January 29, 2015
It is stock show time in cowtown. As a child, this was an exciting time of year for me. It meant that my Dad would take a day off and we would go to Fort Worth. My Dad’s only brother also lived in Breckenridge and had a son my age. For several years, the two brothers made the fat stock show* an annual trip. It was something to look forward to each year. We always went on a weekday and my cousin and I were allowed to miss school. This was a special privilege.
Every year I would ask my Dad if I could wear jeans even though I knew what his answer would be. He would tell me that only city “wanna be cowgirls” wore jeans to the stock show. My mother would help me choose one of my favorite school outfits and I would wait another year to ask again.
Fat stock show day was full of activities and always began by going through the livestock exhibits. I dutifully observed every animal and listened to my Dad’s comments.
The most anticipated event of the day was the rodeo in the afternoon. It was an awesome experience for a little girl to enter Will Rogers Coliseum and see all those rows and rows of seats. I thought that it was surely the largest building in the United Sates, possibly in the whole world. It was years later that I realized with sadness that the building was beginning to shrink. It is not nearly as large now as it was when I was a little girl.
The rodeo began with the Grand Entry. It was magnificent in itself. My favorite event was the trick riders. Every year I decided that I wanted to be a trick rider when I grew up. I knew that this would be a problem for two reasons: I had no one to teach me,
and my old horse undoubtedly would not cooperate with anything unusual. Realizing that it was unrealistic did not keep me from dreaming. I knew the names of the riders and had my favorite stunts.
Another favorite was the clowns. I remember a tall clown and a short clown. The short clown had a barrel he would jump into during the bull riding. I would hold my breath as the bull rolled the barrel around. It was a relief when the clown jumped out of the barrel. One year he did not jump out. The bull had somehow gotten a horn inside the barrel and gored him. The entire audience was gasping while people ran to his aide. As we watched in horror, I remember my Dad wondering what part of his body was gored. He feared it might be his midsection. I envisioned the man bleeding to death right in front of us. The clown was carried out on a stretcher and eventually the show went on. I believe we learned that he was gored in the thigh, but I am not sure. He did survive. I do not know if he chose another line of work after that. It certainly impressed me and gave me new respect for those helping the cowboys escape after being thrown from a bull.
It gives me satisfaction that the event continues to be popular to this day.
*In those days the name Fat Stock Show was the only term I ever heard. Later when the name became Southwestern Exposition and Livestock Show, most people still referred to it as the Fat Stock Show. Everyone in this part of Texas knows what it is and where it is regardless of the name.