Shanga-ree

"The night was clear
and the moon was yellow
and the leaves came tumbling down"

My memory reaches deep and the whole of my life, these words have played ever in my head. This is the result of having seriously cool parents. They are of the micro-generation born not during the Great Depression and not amongst that post-WWII Baby Boom. They are War Babies, born during the days of that conflict and coming of age in that time heralded by poodle skirts and duck-tails. Consequently, the music of my earliest youth up through the age when I conquered the use of their phonograph and sifted through those stacks of vinyl rocked ever around that clock.

One of my earliest memories from, dated by the house we were living in at the time, was of my mother dancing as she did her daily routines, the story of a little boy sitting by the railroad tracks picking his guitar and dreaming of his name in lights spinning beneath a needle. I would have been between the ages of 2-4 at the time and I know it was in the earlier part of that span as I still hadn't developed a fear for the coffee table curiously shaped like those boards those people were standing on as those big waves crashed over them on TV. By the way, I still have a scar on my forehead from my one and only attempt at hanging ten. That particular song has stuck with me through these years and has served me well. When ever I get a horrible tune in my head, all I need to do is close my eyes and sit beneath the shade of my memories and I was goode, oh baby, I was goode.

"I was standing on the corner
when I heard my bulldog bark..."

One of the most indelible songs to pleasantly play on my internal mix-tape (I'm an Analog Kid, baby!) was "Stagger Lee" as performed by the immortal Lloyd Price. That version, the one most recalled in casual memory, has always been with me and always my very uncoordinated toes would tap the time or at least as best as this skinny white boy could. Whenever on one was looking (oh, so hopefully!), that song would stir me to dance in a way only surpassed by Elaine Marie Benes in a moment without shame. I did not, I confess, inherit my parents smooth moves.

"He was barkin' at the two men who were gamblin'
in the dark"

The whole process took one week from the moment of inspiration until I typed the last word and hit "save". One simple week of near manic obsession and research before I had in my hands a story steeped in history and in myth. It was a week that nearly drove my co-workers mad, mainly because I always bring my music to work because out in our little box, we don't even get the canned crap those poor fools in the store proper must suffer. Being none of my coworkers ever bothered to enhance their days with music, the playlists were all mine. Why they got annoyed that week is beyond me. I mean, not all of the songs based on the events told in that song are the same, either in versions of the most common or the wide variety that have spawned in the 123 years between the incidents inspiring and the moment of my obsession. Why anyone would get annoyed over by over 40 different versions of that inspired song playing in a continuous loop is beyond me.

"It was Stagger Lee and Billy
two men who gambled late..."

I am not going to claim the initial spark beyond knowing Mr. Price was involved. What I do know is that as soon as I heard that song early in February 2018, the idea that burst forth was unstoppable. The simple story of a night of dice and drink and the inevitable consequence of the bartender's glass shattering was too much to pass up. I figured I just needed a little light research and all would be good. Boy, did I ever underestimate.

"Stagger Lee threw seven
Billy swore that he threw eight"

The story of "Stagger" Lee Shelton and William "Billy" Lyons is not one forged in the fiction of song. It is instead a true American Tale, one which has inspired more recordings of more varied versions than any other event in the history of this nation. It was an encounter between two friends on Christmas Day (actually, around 10pm that night) 1895, that led to a murder, one of six that day in St. Louis, Missouri. Why this of all murders, a spat between two black men in a no-account bar, should rise to such a level of national fame is, well, actually something rather interesting to learn in the course of that intense week. Indeed, with the first known musical celebrations of this event appearing as early as 1897, within two years of the tragedy, there had to be something more to it all than just a couple of drunks throwing dice and indeed there was.

"Stagger Lee told Billy
I can't let you go with that
You have won all my money and my brand new
Stetson hat"

The initial encounter is detailed in a newspaper report from the 28th of December, 1985, in which the base details of the story were derived. What is known is that these two friends were drinking (no mention of gambling) when the discussion turned to politics. As things got heated, Lyons snatched Shelton's hat from his head and upon refusing to give it back, was shot in the abdomen by Shelton who, as the newspaper article states, "took his hat from the hand of the wounded man and coolly walked away". Upon Lyons' death, Shelton was arrested and that should have been that.

"Stagger Lee went home
and got his forty-four..."

What all was behind this though? And politics? What did politics play in this shooting? The ramifications of what all happened next fails to make it into that song, but for some reason, this carriage driver, a black man in the late 19th Century American, ended up being represented by one of the most powerful and prominent lawyers in St. Louis. Indeed, so well represented that he was not convicted... at first. With the untimely death of that lawyer, the case was tried anew and Mr. Shelton was sentenced to 25 years in prison. He served a decade before being paroled but within two years, was arrested again for assault and robbery and died in prison of tuberculosis in March of 1912.

"Said, I'm going to that barroom just to pay the
debt I owe"

Further investigation reveals that Lyons was a Republican, as were most Black Americans at that time, the Party of Lincoln still inspiring a loyalty based upon the stand of one lanky man. Apparently the Democrats at that time in St. Louis were seeking inroads into that community, an understanding that if there were votes to be had, why not seek them out. Thus the nature of the discussion with Shelton, a visible member of a prominent black social club, being sought out to help recruit within his community. I must note also that Shelton was known also as a pimp. While I cannot verify this, it appears that he was known for such trade along with his legitimate business as a carriage driver. Owing that every man and woman on this earth is (hopefully) multi-dimensional, this just adds to the time and place and the complexity of those involved. It also, well, when you think of it, gives reason for rather powerful people in St. Louis to come to his defense. Was that defense inspired by his being a pioneer into the Democratic Party as a black man or perhaps did some of these powerful people have, um, connections to Shelton that they would possibly not want revealed? This is but speculation, but with the information available, I cannot help pose that question.

"Stagger Lee went to that barroom
and he stood across that barroom door..."

There are elements that travel through the songs, both verified and not, which flavor the history of this song. For example, in no accounts are there any mention of a yellow moon, a game of dice, the leaves tumbling, a bulldog, or a broken mirror (bartender's glass). The Stetson hat though, that is verified going back to the earliest newspaper accounts. By the way, that Stetson would have been of the Derby style of fedora most common and popular at the time... just picture Billy the Kid in the famous tin-type taken of him in just such a hat. Other elements are the .44 Smith and Wesson revolver Shelton was known to have, which he first pistol whipped Lyon's with before shooting him... all for denting his brand new $5 John B. Stetson hat, the cost of which to fix, six-bits, was demanded only to be refused by Lyons.

"He said, nobody move and he pulled his
Forty-four"

Then there is the music itself. Oh, the range of that music... I searched and searched and downloaded what I could find... around 10% of the 426+ versions of this song, including a couple recordings from the Library of Congress done by John Avery Lomax of "Negro Female Prisoners" made on the side of the road as he heard them singing. That version, by the way, is listed as "Shanga-ree". Now note, the earliest versions of this song were amongst the black laborers along the Mississippi and it spread like wildfire throughout the African-American communities, specifically because of, well, several reasons not the least was the "reclamation of manhood" by a black man being cheated (how the theme was interpreted through the stories of Lyons determined to cheat). This is all valid and extremely fascinating to learn, a powerful addition to the American mosaic which I recommend all to spend a little learning about. In fact, a precursor to modern Rap music could be found in those early 20th Century "toast" poems told by those serving time, verses which tended to glorify the crimes with braggadocio. Seriously, this is American history in this song, the history of it and the development of the legend. It should not ever be discounted or reduced to banal stereotypes.

"Stagger Lee, cried Billy
Oh, please don't take my life..."

Now here I am, some dude sitting in a ghost town in Arizona in the year 2018 with all these varied elements before me. How can I include them, the fact and the fiction, to create a story which will sit within the parameters of this little valley I have found deep in the southern Bradshaw Mountains of Arizona? Well, first, let's look at the date. Christmas is important here and I wanted as well to be assured a bright full yellow under which this could play. I also had to make sure this story played between the years 1867 - 1890, the time in which Baird's Holler boomed and went bust. The trusty old internet almanacs tell me that the only such date would have been Christmas Eve, 1871, six years following the American Civil War. That gives me limited time in which to get Shelton from wherever he was to the mountains of Arizona, a task that truly is not that difficult considering the westward diaspora following that conflict. Thus I had my night, one which could produce a yellow moon with leaves tumbling down.

"I've got three little children and a very
sickly wife"

Now, this is fiction based upon fictionalized and true accounts and, well, license is granted to all who pretend at the power of the pen (or keyboard but I totally lose the alliteration if I write that). Thus Lee Shelton for me becomes Sheldon Lee and William Lyons becomes Lionel Williams. It's easy and it leaves clear hints. Sheldon was not a bad man, not at all. Instead, a hard worker, he rose from digging in the Mortenson mine to being one of the teamsters hauling ore between the mine and the mill. In other words, he holds the honest job of driver (wagon, not carriage) and is a genial and popular man in that boom town. He has future and he has promise... but remember, this is the Bajazid and upon the Bajazid, well, all are susceptible to corruption and that is what this Tale is about. It is this nature which is evident as he enters Devitt's General Store on Christmas Eve, a Sunday, just before the owner, Kevin Devitt, is about to close up shop. John S. Mortenson, the primary Sultan amongst Sultans, the originator of the expedition which discovered gold upon this creek, has his conscience burning him and has authorized a payout of $10 to each man working the mine as a Christmas bonus in hopes that those gifted would better their lots with it. Yeah, dumb move in a boomtown full of desperate men, but the road to Hell is always paved with such intentions. It is the interactions there in Devitt's that defines Lee in his undefiled state. By the way, the first editor I sent this to, though he did not accept it, commented that he found this characterization to his delight, avoiding the stereotype of the bad man by nature... and he also wrote that he did not realize the color of Lee's skin until near the end which is what I hoped. A character should not be defined ever by such a means unless it is integral to the story. That has always been my intent and there are several stories within this collection where such is left purposely nebulous with only the vaguest hints and then, only where they become important. Mr. Sheldon Lee is a good man, recognized as such by Kevin Devitt, a character who so far has shown himself to be one such as well.

"Stagger Lee shot Billy
Oh, he shot that poor boy so bad..."

I did quite a bit of research to determine when John B. Shelton hats were made, when they were available and how one would go about procuring a brand new, customized hat in such a remote place. With this hat now on his head, Lee is, well, empowered. It is a fine hat and, according to Kevin Devitt, Lee cuts a fine figure in it. With this on his head, he is emboldened in his generosity, so much so that he gives his old hat to a bum in an ragged grey jacket and offers some jerky to a large, yellow bulldog he passes in an alley. I need to pause for a moment on this pooch because, well, he will begin to follow Lee and his howls serve strong as portents. In fact, this bulldog took on greater importance the deeper this story went, but just allow me to say that it was of an immense size for such a breed, had a dun yellow coat and was scarred and scratched all over with one particular scar upon its forehead shaped in a design distinct yet obscure upon that yellow coat. Oh, and Lee, remembering the words of his Grandfather, a man shipped from Africa in the shames of this Nation, gives this dog a name. Here I had a bit of trouble finding words to use and with the limitations of Google translate, well, it fits with the recollections of a child hearing the distant voice of his grandfather. Igbo is the language I chose, one appropriate to the regions in which men and women were snatched up to be transported and sold. Thus I am hoping for forgiveness, based upon such distant recollections, if the words for "yellow" and for "king" are appropriate in their order and use.

"Until the bullet came through Billy
and it broke that bartender's glass"

There will be dice, there will be drink, and there will be disappointment which leads to an inevitable retrieval of a .44 caliber revolver... not a Smith and Wesson, but one appropriate to the year 1871. That hat, that magnificent hat which gave Mr. Lee confidence beyond his normal stature plays its role, as do the six-bits needed to challenge a debt. These Tales are speculative, weird in their nature with the edge of horror strung throughout. They payoff is violent and sure and as the barroom doors at last swing shut and a bulldog is glimpsed in the night, Sheldon Lee walks off into the legends now infused into these Tales. His importance, and that of this story, are yet to be fully realized. The boy seen in Devitt's General Store in the previous story "Claude", bears the name Lionel Jr. in a Tale seven years yet to be. There is a history here which I have yet to touch upon further though do know that what I know of this young man will elevate him greatly. The title of this Tale as well will come clear to those who read it and the distant pistol shots added almost without my own will directing portend an active night there in Baird's Holler on Christmas Eve of 1871.

"Oh, Stagger Lee
Oh, Stagger Lee
Oh, Stagger Lee"

In 1895, there were six murders committed in St. Louis, Missouri. This truth stands as inspiration. Of the collections by thematic arc which I have begun now to classify these Tales, the most complete of these are those which focus on this night for I have learned that there were six lives lost that night in Baird's Holler, Arizona. This tale, "Shanga-ree" (4,358 words), still stands as one of my personal favorites, one in which elements diverse came together as my playlist filled every waking moment of its writing. It will appear in Weirdbook, an issue upcoming.

"Shanga-ree
Shanga-ree
Shanga-ree"

Post Script: My goal for this blog is a post a day. On the 25th of January we suffered a massive snowfall (there is over two feet currently atop my poor little buried car) and when I made it home finally through the driving snow, it was moments after all power on the mountain was sacrificed to the gods of winter snow. The night was spent in the soft glow of paraffin oil lamps and a fireplace roaring. For this reason, there is not post holding such a date.