Early Peorians Had a Dream

 

                                     NORMAN  V.  KELLY

 

Way back before 1845 the little trading village of Peoria, Illinois had some strong frontiersmen coming and going.  Our early history was a bit tumultuous which included some attacks by Indians.  We had the French, the British and Spanish influence here, but throughout it all it was the American Pioneer and local folks that had a dream for this beautiful little place along the Illinois River.

 

It was initially just one square mile and in 1835 it was called a town. By 1828 the steamboats listed Peoria as one of its destination and by 1845 the local folks took a giant step.  Among the mixed inhabitants of 1,619 hearty souls who carved out their daily existence were some very talented men.  On a bright, sunny morning, April 21, 1845,  197 of those folks gathered throughout the day to cast their votes to decide if the little town of Peoria, Illinois should be come a city.  Who was eligible to vote and how all that was decided is not within our recorded history.  Who knows, maybe 197 folks was a large number based on those qualifications to vote that the locals set down.  I do know that there were at least a dozen men of prominence within the city limits and it was through their leadership that Peoria managed to expand beginning with the idea to have a city-wide election.

 

Of the 197 that voted thirty-five voted NO and 162 voted YES.  Why would someone want to vote yes…or no?  Sure would be interesting to know what was behind those votes.  So once the vote was in there was paper work to be filed and from that day on the little village that could began to grow.  Just to give you a perspective, by 1910 the population of Peoria, Illinois was 66,950 within the city limits which gradually grew as well. Wow!

 

On 4-28-1845 the first election was held and William Hale was voted in as our first Mayor.  Actually for a time there they were called presidents.  Four Aldermen were elected along with a City Clerk. The first business from our founding fathers was to make sure that the landing area for the Steamboat was adequate because those men knew that if Peoria was to grow the steamboat would be at the center of all that activity…and they were right.

 

Remember there was a vast wilderness and immense prairie between us and Saint Louis to the South and the same thing between us and Chicago.  The magnificent Illinois River could get a person down to Saint Louis and New Orleans and the traffic on our river was massive during our struggling early years.

 

In 1848, Block  Six in ‘downtown Peoria’ was purchased by the city for $300.00 and a city hall was built.  As close as I can figure out that would be pretty close to what is now the Caterpillar Headquarters.  Wow, a city building, Peoria was on its way.  By 1858, over on Madison and Fulton, the cite where our current city hall still stands, construction began on a new city hall that was very impressive.  It costs $10,000.00 and it always made me wonder where did they get that kind of money? Of course there was growth in the city by then and when I tell you that we grew up on the shoulders of booze and beer, I am not kidding you.

 

The two story brick building housed a council room and office for the mayor and other city officials.  It included a fire station and a ‘Calaboose.’ It was dedicated in 1859 and certainly the pride of our new city folks.  It was not until 1898 that the present City hall was built and thank goodness it still stands as it did way back there when the costs to build it was $234,592.  Seems we got a bargain when they built that building wouldn’t you say?  Adjacent to that building the city also owned what they called a Market House.

 

I have written a lot about Mayor Edward Nelson Woodruff, but he was not even elected here in Peoria until 1903.  So just look back from 1845 to the turn of the century and think about those years and who among us became our guiding lights?  Who were those men that had a vision for this little trading village way back when there were multiple threats from foreign countries and a few Indians as well?  They were pioneers, valiant, hard-working settlers that came here and were stunned by the beauty of this marvelous valley and the magnificent Illinois River.  Our very existence was cemented by the breweries and the distilleries that were built and maintained by forward looking business men.  Among our early buildings were the dry good stores and dozens of other early business men that took a chance on the fledgling little city.   Our early days produced great leaders like Mayor John Warner.  He was a man among men that guided folks to make this area the ‘Gem along the Illinois,’ ‘The Pearl of the Prairie,’ which became the true ‘Heart of Illinois.’  It all started from that handful of hearty men and women of the land, all gathered here to live the dreams they had for themselves and their families.   By 1940 that tiny village had grown to 105,187 people and 9.12 square miles that provided for its inhabitants like no other city in the history of America.  How are we doing today?

Editor’ Note:   Norm is a Peoria Historian and author.  norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net

PEORIA'S LITTLE THEATER

                            PEORIA’S  LITTLE THEATER

 

                                  NORMAN  V.  KELLY

 

After spending over three decades studying Peoria’s incredible history one thought always came back to me and that was the people.  The men and women who way back as far as 1845, and even before that, had a vision for this city and they fought long and hard to bring their dreams to fruition. So many things that our local hard working folks talk about as to our future was already thought about and in many cases part of our history long before these folks were born. Let’s start with just one example. The building of our current Civic Center cost us our beloved Rialto Theater.  There were many of us that thought that the Rialto should have been left standing and that the Civic Center should have been built by including it within the structure of the Civic Center.  I must admit that for me personally I stole that idea from a building I am about to tell you about.

 

The Peoria Women’s Club, from an idea brought to them in 1919 decided that they wanted a place to house The Peoria Players Theater.

So they formed a committee back in the days when a committee was formed to actually accomplish something, not to just “Kick the can down the road,”  All that hard work of about 400 people with dynamic leadership struggled and often failed in their attempts to finance the building they had in mind.  But they never gave up and finally in 1930 they had ceased asking for outside help, and locally they raised the money and the building was built for $5,100.  They had many leaders and with a lot of support one glorious day, April 2. 1933 their Little Theater was dedicated and opened for public view.

 

The truth is the building was designated The Civic Art Center, which included other activities within the building other than the productions by the Peoria Players.  The beautiful, efficient building had a spacious stage and would comfortably seat 363 patrons with a lot more room left over for many art and cultural activities.  As I mentioned this idea started way back in 1919, so when it came time to debate the Civic Center here in Peoria there were some folks that thought that having the Rialto Theater right there inside the Civic Center was a damn good idea…I guess we were wrong, huh?  So many of our wonderful, historical buildings have ‘bit the dust’ over the last fifty years that tearing down one more old theater was no obstacle. I realize it is always a matter of money, but some things just seemed more important to Peorians than just the money. Oh, by the way for you snobs out there the Little Theater was not spelled theatre when it was opened.

 

                          PRESIDENT  GEORGE  LYON  JR.

 

As I mentioned there were a lot of people responsible for the Peoria Player’s First Building there on Jackson Street but the men and women that lead this dynamic group were the driving force behind it. I decided to tell you about a real civic leader, a leader of men, and a man that was highly respected and admired here in Peoria during that era.  His name was George Lyon Jr.  Mr. Lyon was President of the Peoria Players at that crucial time.   I picked him because not only was he the man I just spoke of he became a hero as well. Since I have written volumes of true-crime stories I wanted to tell you about George, an army veteran and one tough guy.

 

Mr. Lyon was a wealthy man and lived in a magnificent house he called Breeze Crest.  On June five, 1933, his household was awakened by an intruder that demanded his wife’s jewels and he and his father-in-law’s billfolds.  The man confronted the sleeping folks with a very scary gun.  George didn’t say anything, he just listened. Suddenly from behind his back he pulled out his trusty army .45 and fired one shot.  The massive slug smashed into the side of the culprit and slammed him backwards where he tumbled down the steep stairs.  Just prior to that, perhaps as a reflex, he fired his own gun and that bullet tore into the right side of the heroic homeowner’s neck, causing a very serious wound.

 

Dr. Vonachen soon arrived and George was whisked off to the hospital where his life was saved.  The police identified the intruder as Edward Areingdale.  His wife was brought down from Chicago to identify the body.  She was asked where she wanted the body shipped for burial.

With a hard stare, she was quoted as saying, “The County can just keep him.”  As for George Lyon, he received accolades from his many friends and of course the local newspapers.  The folks in Peoria considered George a local hero and so do I.

Editor’s Note:   Norm is a local author, historian and monthly contributor to News and Views and welcomes your comments or questions.                                               norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net

HE WAS A MISCHEVIOUS BOY

That’s what the folks from Bureau County here in Illinois said about a young man they called Wasson, apparently that is the only name the newspaper article could come up.  Now this was written up in The Peoria Democratic Press here in Peoria on February 27, 1850, so a bit of time has passed to actually check on the record.   All Wasson ever wanted to do as soon as he was old enough to understand such things, was to travel West.  He’d heard of the wonderful State of California and his dream was to become old enough to take off on his own.  Well, in 1850 he finally reached that age and how he got the money to depart was never revealed, although he was with his father.  Oh, by the way, he had another dream and that one was a bit more sinister than just traveling to California.

Master Wasson, according to his friends, had often talked about what his secret dream was.  They revealed that to reporters once this tragic story broke.  Wasson told his friends that all he really ever wanted to do was ‘Kill an Indian.’  That was it…his dream was to kill an Indian.  So when the wagon train left Peoria the next stop out on the trail was near Wasson and his father, where they waited anxiously to board their assigned wagon. They hopped aboard a covered wagon and said their good-byes to the State of Illinois.  Master Wasson was off to seek his fortune in California and he kept his secret dream to himself.

As the train moved west Wasson got to be friendly with a few of the younger men on the train and it was to them that he finally admitted that he hoped he would spot an Indian on the way west so he could kill him.  If the boys were shocked enough to notify the wagon master or anyone in authority it was never learned, because one morning Wasson got his chance to fulfill his dream.

I am a fan of WAGON TRAIN and watch it to this day, so I can imagine this as the wagons rolled along, Wasson and a couple of his friends either walking or riding, maybe even doing some choirs. So after about three weeks Wasson spotted his Indian.  Now there is no report of the actual sequence of events, but they are positive that the Indian was shot and killed by young Wasson.  The problem that was brought home with horror as the story unfolded was that the Indian victim was an ‘Old Indian Squaw sitting on a large rock waving at the passing wagon train’.  Wasson simply picked up his rifle aimed and fired.  The poor old woman was instantly killed.

Now this was witnessed by not only Wasson’s new friends but by some ‘old timers’ as well.  Wouldn’t you think that they would have immediately reacted, stopped the train to render aid, something one way or the other?  Instead, reports state that they muttered, shook their heads and allowed the train to continue its movement west. We must remember, however, that this was 1850 in unsettled America.  Can you imagine what Ward Bond would have done?  At any rate perhaps less than a dozen miles away the wagon train was abruptly stopped, completely surrounded by a tribe of very angry Indians.

Quickly the white folks realized that they did not have a chance against this force and immediately sent a few men out to pow wow with the Indian chief and his ranking braves.  The leaders came back and told the terrified wagon members that they were in dire straits, and that there was only one way to get out of the predicament alive.  The chief told the wagon master that if he turned over the killer of the Indian woman they would be able to continue their trip in peace.   The reports state that the wagon members ‘debated among themselves.’ I had to laugh at this because frankly I wonder how many of us would have voted to retain killer Wasson?  That’s what I thought.  So the young man was handed over to the Indian tribe.  A rope was put about his waist and then quickly he was gone, trailing a walking Indian pony.  The folks watched, worried that they may have been tricked, and that they would still be slaughtered.

The newspaper report said that the father protested, but as he stood watching the Indians take his son away, the other members of the wagon train began boarding their respective wagons, which were soon underway.  The father stood and before his horrified eyes the Indians began to ‘Skin the young man alive.’  Can we even begin to imagine the horror?

The father was said to have stood for a long time, not catching up to the train until it had circled its wagons for safety quite a distance down the trail.  Early the next morning as the sun rose, the caravan was on the move once again, leaving young Wasson and the horror far behind them.  Justice…served up Indian style, way back in 1850.

NOBODY CALLED HIM DWIGHT

I am not foolish enough to think that I have convinced everyone that the role of the so-called gangster was over rated and mostly a myth in Peoria, Illinois. But…I keep trying. I have written and lectured about Life in Peoria for thirty-two years, and believe me…I am running out of time. So I am trying to get most of my 300 plus stories on line since the books are no longer available for purchase.  Let’s take for example Snooks Gordon.  Now here is a man that has gotten a raw deal as far as local ‘historians’ are concerned.  He was a ‘gangster’ according to these idiots and of course he was not.  He was a gambler, a boxer, a very tough guy and a hard working business man. Also to add to his life he was a warehouseman and a successful contractor. I can tell you that he and his attorney Vic Michel sued the City Of Peoria to try to get back the slot machines that he said the city stole from him.  Wow, he had a few slot machines so he must have been a gangster, of course.   Yes, he was arrested once or twice for gambling and carrying a gun.  So what…you should check out some of my relatives.  A gangster was a man like Al Capone and men of his ilk.  If you think our pet gangster Bernie Shelton was up there with Capone you are hallucinating.  So…back to DWIGHT ‘Snooks’ Gordon.’  Oh, I forgot to tell you that he was a murderer too. Oh he killed someone once no doubt about that.   What those myth makers do is omit the facts…and perpetuate the myth, and they are damn good at it.  So am I at telling the true story.

Snooks Gordon was a fixture in Peoria and I’d like to concentrate on him here in Peoria during the 1940’s, my favorite time.  Mr. Gordon was a man that had a lot of friends as well as those folks that feared and hated him. Your opinion of him was based on what fence you were looking over…if you get my drift. Snooks was a damn good boxer and a lot of money was won and lost betting back in those days.  He fought 56 bouts and won 47 of those, including winning 47 by knockouts.  Boxing was big in our town, and many fighters made a pretty good living as ‘Amateur’ boxers and a lot of them, including Snooks would often fight under different names just to fool the opposition. I guess the surprising thing was that he rarely fought over 140 pounds.  But once a fighter weighed in, what they did to gain weight was always a bit dubious.

Local newspapers wrote a lot about him, not only as a fighter, but never was there an article about him that did not refer to him as a gambler.  So what?  Every man that spent anytime downtown gambled.  Now remember we had nine flat-out Casinos downtown and a total of 242 saloons.  There was gambling of some sort in most of them and gambling here in Peoria was as common as cracks in the sidewalk.  If you think Bernie Shelton had control of gambling in Peoria you have been listening to your grandfather’s myths. I had a lot of male relatives and I can tell you they were right there in the middle of the wild times in downtown Peoria, Illinois.  Snooks just had more money than most of them and his flashy, confident persona attracted attention, which he loved.

As a private eye here in Peoria for many years, I can list twenty-five or thirty guys that most fools would call gangsters, but I know better.  Anyway, Snooks could be a loyal friend, but if he did not like you he did not keep it a secret. He had his share of fights outside the ring and I know for a fact that this incident was true.  It took place in the north-end at a small park called Morton Square in the north-end.  He got in a shoving match with one guy and before it was over four other guys joined in against him.  He got hurt, but he gave them all the battle they wanted. Snooks could come across pretty arrogant and cocky and his antics cost him a lot of money in attorney fees.

Gordon was married to Betty and they spent a lot of time together out and about the town of Peoria and I can tell you it was an exciting place in the 30’s and 40’s and especially during the years of WW11.  Snooks had a lot of money:  He was generous and had a tendency to flash the money around. But this story took place on a very hot day in July 1947.  The couple took their nephew to the Glen Oak Zoo. Going south on Prospect a car whizzed past Snooks and according to Snooks, cut him off.  Like all of us that sort of thing irritated him so he honked the horn and game the other driver the international sign. Road rage is not a new thing among the drivers now or way back then. “Hey, you want your half of the road in the middle,” he was quoted as yelling.

The other guy…his name was Emery Renzel…took exception to all this and the little ‘battle’ continued on down the road. Well, at McClure and Prospect these two fools pulled over to the curb to confront each other. I don’t even have to describe the scene…these confrontations should be avoided at all costs, but there they were.

“Take those sunglasses off and I’ll teach you how to drive.”

Snooks laughed. “I don’t want to fight with you…you’re too old.”

Now the rest of the story is based on which witness you talked to.  Since I read the transcripts of the court reporter in the court files I can tall you that they did vary…that’s for sure.

Snooks claimed that Mrs. Renzel slapped him followed by an attack by her husband, Emery Renzel.  One punch from Snooks flattened his opponent and when he got up Snooks knocked him down again.  The man did not get up that time, and a quiet fear came over all of the people witnessing this fracas.  As they gathered over the fallen man they could see that he had struck his head on one of the embedded streetcar tracks and died shortly after from head injuries.

Now once the fight was over Snooks went back to his car and drove off certainly unaware of the fatal injuries the man had received.  Shortly after that police cars virtually surrounded Snooks’ home and he was soon under arrest. The newspaper articles told the story and the fact that Snooks had left the scene was really played up.  Gordon quickly hired a prominent lawyer named Vic Michel, who at one time was the Mayor of Peoria.  There was a big deal over the fact that his fee was $10,000.00.  Now who would know that?  Why your grandfather and the other myth-makers of Peoria…that’s who.

                                                                             THE  DAY  OF  THE  TRIAL

It was a blustery, cold December in 1947 when a lot of curious folks made their way to the Peoria County Courthouse to see this big shot get his come uppance.  Yep…that’s what a lot of people felt back in those days. You had money then you must not be a decent person.  Sad…but that is the way we were.  Oh, and on September 3, 1946, Mayor Carl Triebel finally announced that gambling would stop.  Truth is it did. My point being that if gambling was Snooks’ big reputation he was out of that ‘business’ by then.    Once the jury was picked the trial got under way.  After the opening arguments the State called the medical examiner and the coroner.  The medical examiner testified that there were bruises on the knuckles of Mr. Renzel among other injuries to his head and those proved to be fatal.  When the defense put on its case, Michel reminded the jury what the medical examiner had said about Mr. Renzel’s knuckles.   “Mr. Renzel got bruises on his knuckles by hitting the defendant.”

It was an exciting trial and witness after witness took the stand.  Through out it all, Mr. Gordon sat there in a quiet, dignified manner and let the best lawyer in town battle for justice.  Once the jury got the case, they went to lunch.  After a very short period of debate they notified the judge that they had reached a verdict.

“Mr. Foreman, have you reached a verdict?”

“We have your honor we find the defendant Dwight ‘Snooks’ Gordon… Not Guilty!”

Snooks and his wife personally thanked each and every member of the jury as they stood to leave the jury box.  Personal injury and wrongful death suits were filed, but they have a way of being settled.  A lot of know it all ‘historians told me that “Snooks Gordon lived in fancy houses like a king.”  What a pathetic joke.  He lived at 412 Miller in Peoria heights.  When he worked in a warehouse he lived at the fabulous address of 732  A, on the Boulevard of Kings, Fourth Avenue.  He had a pretty nice house at 3845 Knoxville which he built to sell.  Then he and his wife Betty in 1950 moved to 323 Pennsylvania Avenue.  Yep…he lived like a king no doubt about it.

BIG TROUBLE IN AVERYVILLE

The City of Peoria had a growth problem since we could not move east, west or south.  Oh, we tried to move on West Peoria, Bartonville, Averyville and Peoria Heights but we lost those wars.  Finally, in 1928 after a lot of confrontations and legal battles the Illinois Supreme Court ruled that we had legally annexed the Village of Averyville.  There was a time when the cops in Averyville would ticket our cops for going into the village after speeders.  It was not a friendly situation. I’ll give you just one of many, many examples.

On July 20, 1924 about 1:30 in the morning Walter Smith entered the village limits of Averyville with his passenger, Ben Smith.  A night marshal in plain clothes named Robert Sloan was on duty.  He claimed that he saw the car veer or wobble and as it approached him, he waved the flashlight at the car, yelling for the driver to stop.  Well, Walter had no idea who he was so he kept going.  Sloan ran after the vehicle firing his .45 handgun.  The rear window exploded and the car veered to a stop.  Our hero ran up to the passenger’s side of the car, yanked the door open and uttered these brilliant words.  “Get the hell out of this car and get in the other.” That’s when they discovered that Walter Smith was fatally wounded!

Next day’s newspaper headlines brought a lot of folks from Peoria to Averyville to look at the bullet riddled car.  A huge contingent from Smith’s hometown of Sparland, Illinois also made its presence known and the angry folks wanted some answers.  They were not forth coming and a near riot broke out in the village of Averyville. Once the crowd left, cooler heads prevailed and authorities agreed to look into the incident.  The result of that investigation led to a Grand Jury indictment of Marshall Robert Sloan for murder.  The folks in Sparland told reporters they were anxious to see justice served.

                                NO  SYMPATHY  FOR  SLOAN

Robert Sloan expected his bosses and most of the people of Averyville to support him, but he was in for a rude awakening.  The governing board suspended him without pay, and the newspaper quotes showed that a lot of folks in the village agreed with the board.  He was given the benefit of a good defense lawyer, but one official admitted that the village feared a law suit more than they desired to help Sloan.  A county judge granted Sloan bail and while he waited to hear his fate, he was out of jail. The evidence shows that he stayed out of the public eye and rarely wandered out of the village.

                                            THE  TRIAL

The Peoria County Courthouse was a busy place that frigid day, January 29, 1925. It was a hot ticket to come by and by sheer numbers the Sparland folks ended up with most of the spectator’s seats. For The  People there was Peoria’s own State’s Attorney Pratt and on the defense side was capable Joseph Weil. Of course the fight to keep Sparland people off the jury raged, but in the end, the judge managed to get what he said was a fair jury.

In the opening arguments Pratt made it clear to the jury that he felt the case was an obvious murder and that he wanted Sloan put away for life.  Mr. Weil told the jury that Robert Sloan was acting well within his job of protecting the People of Averyville.  From that point on over thirty witnesses took the stand and it was a battle royal.

Things went quickly against Sloan when the judge allowed evidence in that clearly showed that Sloan and his friend McMillan had been seen drinking in a nearby tavern, and in fact, they made a habit of doing that on duty.  Also, it turns out that Smith did not own the car, and the owner told the jury that the car had an alignment problem.  That explained the wobble that Sloan had written about in his police report.

It was a knock down battle of wits and evidence as the case finally concluded on a Saturday just before lunch.  The jury was handed the case and they promptly went off to lunch. By early afternoon they reported to the bailiff that they had reached a verdict. Most of Peoria heard what the verdict was when they read the Sunday Peoria Star. 

                       SLOAN  GUILTY  OF  MANSLAUGHTER

The reporter described the scene as almost riotous as the folks from Sparland exploded with yells and screams at the verdict.   Once the bailiff quieted the crowd Judge Greene passed his verdict on to the distraught defendant.  “The Court sentences the Defendant Robert Sloan to the State Penitentiary to one year to life.”  Robert Sloan was released on May 26, 1927.

PEORIA’S MUSIC MAN

It is my guess that most Peorians young and old have heard of a song by Billy Rose and Mort Dixon called “I Wish’t I Was In Peoria.”  That song was copyrighted in

1925. I wondered about that song and how on earth those guys knew anything about Peoria, let alone be able to write a song about it.  Well, I found a man that felt that he was a victim of plagiarism and way back in the twenties, he was not afraid to make his complaint known. He actually did not blame Rose and Dixon: he blamed it on a man that used to hang around the theatre that Paul rehearsed in. Paul also made the mistake of not copywriting the work so he was out of luck.  So, being in the fun business of resurrecting old time Peorians let me introduce you to Paul LaRocca.

Paul was born in Peoria August 6, 1899 and lived over on 205 Martin, attending Manual High School as a teen where he was a star athlete. His occupation later was that of a barber in his own shop at 413 Fulton Street across the street from a beautiful gambling casino known as The Alcazar. Paul’s real love was music and that consumed his life for many years.  He had three brothers and a father that were members of local bands and orchestras and the father was an internationally renowned harpist.  Still in his teens, Paul became a member of the local Orpheum Vaudeville Circuit and traveled all over the United States singing songs that he composed and appearing in most all of the local venues here in Peoria and major cities in America. He was a noted violinist as well, but it was Paul’s voice that brought him fame.

His songs and compositions brought him national attention which he shared with his brothers and was a great ambassador for Peoria, Illinois. So it was during this time that he wrote his own version of a song about Peoria, and he first sang it here in 1922 at the local Rotary Club.  It was a smash hit in Peoria before he sang it all across the Vaudeville Circuit. He was soon called ‘The Singing Songwriter’ which stuck with him long after he retired to the barbershop.  You can pull up the words to Billy Rose and Mort Dixon’s version of the song, but here are some of Paul’s words about his beloved hometown.

                                                          PEORIA

                          I’ve traveled all around and seen most every town.

                         But I’m right here to state we live in one town great.

                         Although we have no Broadway, our Main Streets mighty gay.

                         And don’t forget our scenery, the best in U.S.A.

Of course it’s corny, but that was Peoria, Illinois way back there in 1921.  Prohibition was the scourge of the country, and here in Peoria, Illinois the Soft Drink Parlors, the Flappers, Jazz, local musicians and booze saw those folks through some pretty desperate times. Paul LaRocca and his talented family were right in the thick of it all. Throughout his career of traveling and returning to Peoria to his many fans, he reached the pinnacle of his success.  Then in 1936, he added to his many compositions a song called “The Savior Of The U.S.A.”  The song was meant to honor Franklin D. Roosevelt, and Mrs. Roosevelt commented about the song once it was handed to her. It came in handy when the Democratic Party had a huge convention here in Peoria, and of course the song was a magic hit for Paul and all the F.D.R. backers. A few service clubs adopted it as their loyalty song, and it was sung at many of Peoria’s major sporting events. Paul was delighted to learn that his song about F.D.R. would be played at the Democratic National Convention in Philadelphia in June of 1936.

Paul had a loyal fan base not only here in town but all along the Vaudeville Circuit who demanded that he do most of his own songs rather than what was popular at the time. An example of that was a song of his called “Pal Of My Heart.”  That song was introduced while LaRocca was traveling with a famous west coast band called Max Bradfield’s Band. As for Paul’s Peoria song on August 5, 1964, the City Council adopted the song as Peoria’s official song. Truth is Mayor Woodruff signed a proclamation declaring it to be our official song way back in 1923.

But eventually all bright lights fade and Paul had his memories and some fame when he went back to his barbershop full time. Sadly a fire virtually destroyed most of the material he had stored in a trunk, but he still had his memories to the end.  Paul LaRocca died in December of 1971 and is buried in Springdale Cemetery.  Joseph Petardi, a famous stone carver, well known here and in Europe carved the elaborate monument for the LaRocca family plot.

AMBUSH OF CONSTABLE SMITH

                            AMBUSH OF CONSTABLE  SMITH

                                       NORMAN  V.  KELLY

Three men leaned against a building in Downtown Peoria, Illinois the cool evening of June 12, 1922.  Thunder rumbled overhead and there was bright lightening off to the east. Across the street from the sinister men was the old Orpheum Theater where the Buick they were eyeing was parked.

“How about that one…that Buick?”

John Schoor looked at his leader Rolla Spaulding for an answer to his question.  They watched the family get out of the car and walk away.  “Perfect!  Let’s take it.”

The three men all police characters and suspects every time a car came up missing hurried across the street. Two of them acted as lookouts as the third one quickly entered the car, hot wired the ignition and off they went, laughing all the way. Once on the campus of Bradley Polytechnic Harry Folks hopped out of the Buick and took off in a stolen Dodge heading for Easton Road and Sterling, right there by what is now known as Newman Golf Course. Followed by the Buick, the men were soon busy in the darkness stripping down both cars. Only a thin light from a flashlight could be seen in the darkness.

                                       BACK ON  DUTY

Constable Arthur T. Smith and his partner Constable Joe Turner had just finished their supper and were back in the patrol car ready for action. They had authority in the City of Peoria and out in the county, a vast area mostly north of the city. These two men were special officers in that they held elected positions.  Each year five of them were elected and these two were on their second terms.  They were not members of the park district, the city force or the county sheriff’s department…and that of course made them unique.

Meanwhile the Buick owner, N.C. Race, sat in the movie theater enjoying his family and the double feature. Actually his Buick had been stolen once before…which he felt was a once in a lifetime experience.  Or so he thought.

Arthur and Joe were old friends and although they competed for the job every year, they supported each other win or lose. “Looks pretty bad out, Joe, bet we have a quiet night.”

“I hope so, Art, I could use one.  Ain’t been sleeping too well, the damn sun light I reckon.”

The territory as I mentioned was vast and both men spent most of the evening just driving around.  Easton Road skirted what we now call Bradley Park and was really the park districts area.  Nobody argued the point, and all the constables got along with the other departments. The constables did not have any radios in their cars, and if they got in trouble they knew they were pretty much on their own. As they rounded the slight curve on Easton they spotted two dark forms pulled off the road.

“Joe we better check this out.”

Turner stayed in the car as Smith snapped on his small flashlight and continued on his way to see what they had seen. I hope it interest you to know that by 1922 there were 10 million flashlights in use.

“Hey…Constable Smith here…what are these cars parked here for?”

Silence.   “Hey…hold it…”

BANG-BANG-BANG-BANG!

In the darkness the gunfire flashes came from the rear seat of the Buick which was parked off the road near the Dodge.  The first slug whizzed past Smith, but the second one struck him in the left shoulder. A third shot quickly followed striking the hapless constable in the stomach, the fourth hit him directly in the heart. He crumbled to his knees then fell face forward on to the gravel road.  By the time his partner reached him, Constable Arthur Smith was dead.

When Constable Turner heard the first shot his instinct was to duck down below the dash boar. After the final shot he eased his way out of the driver’s side of the car and ducked behind the front fender.  Out of the car now his gun drawn he tried to peer into the darkness.  “Art…Arthur are you okay?”  He heard scurrying footsteps and only then did he chance turning on his flashlight.  Furtively he crept forward trying to stay low as he inched along, calling out as he walked.  He began to whisper.  “Art…Art are you okay?”

As he stood silently the moon popped out, the rain was gone and he stayed in one spot moving his flashlight about.  “Art…where are you?”

The moon helped him spot his partner as he ran to his friend lying at the side of the road partially in the weeds along the side of the road.  “Arthur!”  Turner gently turned his friend over on his back.  “My God Arthur…are you hit?”

Constable Smith did not answer.

                             OTHERS HEAR THE SHOT

Two Park Police officers heard what they thought was a shot…maybe three or more. Officer Charles Esken and his partner jumped in to their old Ford and raced east where they thought the shots had come from. Esken noted that it was 9:18 PM. They raced up, coming to a quick stop as both doors flew open.

Turner waved his flashlight.  “It’s Art…he’s been shot.”

“You guys stay here,” Esken said, “I’ll go over to the park pavilion and call it in.”  Actually, Esken could not use the phone there and had to go all the way over to Main Street to get help.

Fifteen minutes later the dark county road was a busy spot with car lights and cops bathing the scene in spotlights and car lights. Later bloodhounds were brought to the scene and Peoria detectives sought to find out exactly what had happened way out there in the boondocks.

Detective Wetly from the city gathered the information on the cars, starting with the licenses plates and did a thorough search of the car’s interiors.  Actually there were three cars there, two stolen and one registered in the name of Rolla E.  Spaulding. Now there was a man the police knew very well, and from the scene that single clue was just about all the detectives needed. Actually the police were looking for him as a suspect in some burglaries and now they had him for car theft as well.  All they had to do was apprehend him.  Inside the Buick were four spent shells, and in the Dodge was a box of shells that matched those that had been fired.  So the constables had come upon the thieves stripping those two cars and now Constable Smith lay dead.  It was going to be a busy time for them finding Spaulding, but they knew a lot about their man…and they meant to capitalize on all of it.

A call went out to round up the usual suspects, a trick the cops pulled off regularly in Peoria, Illinois.  The truth was that almost all the bad guys had been identified in Peoria, and one by one they were picked up and questioned.  The cops found that by threatening them usually one or more of them were more than happy to tell them all they needed to know.  As luck would have it Mr. Spaulding was not caught up in the police net but his pal Henry Folks was among the goons they captured.

Police found him to be a talkative cuss, and they needed all the help they could get.

Coroner Elliot had arrived at the scene and took charge of the constable’s body. He had the body removed to the Boland Mortuary where an autopsy would be performed.

All during the night the police search continued involving all the local departments as well as the sheriff’s department. When the sun came up and the search party retired, suspected killer Rolla Spaulding was nowhere to be found.

                        THE  INVESTIGATION  CONTINUES

It was the snitch Henry Folks that first brought up the name of John Schoor, a name the police were also well aware of.  They listened with a bit of nonchalance so that Henry did not clam up.  Plied with some coffee and donuts, the officer even handed Henry a big cigar.  He talked to his ‘buddies’ for over three hours and seemed to enjoy himself.  Folks told the police that Schoor was a big buddy of Rolla Spaulding.  “Find him and you got Spaulding,” Henry said and late that afternoon, Henry Folks was a free man.

Every man that wore a badge was looking for Schoor but he was nowhere to be found.  A few cops were standing at the sergeant’s desk when a man in a rumple suit walked in.  He was smiling and carrying a brown paper bag. 

“I understand your guys are looking for me?”

“You are?”

“John Schoor.”

That got everyone’s attention rather quickly. “We certainly are Mr. Schoor. Thank you for coming in.”

Four hours later Mr. Schoor had pretty well convinced the detectives that he did not know Rolla Spaulding at all.  Skeptics, of course, but they tried as hard as they could to get him to talk about Spaulding but nothing worked. The cops tossed Schoor back in his cell to cool his heels a bit while they kept looking for Rolla Spaulding.

One thing the culprit could not explain to the cop’s satisfaction was his wet clothing and muddy boots. That evening Schoor admitted that he was out in the storm and that he was with Spaulding earlier in the day but that he was not with him out on Easton Road. Of course the police did not believe him but they were making headway…and of course…Schoor was back in his cell.

So the fish were let out of the police net one after the other.  Some had given a bit of information here and there, and the others promised to notify the police if they saw Spaulding.  The police rarely believed a word they were told but they had time on their hands…so they let them all lose.

The detectives added up what they had.  They knew where Henry Folks lived, they had Schoor in jail and they had two guns, the two cars and some empty and loaded shells. 

                                        THE  INQUEST

Coroner Elliott gathered everyone he could find connected with the killing and called his hearing to order.  The small hearing room was filled to capacity with cops, reporters and witnesses. The local newspapers had not been kind to Constable Turner hinting that he should have done more to protect his partner.  The jury even questioned the officer.

“Why didn’t you fire your weapon Constable?”

 “Because of our strict procedure that’s why. I was the driver. I was to stay in the car. Also, had I jumped out and turned on my flashlight I could have been an easy target.”

Officer after office followed Turner and then the medical examiner was called to indicate the cause of death. Dr. Maurer told in grim detail how the constable had met his death.

“He was hit by three slugs,” the old physician testified. “The one that hit his heart killed him instantly, maybe before he hit the ground.”  He looked over at the jury, “Yep, killed him stone dead.”

The coroner’s jury reached a verdict of murder and recommended that the police continue their investigation into the person or persons guilty of the constable’s murder.  They also suggested that the man be held for murder without bail.

That was easy for them to say since the police were pretty much at a stand still.  All they had, and they meant to cling to him was John Schoor. Actually they had nothing on him but until a lawyer stepped up and demanded his release they aimed to hold on to him. Meanwhile all the honors they could bestow on a comrade in arms were being planned for the funeral.  Once Smith was buried with honors he slipped into oblivion until a writer in Peoria, Illinois brought his memory back to the City of Peoria.  His name was then put on three police monuments In Peoria, Springfield and Washington DC.

                          TO HONOR CONSTABLE SMITH

The funeral was held in Smith’s home over at 2040 Knoxville in Peoria, Illinois.  The constable left behind his widow, Florence and his two children, Willie age 9 and Mary Kathleen age 4. Art’s brother and mother also survived his death.  A requiem Mass was held at Saint Bernard and the constable was buried at Saint Mary’s Cemetery. The deceased officer was born in Livingston County in 1887 and was all of 34 when he was killed.

Police turned up the heat by soliciting police departments all over the area in the search for Rolla Spaulding but when all was said and done they did not have their man.  A headline in the local newspapers on June 17, 1922 sounded promising:  ‘NEW CLUE TO SMITH MURDER.’

Sounds good but it turned out to be shocking more than anything else.  It seems Mr. John Tegg had a story to tell so he went directly to the local news reporters.  He said he was driving out near the murder scene when he saw the two constables inside the police car with two bob-headed women in the back seat talking to the officers. Wow…this was pretty wild news back in 1922 I can tell you that.  Mr. Tegg further stated that “I know Constable Turner very well and I know that one of the men was Turner.”   He saw them get out of the car and walk over to a couple of parked cars.  “I did not stop because it was none of my business.”  Now what were the do-gooders in old Peoria to think of that statement?

Tegg’s statement caused quite an uproar to say the least and the reporters headed for the chief of police to confront him and Constable Turner. Constable Turner held up his hands and shook his head. “There is not a word of truth in it.  It is hard to see your friend shot down in cold blood and I swear every word I said at the coroner’s inquest was the truth by all that’s holy. As for the women none of my friends believe that story. It was very dark out there and any witness that said they could see anything…let alone women…is a liar.”

A day later rumors flew, there was a lot of gossip, but most Peorians believed Turner.  The newspapers reported that Rolla Spaulding was seen out at El Frisco Beach.  Nothing came of that and then the local newspapers sold a few more papers with a story that posed as a question.

                            PEORIA  MURDER  WITNESS  SLAIN?

Peorians assumed that John Schoor was still in jail but according to the paper maybe his body was found out in the boonies covered with weeds.

It was now July 10, 1922 and the paper tried to keep the exciting murder actively selling papers. Was this just another pitch on their part?

Schoor’s mother told police and the press that her son had been kidnapped one July night by a man named Ray ‘Red’ Keith. She was afraid to call police and she was now certain that the body they found was her son, John Schoor.  Police say that the body was found out at Atwater Woods near Havana.  So take the poor woman to see the body.  Police refused at the time and folks around here were really exasperated.  One officer said, “ it was too gruesome”  People just shook their heads and waited for the next shoe to fall.

                              ROLLA  SPAULDING  CALLING

Deputy Minor took the call.   “Hello…this is Rolla Spaulding, I’m back in town.”

Minor waved at some men to quiet them down.  He raised his voice. “You say you are Rolla Spaulding?” 

“Yes, I’m in town over here at the Jefferson Hotel. You can come over and get me.”

At the hotel a handsome man, dressed to the nines answered the door.

“Are you Deputy Minor?”

“Yes, are you Rolla Spaulding?”

“I am. Do you have a warrant for me?”

“No. We have one but I don’t have it.  Do you still want to come with me now?”

“I do.”

And so, Spaulding exchanged the fancy hotel room for a cell in the old county jail. Mr. Pratt, our state’s Attorney, went over to the jail and served the warrant on Spaulding personally.

Spaulding spoke briefly to the press until he was told to shut up by his lawyer.

“They may have found my car out there, but I assure you I had nothing to do with shooting Constable Smith.”

The next day folks were drawn to the case again by something that was printed in the local newspapers.

“I am going away. I shot Arthur Smith. I had Rolla’s Spaulding’s car. The accident happened at a place near Bradley Park.  I got even with the police who beat me up. These are my fingerprints.

Signed:   John Schoor.

So…the folks in Peorian thought…this is why Rolla Spaulding surrendered.  If that body out there in the weeds was not Schoor then who was it?  Aha…the plot thickens.

The answer to all the speculation was allowed to soak in over night.  The newspapers had another headline that would surely sell some more papers.  They were right.

                                  BODY  IS  JOHN  SCHOOR

Now of course they had no fancy DNA…no real forensics but the police had a skull and some clothing that John’s mother had identified.  Hell,  that’s all they needed in those days.  Later they admitted that the skull was pure white, and that there was a neat hole in the forehead.  Police maintained that the teeth were recognized by the mother and that experts also examined the skull.

An article summarized what they had so far. Police had a letter of confession from John Schoor.  A skull, teeth and clothing said to belong to John Schoor.  They also had some spent and loaded shells.  Rolla Spaulding had turned himself in but denied the murder.  So what was next?

Police said a farmer out near the cabin where John was found said that a man named Robert Jackson was really Rolla Spaulding..  Both Keith brothers were arrested and they were taking the case to the Grand Jury.

There was a lot of talk around town about Prohibition and the dry agents that tried to enforce the Volstead act.  So far, 124 of the 3,500 agents had been killed in the line of duty. I can tell you that here in Peoria the local police department was not part of the Volstead ‘cops,’ and getting a drink here was very easy.

                   SPAULDING TO FACE TRIAL TOMORROW

So the grand jury indicted Spaulding for murder and as the weeks went by a date and time for his trial was made and the local folks relaxed a bit.   Of course a change of venue was requested…but denied.  The defense wanted the case out of Peoria County.  An appeal was made and folks were irritated to learn that the trial would be held in Toulon, Illinois which was in Stark County.  The real shocker came when the judge ruled that it would be tried in 1923.  No way…as they would say today.   Way someone could reply.  1923 was the year but when?

                                       FEBRUARY 20, 1923

So the big day dawned in beautiful downtown Toulon and the crowds flocked in hoping to get a seat.  Many were disappointed as the process to pick a jury continued. In all 52 witnesses were subpoenaed and after the jury was picked, the case began.

It was very quiet in the courtroom as a deputy, carrying a box under his arm, walked over to the prosecutor’s desk and sat it down.  All eyes were on that box.  Now what on earth was in that box? It sat there for an hour or so before the prosecutor for the People walked over to it. He looked over at the jury, then the judge. Almost in a magic like move he had the stark white skull of John Schoor held out in his right hand!   There were audible gasps heard from many spectators as well as the jury.

Quickly he walked over to the jury, skull held high.  “This is John Schoor.  He was killed so he would remain silent during this trial.”

Objections flew from the defense and the judge was seen…but not heard…banging his gavel on the hard old oak wood bench. The judge demanded a fifteen minute break.  The attorney for the people looked satisfied as he plopped in his seat.  Being dramatic took some effort.

                                        THE  TRIAL  CONTINUES

All eyes were fixed on the skull of John Schoor which was admitted into evidence.   The judge added another warning for the spectators to remain quite and he nodded for the next witness.

The next day the prosecution rested and as hoped, the defendant Rolla Spaulding took the witness stand in his own defense.  He was told by the judge as well that he did not have to testify…but he did.

It was Friday February 23, 1923 when the tall. Handsome man dressed in a beautiful brown suit with matching tie took the stand.  He smiled and nodded to the jury as his attorney walked up next to him.  They both smiled at each other. Rolla was a nice, kind man, all this told the jury he was just a decent man that was wrongly accused.  Listen folks…he will tell you the honest truth. The two old ‘pals’ had a nice, enjoyable conversation about who Rolla really was, and the kind things he had done in his life.  Hell…even a few of the jurors smiled at the conversation.

“Did you shoot and kill Constable Smith?”

With a dramatic gesture and a shake of the head, Spaulding replied. “Sir, I did not shoot Constable Smith or any other man.”  The defense lawyer looked over at the jury…he smiled, then looked over at the judge. “Your honor the defense rests.”

Well, I can tell you the prosecution did not rest and the cross-examination was brutal and bombastic.  For over two hours the People’s lawyer went after the defendant, and adding to the assault, put on four rebuttal witnesses. Finally, an exhausted prosecutor rested the State’s case.  Next would be the closing arguments.  In early evening the jury had the case.  Was he found guilty or not guilty?

                        SPAULDING GUILTY, SAYS JURY

Life in prison was the sentence and Spaulding was taken back to the county Jail in Peoria, Illinois.  He did not leave immediately for the Illinois State Prison because he faced another trial over in Havana, Illinois.  But since this is about Constable Smith let’s stop here with

the satisfaction that he paid for the murder of one of our finest constables. As I mentioned his name is now on the memorials in Peoria, Springfield, and Washington DC.  I also included his story in my book OFFICER DOWN.

Editor’s note: Norm is a Peoria historian and author.  He welcomes your comments.

norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net .

                                                     

MURDER  IN  THE  HEARTLAND

                                      NORMAN   V.  KELLY

Bradley sophomore and navy veteran Flavel Feugersang along with the radio in his new, 1947 Pontiac as he cruised the downtown streets of Peoria, Illinois. It was December 3, 1947 and Flavel had always considered himself to be a lucky guy, with a pretty girlfriend, a new car, a wealthy father and home safely from the war.  Folks were scurrying about under the bright Christmas lights, enjoying the mild December evening. Flavel stopped his car at a red light on Adams Street. Suddenly his passenger door swung open! A man in a navy pea coat stuck his head inside. “Could you take me to the airport?”

Mavis Bishop stood outside the Pere Marquette Hotel anxiously waiting for Flavel to pick her up. She returned to the hotel to make several telephone calls to his friends and his mother.  Finally, her father picked her up and took her over to the Feuger home. Together they waited…worried and cried. Sadly they would never see their beloved Flavel alive again.

Mr. Feuger and his wife arrived at police headquarters early that December 4, 1947. The next stop was Bradley University and Flavel’s fraternity house. Within hours a massive search was organized that involved volunteer groups from every walk of life. For five days they searched, but still no sign of Flavel Feuger.  While the fear mounted, police concentrated on finding the Pontiac.  A Bradley student found it parked downtown and the police swarmed over it. Inside the glove compartment they found a crumpled cap bearing the printed name of Norma Weber.

                                WANTED:   Herman Weber

After extensive talks with Mrs. Weber, the police put out an all points bulletin for Herman Weber. He was soon located in Conroy, Texas and Peoria detectives drove down there to bring him back. On the way home, Weber confessed to the killing of Flavel Feuger. The problem was he told three different stories, telling the police that Feuger’s body was probably in Saint Louis by now.  The local newspaper issued EXTRAS about the news creating the biggest excitement since the Thompson murder case in 1935. It appeared that the police had their killer but where was Flavel Feuger’s body? Mavis Bishop and the distraught Feuger family prayed for help.

                      

                HELP  COMES  AT  THE  WRIGHT  TIME

Basking in the limelight in his jail cell, Herman Weber enjoyed telling the police one lie after the other. The police web picked up several of Weber’s friends and his wife. The detectives zeroed in on Fred Wright, and his tip finally got the police on the right track. Police, along with about forty Bradley students headed down toward Dixon Mounds where they found the body of Feuger in a frozen pond.  Flavel Feuger’s death had been caused by .25 caliber slugs to the head and chest, and was dead when he was tossed in the water.

Once the coroner held the inquest Weber was indicted for kidnapping, car theft, murder and a count of rape upon the lady from whom he had stolen the gun that killed Flavel Feuger. Like so many other criminals in Peoria, Weber was just the guy next door, a war veteran, good neighbor and a friendly man and a veteran Sailor just like Flavel. He told police the shooting was an accident and the stealing of the Pontiac was just something he did for a living.  It was that simple.

                                            THE  TRIAL

On February 3, 1948 the hottest ticket in town was at the courthouse for the murder trial of Herman Weber.  Like the Thompson trial in 1935 crowds flocked to the courthouse trying to be part of the excitement. Hundreds were turned away.  The trial lasted five days and the jury took very little time finding Weber guilty on all counts and recommending the death penalty.  Shortly after the verdict newsboys flooded the streets, all yelling the same headline.  “GUILTY DOOMED TO DIE.”  Weber testified on his own behalf, telling the jury that the confessions were coerced and that a man named Crawley was the real killer.

Herman Weber stayed in the Peoria County Jail for a few days more before he was taken to Joliet where he would be held on death row.  Once all of his appeals were lost the exact date of his execution was set. After seeing a few family members and a priest, Herman Weber was led from his holding cell to the electric chair, the same one that had executed Peorian Gerald Thompson in 1935. It was a few minutes after midnight when the lights dimmed three times, indicating that the killer of Flavel Feuger had been put to death. Weber was the tenth and last person from Peoria County to be executed for murder. Eight of those killers were executed here in Peoria by hanging.  Thompson and Weber, both Peorians, were executed in our state prison in Joliet, Illinois. What a terrible waste of lives for these two young men, both war veterans who had their entire lives ahead of them.  You can read the book UNTIL YOU ARE DEAD, available in the Peoria Public Library.

Editor’s Note:  Got a comment or question for Norm?          norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net

                                         

                                                        

A  SHELTON  CHRONICLE

                                               NORMAN  V.  KELLY

There are a lot gangster fans in East Peoria and Peoria so I often bring up our pet gangster during my speaking engagements and writings.  Bernie Shelton was here in Peoria from 1941 until his murder on July 28, 1948. His gangster reputation may have been warranted in Southern Illinois, but believe me, he was no gangster here in Peoria, Illinois. When I think of gangsters I think of Al Capone and men of his ilk, Shelton was just a pug, a thug, an uneducated ex-convict. I laugh out loud when I read that he ‘took over gambling’ in Peoria. What a joke. When Bernie came here Peoria had 242 taverns, most of them, including our nine casinos had one form of gambling or the other. Peoria did not require some outsider telling our folks how to gamble, that’s for sure. The major gambling places were owned by wealthy, and in some cases, powerful men. Had they wanted to get rid of Shelton they would have done just exactly that…‘One way or the other.’

The Sheltons were gamblers, hustlers and intimidators who liked the reputation of being ‘gangsters,’ especially Bernie. As an ex-con he could never own a liquor license here, so he had a small financial investment in a dive called the Red Onion, and another dump near city hall, called the Palace Club.  Carl Shelton and Bernie had a legit business in the Shelton Amusement Company that leased jukeboxes and gambling paraphernalia. Of course they were involved in gambling, as were hundreds of other people during WW 11. I tried every way possible to track their ‘gangster activities’ in Peoria, but to no avail.  We had a lot of really bad guys in our town over the years, and the Sheltons were actually pretty tame in comparison. Also, I want to point out that in September of 1946 gambling ceased in Peoria, Illinois. Of course the slot machines still thrived, but Peorians never called the ‘slots’ real gambling.  Bernie and Carl promptly moved out of the city to the Parkway Tavern on Farmington Road, across from Hunts.

On the warm evening of May 30, 1948, Ray Walker, a friend of Bernie’s, got into a fight with a man named James Murphy Jr.  Murphy won that fight and Walker drove down the street to summon John Kelly and Bernie Shelton.  They stopped Murphy as he was driving out of the parking lot.  A fight ensued, Murphy was pistol whipped, and shots were fired into the air. Mr. A. L. Hunt witnessed all this. When he and G. Sitton walked over to see

what was going on, Kelly stuck a gun to Hunt’s ear and marched him back across the street.  “Mind your own business.”

County Deputies Aaron and Francis arrived and battled with Kelly and Shelton inside the tavern.  Shelton was injured in the fracas and both landed in jail over night.  Later, the two ex-cons were charged with seven felonies and it looked like their gambling days were over. 

On July 28, 1948, Bernie left the side door at the Parkway Tavern to take his black Buick for an oil change.  Cotton Ronitis was with him. “Wait, Bernie, I left my cigarettes inside.”  Cotton heard what sounded like a shot and found Shelton on all fours in the driveway.  The shot came from an unseen gunman in a wooded pathway that led to Saint Joseph’s cemetery. Believe it or not Mr. Hunt was a witness to that scene as well.  Ace ambulance took Bernie to Saint Francis and on the way Shelton yelled at the driver. “Watch that green car, watch out for it.”  Bernie Shelton died forty-minutes later in the emergency room.

I think it was July 31, 1948. I was sixteen at the time, when I stood way off to the side as they buried Shelton at the Parkview Cemetery. I was impressed with the well-dressed people and all the fancy cars.  Once everyone left it took little time for souvenir hunters to take every last flower off the grave.

I have written a lot about gambling, crime and bawdiness in Peoria, and I can tell you, Bernie Shelton is always in the middle of those talks and stories.  Truth is he was barely a bit player in the over all scheme of things here in town.  Here are some financial facts from his probated will.  I was told many times that he probably had a ‘couple of million stashed somewhere.’ I always found that to be funny, gangster fans hate facts.

Shelton’s Assets:  A total of $56,199.00, and that included $33,022.18 in real estate value. He had $14,892.22 in cash with claims of 16,444.32 against his estate.

I have lectured over thirty years about Peoria and its ‘State of mind.’ Mayor Woodruff understood Peorians, and he was elected eleven times.  He molded this town into what it became.  Personally I think it was one of the greatest little river towns in America’s history, and Bernie Shelton was just a tiny part of it.

Editor’s Note:  Norm welcomes comments or questions.                          norman.kelly@sbcglobal.net