Memories of Rodeo, Past and Present
December 13, 2023, a wonderful group of friends and I proudly walked through the
doors of the Thomas and Mack arena in Las Vegas walked around the rotunda, through the crowds,
looking for Section 108. a flood of memories washed over me and I traveled back 70 years ago.
The Richie Morgan family had been going to rodeos often. Richie and
Marge met at the Livermore Rodeo, and their die was cast. Richie would go to local
rodeos like Willits, Potter Valley, Ukiah, Booneville, or Santa Rosa, enter the roping
events and almost always come home with extra money in his pockets. He had a
stout buckskin roping horse he bought out of Oklahoma. They were a good
team, understood each other well.
In 1953, two little girls, dressed alike in their snap button shirts, cowboy
boots, and fancy pants, entered the Cow Palace with wide-eyed wonder. Dressed
alike because their mother made their clothes and it was less expensive, more
frugal, to get two outfits out of one piece of fabric. Wide-eyed wonder because they
traveled down from a small town where there never was so many people or lights or
cars or horses. We were at the Grand National, the big time in all its grandeur. The
National Finals Rodeo had not yet been born.
We walked through that rotunda, holding on to Mom’s hand as Dad went from friend
to friend. Talking for “endless hours” to Johnny Brazil; seeing Doc Root and catching
up on news with him. Vern Castro also came walking down the way and stopped to
talk “just for a minute.” I thought, “my daddy is more than my daddy, he knows
lots of these people.”
And as we walked through the crowds, the bulls with the big humps on their backs,
ambled around the pens, snorting at each other, and sometimes let us touch them
through the metal bars. Next to them, right beside the aisleway, were the horses
getting ready to buck off a cowboy, maybe walking next to us. It was mesmerizing,
but nothing like what was waiting for us as we walked into the inner sanctum . It
was Cattlemen’s Day at the Grand National.
We got seated and the announcer came on loud and clear. Not like the Potter Valley
Rodeo where it was slightly muffled. We stood for the National Anthem. I had never
heard it sung so dramatically; it came alive. The Grand Entry was like
nothing I had ever seen. It was full of color, flags, and racing horses. And then the
real action started. Those bulls we tried to touch, came out to the roar of the
crowd and usually bucked the contestant off. But when the rider was on the ground,
the show wasn’t always over. There was Slim Pickens to “play” with them with what
he had learned in Spain. Or sometimes that bull wanted out so badly he would
jump one fence and end up in the narrow alleyway between arena and stands. Or
he might, and has, jumped two fences and joined the crowd. And then that man
Dad was talking to for so long, Johnny Brazil, won the Stockhorse class. Dad must
be important for a man like that to know him. Eventually it got quiet in
that amazing arena, the lights came down lower, and out of the roof came a
platform filled with potted plants and chairs. It settled in the arena,
and more people took their places in the chairs and at the microphone. The obstacles were set up and I saw Barbara Worth take her horse over those jumps
with the greatest of ease. I had seen my first jumper.
I also think that was my first taste of cotton candy too; that is another story for
another time. We had seen the grandest, the Grand National at the Cow Palace
of San Francisco.
Today we have the National Finals Rodeo, started in 1959. Seven
decades later I turn into that little girl with the thrill, the tingles, and the pride as I
walk through those big, open doors. Through some slightly different eyes now.
The National Finals Rodeo speaks to who we are, no matter what we do the rest of
the days of the year. It brings us all together in the best celebratory event possible.
Fans don their Wranglers, their best Stetsons or Resistols, pull on their Luccheses, or
they can come in their tennis shoes and t-shirts. It doesn’t matter, we are all here
to see excellence and to honor the best of the best, to celebrate hard work and
determination.
We still mingle through the rotunda, seeing old and new friends. We meet ranchers,
farmers, doctors, and lawyers, old and young; we all love the rodeo. Unfortunately,
or maybe it is better, the bulls and horses are not right next to us anymore. They
are elsewhere getting ready to be the stars of the show, or so they think. No
matter, the anticipation and the revelry are still there.
We are seated, the announcer comes on with a big booming, “ARE YOU READY?”
and the grand entry comes in with a flurry, state by state, country by country. And
then the arena is humbly quiet as the National Anthem is sung and a prayer is
shared for man and animal to be safe.
This year we saw two young men, deservedly called the best of the best, sadly
withdraw and choose their future health over riding injured, never once complained
but looking forward to the next time. We saw a rider leave the arena on a stretcher,
unconscious, and come back the next day to win two go-rounds. We saw an NFR
record set by one contestant, and the next roper came out and beat it, only to get a
“no score” because the calf got up. Competitors kept looking
forward and staying positive. They pick up and get it done without moaning and groaning.
They represent the voice of a cowboy.
I love our rodeo spirit and competitors.
Through the decades the heart of the rodeo and the rodeo fans have not changed.
We are positive people, proud of who and where we are, working through and
beyond the pains and injuries that come our way, celebrating our lifestyle and our
heroes. Not everyone gets to live in wide open spaces, play with dogs, cats, horses,
calves, lambs, or goats. Not everyone gets to see our sunrises and sunsets astride
our best friend, the horse. We are fortunate to do what we do, live where we live,
and meet the people like us in heart and spirit.
