This story is titled "A Tale of Two Christmases" that's right Christmases, not "Cities."
Now you'll have to pay close attention because getting the details of one story mixed up with the particulars of the other would totally ruin the overall story. That forewarning might seem to be quite unnecessary when you get further into this tale as the two sets of events that occurred in St. Louis on Christmas are very different.
It was the morning of Dec. 25, the year was 1975 and the place was St. Louis, Mo. My wife Robin and I lived in a small brick home in a suburb of St. Louis with our two boys, David and Robert. David was seven years old and Robert, whom we called Rob because Robin didn't want a son who would be known as Bob, was four years of age.
As you might imagine Christmas was a big event for the two boys and even Robin, and I awoke very early that snowy morning with a hint of the holiday cheer in our hearts. Robin worked at a local hospital and I was a police officer and, luckily, we both had the day off. We got right to the business of ripping paper and tape from the packages as we had to open our presents quickly because we were due at my parent's home in just an hour or so.
It came to our attention, Robin's and mine, that our two sons had prior knowledge of the contents inside the brightly gift-wrapped presents. It seemed that David, the mastermind of the plan wanted Rob to assist in opening each present in strategically selected places so a glimpse of the contents could be secured. We later learned that, although the scheme was not devised by David's younger brother, after hearing the details Rob thought the idea had merit and was in fact a willing co-conspirator.
Holidays are tough on the young who have extended families. The night before our family spent the evening at Robin's parent's house where we ate something referred to as "pizza rounds" as well as other treats. Gifts were exchanged and, after several hours of watching the two boys thoroughly examine their plunder, hugs were exchanged and we drove the package-filled car home.
It was the evening of Dec. 24, the year was 1895 and the place was St. Louis, Mo. Lee Shelton was enjoying Christmas Eve as he gathered with friends at a nightclub, "The Modern Horseshoe Club."
Shelton, or "Stack Lee" as he was sometimes called, was the owner of the St. Louis bar located in a seedy part of St. Louis known as "Deep Morgan." Stack Lee might also be described as a broker of sorts -- the manager of a workforce comprised solely of hard-working young women.
Shelton used his stated occupation as a carriage driver to his advantage as he often directed those seated in his carriage to his nightclub. There is no doubt that Shelton was an enterprising young man and had his fingers in all sorts of businesses. He was also the president of the Four Hundred Club; a political organization that strongly supported the city's Democratic Party.
It was sometime during the evening hours that Christmas Eve that Stack Lee and Billy Lyons met up. As the two men drank and talked at the Modern Horseshoe Club, something, maybe politics, or a question regarding the affections of a beautiful woman or something else, triggered an argument.
The drive to my parent's house took about 30 minutes and, although Robin and I talked about the snow-covered streets and how lucky we both were to be away from work, the backseat of the car was eerily quiet. I remember wondering if the boys were speculating on the type and number of gifts they might soon get or maybe they were wishing they had stayed at home so they could enjoy last night's and the earlier morning's surprises.
My mother was quite famous for exorbitant Christmas shopping. I recall that on that Christmas Day in 1975, our family arrived at my parent's home around 9 a.m. As I opened the front door, little if any of the living room floor could be seen. The brightly wrapped presents were stacked at least two feet tall and only a narrow path near the outer walls could be used as a walkway.
Once there, everyone was expected to eat till stomachs were bursting, and no excuses for leaving nary a crumb of the white divinity or chocolate fudge behind would be tolerated. The present opening routine there might best be described as an "opening frenzy." There was no system of order or thank-yous given but rather paper flew through the air, but bows, well the colorful bows were reused and needed to be placed in the "bow bag."
When it was over, the carpeted floor was covered with wrapping paper, the bow bag was filled to the brim, paper plates with divinity and fudge residue rested on the coffee table and everyone took a deep breath. I remember that David briefly pushed some of the discarded paper aside just to make sure that no wrapped gift had been overlooked.
It was that year when my mother gave me a long brown cloth coat. I'm sure I looked somewhat surprised as I pulled the coat from the box as I really didn't need a new coat and, quite honestly, if I did I would not have chosen that color or style. After the garment was fully exposed for all to see, Robin leaned over and whispered in my ear, "nice coat. That's an old man's coat."
The St. Louis newspaper reported that Stack Lee and Billy Lyons, a Republican, argued over politics but those in attendance gave varying accounts as to the source of the dispute. Anyway, there is no doubt that during the discussion Lyons snatched the top hat from atop Shelton's head.
Shelton demanded that Lyons return his coveted property immediately and, to further emphasize his point, removed from concealment a .44 caliber revolver. More harsh words were exchanged and, to further anger Stack Lee, Lyons placed a dent in the top of the derby.
Suddenly Lyons removed a knife from his pocket and stated, "I'm gonna make you kill me."
Not one to overlook a threat, Shelton cocked the pistol, aimed it at Lyons' belly and pulled the trigger. The bullet found its mark and the wounded Lyons fell to the floor. It was reported that Shelton then calmly picked up his dented Stetson and walked out of the establishment.
Lyons died the following morning and, as the culprit's identity was never in doubt, the arrest of Stack Lee soon followed. Lee Shelton was twice placed on trial and eventually found guilty of killing Billy Lyons. Shelton was sentenced to 25 years in the Missouri State Penitentiary.
Stack Lee was paroled in 1909 but he had not changed. After his release, the man who once shot Billy Lyons continued his villainous ways and, after several run-ins with the law, once again found himself sitting in a penitentiary cell.
Our family got back to our house around mid-afternoon and, as was her nature, Robin cleaned the Christmas leavings from the countertops and washed plates and glasses. She just couldn't stand a messy kitchen. I, on the other hand, watched television.
David and Rob sat on the living room floor and sorted through their piles of gifts -- clothes, toys and the ever so boring assortment of books. As the day wore on and nighttime eventually came, Robin suggested that the boys think about going to bed but I didn't intervene as I was convinced that sleep would take them in its own good time.
The boys finally fell asleep on the carpeted living room floor. I preferred to allow the two kids to sleep as they fell, you know let sleeping dogs lie, but Robin woke them, "get to bed; go on."
As I recall they bumped shoulders and a wall or two a few times as they staggered into their shared bedroom and their bunk beds. The day, that Christmas day in 1975, had finally come to an end.
A song was once written about the encounter between Lee Shelton and Billy Lyons. It is called "Stagger Lee." The song ends as it describes a meeting between Stagger Lee and the devil. Lee Shelton, Stack Lee, Stagger Lee died in the prison infirmary in 1912.
Stan Fine is a retired police officer and Verizon Security Department investigator who, after retiring in 2006, moved from Tampa, Fla., to Noel. Stan's connection to Noel can be traced back to his grandparents who lived most of their lives there. Stan began writing after the passing of his wife Robin in 2013. Opinions expressed are those of the author.
