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Tribune News Service
Tribune News Service
Lifestyle
James Hartley

As sprawl threatens their way of life, modern cowboys preserve Texas culture through rodeo

What possesses a man to ride a bull?

To climb atop a 2,000-pound beast with horns and test his endurance as the furious animal tries to launch him to the sky?

For Rino Moore, it’s simple: “Way too much pride.”

The 21-year-old from Paris (the one in Texas) lives for the eight seconds after that gate opens. The bull lurches out of the chute, kicks up chunks of dirt and bucks to get the pesky human off its back.

As the audience in a packed open-air arena in Wolfe City, Texas, shouts and cheers him on the night of Aug. 6, Moore jerks forward and back, left and right, one hand in the air and the other holding onto a rope with every molecule of strength he can muster. He’s waiting to hear the buzzer announcing he’s made it past the eight-second mark, but his focus is so strongly honed in on the task at hand there’s no telling if he’ll notice when it sounds.

Those eight seconds can be endless, and the entire world can become non-existent. Or, the time can be up in what feels like half a heartbeat.

Sitting in the chute, waiting for his world to erupt into the chaos of his ride, Moore sees nothing but the bull and the gate. He hears nothing but his own heartbeat and the heavy breathing of the animal. Each time he inhales, he’s barraged with the unmistakable bouquet of rodeo: dirt, manure and that musky scent of horses, cattle and cowboys.

The roar of the crowd turns into an insignificant hum while the small things, like the rustle of the rider’s hat as he adjusts its position on his head, are nearly deafening. A whisper near the chute can sound clearer than anything else in existence.

“The only real things are you, the bull and the guy that’s gonna pull that gate open,” Moore says, still catching his breath after his ride. “And you hope he opens that gate fast and you can get going. The longer you’re in there on his back, the worse he’s gonna wanna get you off.”

Every rider can count on that bull eventually sending him flying. And no matter the result, when he leaves the arena he can count on raucous applause from spectators.

There’s something about this kind of Texas rodeo that just makes it feel authentic. It’s like pieces of the state’s history, ranch culture and small-town life have wandered into the present, and yet somehow still belong here.

Gathered in a small arena in Wolfe City or Stephenville or Paris or Gladewater or some other town, small or large, surrounded by people wearing boots and cowboy hats and Wrangler jeans, the sense of community, camaraderie and competition that spurred the first of what might be considered modern rodeos is still strong. And the atmosphere in the bigger arenas, like in Fort Worth, may be different, but behind the scenes it looks pretty much the same.

It’s a feeling often shared by competitors, seasoned fans and newcomers alike. “Family” is the most frequent description people will give when asked to define the charm that makes rodeos such momentous occasions in the communities in which they’re hosted.

It’s also what keeps them alive.

Keeping traditions in a changing landscape

“I remember when this was all farm land.”

There’s not a person in North Texas who hasn’t heard (or said) that countless times. The environment that fostered rodeos and the culture that surrounds them is fading, in some places rapidly. Where cattle and horses used to graze, people now stroll shopping plazas and live in housing developments and new apartments.

The cattle drives in the Historic Fort Worth Stockyards have long been just for show. The area, once the heartbeat of the livestock trade in Texas and much of the South and Southwest, is today more a tourist attraction and a hub for nightlife built around the Western culture that once ruled the region.

Rodeos, though, have survived the changes. There may be fewer of them, but those that are still around seem strong. Most of it has to do with family passing down the tradition.

According to the ProRodeo Cowboy Association, more than 43 million attend or watch on TV the more than 650 PRCA-sanctioned rodeos each year. And that’s just PRCA, the largest of the countless rodeo associations in North America. Because so many rodeo associations are more localized, it’s difficult to quantify how many there are, much less the number of rodeos that happen each year in the U.S. and Canada.

That family tradition has been passed down to Trevyn Armstrong, a wiry 20-year-old bull rider who sounds like a livestock auctioneer when he speaks. He walks with a swagger that could be a display of confidence or the result an injury he suffered on the ride he just finished.

Armstrong has had eight surgeries related to rodeo injuries, rebuilding his right elbow and both knees, along with surgeries on both his shoulders. None of the surgeries made him even consider leaving the sport.

“You do it once and if it’s for you, that’s all it takes,” he says after his ride in Wolfe City. His words come out so excitedly, it’s like each one is fighting to be said first. He didn’t make it the full eight seconds on this night, but that won’t stop him from jumping immediately to the next rodeo. “It’s a lot of passion. There’s a lot of heart and dignity. Rodeo is a lot more than just showing up,” he says.

He grew up on a ranch near Broken Bow in Oklahoma. His grandfather, father and stepfather all rode in rodeos, roping calves. None of his relatives ever competed in bull riding, but he was destined to ride in rodeos. He, like most others, started with mutton busting. As a child, his dad took him and put him on the back of a sheep, then let the sheep loose in the arena to see how long he could hang on.

Mutton busting is a staple at almost every rodeo. Usually it happens before the official start of the event, with parents arriving early, tykes in tow, to give the kids a chance at winning a belt buckle for sheep riding. The children are usually restless with excitement as they wait their turn.

Darby Fields, a barrel racer, said the same thing about starting her preparation for rodeos early. She rode her first horse when she was 3 and grew up around barrel racing, going to watch her mother compete in rodeos. There was never a doubt in her mind that she would end up doing the same.

Now she and her horse, Jane, travel the country to compete in every rodeo she can afford to enter. The cost is different from rodeo to rodeo, from less than $100 to sometimes around $1,000, depending on the location and event. Each time she wins some money, it gives her the opportunity to ride in another rodeo.

Standing outside in the sticky, warm August night after her ride, she scratches behind her horse’s ear and whispers praise to Jane for her speed. The arena lights cast an auburn glow over them both, the crowd already cheering on the next rider.

“My family’s been doin’ it since the ‘70s, but the reason I keep coming back is Jane,” Fields says as her horse sniffs at her before nudging her shoulder for attention. “My relationship with my horse is what really keeps me here.”

While the rodeo is a tradition for many families, there is also growth from first-generation athletes and the introduction of new sports.

Like breakaway roping. Similar to the first part of the tiedown roping that men compete in, breakaway roping just cuts out the part where the calf is tied up.

In a sport exclusively for women, the cowgirl gets the rope around the calf’s neck and then lets go. The timer stops when the rope breaks away from the saddle (hence the name).

Natalie Bland, a barrel racer, said breakaway roping and the more frequent inclusion of barrel racing in rodeos has given women more opportunities to compete and offered fans another group of athletes to cheer on.

Bland has been riding since she was old enough to sit up straight. Her mother is a barrel racer, still competing today. She remembers a time when a lot of rodeos didn’t even think about including barrel racing.

Sitting atop her horse, Bayou a Cold One (or Bud, to those who know him well), she echoes what most other athletes who grew up in rodeo families say: Competing in a rodeo was always something she would do, but the excitement and community is what keeps her here.

“I love riding horses. I love going fast,” Bland says. “Put the two together and you get barrel racing.”

Racers get a running start behind the gate, make a hard left to circle the first barrel, head to the right for the second and up away from the gate before finishing with a mad dash back out of the arena, the whole time to raucous whoops, cheering and applause from spectators. The fastest time wins, but knocking over a barrel adds 10 seconds. In this race, that’s equivalent to a lifetime.

“Everybody knows if you’re back behind the chutes for barrel racing you keep your distance,” Bland says. “You get so excited, your horse gets so excited. If someone is right there when you’re comin’ back out, they’re getting knocked down.”

When it’s over, the rider is usually exhausted, breathing heavy and slightly slouched from the expense of energy it takes to stay atop and guide a speeding horse. The horse most often looks like it’s ready to go again.

A celebration of culture

Rodeos started as gatherings of neighbors, family and friends to see who could outdo the others in challenges that revolved around the day-to-day lives of ranchers and cowboys, but they’ve grown to celebrations of a deeper culture.

In Wolfe City, the celebration is simple: two nights of riding with a “good ol’ fashioned boot scoot” to cap off the second night.

People from the area, both those who were present at the rodeo and those who came just for the after party, gathered in downtown Wolfe City, where police blocked off the roads at the center of town and a flatbed trailer was set up as a stage at the intersection of East Main Street and South Preston Street.

Jason Waldon and The Alibis were there on that makeshift stage, playing a mix of country music old and new, covers and originals. Some were slow ballads and others were upbeat tunes, but all of them had a group of people in the middle of the intersection dancing along.

To many, the rodeo isn’t the rodeo without the celebrations attached.

In Stephenville, the Cowboy Capital of the World Rodeo begins with celebrations. It’s the last chance to qualify for those hoping to find themselves in Las Vegas for the National Finals Rodeo on Dec. 1-10. There’s a barbecue cook-off, cowgirl pageant, fashion show and an art gallery as a part of Rodeo Heritage Week. On Saturday night, there’s a hoe down in the back area of Lone Star Arena.

This, Casey Hammons says, is why rodeos are not only still around but in some areas blossoming despite growing urbanization of areas that were historically the ranching communities that knit the circuit of rodeos together.

Hammons, a barrel racer and the vice president of the rodeo in Stephenville, said it doesn’t matter where people are today if they were raised in the culture that surrounds cowboy competitions.

“We’re connected to our history, the culture of our parents and grandparents and great-grandparents,” Hammons said. “This is a reminder of where they came from, where we came from. It’s our connection to the people still here and the people we don’t have around anymore.”

For those who don’t have a history in rodeo, it’s about being a new piece of that legacy.

Riders like Denard Butler, a steer wrestler from Checotah, Oklahoma, who started riding because the family of his best friend in high school competed in rodeos. None of his relatives had ever competed. He hadn’t even been to a rodeo before meeting that friend. Now, he says, he’s contributing to the history and legacy of the sport.

That’s one of the exciting parts that drives him, but Butler said the camaraderie and atmosphere surrounding the sport are what made him a part of the cowboy lifestyle.

As he stands behind the chutes at Lone Star Arena in Stephenville, with cowboys riding their horses in circles together, talking and warming up for their chance to prove themselves, Butler says there’s nothing like the feeling of being around his rodeo family.

“It’s a good family, Christian sport,” Butler says.

He’s already had his run at this rodeo, so he’s just here to talk to friends who are still waiting their turn. He won’t be going to the national finals this year, but that hasn’t brought down his mood.

“I’ve never had to worry about a place to stay when I’m on the road,” Butler says. “If I don’t have a room at a hotel, I’ve got a room at some guy’s house. And when he comes to my town, he’s got a room at mine.”

One of the few Black cowboys competing at the Cowboy Capital of the World Rodeo, Butler said he was embraced as a part of the community from the beginning. He’s heard worries about racism from other Black cowboys or people of color interested in riding in rodeos, and said those worries might hold some people back, but he’s never experienced problems.

Anybody can rodeo, he says.

“For somebody who doesn’t know much about this lifestyle who wants to get involved, they might think they need a lot of money but they don’t,” Butler said. “There are people who will help you get started and keep going. All you really need is faith in God and faith in yourself and you can do this or really anything else. Rodeo or pro checker player, doesn’t matter.”

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