Читать книгу Off The Ropes: The Ron Lyle Story - Candace Toft - Страница 12

One early morning in May, Ronnie Lyle sat on the curb in front of his house with his best friends, Roy Tyler and Russ Perron. They were folding their delivery copies of the Rocky Mountain News, preparing for their daily door-to-door route, a routine that included not only dropping papers on their customers’ porches, but grabbing rival copies of the Denver Post off other porches to sell on the street in the Five Points area a couple of miles north of the neighborhood. They figured that was okay, because the kids that delivered the Post did the same thing with the News when they got there first.

Ronnie packed the papers in his bag and stood up just as Joe Willie White went flying by on his bike.

“Hey, Joe Willie,” he called.

The other boys piped in, “Where ya goin’?” “Where's the fire?”

Every few days, Joe Willie brought by chocolate and orange milk after the other boys finished their deliveries and returned with their Denver Post profits. Some days he even had doughnuts. Funny thing, they never asked where he got the food, just took it for granted as part of the weekly routine. But that morning, all came clear as the milk truck, followed closely by the Dolly Madison truck, came racing down the same street headed in the same direction as Joe Willie. The driver of the milk truck stopped in the middle of the street, the pastry truck pulling up behind, and called out, “You see a kid come by here on a bike?”

Ronnie pointed up a side street. “That way,” and the other boys pointed in the same direction, the opposite direction from where Joe Willie had taken off.

The driver leaned out his window and gestured to the driver of the Dolly Madison truck to follow, then hit the gas and headed up the street where Joe Willie had disappeared.

Russ said, “He knew you would lie. That's why he asked.”

Ronnie laughed. “Next time we tell the truth.”

Fifty years later, the men who were there still laugh about that day and Joe Willie White. Ron's older brother Bill roars with laughter as he learns for the first time where all those doughnuts came from.

Somebody mentions the old Easter Sundays, another memory that amuses the old “group of brothers.” Ron tells about how they used to dress up in the best clothes they had and proceed to make the rounds at as many sunrise services as they could jam in.

“We were after the free breakfasts,” Russ chimes in. The only time he could remember getting caught was when Reverend W. T. Liggins from the Zion Baptist Church shooed them away, shouting, “You boys ate up all the sausage last year. That isn't going to happen this morning.”

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Ever since his family moved to the Curtis Park Projects, Ronnie Lyle had hung around with seven other boys in the neighborhood, three black and four who called themselves “Chicano” back then. Through the years, the boys moved so gradually from innocent childhood play to mischievous acts like raiding the sunrise service breakfasts that it didn't seem to them like they were doing much of anything wrong. And they always stood up for each other.

Ronnie learned early about the importance of protecting his companions. When he was eight years old, a bigger kid had walked up to his big brother Bill and threatened him with a stick. Heeding his mother's admonition to always walk away from fighting, Ronnie turned and ran, not walked, for blocks before looking back at his brother, who was being thrashed vigorously with that stick. When he got home that afternoon, his mother gave him a severe whuppin’ for not protecting his brother.

“Your brother's fight is your fight,” she told him. “Don't start no fights, but don't run from one, neither.”

Ron laughs now, “I couldn't win. If I fought, I got whupped; when I ran, I got whupped.” But the lesson had been learned. And it was reinforced a few months later when family friend Pastor Roland Martin took the three oldest Lyle boys aside and gave them preliminary lessons on how to stand their ground with bullies—how to keep from running away. As it turned out, Pastor Martin's lessons carried the brothers through many a scuffle.

Roy Tyler and Ronnie did their best to protect each other from the time they were in fourth grade, when a couple of older boys had jumped Ronnie, and Roy had charged in, arms waving. The “code” was born that day, the promise to fight when attacked and to always defend each other. Gradually other boys came into the fold—Conner Hill, Beau Peat, Phillip Dawson, Russell Perron, Gerald Wade, and finally, Roy's younger brother Sonny Boy, but the code never changed. Ron's most vivid memories of those elementary school years are of his friends honoring themselves by taking care of each other.

By the time the boys reached early adolescence, it seemed a natural pro­gression from fighting to committing misdemeanors, like selling newspapers they lifted from porches. But it was only a couple of years later, when Ronnie and Roy moved into petty theft, resulting eventually in their incarceration at the Buena Vista Correctional Facility, that his friends got scared.

Ron doesn't make excuses for his behavior back in those days. “I had good parents. My dad had three jobs to try and make it better for us. I didn't understand how important that was, and I got caught up in stuff I shouldn't have. I wasn't thinking.”

An even more difficult question is how the kids from Curtis Park proceeded from what was labeled “juvenile delinquency” to serious trouble. Even today, Russ and Ronnie deny ever being in a gang as defined by current standards. They talk about how they represented different races and ethnicities, that they never had colors and never named themselves. They were just friends. But when Ronnie was indicted for first-degree murder at age nineteen, some of his old friends were at the scene, and the crime was reported as gang related. No one could believe that the Lyle family was involved in the worst thing that had ever happened in their neighborhood.

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Ronnie's parents, William Henly Lyle and Nellie Louise Lyle, were both born in Dayton, Ohio, to families that were steeped in a traditional African-American culture, even though William's mother was white and his father claimed Native American blood. Work was hard to find after the Depression, and both families struggled, even after William and Nellie were married in the late thirties.

By the time Ronnie was born as their third child on February 12, 1941, they were living with Nellie's parents, and William was helping the family make ends meet by working in what their children now call a “brothel/casino.” Nellie's father was a preacher who had, years before, set about building his own church, “literally brick by brick, layer by layer.” But both of her parents, far from disapproving of William's job, welcomed the extra income.

William and Nellie already had six children in 1946, when everything changed. Their oldest child, Barbara, died of rheumatic fever, the catalyst for William joining the rest of the family in being “saved.” He left his job and began his ministry in Holiness Church, a Pentecostal denomination that followed even stricter rules than the church of Nellie's family, demanding behavior that was the antithesis of everything William had seen in the brothel/casino. He became the strongest voice for reform in the community, and his success as a minister was confirmed when in only two years, he was appointed one of twenty-five ministers to the Ohio District State Council.

A few months later, William had a dream that began a family tradition. He told Nellie about the vision that came to him, of coming to a city near a mountain and building a church there. He believed that God wanted him to “find them, teach them, guide them, and save them.” Within a few months, the message in the dream was confirmed by two church leaders, Bishop Davis from Kansas and Bishop Bass from Ohio, who met and agreed that Pastor Lyle was chosen by God to pioneer a church in Denver, Colorado. He was directed to start his church from scratch.

Both William and Nellie were certain that the move had been determined by God because it came out of a dream, and they never had any doubts as to their purpose. In 1949, with seven children in tow, including eight-year-old Ronnie, the Lyles left Dayton behind, took a bus to Denver, and never looked back.

With Nellie's help, William did establish a church in Denver, though it would be four more years before that church had a physical home. The Lyles never lost their faith in Biblical tenets, one of which was to “be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth,” and they would eventually have eleven more children. Nellie always said that they were blessed to have such a large family, and she made sure that each of the brothers and sisters, as soon as they could talk, learned to recite in order the first and middle names of those who eventually became the nineteen Lyle children, an accomplishment they never lost.

It is difficult to imagine how William and Nellie cared for their family in a four-bedroom brick house in the projects with all the attending laundry and cleaning, not to mention feeding. The oldest brother, Bill, suggests that to understand what it was like, the outsider should think of the children in “sets,” with the older group caring for the younger all the way down the line.

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On a Saturday afternoon in September 1955, the Lyles gathered as they did every week in the small living room—William, Nellie, and Bill on the couch, thirteen-year-old Ronnie holding baby Phillip on the rocker, and all the other children sitting cross-legged on the floor.

Nellie called on each child in turn, beginning with Bill: “Tell us about your week.” Every one of the Lyle kids looked forward to this weekly review of their lives, and most prepared in advance the best news they could remember. Bill probably reported on his grades in school, almost always good. Ronnie was more likely to tell about neighborhood sports in which he excelled, often a pickup basketball game. And Nellie always encouraged the appointed speaker before she moved on.

“Good for you. Kenny!” And on through Eddy and Michael and Donna and Sharon and Joyce and Raymond as each related highlights—passing a math test, showing a drawing, even singing a hymn. At the end, Ronnie tossed baby Phillip a few inches in the air and got a happy squeal in return. The whole family laughed, and William let the sound die down before he announced the scripture for the week, maybe even the passage upon which his Denver church was founded:

Acts 2:38. Peter replied, “Repent and be baptized, every one of you, in the name of Jesus Christ for the forgiveness of your sins. And you will receive the gift of the Holy Spirit.”

And with that, the family dispersed, each to his and her assigned chores for the week.

Nellie was a stickler for hygiene. Her horror when Joyce as a baby had been bitten on the cheek by a rat shortly after the family first moved to Denver never entirely left her, and the cleaning regimen she established when they moved to the projects continued until the day she died.

Ronnie's task that afternoon was to continue washing down the walls he had begun the Saturday before. Phillip (in the carrier) accompanied Ronnie on every step as he emptied the trash can in the bathroom, poured in a cup of bleach and a squirt of dish detergent, and filled the can with hot water from the kitchen sink. He then proceeded to the girls’ bedroom and easily moved the bed and dresser to the middle of the room. With the help of a small stool, he managed to reach all the way to the top of the walls, ending up on his knees as he followed the floorboard around the room. He talked to Phillip the whole time, rewarded by the baby babbling back.

At 5:15 p.m., he handed Phillip over to his mother, poured the dirty water down the toilet, and wiped out the trash can. The following week he would wash down the walls in his and Raymond's room, but in the meantime, he was free to head outside for an hour with Roy and Russ before supper.

“Family and friends. I had it good, you know?” Ron Lyle, like his brothers and sisters, remembers those days as sometimes chaotic, even stressful, but always loving. “I know it's hard for other people to imagine having that many kids, but we were together. We always had each other.” He adds, “And we still do.”

They didn't always get along, of course. The whole family remembers how Bill and Ronnie used to fight. Bill had the longer reach for many years, and Ron remembers his brother's hand on his forehead, holding him back while he swung wildly in the air. Sharon says that the only thing that made Nellie mad was any of her children fighting. “You should want to be together,” she would tell them.

Bill recalls that when he went to college, he felt alone. Even surrounded by other students in the dorm, he missed his family. “Even now, when my brothers and sisters are not around, it feels like something is lost.”

Donna, who lives near San Diego, thinks of her family every single day. “We're still together in our hearts, though, even when we haven't seen each other for a long time.” She still remembers those Saturday meetings, sitting on the floor listening to everyone tell about their week, as the happiest time in her life.

Whether it was William's raw energy, Nellie's loving patience, the example they set as a close family, or a combination of all three, by all accounts the Lyles were not only the spiritual but also the social heart of the community. And what a community it was.

■ ■ ■

To many who lived in the outlying suburbs of Denver, the Curtis Park and Five Points districts were dangerous territory, a place you wouldn't want to be after dark. But to the inhabitants, the neighborhoods northeast of downtown were places of refuge, rich in history and a sanctuary for the African-American community.

Most residents of Five Points recall the story of how the area was named in the early 1900s. The city's tramway company used the nickname because the streetcar signs were not big enough to list all the street names at the end-of-the-line stop.

The history of the area is centered on Benny Hooper, the first African American drafted in Denver for World War I. He opened a hotel and club for black servicemen in 1920, and managed to attract the greatest jazz musicians of the time on their circuits, including Duke Ellington and Charlie Parker. Later, he was also responsible for getting the city of Denver to allow black soldiers to be a part of the Veterans Day parade. “Coloreds” were not allowed to march with weapons, so he had wooden guns carved and painted, made sure every man's shoes were spit-polished, and led the men downtown. They were told to go last in the parade, but they did march, and Benny always maintained they were the best-dressed unit. The pride Benny Hooper engendered in Five Points residents, omnipresent through the decades, continues to this day.

While Five Points was beginning to be known as a cultural landmark in the 1950s, Curtis Park was labeled the so-called ghetto area of Denver, even though the small Victorian Queen Anne houses built in the 1870s and 1880s were already starting to be recognized as architectural treasures. Built around Denver's oldest park, developed in 1868 with donated land from Postmaster Samuel S. Curtis, the area has managed to retain its charm for well over a century. But during the time the Lyles lived there, the mere presence of a large African-American population somehow reflected danger to a significant portion of the population still mired in racial prejudice.

The Curtis Park district may be considered a microcosm of Denver's ethnic history. Settled mostly by Germans in the nineteenth century, the area saw a great influx of Hispanics, blacks, and Japanese after the first war, continuing into the 1950s. Today the area is about half Hispanic, a quarter African-American, and another quarter white. Finally celebrating the cultural diversity of the community, the park itself was recently renamed Mestizo-Curtis Park. Just a few blocks from Ron's gym, with an outdoor pool, tennis and basketball courts, horseshoe pits, a soccer field, and a new playground, the park is the focal point of the community.

The area may have been perceived in the 1950s as a slum by outsiders, but Russell Perron and Ron Lyle remember something else about Curtis Park. They remember that people there, whatever their race, had a chance to do what they wanted to do with their lives.

The Lyles settled in at 34th and Arapaho, in the core of the district right across the street from Curtis Park. All the units in the projects were red-brick duplexes of varying size and depth. No fences broke the continuity of the neighborhood, just as no racial barriers existed in that part of Denver. And the people who grew up there remember how difficult it was to get away with anything.

“You couldn't so much as throw a rock that somebody in the neighborhood wouldn't call your folks about it. And if they weren't home, the neighbor would do the whuppin’,” Kenneth Lyle remembers.

Keeping an eye on their kids might have been the neighbors’ way of paying the Lyles back for their many kindnesses. Almost from the very beginning, the families in the Curtis Park projects knew they could call on William and Nellie to help. Whether a family was short of food, in trouble with the law, or in need of spiritual guidance, they counted on the Lyles for support.

By the time Ronnie had started his paper route, Nellie was known in Curtis Park as a missionary, not only for her tireless efforts at collecting money and goods for foreign missions, but for her charity. Donna recalls, “Mom was a jewel. She loved everyone in the neighborhood and would feed anybody who was hungry.” If the recipients of her altruistic efforts found God in the process, so much the better, but she didn't discriminate in her many acts of kindness.

Pastor Sharon Lyle Dempsey, who has inherited her mother's missionary mantle, remembers her family as the center of the neighborhood. “It didn't matter if they belonged to the church. My mom and dad were there to help. Anybody who was sick or hungry or in trouble came to my parents, and they would figure out a way to make things better for everyone.” She continues, “Another thing you should know about Mom and Daddy: Their best friends were Jews, Hispanics, whoever they cared about. Race didn't matter to our family.”

If Nellie was the missionary, William was the undisputed head of the family, the neighborhood, and the church he founded in Curtis Park. He was not only a minister, he held three other jobs the entire time his children were at home. One of his jobs was always custodial, though employers varied through the years. The best paying was as a vulcanizer at Gates Rubber, a skilled position in which he “made space on the tires for the tread.” And he always had a maintenance job at Burt Chevrolet, the dealership that evolved into the Burt Automotive Group where Bill, the oldest, was employed for decades before he retired as Burt Lincoln-Mercury sales manager.

However many hours William put in at his jobs, he would spring into action when anyone in the neighborhood was in trouble. The family looks back and wonders when their father had time to sleep, let alone spend time with them. Says Sharon: “People we didn't even know would come to the house because they were in some kind of trouble—with the law or maybe they owed money. Dad and Mom would do what they could to help. And Dad was always running to the church day or night, sometimes praying all night long.”

Bill remembers, though, that even with his dad's extra three jobs, the money was never quite enough. Nellie did manage to buy and cook enough food for all her children, but meals were mostly pinto beans, pig's feet, and pig's tails, with chicken sometimes on Sundays. Kenneth remembers hauling huge bags of sugar and other bulk items from the store, and they all remember the administration of cod liver oil twice a day, every day, every kid. They couldn't afford to get sick.

The Lyles lived within their means, but there was barely enough left over for extras. Clothes were always from Goodwill, and those went to the older children; the younger children almost always got hand-me-downs.

They did have several vehicles through the years. Bill remembers an old Ford that they had to stop every six blocks to put water in the radiator. He and Ronnie had to get out and push the thing uphill, then jump in as it caught speed. Kenneth recalls a beat-up old truck they bought in 1957, and Karen says she will never forget “an ugly green ’54 station wagon.” Sharon remembers a big old Hudson and says there were more vehicles, too, because none of them lasted long. She adds, “But with all that came the lessons that got us through.”

The Lyle children learned early on that everything was “God's will.” Before he was married, William had wanted to join the Navy but was rejected because an X-ray revealed a spot on his lung. He never in his life experienced any health problem with his lungs and always believed God had put the spot on that X-ray to save him for the church.

Nellie was saved when she was eight years old. While William had a working experience with the secular world, Nellie never saw a movie or danced or went to a party. Under her influence, the Lyle kids were all taught that every word in the Bible was the literal truth. They adhered to a strict dress code, which included no jewelry, and the older boys were enlisted in enforcing the no-dating rules for the girls.

“If a boy even looked at me,” Marilyn remembers, “Ronnie would get all over him to back off.”

Sharon still talks about an evening with Donna and Raymond and Joyce when everyone else in the family was away. They had borrowed a turntable and some records, and with Joyce leading the way, they sang and played rock and roll songs for hours, until one of their neighbors called William at church. Their father rushed home and broke every record, one at a time, and returned the turntable that night. None of the children ever brought outside music into the house again.

All of the brothers and sisters speak of trying to do what the Bible and their parents told them to do, and mostly, they succeeded. But sometimes those teachings conflicted with life in the projects.

■ ■ ■

At age thirteen, Ronnie had already grown to five feet eleven inches and was acknowledged by everyone in the Lyle orbit as not only the tallest kid in the neighborhood, but also the strongest and most energetic. Springing into adolescence, he began to fill every one of his days with activity, from the time he woke up in the morning until he dropped into bed at night. He and his buddies attended Cole Junior High, but school had become more and more difficult for him, and he found much greater success, not to mention entertainment, in the neighborhood.

Russ Perron remembers the “group of brothers” continuing to hang together during junior high school: “We would go to the Epworth Recreation Center on 31st between Arapahoe and Lawrence, just a short walk from the projects. We played basketball and messed around and talked to girls. Ron was the best at all three.”

Most of Ronnie's friends represented the unique multiethnic culture of the district. Long before mixed marriages became a controversial issue among Denver activists, the boys took for granted each other's diverse parentage. Black mother, white father. Chicano mother, black father. None of that mattered to the “brothers.” What did matter was that Ronnie's mom expected good behavior from all of them.

Family continued to be the major influence in Ronnie's life. As the two oldest boys, he and big brother Bill were expected to care for the younger children. They both felt responsible for their siblings’ welfare and took their obligations seriously. Tears in her eyes, Donna remembers, “Bill and Ronnie. They were the best. They took such good care of us.”

The older brothers also assumed major responsibility for organizing the housekeeping chores. No one remembers oldest brother Bill ever getting into trouble, and today, he laughs about it. “I didn't have time. I was too busying keeping track of the others, especially Ronnie.”

When Bill was fourteen, he managed to get a job caddying at the Denver Country Club golf course, a prestigious club then and now, a meeting place for many of Denver's movers and shakers. He would get up early Saturday and Sunday mornings, signing into the caddy shack around 7:00 a.m., hoping to get in two rounds both days. Golfers started arriving about 8:00 a.m., but the caddies had to “go by the numbers”—that is, the lowest numbers assigned to the kids who had been working the longest. Bill still remembers he started at C149, but some of the caddies dropped out and, after he had been there a while, he worked his way into the letter A numbers and was getting two rounds in regularly. Bill might get as much as $36 a day including tips, good money for the time, especially for an adolescent, but “every nickel” went back to the family.

After a few months, Bill thought Ronnie was old enough to caddy with him, and he managed to get his brother on at the club. He figured that not only would the extra money help at home but that caddying on weekends might keep Ronnie out of trouble.

It worked for a while. Bill Connelly, the caddy master, took an interest in the Lyle brothers and steered some important members their way. Bill went out with then-governor Dan Thornton a few times and was soon picked to be his special caddy, sometimes even carrying double-bags for double-pay. Ronnie caddied for C. L. Patterson and R. W. Gordon, both wealthy businessmen, and later, he picked up Gerald Phipps, who ended up owning the Denver Broncos from 1961–1981. Connelly also worked out a deal for the boys to play for free up to thirty-six holes on Mondays.

Prodded by Phillip, Ron tells about the day he lost that caddying job. One morning on the front nine, C. L. Patterson knocked his ball into the creek, a natural water hazard that also served to irrigate the golf course. Patterson told Ronnie to retrieve the ball from the creek, but Ron shook his head. The businessman then repeated the order to his caddy. He was to wade into the creek, reach down, find his ball, and bring it back to him.

Ronnie said, “No, I won't. I don't want to get wet.”

Patterson directed him a third time, “You will get my ball,” at which point Ronnie grabbed the man's golf bag and hurled it twenty feet into the creek. His only regret at the time was that his act of defiance ended the opportunity to bring all that good money home. Years later, remembering the loss of the country club wages and tips, he and Bill set up his boxing revenues as Lyle Enterprises, with a portion of every purse going directly to Ronnie’s family.

■ ■ ■

Ronnie's friends and family continued to fill his life, but the year he turned fourteen, somehow, almost imperceptibly, things started to go wrong.

Maybe because he was an all-around athlete and bigger than the other boys his age, Ronnie became a kind of guardian for his buddies. “I wasn't tougher, though,” he insists. “We were all tough.” When the brothers started going into neighborhood houses to swipe “nickel-and-dime stuff,” Ronnie was almost always there. They didn't consider what they were doing break-ins until the cops called it that the first time they were caught and released to their parents.

Ronnie continued to struggle in school, especially with reading. Most of his grades during his freshman year at Manual High School were failing, and in the spring, he finally made the fateful decision to drop out, along with Roy and Sonny Boy Tyler. The delinquency continued, break-ins turned into burglaries, and before the summer was over, Ronnie had been arrested for stealing a pocketful of bubble gum and was held for a couple of months in juvenile hall.

Ron's own eyes fill with tears when he remembers his mother crying in court and again when he was released. “She always told us that she had to ‘raise up the child in the way he should go, and when he's older, he won't depart.’ For a long time, it didn't work out that way with me, and I've always been sorry at what I put her through. But in the end, she knows I won't depart.”

It has been reported that Ronnie rebelled against his strict religious upbringing, but he doesn't remember it that way. “I always respected my parents and I feared God. I was just like a lot of other kids, caught up in the excitement.” He adds, “Sometimes you have to stray to find your way.”

Asked in 2001 by newscaster Peter Boyles to name his greatest opponent, Ron responded without pausing, “The toughest guy I ever fought was my father, and I never got to throw a punch.”

Later, he describes his mixed feelings about his father. “Kids always resent their parents, but for me, the resentment was with respect. You know what I mean? My father had all the power, and I wanted to take control of my own life. But both my parents knew me. They always knew me. They knew I didn't want to hurt anyone.”

That fall Ronnie and Roy, along with Conner Hill and Phillip Dawson, learned how to “hop a freight” and took the first of three trips to parts unknown. The next year, they went to Gary, Indiana, and the following year to Chicago, where they were rescued by Ronnie's Aunt Bertie. That first time, though, the train happened to be headed toward Great Falls, Montana.

“A hobo down by the train yards” had taught them the basics. Ron remembers, “He showed us how to spike the doors of the freight cars. He said we should always set up more than one car, in case we saw some bad guys already settled in when the train started to move.”

By the time they arrived in Great Falls two days later, they were not only hungry, having devoured their bag of sandwiches the day before, they had started to feel the cold of the spitting wet snow outside. Ronnie had lost a shoe jumping onto the moving car back in Denver, and the second he stepped on the ground, he felt the cold all the way into his teeth. The boys lasted barely two days before the police picked them up and called their parents in Denver. William told the cop who called to hold Ronnie overnight, just to teach him a lesson, but the message backfired when he reacted with a “Thank you, Jesus,” for the warm cell and hot food.

Back in Denver, Bill was spending more time out “evangelizing” with his father, and when Ronnie returned, Nellie began to lean more heavily on him, not only with housekeeping chores but as the primary caregiver in the family. Whether or not this new arrangement was part of the effort to get him back on track, Ronnie and his mother grew closer, and he tried hard to instill the same sense of responsibility and love of God into his siblings that his mother had encouraged in him.

But the misdemeanors continued. The boys started “going jackin”—one distracting a store clerk while the others snatched small items they could stuff in their jeans. Twice more Ronnie was brought before a judge and twice more he was sentenced to juvenile hall. Shortly after he was released the last time, he was caught red-handed, along with Roy Tyler, snatching a purse.

Finally, William and Nellie threw in the towel. When the judge told them he needed to get Ronnie's attention and didn't know how to do that without incarceration, they agreed. William said, “I can't keep my foot on his neck all the time,” and Nellie nodded her affirmation. The judge expressed regret at sending sixteen-year-old Ronnie Lyle away from “a good home,” but sentenced Roy Tyler and him both to eighteen months in the Buena Vista Correctional Facility.

As the only Colorado state reform school, Buena Vista had a reputation in those days for “punishment, not coddling,” and Ron got his first taste of incarceration. He still remembers his prisoner number was 14948 and Roy's was 14949. The two friends had watched each other's backs since they were eight years old, and in 1957, they were doing it behind bars.

William and Nellie had tried to keep Ronnie on the right path, along with all their other children, and as it turned out, not one of his brothers or sisters was ever arrested. Only Ronnie. His parents were confounded by his behavior, but neither ever gave up on him. Nellie, especially, continued to express her confidence in her second oldest and did everything she could to support him, visiting constantly and bringing him little gifts, but mostly praying.

Ron still idolizes his mother and regrets causing her so much pain. He can only explain his behavior as, “The problem was I got out of the backyard and into the alley. Once I'd seen the alley, they couldn't get me back into the yard.”

■ ■ ■

In Buena Vista, Ronnie learned some basic, unofficial rules of confinement. “Mind your own business” served him especially well later when he did hard time. Even in reform school, he had a daunting reputation as a tough guy, probably because of his size and stature. But he also began to apply a personal code of defense, later confirmed and solidified in the ring: “If you get hit, it's your own fault.”

Buena Vista operated similarly to most juvenile correctional facilities in those days, as a toned-down model of adult prisons. The boys were locked in at night, and activities were tightly controlled and guarded. Teachers were available, but classes were not designed to accommodate students with learning disabilities, a fairly new educational concept in the late 1960s. Ronnie probably had some form of dyslexia, as reading had been difficult for him throughout his life, though he always demonstrated the ability to comprehend and explore complex ideas. At Buena Vista, he had the choice of going to school or working, and most of the time he worked—as the fireman in the boiler house shoveling coal into the furnace whenever the fire got low.

Most of the kids in reform school were black or Chicano, just like his neighborhood, and Ronnie treated his fellow prisoners with respect, “as long as they deserved it.” He doesn't remember his time there as too bad, probably because for the first time, an adult recognized his athletic ability.

Mr. Kelly was the athletic director at Buena Vista, and unlike high school coaches who had to turn Ronnie away from teams because of his failing grades, Mr. Kelly recognized his prowess, especially on the basketball court. For the first time, Ronnie felt he could be an outstanding athlete. He felt it in his speed and quickness and, most of all, in his dedication to practice.

Looking back, Ron knows that in reform school, he accomplished more than just doing his time. “In Buena Vista, I started to learn self-discipline,” he says.

Released in 1959 at age seventeen, he went back to his life at home and on the streets. His brother Bill had already graduated and was headed to college. Two more brothers had come along, with the youngest girl, Karen, yet to be born. Life was moving on, but Ronnie didn't know how to move with it. He loved and admired Bill, but he couldn't begin to live up to his brother's accomplishments and “sterling reputation.” And Bill consistently refused Ronnie's invitations to join what he called Ronnie's “Zulu Tribe” and what their Dad called “that bunch” in stirring up trouble.

After Mr. Kelly's encouragement, Ronnie did spend more time picking up games as he could in the neighborhood and at the Epworth Recreation Center. He loved all sports, including baseball, football, and boxing, but he remembers basketball as his best game. Shortly after he left reform school, he tried out for a semipro basketball team called the Boston All-Stars. He made the team and in early winter began traveling to small towns, making little more than expenses, but earning a reputation for enthusiasm and the ability to focus on the game.

By the end of the season, the eighteen-year-old had earned the starting forward position. It's tempting to wonder what kind of opportunities he might have had to play and excel at organized sports if he had been a better student at Manual High School, but Ron refuses to spend any time on that kind of regret. He is grateful to Epworth Center, where he practiced the self-discipline he had learned from Mr. Kelly in reform school.

Self-discipline was mostly set aside when Ronnie was on the streets. Even as he was enjoying success with the Boston All-Stars, he continued running with his friends. He picked up pretty much where he left off, and in the next two years he committed a long series of petty crimes. He and Roy had learned some tricks at Buena Vista, however, and they managed to avoid getting caught.

The time Ronnie had served at Buena Vista, along with his physical ability and his quick reaction to unexpected situations, made it seem inevitable that he would evolve into the generally accepted leader of the “group of brothers.”

Ron looks back on those years as crucial to his evolution as a boxer, not only for the self-discipline he achieved on the basketball court, but also for his risk-taking in the streets. He doesn't try to make excuses for his behavior, although his friends and family frequently do. “It was hard for Ronnie to say no to his friends,” it was said, or “He was so big, they wouldn't leave him alone.”

When asked if he has any regrets, Ron comments on his street experiences and every other detour he made in his life by stating, “If is a crooked word that will never be straightened.” And if the listener doesn't quite get it, he will add, “If a frog had wings, he wouldn't bump his ass when he hops.” The only regret Ron Lyle ever expresses about those days is for the hurt he caused his mother.

The kids in the “group of brothers” naturally looked to Ronnie for protection, but some remember him as reluctant to initiate trouble. He would try diplomacy first, quoting his mother, “What's wrong with people in the world today is they don't know how to show respect.” If that didn't work, he would do all he could to inspire so much fear in his adversaries that they wouldn't fight. Today he describes that strategy as, “I tried to scare their disrespect out of them.”

By 1960, a rivalry between the “group of brothers” and a bunch of older guys that did fit all the criteria of a gang became full-blown and acknowledged throughout the neighborhood. Russ Perron remembers the gang as “very tough and very mean.” One guy in particular, Douglas “Flash” Byrd, was known for beating other kids with whatever blunt object was available.

Ronnie set about staving off Byrd's gang through intimidation and, as with other bullies, that strategy seemed to work; for months, the gang did not openly attack his friends. In the end, though, Ronnie failed to keep them at bay, and the result was disastrous.

■ ■ ■

Shortly after lunch on May 16, 1961, Mr. Wilhoit glanced out the window of his Manual High School science classroom toward the park across the street. He stopped in the middle of a sentence and continued to stare out the window. One of the two original members of the “group of brothers” still in high school, Russ Perron, was two rows in, and he followed his teacher's gaze down at the park. He could clearly see six of his friends chasing the gang of neighborhood tough guys across the grass.

“Pretty soon the whole class was standing up and watching what was going on in the park. They must have had ten or twelve guys, older guys, running around down there, and I kept thinking we were outnumbered. I wanted to go out and help, but then we all started to see what was happening. Ronnie was out in front, and our guys were beating up their guys. It was something.”

After all the guys had left the park, a police car arrived, and Russ got a bad feeling that something more was going to happen. A couple of hours later, he boarded a bus with his teammates, headed to a track meet at South High School. “Just then two carloads of our guys drove up to the bus, and somebody yelled out, ‘We gotta rumble.’ Gil Kruter, our coach, wouldn't let me off the bus, so we took off for the meet. When I got home after five-thirty, I walked back to the projects, and my mother's boyfriend met me at the door.

“‘Where were you this afternoon?’ he hollered at me. I looked up at the television screen, and there it was, the whole thing, the park and an alley behind Roy Tyler's house, and they were talking about a shooting. Somebody had shot Flash Byrd. This was a guy who was known for knocking people around with lead pipes and tire irons and even a jack hammer. I knew something really bad had happened.

“Just about all our guys had guns by then. You could buy a .22-caliber pistol on the street for $15 in those days. Later, when I found out the police were holding all of them and wouldn't let them go until somebody confessed, I knew Ronnie would take the fall. I just knew it.”

Ron Lyle still remembers everything about that day, and he tells his story, but only up to a point. He says the friends in the park with him were Connor Hill, Beau Peat, Phillip Dawson, Roy Tyler, Gerald Wade, and Sonny Boy Tyler, and he shakes his head, “The whole thing was about a girl.”

Leaning forward, Ron lowers his voice, “We were minding our own business, just hanging around like we usually did, in that park across from Manual High School. This dude named Pancho thought Connor had taken his girlfriend, and he brought a bunch of friends to help beat him up. It wasn't about drugs or money, and we weren't a gang. It was about a girl.

“Well, naturally, we had to help Connor out when a bunch of guys jumped him. We did a pretty good job, too. We were just there to help. You know what I mean? Pretty soon, they started running out of the park, and we grabbed a couple cars and chased ’em for a few minutes, then headed back to Roy's place. When we got to Roy's, we found out his sister Sue was there, and that made a big difference, because after these guys picked up Flash Byrd, they came back in cars and had guns. I once saw this guy beat a kid almost to death for refusing to give up his lunch money. Flash was one mean guy. They drove through the alley and started shooting into Roy's house. They could have hit Sue, you know?”

As Ron moves to the end of his story, his voice is barely above a whisper, and he speaks in short, choppy sentences. “So we followed them. Flash was driving. He stopped in the alley. I went over to the driver's side. I told him, ‘Get out of the car.’ He opened the door. He was swinging a big lead pipe. The shooting started. Flash ran down the alley. I chased him, but he got away. We saw the police coming. We went back to Roy's. The cops came and took us all in.”

He adds, “Don't ask who did the shooting. Ever since the trial, I have never talked about it, and I never will.”

■ ■ ■

Excerpts from The Denver Post:

May 19, 1961

Youth Tells of Shooting Two Men

A 20-year-old youth Thursday admitted firing at least three shots at almost point-blank range at the two victims of an East Denver shooting, Detective Capt. Roy Tangye said.

Tangye identified the youth as Ronald D. Lyle, who, along with seven other young men, was jailed after the shooting Tuesday afternoon.

After giving Detectives Ron Hammonds and Charles Roden a written statement, Tangye said, Lyle took them to look for the weapon which he said he hid in the Five Points area. Killed in the fray was Douglas Byrd, 22. An autopsy showed he died of .22-calliber bullet wounds, rather than shotgun wounds, as police first believed.

A companion, Larry Williams, 23, suffered a minor head wound. He was treated at Denver General Hospital, jailed overnight for investigation and then released.

January 23, 1962

Jury of 14 to Hear Trial for Murder

One of the first 14-member juries in state history was authorized Tuesday in Denver District Court for the murder trial of a basketball star facing a possible death penalty.

Judge Gerald E. McAuliffe suggested the expanded panel and it was quickly approved by defense and prosecution attorneys as trial began for Ronnie Lyle.

Lyle, a 6-feet 3½ inch forward for a Denver semipro team called the Boston All-Stars, is accused of killing one man and shooting another near Five Points May 16, 1961.

Ordinarily, 12 jurors, with possibly one alternate, sit in criminal cases. New court rules, however, permit 14, which includes two alternates.

The trial for the second shooting, in which case he is accused of assault with a deadly weapon, is scheduled for next month.

Edward Carelli and Gil Alexander, deputy district attorneys, said they are seeking the death penalty in the current trial.

January 25, 1962

Slay Charge Filed After Gang Fight

Murder charges and a separate charge of assault with a deadly weapon were filed Wednesday in District Court against Ronald D. Lyle, the outgrowth of a gang fight and shooting on May 16.

Lyle admitted to police that he was the gunman who shot and killed Douglas Byrd, 22, and wounded Larry Williams, 23, during the fight in the Five Points area.

Judge Saul Pinchick ordered that Lyle be held without bail on the murder charge. As a formality, the judge set bond on the assault charge at $3,000.

Under the separate filings by Dist. Atty. Bert Keating, Lyle may be tried both for murder and for assault with a deadly weapon. Maximum punishment on the murder charge could be death in the gas chamber. Maximum punishment on the assault charge could be 14 years in prison.

Police said a total of seven men were jailed after the shootings which killed Byrd and wounded Williams. The officers said the fight apparently was over a girl.

January 27, 1962

Saturday Judge Fines, Jails Murder Case Juror

A Denver man chosen as a juror to decide the life-or-death fate of an accused murderer was himself jailed for 30 days and fined $500 late Friday for discussing the case.

District Judge Gerald E. McAuliffe imposed the sentence on Carl McClung, 46, a transportation company dock worker.

The judge convicted McClung of contempt of court after a dramatic day-long probe in court chambers during which two other jurors and City Councilman Kenneth MacIntosh testified.

After the contempt conviction, the judge went to the bench in the courtroom, announced what had happened and declared a mistrial in the murder case of Ronnie Lyle 20, Denver basketball player accused of killing one man and shooting a second.

Wednesday, May 2, 1962

Jury of 14 picked in the Slay Trial of Denver Basketball Player

The panel of eight men, four women and two male alternates was sworn in by District Judge Gerald E. McAuliffe after only two days of jury interrogation.

In January, jury selection in the case consumed four days before a mistrial was declared because a juror was found guilty of discussing the case contrary to court order.

Edward Carelli and Gil Alexander, deputy district attorneys, told the jury in an opening statement that the evidence would show that Lyle killed Byrd without provocation. . . .

John Mueller and Dan Diamond, defense attorneys, are seeking acquittal on grounds that Lyle shot Byrd in self-defense. Lyle has been jailed with no bail permitted since the slaying.

May 4, 1962

Dying Man Took to Heels, Relates Slay Trial Witness

Ronnie Lyle shot Douglas Byrd three times and then chased him down the alley, a witness testified Friday in Denver District Court.

Benjamin Hall, 21, said he was sitting next to Byrd in the front seat of a pickup truck when Lyle pumped the bullets through the window.

Hall said he was not struck during the shooting May 16, 1961, in an alley between Franklin and Gilpin Sts. off E. 31st Ave.

Hall testified the shooting climaxed a continuing dispute that started with a fight at noon near Manual High School, over a girl he knew only as Lynn.

On cross-examination by Dan Diamond and John Mueller, defense attorneys, Hall admitted the pickup truck driven by Byrd attempted several times that day to “curb” a Mercury sedan driven by Lyle. The cars finally met head-on in the alley.

Hall said there was no conversation before Lyle came up to the truck and fired at Byrd. Although fatally wounded, Byrd got out of the truck and ran down the alley, with Lyle, a 6-foot-4-inch basketball player, in pursuit.

The stricken Byrd apparently outran the forward for the Boston All-Stars, because Lyle came back and said, “You tell Flash (Byrd) that if I ever see him again I will kill him” the witness testified.

About 90 minutes after the shooting Byrd died of his wounds.

Larry Williams, 20, testified he was seated on the right of Hall in the truck's front seat and was struck in the back of the head by a bullet fired by someone. He identified Lyle as the man who shot Byrd, but he couldn't say if Lyle's gun inflicted his own wound.

Defense attorneys contend that Lyle fired in self-defense and should be acquitted. Gill Alexander and Edward Carelli, deputy district attorneys, qualified the jury to return a possible death penalty.

May 6, 1962

Murder Case Jurors Get Glimpse of Alley Where Slaying Occurred

Fourteen Denver District Court jurors Saturday went to an alley in northeast Denver to see where Douglas Byrd, 22, was shot three times on May 16, 1961.

The jury was transported by sheriff's officers to the scene where Ronnie Lyle, 21, is charged with inflicting the fatal gunshot wounds as the climax to a bizarre gang fight.

Edward Carelli and Gil Alexander, deputy district attorneys, are expected to conclude their case Monday with submission of a signed statement in which Lyle admitted shooting Byrd but claimed he did so as the victim was going to hit him.

John Mueller and Dan Diamond, defense counsel, are seeking acquittal on grounds of self-defense.

The trial began last Monday and jurors were qualified to return a possible death penalty. Lyle, a 6-foot-4-inch basketball player, has been jailed with no bail permitted since the killing.

June 3, 1962

One of Fifteen Children Is Guilty

A 21-year-old Denver man described as “an outstanding athlete who believes in fair play” was sentenced to the State Penitentiary Friday for 15 to 25 years for a killing he claimed was in self-defense.

Ronnie Lyle, second oldest in a family of 15 children, received the penalty on a Denver District Court jury conviction for second-degree murder.

A 6-foot-4-inch semipro basketball player, Lyle admitted pumping three bullets into Douglas Byrd, 22, to climax an afternoon-long gang fight in east Denver May 16, 1961.

Dan Diamond and John Mueller, defense attorneys, urged leniency on grounds that Lyle became involved in the fatal dispute only to protect a friend who was being abused.

They claimed Lyle obtained a gun only after Byrd threatened to kill him. The actual shooting occurred when Lyle thought Byrd was coming at him with a dangerous weapon, the lawyers said.

Report Made

Probation officers, in a report to Judge Gerald E. McAuliffe, described Byrd as a “belligerent individual who was quite prone to hit with any weapon available and could be counted upon to really bruise an opponent.” Lyle, on the other hand, normally had good habits and came from a family in which the father was a part-time minister, the report said.

Judge McAuliffe said there were several factors working against Lyle as shown by the trial evidence.

Lyle failed to avoid a showdown with Byrd, refused to call police although allegedly “in fear of his life,” and made a specific trip to borrow a gun over an uncle's objection just before the slaying, the judge said.

“The jury rejected your claim of self-defense,” McAuliffe said. “You took the law into your own hands.”

The background report to the court showed that Lyle's mother expressed sorrow over the killing but accepted the trial result philosophically.

“Mrs. Lyle remarked that she hopes that some good will come out of all this—namely, that her other children will learn by the mistake Ronnie made and will disassociate themselves from evil companions from now on,” the report said.

Defense counsel said there will be no appeal of the conviction. They said they would not risk a possible death penalty or life sentence in another trial.

■ ■ ■

Ron says his vivid memory of May 16, 1961, begins to fade after the police arrive. He knows he and his friends spent many hours in the police station, but he doesn't remember exactly how long. He remembers being told they would all stay in jail until somebody confessed, but he doesn't remember when he decided to tell them he shot Flash Byrd. He remembers being locked up, but he doesn't remember how long it was before a public defender showed up.

Ron seems surprised when reminded he spent more than a year in jail, first awaiting trial, then starting over when a mistrial was declared and finally waiting for the verdict, followed by the sentencing. It hardly registered that he would spend fifteen to twenty-five years in prison. Mostly, he remembers his mother crying.

Dennis Nelson, who didn't even know Ron back then, but who would eventually become a lifelong friend, says with conviction, “I know Ron didn't pull the trigger, and I know that he would never roll over on a friend—never.”

Members of the family react to the sentence today the same way they did then. Kenny still can't believe it happened. His big brother, “always loved, respected, admired, going to prison. How could that be?”

Sharon remembers her fear first of all—that her protection was gone. Sister Marilyn felt the same way. “Without Ron, we knew we would now be meat to eat.”

Bill was most concerned about their mother. “She was devastated. Ronnie was close to her in a way none of the rest of us were.”

Donna was “angry, hurt, disappointed, even disgusted, but mostly hurt. How could he do that to us?”

His family would eventually learn to cope with the loss of their favorite son, but the life Ronnie Lyle had known was finished. He would leave his family and his friends to enter an environment worse than anything he could have imagined, but one which would also lead to his triumph.