacy to three generations.

The 50-year-old new sheriff, one of Dwight and Betty’s three children, hopes he can be as effective and as respected as his father.

“Something my grandfather taught him, and he’s taught me, is that you serve the entire public. You treat everyone the same; it doesn’t matter where they come from,” Robert Radcliff said.

The son also hopes to match his father’s energy: “He’s a 24/7 sheriff. The sheriff’s office was his love from the time he was born. It’s what he lives for.”

‘We can do the job’

The elder Radcliff never fired his gun in the line of duty and leaves office with no unsolved homicides on his watch (unless you count two men killed in Columbus whose bodies were dumped in Pickaway County in 1974).

He takes pride in running a full-service operation, telling state troopers to stand down from handling fatal crashes and working homicides instead of leaning on the Ohio Bureau of Criminal Investigation.

“If you are a resident of my county, and you call me, I need to respond. We’re not going to pick and choose. We’re not going to pawn it off. If something happens here, we’re going to be there. We can do the job.”

As he prepares to pass on his badge to his son today, Radcliff has seen many changes.

When he first pinned on the sheriff’s badge, he had a dozen employees, including six road deputies, and the jail held about 30 prisoners. Violent crime was rare; drugs were nearly unheard of.

Today, Radcliff has 87 employees; the 110-bed jail that opened in 1992, one he thought he would never fill, is chronically overcrowded.

There’s more violence; drugs are rampant; there’s a dismaying number of women behind bars. He sees the same faces, over and over again, in jail.

“The biggest change I’ve seen, and every day’s another challenge, is that the victims of crime are left handcuffed,” he said. “We can only do so much.” Although crime is a certainty, punishment has become less certain, the sheriff said.

He laments plea bargains and sentencing changes that have eliminated the discretion of tough-sentencing judges who worked with Radcliff to burnish the county’s reputation as “Putaway Pickaway.”

‘Old-style sheriff’

Every week for the past several months has brought another platitude or plaque as Radcliff nears retirement.

Shelby County Sheriff John Lenhart, a former director of the Bureau of Criminal Investigation, considers Radcliff a close friend. “He’s always been a mentor to me. First-term sheriffs still go to him today. He won’t lead you astray.

“I can call him at 9 on a Saturday morning, and he’s out in the field, still working traffic crashes. He’s always been on the front line. He’s an inspiration – that passion and dedication,” Lenhart said.

Ohio Attorney General Mike DeWine is talking with Radcliff about the sheriff possibly serving as his part-time liaison to smaller sheriff’s offices and police departments.

“What is unique about Dwight is his people skills and ability to deal with people,” DeWine said. “He’s that kind of tenacious, old-style sheriff who knows the modern technology and tools.”