Chris LeDoux

(This was originally posted a while back on my Cheese Is Moldy Milk blog. It really needs to be over here. And, yes, I still tear up a bit after all this time.)

It's strange how some things can effect you. When I used to cover rodeo a few years back, I got into listening to Chris LeDoux. His music tapped into the spirit of the people in the sport and always got me fired up for a weekend of dust, dirt and "cowboy up" calls.

Whether I was cresting the last hill before pulling into Pendleton for the wild times of the Pendleton Round Up, knocking off the last long miles to Yakima for the Circuit Finals, or just rolling up to "The Biggest Little Show in the West" in Sisters... one constant was Chris LeDoux blasting on my stereo. It was always a good feeling when I pulled up to the back gate that served as the competitors' entrance in my battered, once-red Chevy pickup and got a knowing nod from the gate guard when he heard "Hooked On An Eight Second Ride" and caught a glimpse of my PRCA sticker in the window.

It's not only the rough-and-tumble rodeo songs that bring back memories either. Chris LeDoux's sappy songs still make me long for the innocent, yet heartfelt, romance he talks about in them. "Look At You Girl" and "County Fair" still take me back and remind of the way I used to feel back then...

Back in January of 1997, I finally got to see Chris LeDoux in concert. He played at a small arena in Prineville, Oregon. What better way to see a cowboy rocker than standing in the middle of a rodeo arena. I was with Michelle, a girl that I had dragged away from season tickets for the Portland Symphony straight to the grit of the rodeo world. She loved it, and so did I. The concert didn't disappoint. Chris rocked and crooned and rode a machanical bull on stage while singing... Stepping out into the cold, high-desert air afterwards we were sweaty and smiling. What more can you ask for?

I've been burning CDs to my computer and smiled when I came across my dust-covered Chris LeDoux discs. Just like that, the memories were all there.

A while back, I was talking to a friend and asked him if he liked Chris LeDoux. As we talked, he said that he thought he had heard that Chris LeDoux had died recently. I looked it up on the 'net and found it was true. Chris LeDoux died back in March of this year. I didn't know him, but I welled up with tears anyway. For me, he was a quiet hero, but a hero after all and now I'm sad that he's gone. Wherever you are now... thank you Chris LeDoux.

National Finals Rodeo...Take One (continued)

The Miss Rodeo America Pageant was being held at the Flamingo Hilton in Las Vegas, but there were events scattered around the city. One such event was a fashion show at Cashman Field, the large convention hall that was hosting Cowboy Christmas. Joanna was heading out there to support her friend Vanessa Owenby, Miss Rodeo Oregon, and so I caught a ride with her.

Looking over at her behind the wheel of the convertible, her blonde hair flying, I couldn't help but remember that the last time I saw Joanna was in Pendleton a couple months earlier. She had just taken a shower and came out of the bathroom in a small, white, hotel towel. The thought made me smile.

"What?" she said, glancing over.

"Huh? Nothing," I said.

"Mmm hmmm."

"How's Vanessa been doing?"

"Pretty good. She did great in horsemanship already," she said.

That didn't suprise me. I'd been watching Vanessa ride around rodeo arenas at full tilt on borrowed horses all summer. She was a good rider.

Only once did I ever see her take a tumble and that was only a couple weeks prior at an indoor rodeo in southern Oregon. She was on a borrowed horse again and when she was galloping along the arena fence and waving to the crowd, the horse was spooked by a flash and sent her flying. Anyone who thinks these rodeo queens are just pretty faces and tight Wranglers has never seen a girl get tossed ten feet into the dirt, land on their head, get up and fix their bent crown, grab a spooked horse and start riding again...all in front of a crowd of drunk rodeo fans. That's tough.

"Are they getting judged at the fashion show?" I asked.

"Yeah, it's part of their scoring."

We pulled into the Cashman Field, my press pass getting us right up near the door. Inside was a sprawl of booths. Rows and rows of cowboy this and cowgirl that. Saddles and tack, posters and calendars, ropes and piggin' strings, boots and hats. If it was cowboy, it was there.

The fashion show was deep in the heart of all this. On the stage, the girls were showing off western outfits, most of which were custom made for them.

It was no small undertaking to vie for the Miss Rodeo America crown. I knew Vanessa had thousands of dollars invested in outfits alone. The deep rust-brown, sueded-leather dress she had on now had probably cost around $500-600, her hat was easily another couple hundred and her boats about the same.

All the girls had similar investments. For an entire year they had all been travelling to rodeos in their home states, sometimes hitting as many as four in weekend. With every performance requiring a fresh change of clothes, that added up to a lot of Wranglers. Vanessa would travel loaded down with at least four pairs of jeans color-coordinated to each of her showy shirts, several pairs of boots, a couple of hats, her crown and sashes. And that was just her gettin' dirty clothes. The worst job in the world isn't fishing for crab or doing heavy construction, it's being the boyfriend, friend, Mom, or Dad of a rodeo queen. Who do you think carries all those clothes? Not to mention the tack, saddle and bag of beauty supplies.

The results of all the work were obvious up on the stage. These girls were beautiful. They modelled and answered a couple questions each. I was impressed by their poise. More impressed than I expected to be actually. I'm not sure what I expected, but what I found was a group of gorgeous, well-spoken young women.

When the fashion show was over, the girls were whisked off to sign autographs. I didn't get much of a chance to talk to Vanessa before they darted away but I did get to talk to Jennifer Douglas, the reigning Miss Rodeo America. She had a rare bit of time off from the week's events so we sat down to chat for a while.

I had met Jennifer earlier out at the Thomas and Mack Center. I was there to get my credentials for NFR. We talked for a couple of minutes then I went down with her to the arena. They were rehearsing the Grand Entrance for the first performance.

It wasn't until we got to talk after the fashion show that I realized what a wonderful person Jennifer was. Some people are nice, others can act nice, but there are very few that just exude kindness. Jennifer is one of those people.

She told me a bit about her year. It was a long one. She had been across the country several times travelling from rodeo to rodeo without much of a break. I got to hear about wild boar hunting in Florida and the cute little cur dog the rodeo comittee out there tried to give her. She told me about Borger, Texas, where she grew up and how strange it was to have her own billboard there because the town was so proud.

It was nice to talk to her. It was like having a sister - a very beautiful sister. I honestly didn't want it end, but the time rolled by and we both had to go.

Joanna was still shopping and searching for bargains, so I caught a cab back to my hotel. I had won $10 on the first and only quarter I stuck in a slot earlier and that paid for my ride. Life was good.

National Finals Rodeo...Take One

National Finals Rodeo, Las Vegas, December 1995

Top down on the red Mustang convertible with the sun keeping us warm, we were speeding along the freeway around Las Vegas. Joanna's blonde hair was flowing in the wind and glinting in the sun. She looked born to drive this car.

She hardly looked the part of a cowgirl, but who was I to talk? At this time last year would anyone I knew have guessed I would be Las Vegas covering the National Finals Rodeo? Not likely. But here I was, driving fast with a beautiful girl in the middle of a rodeo whirlwind.

I wasn't going to be in Vegas at all actually. I only pulled together the trip at the last minute. The week before I had driven over to Roseburg, Oregon, to wish Vanessa good luck and a great trip. Vanessa Owenby was the reigning Miss Rodeo Oregon and we had spent some time together at various rodeos over the last few months and had become friends. She was competing in the Miss Rodeo America Pageant during NFR.

"What! You can get into NFR for free and you're not going to do it?" She was shocked. "I can't believe you wouldn't go."

"Well, it wouldn't exactly be free you know."

"That's just... I can't believe it," she said. "Besides, I was kind of hoping you would be at the pageant."

"When you put it that way, it's sort of hard to say 'no,'" I said.

"Hey...do you guys think Shawn should go to Vegas next week?"

"Yeah!"

And just like that, I was scrambling to put it together.

Fortunately, I already had the press pass lined up. Without that it would have been a lost cause. The plane tickets turned out to be pretty cheap and I got a last-minute deal on a hotel, so I was good to go.

Looking back, it's funny how things fell into place and led to more and more opportunities - a bit like a line of falling dominos. I was covering NFR for a small Oregon publication which got me the press pass. Before the weekend was over, that job blossomed into several more and I met some important people along the way. One of the add-on jobs I was able to piggy back onto the first one was covering the Miss Rodeo America pageant...

Babies In The Stars

Pendleton Round Up, September 1996

It was still warm, but a lot cooler than the sweaty confines of Happy Canyon just through the doors. We were sitting on a couple bails of hay drinking some bad American beer that somehow always tastes okay after a long, hot day. She was well into her cups by now and I was doing my best to catch up.

She was a Yakima Indian and I was guy sporting a somewhat new straw cowboy hat and a pair of worn boats. We couldn't have been more different and yet we weren't that different at all. There was probably a universal truth in that, but at the time I never thought about it.

She had already paraded her three daughters by me in hopes of making a match, but since that didn't go anywhere, she was willing to just settle in for a talk.

"You see them stars?" she asked, pointing up.

"Yeah," I answered.

I took a sip of my beer and waited. This is how our communication had been going all night. She took her time that's for sure. The slow pace went well with her Northwest Indian accent - she sounded nearly identical to the Marylyn character from Northern Exposure. Her grandmother had been a medicine woman she told me, but she had lost most of the knowledge her grandmother had shared with her.

"You know what they are?" she asked.

"No, I don't."

"Well, I'll tell you," she said. "Can I have another one of them cigarettes?"

I handed her a Marlboro Light and lit it for her. It seemed like a timeless act - sharing tobacco - that goes well with tales. She took a drag and held it in and then looked at the slowly burning end for a few moments, as if pulling together some old memories. When she started to speak, it was with a slightly lowered voice.

"Those stars up there, all the stars, my Gramma told me what they are," she said. "She took me out one night and explained it to me. All those stars are the souls of the unborn babies. They're just waiting to come down here and be born. That's what she told me."

I looked up and had to wonder if it couldn't be true. It sure sounded nice.

"Really?" I asked.

"That's what I told my daughters when they was little. I told 'em those stars are all unborn babies waitin' to come down here... And you know what?"

"What's that?"

Then she nudged me with her elbow and said, "And they believed it too..."

She let out a hearty laugh and coughed on the smoke of the cigarette. I burst out laughing too, but in the midst of it I knew I would go on believing it anyway.

Cowboys are Cool...

I've got thing for cowboys. I covered rodeos for several years, I can't help it.

It all started with a freelance job. I had done a couple of magazine pieces and was trying to do more. I found a publication called ProRodeo Sports News and called them up. I told them I could cover a rodeo just up the road for them. They asked if I knew anything about rodeo and I lied. I got the job.

The Sisters Rodeo (The Biggest Little Show in the West) was my first rodeo and I was going to write about it for what turned out to be the Sports Illustrated of the Rodeo World. Thankfully, I didn't know that it was a big stink publication in the rodeo world at the time.

Basically, my knowledge of rodeo was that if it was trying to buck you off, you were supposed to stay on and if it was running away from you, you were supposed to catch it...humble beginnings indeed.

I met a lady in the contestant's area and we started talking. She explained some things to me and then said I should talk to her nephews...apparently they knew a bit about the sport. I grudgingly accepted her invitation thinking it would only take a couple of minutes and then I could get back to the real job of covering this event. Well, She introduced me to her nephews. One was a multi-time world champion bronc rider and his younger brother was on his way to winning his own world championship gold buckle that very year. These cowboys, Marvin and Mark Garrett, were a couple of the nicest, down-to-earth guys I've met. They took the time to explain the sport and gave me some pretty durn good quotes too.

A week or so later, I was supposed to cover a Hunter/Jumper horse event for a national equestrian magazine. The event started on Tuesday or Wednesday and ran through the weekend. I went out to the event grounds and stopped at the office to get my credentials. The woman there was a bitch and more than a bit snotty. I put up with her giving me the run around about getting copies of results during the week for awhile and then finally decided it wasn't worth it.

"If coverage in ***insert national horse magazine here*** isn't worth a couple minutes of your time, then fuck you and your shitty event," I said. "I'm sure your sponsors and the event director will be pleased."

They weren't, but I didn't care. I called ProRodeo Sports News and asked if I could cover anything for them. They asked if I could go that weekend. I never looked back.

Along the way, I learned a lot and met some pretty cool people. One thing I learned is that these guys lead a tough life, but they wouldn't trade it in for the world. I also learned that cowboys really can be like comic book heros.

Here's a couple of examples:

*** I drove a beat-up Chevy pickup to the grounds. It was - to put it kindly - distinctive. It was also prone to having starter problems. At one rodeo, I had to replace the starter in the dirt at the grounds. A cowboy came over and gave me a hand without even knowing me. I saw him a few weeks later and he asked if the truck was okay. I bought him a beer and it was never mentioned again.

*** One year at Sisters, someone on the rodeo commitee (which I had joined by then) asked me to pick up a contestant at the little airport outside of town. That wasn't uncommon since most of the top cowboys tried to charter small planes if they could since they often had to travel pretty great distances between rodeos. I picked up the reigning world champion saddle bronc rider, Dan Mortensen, in my crapped-out Chevy. He grinned and hopped right in. Instead of bitching about the dirty ride, he pointed to some flies I had stuck to my dash.

"You fish?" he asked.

"A bit," I said. "I'm not very good."

He laughed and said, "Me either, but it sure is fun. I wish I had some time here. I hear there's good fishing around here."

He always gave me a nod when I saw him after that. Even at the National Finals Rodeo in Vegas.

*** Most rodeo grounds are split into two areas - the contestants' area and the rest of the grounds. I used to leave my camera bag sitting on the ground in the contestants' area all time. I never had any problems despite the fact that there were alway several lenses and bodies in there.

At one event, I came back to find -- well, nothing. My bag was gone. The rodeo was over and it was just some people milling around afterward. I felt sick. It was unbelievable that someone would just take it...that kind of thing never happened.

Just as I was about to lose it, a guy walks up and asks if I'm the camera guy. He then proceeds to tell me he moved my stuff into the announcer's booth so it wouldn't get hurt because he thought it might be expensive. I nearly kissed the guy...I stopped short of that and just thanked him.

*** In Bremerton, Washington, I had the great joy of having dinner with the then Miss Rodeo America. MiQuel Holyoak was one of the most beautiful girls around and she was spending some time between performances with me. I was in heaven.

Well, wouldn't you know...of course the starter on my truck went bad right after dinner. MiQuel sat up in the cab, peaceful as could be, reading a magazine and turning the ignition when I would yell up to her. Finally, it got going and I took her back to her motel to get changed for the evening show.

'Sorry about that," I said. "I hope this doesn't make you late."

Most girls wouldn't have been very impressed with the showing, but she just hopped out and grinned.

"I wasn't too worried. I knew you could get it started," she said laughing. "You know I love your truck, but next time...maybe I should drive."

Next time, she did drive...

Anyway, that's just a couple of reasons I have a thing for cowboys and - even more so - for cowgirls. I still miss that culture and wish the rest of the world was a bit more like it. Ah well...maybe someday.

Till then, Happy Trails...