Harry Steinfeldt was born in St. Louis, but his family moved to Fort Worth, Texas when he was five years old. In 1912, he told William A. Phelon of The Cincinnati Times-Star what baseball was like in Lone Star state in the 1880s and 90s:
Steinfeldt
“Texan audiences used to be pretty rough stuff when the Texas League began—especially in the more Western cities—and the merry cowboys—gone now forever—were quite a disturbing element. They used to spring jokes about cowboys lassoing outfielders to keep them from chasing the ball.”
Steinfeldt told Phelon about an incident he claimed happened during a game in the 1890s:
“Fort Worth and Waco were grappling in a desperate struggle—a game that might have considerable bearing on the percentages and on the ultimate disposition of the flag. The teams were batting heavily, for both pitchers were scared to death and neither seemed to have much of anything. First one side would rush ahead and get what seemed like a good, safe lead, and then the other team would overcome the advantage and collect a wad of runs. In the seventh, Fort Worth was leading 8 to 7, and looking fairly sure, but Waco came through with three in the eighth. They came into the ninth with the score 10 to 8 in Waco’s favor.
“Two men were easily disposed of; then came three successive, and the right fielder returned the ball clear over the catcher’s head, letting one man in, while the catcher, by desperate scrambling, just managed to drive another runner back to third. Men on third and second, two gone, the best of the Fort Worth hitters up, and the crowd bellowing till you’d think pandemonium had been let loose.
“The batsman swung on a fastball, and it sailed out in a long, arching curve, settling near the left field bleachers, but with the left fielder backing up and settling himself for the catch. Just as the ball was coming down, a revolver cracked, and the ball, struck by a big 45 caliber bullet, flew to pieces in midair.
“The two men on the bases ran in, and a wild riot started round the plate. But the umpire was a man of nerve. He held up his hand to still the tumult, and then roared ‘Dead ball! Batsman must hit over again.’
“And there wasn’t a kick as the batter came back and missed his third strike on the next pitch. Even the cowboy who had shot the ball didn’t make any objection. ‘I reckon,’ said he, as he climbed down from the bleachers, ‘that there decision was plumb right—for if ever a ball was a dead one it was the particular ball after I done plugged it.’
“Those were great days, and no mistake about it.”
Baseball History Daily 
One Response to “Steinfeldt spins a Yarn”