The first major league baseball game was a 6-5 win by the Boston Red Caps over the Philadelphia Athletics at the ball park at 25th and Jefferson Streets in Philadelphia on April 22, 1876.
That was the first professional game with paid players. The first game recorded in newspapers was one played in 1846 in Hoboken, New Jersey.
The game was popular during the Civil War, and the troops of the ill-fated 7th Cavalry had a league they competed in at Ft. Robinson. They were playing games when Custer took them north and then west to their demise at the Little Big Horn three months after that first professional game in the “City of Brotherly Love.”
Baseball was popular throughout the nation in the 19th century, starting in New England and spreading west as America advanced towards California.
They still hold an old-time game around the Fourth of July every year at South Pass City.
The miners played games between each other and with rival teams from Atlantic City on the twisted, rock-strewn field on the east end of South Pass City beginning in the late 1860s.
The game became “America’s Game” around the turn of the 20th century, and its popularity in early Fremont County was unprecedented.
There weren’t many family-oriented leisure time activities in the early days of the county. Work was dawn to dusk, often seven days a week, with some taking time off Sunday morning for church services.
If there was free time, the men hunted, fished or wasted their weekly salary in drunken binges at a local saloon. The women had even less recreation. They centered their social life on the church, or in sewing circles or book clubs.
It wasn’t an exciting existence, but baseball changed that each summer, providing an outlet for men and boys to play, women to watch in the shade of a tree or parasol, and the younger children to play with friends.
The first games were played between the various companies of soldiers at Ft. Washakie. There was a large parade ground at the fort, with many acres of flat, short grass. They had to clear a few stray “horse apples” that were missed when policing the grounds, but they had epic games.
Soon, they wanted more competition, and the merchants of Lander began sponsoring teams.
These were the only two areas with baseball teams until 1907. South Pass withered with the closing of the mines. Dubois was still called “Never Sweat” and didn’t have much of a population and the area in between was sagebrush and draws filled with cottonwoods and willows.
That changed in 1906 when the railroad chugged in from Casper. The Chicago North Western created or expanded little towns like Wolton, Moneta, Shoshoni, Hudson, Arapaho, and Riverton.
Riverton, Moneta, and Shoshoni were all incorporated in 1906, Hudson came later in 1909, and each of these towns sported baseball teams. The local teams played each other and then selected the best players to represent their town.
Not all the coverage was spectacular, neither was the play. A tongue-in-cheek column, “The Big Bend Bazoo,” ran in the Riverton Review and the author sparred little in calling out locals for questionable behavior, including losing 48-6 in an error-ridden game.
Town baseball thrived across America until World War II began.
A hotbed of baseball came in two towns that are now only memories, the ghost towns of Wolton and Gebo.
Variously named Woolville, Woolton, or Wolton in periodicals of the early 20th century, the largely forgotten ghost town in Western Natrona County lost its place and its name in 1914 when most of the town, including the buildings, were transported eight miles away to the new community of Arminto on the Chicago Quincy and Burlington rail line.
The people who stayed renamed Wolton Hiland in 1925 in deference to it having the highest elevation on the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad.
Wolton was a hotbed of baseball, playing teams in Riverton, Lander, Lost Cabin, Moneta, and with many games against teams from Casper. Aside from Lost Cabin traveling was easy on the Chicago North Western that had depots in all those towns.
Robert “Dad” Smith built a store and restaurant in Wolton just two years before the town was renamed Hiland. He called it the Bright Spot.
The Bright Spot had its official opening on July 4, 1923. Smith sponsored and umpired a baseball game between the town teams from Wolton and Waltman on that Independence Day.
He gave free ice cream cones to anyone at the game, and a free dollar’s worth of merchandise to any player who hit a home run.
Etta Smith thought her husband was insane. She complained that giving away ice cream would break the store.
Her husband knew people and knew the power of word-of-mouth advertising. He told her they might lose 10 to 15 dollars that day, but the goodwill they generated would soon make it up.
There was only one home run hit that day, and the batter took a dollar’s worth of gas as his prize.
The grand opening was the reason for the festivities. Baseball was the draw. Waltman, Arminto, Hiland, and Hell’s Half Acre had a little league that played a couple of late afternoon games a week, with Sunday the favorite time for a ball game. Hiland had an outfielder, Manual Armento, the man Arminto was named for who as a younger man rode with the Wild Bunch.
An example of the fervor for baseball out on the far end of Poison Creek came in the Casper Press.
Casper Press, July 22, 1910
Baseball Comes to Wolton
“Local and migratory fans will be pleased to hear that baseball fever is contagious—Wolton had it bad. The first symptoms appeared when Joe Hampton, the resident general manager and self-appointed commissary chief, hurled a can of corn with a wicked inshoot at the bookkeeper. The bookkeeper bunted the stock feed with the daybook and sprinted for home via the alley.
Inspiration struck Joe during the bookkeeper’s vigorous objections, and plans for a local team were quickly hatched. Placards reading “Let’s Play Ball!” were posted in conspicuous places, and the finest youth of Poison Creek gathered to take their first dose of Spaulding-brand baseball—and donate a fair share of skin to America’s pastime.
Two weeks of practice resulted in a questionable lineup with deep respect for their trainer and the handbook. There were days of toil and trouble, when the sun was scorching, the dust stifling, and even Marquis’ hogs got little sleep.
Then came a challenge from the H. & M. steam shovel gang, which was accepted. The railroad crew, composed mostly of North Carolina workers, rolled into Wolton to take a swing at the local “pennant.”
A 20-foot Schuttler wagon was hauled out to serve as a grandstand. The Wolton Concert Band—three mouth harps and a tambourine—warmed up the crowd with “I’se Going Back to Dixie” and “Take Me Out to the Ball Game.”
Excitement ran high. The air was electric with anticipation. Every spectator in the lot had strong opinions, and even an old Buff Cochin rooster on the sideline squawked, “Cut it out!” One of the visiting players, frying pan in hand and visions of dinner dancing in his eyes, lunged at the rooster. The bird took offense, lost both dignity and direction, and fled for the henhouse—shattering poultry records.
Umpire Hale gave the signal, and the game was on with Wolton at bat. Ishmael Suds, the opposing pitcher, was nasty with the ball. His first pitch hit Wolton’s star player, Manuel Armenta, in the floating rib. Sympathetic fans rang for a wheelbarrow and hauled him to the pump, while the band struck up a dirge. When Manuel came to, he demanded two runs for the injury, but the visiting team refused.
Next up: Tom Hall. He bunted a high fly over the Wolton garage, where it struck Marquis’ pet pig, Gertrude, in the back lot. Gertrude got even by eating the ball. While the bewildered outfielders searched high and low, Hall rounded the bases like a carousel, scoring 17 times before an agent from the Society for the Integrity of Competitive Athletics (S.I.C.A.) lassoed him and brought him to a stop. Amid the uproar, the umpire was found asleep under the grandstand. Once roused and briefed—by 18 people shouting at once, he disallowed 16 of Hall’s runs and called for the game to continue.
In retaliation, the railroad crew scored 19 runs in their first inning, sending the crowd into hysterics. George Buell sprained his wrist throwing a bat at Manager Hampton, who replied with colorful language. The game dissolved into a storm of shouting, tears, and “I-told-you-so’s.”
In the end, everyone adjourned to the pump.
And after a modest meal, Manager Hampton mounted a kerosene barrel and addressed the crowd as follows:
“Ladies and gentlemen—and proud members of the Wolton Wolves—I say this without a single oratorical flourish: I am thoroughly disgusted. With myself, and with my baseball team.
“I will build no more castles in the air. No more misplaced enthusiasm will I scatter across this vale of tears. It’s back to oblivion for me, back to the greasewood for you, and let’s all try to forget our once-proud motto. Thank you—and goodnight.”
The umpire, perhaps stirred by sentiment or sheer spectacle, rallied the crowd once more, leading a rousing chorus:
Though she’s beat, she’s not disheartened;
She’ll rise again and play her set.
Her failures shall be soon forgotten—
If we win the next big bet!
The longest rivalry in Fremont County remains between Riverton and Lander since the other communities no longer field baseball teams. The first meeting came before Riverton celebrated its first anniversary in 1907.
The fields these teams played on were suspect at best, with bad hops a routine threat in the infield, and gopher holes and sagebrush often a threat in the outfield.
In a game played in June 1919, between Lander and Riverton, a sportswriter lamented that the game was far from interesting to the fans because of the errors committed by both teams.
The writer gave the players a little credit despite the errors, “The reason for some of these perhaps was the fact that the diamond was a plowed field instead of baseball grounds, and it was difficult for a man to either run or judge a ball.”
Lander won the “plowed” game 7-4.
The artificial surfaces, carefully manicured synthetic infields, 21st century lighting, and carefully groomed basepaths were far in the future.
These guys were playing in an open, plowed field, with no fences and no leveled infield. It is a wonder there weren’t life threatening injuries. Part of the lack of injuries came from a baseball that was much less responsive to hits than today’s engineered marvels that routinely sail 400 feet over the outfield fence.
With the headline “Played Good Baseball,” the story, reported in the July 27, 1907, edition of the Riverton Republican, used nicknames associated with the two communities at the time.
Lander was marketing itself as “The Apple City” and Riverton was founded with irrigation projects planned to make the surrounding desert bloom.
“The game between the Apple Eaters and the Irrigators, last Sunday, was a good exhibition of ball playing,” the story relates.
Lander traveled on the train to Riverton with just seven players. Riverton loaned them a couple of their men. The sports writer praised both teams for good play and for leaving the umpire alone. He made a reference to an earlier problem with the team from Casper.
The reference was to a game between Casper and Lander, played in Lander’s City Park. As is still the practice in many competitive leagues, especially men’s fastpitch softball, “ringers” or professionals are often brought in to bolster a local team. That was the case with both Casper and Lander, and the editor of the Riverton Republican called them out on it in a July 6, 1907, editorial.
Too Many Pros Spoil the Game
Lander’s Fourth of July Game Ends in Disappointment
“The baseball game at Lander on the Fourth ended in disappointment for many spectators due to the presence of too many professional players. It is unfortunate that small towns feel the need to sign professional ball players simply to triumph over their neighbors.
Baseball is a glorious, time-honored game, and all Americans are proud of it. But when teams bring in outsiders, men who think that just because they’ve played in larger cities they are entitled to argue every call and shout “robber” at every close decision, it taints the game. Worse still, many of these men haven’t seen a league game in years yet act as if they know better than the umpire or the crowd.
It’s time to do away with such players or risk spoiling the spirit of the game altogether.
Towns like Lander and Casper have plenty of fine homegrown talent. There’s no need to import professionals to make baseball exciting. A good local contest, played with heart and sportsmanship, is far more enjoyable than a tense match full of quarrels and bad manners.
One truth has become clear to the managers of America’s pastime: the public won’t turn out for games that descend into disgraceful scenes on the diamond.
So, let’s play ball, real ball. Here’s to good baseball, clean baseball, and more of it.”
— Old McClintock
Riverton’s games were played in City Park, on the southwest corner. Foul balls sometimes hit passing cars in later years on nearby Federal Boulevard.
The local leagues played there on summer evenings, and the Riverton Town Team hosted Shoshoni, Lander, and Wolton often, but also had regular games with Gebo, Thermopolis, Worland, and Greybull.
With Douglas and Riverton easily accessible on the Chicago North Western, the two towns often played three-game stands on Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.
The soldiers from Fort Washakie were often at the field. The sight of an all-Black baseball team became regular fare for Saturday and Sunday afternoons when the troops rode in from the fort. They pastured their horses on the far end of the park and usually played a double-header before riding home.
Baseball was huge in Riverton. It was so popular that editorials praised the community excitement following their local team.
The excitement spread to Hudson, where hundreds of young men worked in the Poposia Coal Mine. Hudson eventually had a league of their own, with a selected team of the best players sponsored by local businesses and the Poposia Coal Company.
The situation was similar to fast pitch softball in Riverton, Lander, and Shoshoni beginning in the late 1950s as the uranium boom hit Fremont County. Teams from Pavillion, Arapaho, Jeffrey City, Ethete, and Fort Washakie also competed at the height of the energy boom.
Lander had a population of young players who worked at the Atlantic City Iron Mine, joining the 4,000 men who mined uranium in the Gas Hills.
Participation hit its peak in the late 1970s, but as late as 1984, there were still 38 men’s fast pitch teams in Riverton, broken into A, B and C level competition.
Today, there are none.
Baseball was America’s sport, and City Park was popular in the summer for league and visiting town team play. Every town, large or small across America, from Maine to San Diego, had a town team. A team supported by local businesses with uniforms and travel expenses covered by civic groups.
Fundraising games were often scheduled in the park, perhaps the most famous being a charity contest on July 14, 1917, between the “Fats” and the “Leans.”
Both teams had members considered to be the founding fathers of Riverton. The Fats featured Dr. Albert Tonkin and prominent businessman W.J. McLaughlin.
The Leans roster included Jacob Delfelder, druggist Ira Burleson, and Dr. John Cogswell. They raised $60 for the American Red Cross.
Though the Fats were favored, it was a competitive game with the Fats winning 15-12. The game featured trash-talking behavior before and during the game by these Riverton professionals and businessmen.
Sometimes, just to draw crowds, they featured games between single and married men. The single men always won.
City Park had football as well, with the Riverton Wolverines playing their home games in a section that included the baseball outfield. In 1938, Tonkin Stadium opened, leaving baseball as the only game still played in the park.
Gradually men’s town team baseball lost its popularity. Part of it was the dire economic conditions of the Great Depression. Men couldn’t afford to take time off for practice, to travel, or even to play a home game. Businesses couldn’t afford to support teams either.
The rise of radio, teletyped stories to the local newspaper of American and National League teams, had people listening to big leaguers on the radio or reading about it rather than watching their local heroes down at the ball park.
Baseball remained, but it shifted from men’s play to Little League, Babe Ruth and American Legion Play. Babe Ruth came later, but Little League began playing in a park on the southeast corner of City Park. The Miners played west of the old Mower Track near Jackson Elementary School, and the beginners, who batted off a T, played at Teeter Park, at the north end of Broadway.
American Legion ball played on the men’s town team field in City Park. The inaugural season of American Legion Baseball in Riverton came in 1940. Though the divisions have changed from a single division for all teams in the state to compete in, to Class A or Class AA, Riverton has fielded a team each year.
The Raiders moved to Roy Peck Field in honor of Peck, who was a player on that first team in 1940 and later a major supporter as the co-publisher of the Riverton Ranger.