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"LEGACY OF THE RODEO MAN"
By Baxter Black, DVM
There's a hundred years of history and a hundred before that
All gathered in the thinkin' goin' on beneath his hat.
And back behind his eyeballs and pumpin' through his veins
Is the ghost of every cowboy that ever held the reins.

Every coil in his lasso's been thrown a million times
His quiet concentration's been distilled through ancient minds.
It's evolution workin' when the silver scratches hide
And a ghostly cowboy chorus fills his head and says, "Let's ride."

The famous and the rowdy, the savage and the sane
The bluebloods and the hotbloods and the corriente strain
All knew his mother's mothers or was his daddy's kin
'Til he's nearly purely cowboy, born to ride and bred to win.

He's got Buffalo Bill Cody and Goodnight's jigger boss
And all the brave blue soldiers that General Custer lost
The ghost of Pancho Villa, Sittin' Bull and Jessie James
All gathered by his campfire keepin' score and takin' names.

There's every Royal Mountie that ever got his man
And every day-work cowboy that ever made a hand
Each man that's rode before him, yup, every mother's son
Is in his corner, rootin', when he nods to make his run.

Freckles Brown might pull his bull rope, Casey Tibbs might jerk the flank,
Bill Picket might be hazin' when he starts to turn the crank.
Plus Remington and Russell lookin' down his buckhorn sight
All watchin' through the window of this cowboy's eyes tonight.

And standin' in the catch pen or in chute number nine
Is the offspring of a mountain that's come down from olden time
A volcano waitin' quiet, 'til they climb upon his back
Runblin' like the engine of a freight train on the track.

A cross between a she bear and a bad four wheel drive
With the fury of an eagle when it makes a power dive
A snake who's lost it's caution or a badger gone berserk
He's a screamin', stompin', clawin', rabid, mad dog piece o' work.

From the rollers in his nostrils to the foam upon his lips
From the hooves as hard as granite to the horns with dagger tips
From the flat black starin' shark's eye that's the mirror of his soul
Shines the challenge to each cowboy like the devil callin' roll

In the seconds that tick slowly 'til he climbs upon his back
Each rider faces down the fear that makes his mouth go slack
And cuts his guts to ribbons and gives his tongue a coat
He swallows back the panic gorge that's risin' in his throat.

The smell of hot blue copper fills the air around his head
Then a single, solid, shiver shakes away the doubt and dread
The cold flame burns within him 'til his skin's as cold as ice
And the dues he paid to get here are worth every sacrifice

All the miles spent sleepy drivin'. all the money down the drain
All the "if I's" and the "nearly's." all the bandages and pain
All the female tears left dryin', all the fever and the fight
Are just a small downpayment on the ride he makes tonight.

And his pardner in this madness that the cowboy's call a game
Is a ton of buckin' thunder bent on provin' why he came
But the cowboy never wavers he intends to do his best
And of that widow maker he expects of him no less.

There's a solemn silent moment that every rider knows
When time stops on a heartbeat like the earth itself was froze
Then all the ancient instinct fills the space between his ears
"Til the shispers of his phantoms are the only thing he hears

When you get down to the cuttin' and the leather touches hide
And there's nothin' left to think about, he nods and says, "Outside!"
Then frozen for an instant against the open gate
Is hist'ry turned to flesh and blood, a warrior incarnate.

And while they pose like statues in that flicker of an eye
There's somethin' almost sacred, you can see it if you try.
It's guts and love and glory - one mortal's chance at fame
His legacy is rodeo and cowboy is his name.
'

It was hard to get lost on the main street that Buffalo Bill Cody had made wide enough for his West Show wagon teams of horses, cowboys, Indians, rough riders, and sharp-shooters to turn around in. I was heading back to my hotel after a poke around town chatting with bootmakers, gunsmiths and Buffalo Bill look-alikes. This cowboy found me stopping to gaze at the Absaroka Mountains bluing on the horizon...

 

The Bull Riders Prayer: Rodeo Night
By Nancy Lyon

It was hard to get lost on the main street that Buffalo Bill Cody had made wide enough for his West Show wagon teams of horses, cowboys, Indians, rough riders, and sharp-shooters to turn around in. I was heading back to my hotel after a poke around town chatting with bootmakers, gunsmiths and Buffalo Bill look-alikes. This cowboy found me stopping to gaze at the Absaroka Mountains bluing on the horizon...

It was nearing sundown in Cody, Wyoming when the short cowboy with the broken arm came moseying in my direction.

Say Ma'am, you look lost, he said tipping his dusty brown hat.

Did I? It was hard to get lost on the main street that Buffalo Bill Cody had made wide enough for his West Show wagon teams of horses, cowboys, Indians, rough riders, and sharp-shooters to turn around in. I was heading back to my hotel after a poke around town chatting with bootmakers, gunsmiths and Buffalo Bill look-alikes. This cowboy found me stopping to gaze at the Absaroka Mountains bluing on the horizon.

Your hotel must be over here, said Mack Sizemore ambling toward the big map in front of Chamber of Commerce.

I poked along, merely to gratify this genteel cowboys eagerness to be helpful. Little did I imagine where it would lead me: to the Buzzards Roost at the Cody Night Rodeo, looking down onto a ton of fast, mean, spinning, bucking, dagger-horned, $30,000 cross-blood Brahma Bull ready to impale whatever jumped on its back. All I did was ask Mack how hed broken his arm, and out it came, the whole Zen of Rodeo and one mans passion for his job: Bull Riding.

In 18 years of rodeo Ive had 24 major operations, says Mack squinting from under his hat. Ive had two, no three, blood clots removed from my brain after bulls hooked me with their horns. This arms completely destroyed, he says lifting red bandana-covered cast. It was healing from one break - the bonesre fused together - then eight weeks ago another bull stepped on it and broke the fusion in half. Ill never bend it again.

You rode with a broken arm?

Yeah and Im riding again tonight. Im on a bad drought. Havent gotten a paycheck in two months. Bull riders at the Cody Night Rodeo dont get a base salary. If we dont stay on the bulls for eight seconds, we dont score and we dont get paid. Its only $234, but some would say thats a pretty good paycheck for only eight seconds of work, Mack laughs.

You risk your life without getting paid for it?

Sound stupid? No, what it honestly is, Nancy, is a lotta heart. We push our bodies way past what we should. We push our luck. If theres no paycheck for two months, you cant let it break your spirits. Ive never wondered Why do I do what I do? Id hate myself for not doing what I love.

Riding the bulls is riding on blind faith, continues Mack with his Zen lesson. Its up to the judges who gets paid. They score you on how hard the bull is to ride - how it kicks, bucks, spins, jerks, and how you ride it. Tonight theres gonna be eight bull riders. Only the three highest scores will get paid. So even if I make my eight seconds, I might not get a paycheck.

Whats your longest time on a bull?

Not more than eight seconds, Nancy. The stock contractor fines you if you stay on longer. Makes his bulls look bad.

This beat up old rodeo star on his way back from another x-ray kept on smiling as he told me about his $14,000 medical insurance policy, being in and out of hospitals, on and off the bulls. Then giving it all up and selling his bareback rigging two years ago. Then buying it all back a year later.

In Cody, rodeo is a verb. Girls and boys grow up with the smell of saddle leather dreams. In high school they join rodeo teams like kids in Indiana sign up for marching bands. Mackks older brother Orland, rodeoing for 26 years, got Mack started riding the steers. From steers he went to bulls. Then in 1991 and 1992 he got invited to the prestigious Calgary Stampede. By rodeo standards, Mack is old at 33. But hes still doing New Mexico, Colorado, Kansas, Nebraska, Virginia and North Carolina. With a broken arm.

You just gotta come to the Rodeo tonight, Mack says to me tipping his hat. Youll love it."

Cody, Wyoming, gateway to the amazing geysers of Yellowstone National Park, calls itself the Rodeo Capital of the World. This frontier town can rightly lay claim to the title because Rodeo was inspired by ranching chores like breaking horses and roping steer - and Buffalo Bills Wild West Show. William F. Cody founded this town in Wyomings Big Horn Basin in 1897 with tourism in mind. You cant visit the Buffalo Bill Historical Center and the Buffalo Bill Museum without being awed by the man born in LeClair, Iowa on February 26, 1846. Aged 14, as a Pony Express rider, he rode a Herculean 328 miles in 20 hours - a feat never again rivaled in Pony Express history. Aged 21 he felled 12 buffalo a day to feed construction crews for the Kansas Pacific Railroad - hence the moniker Buffalo Bill. Dime novelists like Ned Buntline made Cody a legend in his own time. Born with greasepaint in his blood Cody got elected to the Nebraska Senate, but resigned shortly after to give Broadway a whirl. And from indoor stages to outdoor stagings he galloped.

Between 1883-1902 Buffalo Bill Cody toured the U.S. and Europe with a preposterous entourage: 83 cowboys, 97 Indians, 38 roustabouts, 180 horses, 18 buffalo, 10 mules, 10 elk, five wild Texas steers, four donkeys, two deer, bears, mountain sheep, sundry musicians and stars like Sioux Chief Sitting Bull and trick shooter Annie Oakley. He staged entire Pony Express runs, Indian raids and shootouts. He entertained working people. He entertained royalty. Everyone loved the swaggering long-haired hero in the buckskin jacket. He was the best known American in the whole world.

Youd think Buffalo Bill Cody was still alive and running the town if you saw Ebb Tarr from Gloucester, Massachusetts. I met this living historian a long ways from his native New England fishing village - on the steps of the Irma, the Victorian Hotel that Cody named for his daughter. Tarr stars in many Wild West reenactments, and his uncanny resemblance to Cody doesnt depend on make-up and period clothing. Its a long story how winning a Chile cook-off with a dynamite recipe landed Ebb the career of a Buffalo Bill look-alike. If you go to Cody, youll surely hear all about it

Jingling spurs, shiny buckles, fancy-tooled leather, white hats and sassy shirts - here I am at the Cody Night Rodeo, Americas longest running rodeo. For the last 63 years from June to August, crowds have packed the stands to see calf roping, steer riding, stick horse racing, and barrel racing. But the real crowd thrillers are the bucking bulls with names like Rampage, Lucifer, Locomotive Breath, Scarface and Predator.

From the Buzzards Roost its easy to spot Mack with his broken arm. I wave some encouragement. He distractedly waves back, sprinting between mysterious preparatory tasks. As wed parted at sundown, Id said Id pray for him tonight. A lot of us cowboys, we do pray, he responded. Youll see us leaning over the chutes, touching our animals and taking off our hats.

And what was the Bull Riders Prayer? Please God, no broken neck? No torn groin muscle? No broken jaw? No horn in the head?

The girls Barrell Racing event, the Rodeo Clown antics, the steer roping contests... It was all fun but I couldnt wait for the bulls! One after another, each of eight riders leapt onto a horned devil, gripping the flat braided rope around the bull's chest - with one hand only - for dear life. Spinning, bucking, blurs in the dust! How can they hang on for even a nanosecond? One wears a football helmet - surely laughed at by the others who sport only white cowboy hats to save their craniums. Then comes poor one-armed Mack. Yeomph!!! Bucked off into the sweaty dust before the count of one. But tomorrow night hell be back in the bucking chutes again. Doing what he loves.