Red Lodge July 4th riot, 1975

Fifty years ago tonight, Red Lodge went nuts. Time gallops. My story in Distinctly Montana magazine recalls the night. Times have changed, or have they?

The full story is below. For a better reading experience, pick up a magazine. Many thanks to Distinctly Montana, a terrific publication with a trove of interesting content. https://digital.distinctlymontana.com/i/1536238-2025-summer/29?

Red Lodge July 4th Brouhaha of 1975

Were you there? Did you, too, lose your sight (and mind) that night in Red Lodge, a half century ago? Time flies.

Let it be known and remembered that 50 years ago, July 4, 1975, the town of Red Lodge erupted and went ballistic. Bonkers. Off its rocker. That night, two parties collided — hundreds of people, young and old. Anger lit up into insanity and the scene exploded into madness.

It was a July 4th unlike any other in the annals of Red Lodge lore. A spirited birthday celebration that brought many to tears, including me.

As I recall, the day started like this: Shortly before noon, some buddies and I were sidled up in the Blue Ribbon waiting for the parade to start. I was involved with a tall Bloody Mary, feeling rough from the night before.

A stocky man, short in size, long in years, smelling of Ancient Age, leaned toward me and said, “Want to leg wrestle?” To confirm what I heard, I repeated his query. He nodded. “For a drink,” he said. One end of his mouth dipped in a lopsided grin. His eyes rolled back and he wobbled and it appeared he might fall to the floor. I accepted the challenge. We shook on it. His hand was big and leathery, but lifeless. Like an old catcher’s mitt.

Tables and chairs were shoved aside and we flopped down next to each other on the floor. The match commenced. To my surprise, the gent got fast leverage on me. His thick legs were bullish and in less than eight seconds I was flipped over. He quickly rose to his feet and stepped to the bar, wobbling not. Chagrined, I paid up, knowing I’d been had.

I knew then it would be an interesting day.

The parade I hardly recall and the rodeo that followed was like all Red Lodge rodeos. Everyone crowded in close, hooting and hollering, Red Lodge Mountain peering over to watch the action. Someone snuck a keg into the stands. The action was fierce and lively. Cowboys flew in from Cody to ride, then flew off to Livingston for another rodeo go-round.

Afterwards, the arena emptied and like steers cut loose we tramped into town in a cloud of dust to further celebrate our country’s birth.

It wasn’t long before the scene turned raucous. Revelers hooted and danced and carried on in various stages of inebriation. Bar hounds dragged barstools outside. Cackling fools in straw cowboy hats shot bottle rockets from rooftops. Main Street was not closed. Cars and trucks cruised through, folks yelling, honking, blasting country rock — Marshall Tucker, New Riders, Asleep at the Wheel.

As the day finished its drink, the evening transformed into a golden haze, a perfect buzz of true enlightenment where all is good and you understand everything and your joy is so intense your cheeks hurt from smiling. You wish you could stop time.

But, naturally, the sun ran down, as did the fuse on the party. A resounding crash was heard as a guy got bucked through a store window. That sparked more disorder and before long other windows were fractured. Fears of the town burning down flew like embers to the VFW, where older townsfolk were whooping it up at their own hullabaloo.

The old party freaked upon learning of the young party. Phone lines heated up. Decisions were made. Law enforcement was alerted and the mayor called for the streets, where hundreds were afoot, to be cleared.

I was standing across from the Carbon County Coal Company when a man in National Guard uniform strode out in the center of the intersection, donned a gas mask, and tossed a smoking object in the air. It wasn’t a peace pipe. My first thought was I should probably leave now. Turning to go, I suddenly felt a wildfire in my eyes. Town leaders had brought tear gas to America’s birthday party. It did not go over well.

Eyelids jammed shut, members of the young party stampeded blindly down the street, hanging tight to the shirt of the person in front, streaming into bars to flush out the eyes and pain. It was the Snag men’s room for me.

Both parties, young and old, were fit to be tied. Folks hurled insults and accusations at each other, the old blaming the young for damaging their property, young blaming old for gassing them. A few fights broke out. Barstools were knocked over. Bottle rockets shot in all directions.

Standing against a brick wall, I spoke to an older man next to me who was more mature than most. He said something about kids these days not having any respect. Blinking, I said how about respect for someone’s eyes; we didn’t bring the tear gas. He said they heard there was a riot goin’ on. We both shook our heads at the squabble, rhubarbs on both sides.

Over 600 were involved in the fracas. As the moon rose, people got tired of arguing and wrestling over blame. Together, we all began to pick up beer cans and burnt fireworks. Barstools were moved back inside. People quieted down. Some even shook hands.

Authorities later claimed ample, audible warning was given in advance of the tear-gassing. If there was any such warning, I didn’t witness it — at least before my eyes caught fire.

It’s said 35 people were treated at the hospital that night, followed by another 20 the next day.

Police thought the kickup started at Marchello’s IGA. Damage was mostly to windows, which also “got the works” at Carbon County Coal Company, Roman Theater, Brokedown Palace Project Office, U.S. National Bank, and Regis Grocery. No looting or burglary occurred, only vandalism and property damage.

That July 4th was 50 years ago this summer. I wish I remembered more from that day. Time gallops.

A few years ago, after a drive up Beartooth Pass and back, I stopped in Red Lodge and went to the site where the tear gas was tossed. There were no burn marks on the pavement. I went into the Blue Ribbon and saw where the ignominious leg wrestling match occurred. The linoleum appeared to be the same.

Leaving the bar, I walked down the street to the offices of the Carbon County News. With their help, I found the original news story of the Red Lodge 4th of July eruption of 1975. It was filed away in a hefty, leather-bound book that smelled like a sweaty gym sock.

In stark black and white, the news story read:

26 Nabbed During Disorders
Billings Lawmen Help

Smoke bombs, tear gas and billie clubs dispersed holiday revelers early
July 5 after window-smashing occurred on Main Street downtown.

Local law enforcement squads were aided by personnel from the
Yellowstone County Sheriff’s Office and riot control specialists from the
SWAT (Special Weapons and Tactics) team from the Billings city force.

The story continued with details of the ruckus. It ended on a positive note: Red Lodge merchants scored big. Over 10,000 visitors hit town over the holiday. Folks herded through stores and at least one bar closed early July 4th after selling out.

Red Lodge wasn’t the only unlawful place that night. Over in Bridger, a safecracking occurred at City Hall. And two miles north of Red Lodge, the Round Barn was broken into. Thieves made off with a microwave and 100 pounds of meat, as reported in the Carbon County News.

In short, it was a long, wild birthday blowout that 4th of July night a half century ago. Time rides on.

Looking back, it seems like such an innocent time then, compared to now. A birthday celebration flew out of hand, tempers flared, young and old yelled at each other, fought each other, and went over the edge — then paused, opened their eyes and ears, and joined together to clean up after the party.

After the “riot” that night, I walked into the Blue Ribbon, wondering if I’d find the old fart who’d leg-whipped me like a dog. I was ready for a rematch. He wasn’t there. Probably home in bed, resting up for the next whippersnapper sucker to come along.

He missed a helluva brouhaha that night. As for me, I never leg wrestled again. Too hard on the back. Time always wins.