Wyoming History: Gebo Was Built By A Mining Boom, Now It’s A Ghost Town

Today the hills in and around Gebo are quiet. There’s the occasional cheerful chirp of a bird, or the crackle-pop of a grasshopper taking flight from dry and dusty sagebrush or grass.

And there is wind. A rushing, eerie sound full of whispers washing over now-empty hills located about 11 miles north of Thermopolis.

It’s not hard to imagine the whispers as an echo from the once-thriving mining community that grew up in these scraggy hills. One can almost hear Gebo in its heyday.

Shoppers haggling in the company store owned by Robert C. Rae.

Loud music at pool hall dances, where chili was hot and sandwiches plentiful.

School children, laughing as they skipped from school to the back entrance of the pool hall by day, a miner’s token pressed between their fingers. With it, they could buy a soda, a candy bar or a double-scoop ice cream cone dipped in chocolate.

“They wore a path from the school to the bar,” Lea Cavalli Schoenewald told Cowboy State Daily with a smile.

That’s just one of the many memories and anecdotes she has put into a book about Gebo, “Lost Coal District of Gebo, Crosby and Kirby,” which details the once-vibrant coal-mining town that drew immigrants from across the world.

When Schoenewald looks out over the hills, she doesn’t just see sagebrush. She sees the magic place it used to be.

She can tell you where the business district was, where the school was, and where the churches were.

“It was a magic place,” she said. “My grandmother cooked on one of those gigantic black, cast-iron stoves. She used coal and wood, and she baked and everything.”

Nona — the Italian word for grandmother — made all of her own sauces and her own pasta as well, completely from scratch. Just like she once had in the “old country.”

“She did that almost every day, and she would dry it on a tablecloth on a bed,” Schoenewald said. “And then we would go to visit friends who were still living in Gebo.”

They Came To America For A Dream

The Cavallis, like many families, had come to America — to Gebo — for the chance at a better life.

“They had lived in a little village in Italy,” Schoenewald said. “But there was no real way to make a decent living there, and, like so many men in Europe at the time, (Papi, Schoenewald’s grandfather,) had wanted a better life.”

A brother had found Gebo first and wrote back to Schoenewald’s grandfather about an amazing place where there were so many opportunities to make a living and have that better life.

“So, my Papi came, and then Nona came a little later, and they built their home out there,” Schoenewald said. “And my dad and his siblings grew up there.”

Italians were just one of the many nationalities that converged on Gebo to be part of this thriving community.

There were 16 nationalities in all — Greeks, Finns, Scots, Serbian-Montenegrins, Irish, English, Welsh, Turks, Swedes, Poles. There were even Chinese and Japanese. It was a true melting pot.

Sometimes, a melting pot that was boiling over.

“Many of their home countries were at war at various times,” Schoenewald said. “And they brought many of those animosities with them. But, living in a coal camp and working together in a mine, those animosities had to leave. They just couldn’t afford to have resentment against each other when they were doing such dangerous work.”

The Best Coal

Coal in Gebo was coveted at the time because it would burn really hot.

“Blacksmiths from Hanna would come up to Thermopolis to buy coal from the Owl Creek Coal company because it was so much better quality than what they were producing there,” Schoenewald said.

But mining proved to be on again, off again.

“You didn’t need coal to heat your house in the summer,” Schoenewald said. “So, the mines would close in the summer. And it was hotter than the gates of Hades (in Gebo), so many people would spend their summers up in the Bighorns, camping and fishing and hunting.”

Some years, there were as few as 90 working days at the mines. At $3.50 per day, that was just over $300 in annual pay, leaving little money for extras.

People found side jobs, like providing laundry services or preparing meals for bachelors, or working on the new highway that was being constructed over the Bighorns. Some took in boarders, others made bootleg wine and brandy in their basements from grapes shipped in the fall from California.

Families found ways to make-do with whatever they had at hand.

Clothing was handmade, and furniture was built from used shipping crates.

Most people didn’t have cars. They walked wherever they needed to go.

Music And Sledding

Fun in Gebo was generally whatever people could make for themselves without spending a dime.

There were amateur nights at the large community building, where anyone could perform. People sang songs native to their home, as well as American patriotic tunes, or they recited poetry.

Plays were particularly popular, as there would be several roles to fill and weeks of rehearsals.

There was a band for the guys and a band for the ladies, the latter often borrowing instruments from the former.

In the winter, there was sledding down the hills of Gebo. A particular favorite run was called “Bumpity Bump,” for its three dips and three mounds.

It felt just like the name, Cavelli said.

Deadly Epidemics Weren’t Uncommon

It was not all fun and games in Gebo.

With so many immigrants mixing, there were deadly epidemics in the camp — influenza in 1918, which was followed by a wave of diphtheria in 1920.

There was a vaccine for diphtheria, but it was in short supply. Families — many of whom had several children — were given just one shot, Schoenewald said, and faced a difficult decision.

Which child would they save?

In many of those families, the rest of the children, for whom there was no shot, died.

Many of those graves still rest in Gebo.

Relatives still visit, too, leaving flowers and coins at the gravesite.

The coins are a sign of respect, even in non-military contexts, to show that a person has not been forgotten.

The denomination can have different meanings to different groups of people.

A quarter might signify a close relationship, or it might mean the visitor was there when the person died. A nickel might mean they went to school together, a dime that they were work colleagues.

People Still Visit

The gravestones at Gebo have many coins, some of them quite old and some brand-new.

Schoenewald was heartened to see that there are still those who visit the gravestones and remember Gebo, the town that was once such a magical place to her.

“Visiting my grandparents in Gebo were some of my most precious childhood memories,” she told Cowboy State Daily. “As I got older, I met more people who either had lived in Gebo or, like me, their ancestors had.”

Talking to them always brought back memories of that special time and place.

“I decided it would be wonderful to do a book to honor them and to honor the sacrifices they made and the hard work it took to have a life there,” she said. “Especially after the big mines closed there in 1938.”

Schoenewald’s Papi —Italian for grandpa — was one of three partners who started a truck mine in Gebo. It would be one of the last to haul any coal from the mines.

“When the big mines closed, 500 jobs were lost immediately,” Schoenewald said. “But my Pa, he wanted to stay, and Nona wanted to stay, and several other people did as well.”

Gebo had been a town founded on dreams, and people were not so willing to give those up when the mines closed.

They wanted their town to keep going.

“I admire all of these people and the women,” Schoenewald said.

They all took big risks to come to America, and they worked hard once they arrived. They dug into America, learning the language and new customs as they built new lives.

Things were not always perfect in their new homes, and, sometimes, the hopes they had pinned on a town like Gebo didn’t work out as they had wished.

But, in spite of it all, they still made a good life for themselves and their children and grandchildren.

“That life needs to be remembered,” Schoenewald said. “We have in so many ways lost our ability to acknowledge each other and our humanness. I don’t know if that’s a word, but it’s my word. We’ve lost so much of that, and I’m hoping that when someone reads the book they’ll say, ‘Oh my gosh, that was an amazing way to live, and it’s too bad we don’t have more of that now.’”

Contact Renee Jean at renee@cowboystatedaily.com

Renée Jean can be reached at renee@cowboystatedaily.com.