Catching up.

Not long ago, I dusted off a favorite LP record album from the past and gave it a listen. It’s still good. The record, by legendary country singer and songwriter Roger Miller (no relation), is titled, “Dear Folks Sorry I Haven’t Written Lately.” Well, folks, I haven’t written lately here either, although I doubt I have been missed.

The last few months on the writing front have been tied up with a lot of busy work. Here’s a rundown.

And the River Ran Red, my historical novel about the Massacre at Bear River, is now available in paperback and eBook from publisher Speaking Volumes at all the online booksellers. Find it in paperback at Amazon US  and Barnes & Noble; and in eBook at Amazon US, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Play, and Kobo Books.

Also just released is an anthology of Western short stories that, so far as anyone can determine, is the first crowd-funded Western ever. It’s the result of a lot of hard work by editor Jeff Mariotte and Kickstarter. It’s now available online everywhere in paperback and eBook. My story, “The Incident Above Mentioned” is the lead story in Silverado Press Presents Western Stories by Today’s Top Writers.

Another collection of short stories is due in large print from Thorndike Publishing in late July. This one is a collaboration with friend and fellow author Michael Norman. Shiny Spurs and Gold Medallions features our award-winning Western stories (Western Writers of America Spur Awards, Will Rogers Medallion Awards, and elsewhere), along with some new offerings.

Then there’s Buckoffs and Broken Barriers: Rodeo Poems, a new collection of poetry in the works at publisher Speaking Volumes. The book, as the title suggests, is all about rodeo, and includes poems both serious and silly. Some have appeared in magazines long ago, some in other collections and anthologies, and many are published here for the first time.

Speaking Volumes also has the manuscript for a new novel featuring Rawhide Robinson,  ordinary cowboy and extraordinary spinner of tall tales. This adventure, titled Rawhide Robinson Rides with Old Blue, has our raconteur in the employ of Charlie Goodnight, trailing cattle northward led by Goodnight’s legendary lead steer, Old Blue. But Old Blue keeps walking even after reaching Ogallala, and Rawhide Robinson follows the big steer into the great white north to fetch him back to Texas.

And, amidst all that, I have been writing short articles from Western history for the online publication Cowboy State Daily. Of late they have published my pieces about Charlie Siringo; the 1896 Montpelier, Idaho bank robbery; the Parcel Post Bank in Vernal, Utah; and Wild Bill Hickok’s gunfight in Springdale, Missouri.

Also on the horizon is a new novel from Speaking Volumes that will see the light of day later this year. Where the Long Trail Ends is set on a cattle drive on the Chisholm Trail. The title is a line from a poem by George Rhoades, an old college professor of mine, who is also an award-winning poet. Then there’s a new novel about the Pony Express, The Mail Must Get Through, as well as paperback and eBook editions of my previous hardcover books This Thy Brother and Black Joe and Other Selected Stories.

After all that, who knows what else the future holds?

Sorry to fill your day with so much chin music, but I wanted to make up for lost time.

Utah cowboys at the National Finals Rodeo

Ten of the best days of the year ended Saturday night with the completion of the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association’s National Finals Rodeo. Rodeo fans know that cowboys from across America and Canada, with a few thrown in from Australia and Brazil, compete all year long to win enough prize money to rank among the top 15 cowboys in their events and qualify for the National Finals.

It’s a grueling test—ten straight days of matching yourself against the best bucking horses and bulls, and select calves and steers in the timed events.

Utah cowboys cleaned house this year, sweeping up all the honors in the roughstock events.

Josh Frost of Randlett won the bull riding, winning two go-rounds and placing in five others, sewing up his place as the World Champion Bull Rider. Hayes Weight, from my hometown of Goshen, finished up second in the world standings, winning two go-rounds. Just behind him in third place in the world is Cooper James of Erda, with two go-round wins and placing in three other rounds. Tyler Bingham of Howell won a go-round and placed in two others, and finished in the world rankings at number eight.

Dean Thompson of Altamont won two go-rounds in the bareback riding and placed in six more and came home the World Champion Bareback Bronc Rider.

In the saddle bronc riding, Ryder Wright of Beaver won four go-rounds and placed in five more to become the World Champion Saddle Bronc Rider—for the third time. His younger brother Statler won a go-round and placed in four more, and finished the year in eighth place in the standings.

A Utah cowboy made some noise in the timed events as well. Cash Robb of Altamont won the steer wrestling at the Finals, winning money in six go-rounds and placing third in the world standings.

The State of Utah should be pleased with this unprecedented performance by our cowboys. I know I am.

 

Interview in Route 7 Review.

Utah Tech University in St. George publishes Route 7 Review, a digital literary arts journal. The name comes from a short highway through red rock and sand deep in southwestern Utah. A while back, while in the neighborhood for a “Poet on the Patio” reading at the city’s fine bookstore, the Book Bungalow, Utah Tech professor Stephen Armstrong and I talked about cowboy poetry.

Dr. Armstrong managed to wrangle my wandering words into some semblance of sense and the interview is included in the latest is issue of Route 7 Review, under a title honoring my hometown: The Man from Goshen. The links will take you there.

Poet on the Patio.

During rodeo weekend in St. George, Utah, The Book Bungalow will host yours truly as “Poet on the Patio” Saturday, September 14 at 10:00 a.m. Rodeo has been the inspiration for a good many of my poems, ranging from humor to thoughtful to ponderings on how the sport challenges home and married life.

My long-ago rodeo travels did not take me to St. George for the PRCA rodeo—an event that’s still going strong and will be held that weekend. But I did compete in the Dixie College rodeo there a few times as a member of Utah State University Intercollegiate Rodeo Team, and in 1973 won the bareback riding there. I still wear the trophy buckle on occasion, although my belt back then wasn’t as long as it is nowadays. 

If you are anywhere near the bottom corner of Utah that weekend, please drop by the patio out back of The Book Bungalow, located at 94 West Tabernacle Street in St. George, Saturday, September 14 at 10:00 a.m. Bring your friends. Bring your neighbors. Bring a smile (if you don’t bring one, come anyway—we’ll try to send you home with one).

Some cowboy.

Not long ago, we lost a good friend of mine. Jim Fain is gone, but won’t soon be forgotten. Jim was a photographer of many talents, but specialized in rodeo action. I’ve got more than a few photos signed by Fain. Hundreds, thousands, of rodeo cowboys over the past sixty years can say the same thing.

The photo above is not typical of his work but, as he always did, Jim captured the essence of a story.

The year was 1973. It was Labor Day weekend, “Cowboy Days” in Evanston, Wyoming. Back then the arena had no lights so the rodeo was held Saturday and Sunday afternoon. The weather turned bad on Saturday—a deluge so heavy the rodeo committee pulled the plug and re-scheduled for Sunday morning. Then it rained some more. And snowed.

Mud, water, ice, and muck covered the arena come morning, but the show must go on. I was up in the first event, the bareback riding. In the cold, with icy fingers, and on the back of a frosty, dripping wet horse I did a sorry job of setting my bareback rigging. When the horse turned back into a spin, my rigging went over the side and so did I. Then the horse landed on me, stomping me deeper into the mire. I have other Fain photos that show it all.

Jim snapped the shutter on this picture as I waded back to the bucking chutes. I was soaked, muddy, and cold. My face and eyes were gritty. My hat was mashed. So was I. All in all, I was a mess. The few fans in the stands thought it funny. At the time, it didn’t seem funny to me.

A misadventure, recorded for all time through Jim Fain’s camera lens. The sad thing is, this photo is my favorite from the album documenting my rodeo career. Some cowboy, huh?

 

At the movies.

Latigo Brown is a cowboy. A real cowboy, not like those TV and movie cowboys who ride everywhere at a high lope firing off six-shooters and hardly ever come into contact with a cow. But he finds himself lured to Hollywood by a rodeo hero, where he unexpectedly becomes a box-office star during the heyday of big-screen Westerns and cowboy heroes. Amidst the glitter and glamour of the movie business, he still harbors resentment for the way he—and other cowboys—are portrayed.

Will Latigo Brown swallow his pride and pocket the money? Will starlets, high society, and riches win out? Or will Latigo write “The End” to the movie business? Follow Latigo Brown’s adventures through rodeo arenas, film sets, and the Hollywood West in the pages of Silver Screen Cowboy. Coming soon in paperback and eBook from publisher Speaking Volumes.

 

NFR Icons.

Like many of you, I suspect, I recently spent ten days in rodeo heaven watching the National Finals Rodeo. This year, the festivities included a new event: the naming of “NFR Icons,” honored with a banner hoisted into the rafters and their image enshrined in a bronze sculpture.

The first honorees were Ty Murray, Charmayne James, and Trevor Brazile. The reasons for honoring those three are many and well chronicled, so I won’t go into that. What I will mention is the bronze sculpture each received.

The sculptures are the creation of cowboy artist Jeff Wolf, a friend I have known since our boyhood days in the same hometown. Jeff’s work has been honored and exhibited and displayed and featured and awarded far and wide. And rightly so, as his depictions of Western life capture the soul and spirit of the people and the place, right down to the animals. His heart and hands find essence and energy in lumps of clay and breathe life into bronze.

I had the pleasure of seeing the NFR Icon sculptures in progress while visiting Jeff at his studio one day this past summer. That memory will be treasured as much by me as the finished works will be cherished by the recipients.

Jeff’s name as artist and creator was not mentioned in any of the reports I read about the NFR Icon honors. Shame. As well miss out a bronc, tip over a barrel, or break a barrier.

My first rodeo.

I don’t remember my first rodeo. Or my second rodeo. While I have memories of many, many rodeos over many, many years those memories are somewhat muddled and there are no numbers assigned.

Most likely, my first rodeo was a hometown Pioneer Day affair during which little kids like me were screwed down onto the backs of Hereford or black bally calves, with two hands in a death grip on a loose rope, then turned out into the arena for a few (very few) frantic seconds of jolting and jarring and jerking before landing in the dirt with a better than even chance of getting a mouthful of the stuff.

The first rodeo I have record of was a Little Buckaroo Rodeo in Orem, Utah, on Friday, May 31, 1963. On the printed program, right after “Specialty Act—Trampoline” came Section III of Pony Bareback Riding, and there I am, in black and white, with my age listed as 10. Next to my name, in my dad’s handwriting, is my score: “0.” I learned nothing from the experience. For several more years I kept getting on bareback horses that didn’t want me on them—through high school, amateur, college, and pro rodeos.

 When circumstances require, I can honestly say (for what it’s worth), “This ain’t my first rodeo.”

I am now of an age that my last rodeo, like my first, is so long ago that any memory of it has leaked out of my porous brain. There may be a connection.

P.S. My latest novel, All My Sins Remembered, is now available in hardcover from Amazon and other online booksellers. Your local bookstore can order it, and it should be in libraries soon.

The Bird has flown.

   

Back in our college days when all the rodeo bums who lived at or hung around the Rounder House were known by nicknames more than names, Marlowe Carroll was Bird, or the Bird Man, a moniker earned by long, skinny legs.
    More than anyone else I can think of, Bird was influential in my rodeo years. When I arrived at USU he ran the Rodeo Club and was the star of the Intercollegiate Rodeo Team, winning a bunch in both bareback and bull riding. He made sure I was involved in the club, and encouraged and supported and assisted my efforts as I earned a place on the team, eight seconds at a time. We spent a lot of time together, much of it involved in activities best unmentioned—but those days resulted in a lifetime’s worth of memories.
    A series of brain aneurisms and strokes while still a young man ended Marlowe’s rodeo career and landed him in a wheelchair, his agile mind betrayed by a mostly unresponsive body. Still, he lived for decades and never lost his sense of humor or happy outlook on life.
    Marlowe—Bird—left this life in late December, and made the whistle with the same grit and try that you see on his face in the photo of him aboard the infamous bucking bull Fuzzy 4.
    (The other fuzzy photo shows the USU Rodeo Club in 1971. That’s Marlowe in the upper right; yours truly is there on the left.)

 

WOMB TO TOMB
for Marlowe

Two hearts. One beats steady
and strong. The other races by.
Confinement presses knee
against rib, back to thigh.

Sounds, muffled and distant,
penetrate. Irresistible, the urge.
Pull. Squeeze. Slide. Every muscle
tense, you nod and emerge;

delivered into chaotic glare
assaulted by motion and sound.
Bull bellows. Brain blows.
Body, unbound, seeks ground.

Face down in arena dirt
consciousness goes astray
as flooding blood erodes neurons
and synapses wash away.

Tucked, then, into the coffin of
a body cold and unresponsive;
rolling through years gathering
dust as memories weave

tapestries of Rounders and rodeo,
broncs and bulls—of life before
a hemorrhagic stroke of bad luck
drew you out to ride no more.

The Big Rodeo.

 

    For ten nights in a row recently, we sat in front of the TV watching the National Finals Rodeo. We were especially impressed with how well the cowboys from Utah did, bringing home several world championships.
    For years now, the saddle bronc riding at every level in rodeo has been dominated by the Wright family of Milford, a small, small town way off the beaten path in southern Utah. Before this year, six Wright brothers had won among them five world championships and more other accomplishments than you can imagine. The oldest of the brothers, Cody, won two of those world titles.
    Now, it’s his sons who are in the limelight.
    Back in 2018, I wrote a magazine article about that next generation of Wrights. I spent an afternoon and evening with two of the boys at the Utah State High School Rodeo Finals. The picture above is from that day—that’s father Cody in the middle offering advice and encouragement to his sons Ryder, on the left, and Rusty on the right. Too young for high school rodeo at the time was another son, Stetson.
    All three are now full-time professional rodeo cowboys, and proved themselves the best of the bunch at the recent NFR.
    Rusty, the oldest at 25, tied for first (with his brother) in a go-round of the saddle bronc riding, placed in seven of ten go-rounds and fifth in the average, and came away ranked fourth in the world standings.
    Ryder, at 22, placed in nine and won or tied for first place in five saddle bronc riding go-rounds and won the average, and walked away wearing the World Champion belt buckle (for the second time).
    Stetson, at the ripe old age of 21, won one saddle bronc riding go-round and tied for first in another and ended up seventh in the world standings. Stetson also rides bulls and won four go-rounds at the NFR and was crowned world champion. He entered the National Finals Rodeo second in overall winnings for the year in the All-Around Cowboy race, but passed the leader and left him more than $158,000 in the dust, bringing home his second All-Around Championship.
    The Wrights are a wonderful family, making history in more ways than one, both in and outside the rodeo arena. It has been a pleasure to know them over the years, and we’ll be hearing more of them in the future.
    It also bears mentioning that Kaycee Feild—son of the late Lewis Feild, five-time world bareback riding champion—matched his father’s accomplishment by winning his fifth world championship in my favorite rodeo event.  

Dispatches from the West.

Saddlebag Dispatches has a new issue available. As always, it’s big and colorful and filled with all things Western. A few of the items in the magazine have my name at the top.

A new short story, “Black Joe,” is about a wild mustang stud and his clashes with a rancher. There’s a feature article about the PBR Ty Murray Top Hand Award, and the collaboration between Ty Murray and the designer and sculptor behind the award, Jeff Wolf. My rodeo poem about how the Star Spangled Banner affects bareback riders, “Long May It Wave,” is given a beautiful presentation. And, finally, my regular “Best of the West” column features what must be the oldest of the Old West’s best towns, Taos Pueblo.

If you don’t read Saddlebag Dispatches, you’re missing out on a fine publication, offering a lot of variety in its presentation of the American West, old and new. Follow the link and take a look.

The whistle has sounded.

Bob Schild’s ride is over. He left us January 20. And, no matter what criteria you use for judging, Bob made the whistle on a winning ride.

The years found Bob in a variety of arenas. He was a rodeo cowboy of the first order, successful in all the rough stock events with numerous championships to his credit. He was a businessman, establishing and operating B-Bar-B Leather for decades, building and selling saddles, rodeo gear, and providing all manner of horse equipment; a business passed down to his sons. He was a poet, long before cowboy poetry became the thing to do.

When I first thought to pen poetry, I looked to Bob’s work for inspiration and an education. Beyond mere rhyming stories, Bob’s verse showed literary technique, deep thinking, and attention to craft. I wanted to meet him.

I tracked Bob down at the National Circuit Finals Rodeo one year, where I found him sweeping up under the grandstands. That’s the way Bob was—always willing to lend a hand and do any job that needed doing. He was happy to make my acquaintance and willing to talk poetry and rodeo anytime, any place.

We became friends, and for years engaged in a one-sided admiration society. I had little to contribute to the relationship. Bob gave it his all. I wish time and distance hadn’t gotten in the way of my spending more time with him.

A few magazine articles focusing on Bob found their way into print, and it was difficult for me as a writer to maintain any semblance of objectivity when writing about him. 

I will never forget Bob Schild. Even though the whistle has sounded, his winning score is permanently inked in the record books.

Back in the Saddle(bag).

The latest issue of Saddlebag Dispatches is now available. Dedicated to rodeo, this issue of the magazine includes three contributions from me.

First is a cover story, “The Man Who Invented Rodeo.” It’s all about Earl Bascom, whose inventions and improvements and developments back when make modern rodeo what it is today. Bascom is enshrined in numerous rodeo-related halls of fame recognizing his achievements. He was also an accomplished artist.

My regular “Best of the West” column features Larry Mahan, record-setting rough-stock rider and hero of my rodeo youth. Also included is a poem about the struggles of rodeo wives left at home while their cowboys struggle on the circuit. It’s titled “Nowhere Rodeo.”

Go online and take a look at Saddlebag Dispatches, or order a printed copy of the big magazine. If you’re a rodeo fan, you’ll be a fan of this issue.

Ranching and rodeo with the Wrights.

Over the years I have had the pleasure of writing about the Wright family of Milford, Utah. You know the ones—the family with more saddle bronc riding success in rodeo than any other tribe has equaled, or even approached—or ever will.

There’s a new book about the Wrights, written by New York Times journalist John Branch. It’s titled The Last Cowboys: A Pioneer Family in the New West. Over the course of a few years, Branch spent a good deal of time with members of the Wright family at home, at the family ranch on Smith Mesa, at grazing permits above Beaver, Utah, and goin’ down the road with the best batch of bronc riders in rodeo.

It’s a well-written book that lays bare all the triumphs and tragedies in the family, and there are plenty of both. In a family of thirteen kids raised by a pair of hard-working parents, there is never a shortage of domestic dynamics.

For one unfamiliar with ranch and rodeo life, the author does a pretty good job of capturing the ins and outs of the West; only a few odd expressions and descriptions betray his inexperience.

Evelyn Wright, matriarch of the clan, a friend, and one of the finest women I know, tells me it is strange to read about your life and your family, and that she and her husband, Bill, found a few errors but nothing significant. After reading the book, you’ll be impressed with their bravery in allowing the reporter into their lives, knowing what would be revealed.

The Last Cowboys is a fine book about a fine family surviving broken dreams, broken hearts, and broken bones.

Re-Ride Stories.

When rodeo cowboys hang out, conversations often turn to “re-ride stories.” Sometimes true, often embellished, occasionally fabricated, and usually humorous, re-ride stories recount rodeo adventures. Actual re-rides, wrecks, bad luck, great performances, road adventures…the subjects are many and varied. 

But one thing’s for sure—rodeo folks like a good story, even if they themselves come off looking foolish in the telling. And rodeo folks are not immune to the “The older I get the better I was” phenomenon among humans, so the stories, over time, sometimes take on lives of their own.

As the years pass, many rodeo folks drift away from the arenas of their youth as lives travel different paths. But the memories linger. And so does the longing to, and enjoyment of, recounting that life and telling those stories, especially to an appreciative and understanding audience.

That’s why I’m looking forward to the Re-Ride Reunion. On November 3, from 3:00 to 6:00 p.m., all rodeo folks from ’60s, ’70s, and ‘80s are invited to gather at the Zermatt Resort Hotel in Midway, Utah. We’ll re-connect with long-lost friends, renew old acquaintances, and, mostly, revisit days gone by.

Afterward, most will probably make the short drive down the road to Heber City for the Friday night performance of the PRCA Wilderness Circuit Finals to witness the birth of another go-round of re-ride stories.

I know there are some in the Intermountain West who read this stuff who would love to hear some re-ride stories, and have some of their own to tell. Learn more on Facebook.  

See you there.

Bye-Bye Byline: Ranch & Reata, for the last time.

The new issue of Ranch & Reata is out. Unfortunately, it’s the last of what has been an outstanding publication. For more than five years, the magazine has covered a lot of interesting people and places from all around the West. I know, because I had the opportunity to write about many of them.

While I didn’t have a byline in every issue, it was pretty close—and, in a few, I had two stories. That’s the case with this final issue.

“The Top hand and the Tenderfoot” compares the experiences of two poets at the 2016 National Cowboy Poetry Gathering—Wally McRae, who has been there since the beginning more than three decades ago, and Marleen Bussma, who made her first appearance this year. It’s an interesting look at what has become a fixture in the world of Western culture, seen through the eyes of a pair of participants.

Also in the magazine is “Ninety Percent Off,” a story about War Paint, the legendary saddle bronc horse of the ’50s and ’60s who bucked off about nine out of ten of all the rodeo cowboys who stretched a cinch around his middle. Among his victims were the best bronc riders in the business, including world champions. The article was inspired by and quotes Idaho cowboy Bob Schild, who got on—and off—War Paint twice in his career.

I’m sorry to see Ranch & Reata go. It has been a real pleasure to pen stories for them.

Getting to know Bob.

The latest issue of RANGE magazine has been out for a while, but I am still thumbing through it and enjoying the photos and stories.

Of particular note (to me) is a short profile in the magazine’s “Red Meat Survivors” section I wrote about one of the best men I’ve met—Bob Schild. If you haven’t had the good fortune to meet Bob, let this profile in RANGE serve as an introduction.

When I set out on a quest to become a poet, Bob’s poetry was an inspiration, partly because he wrote a lot about rodeo, which I can relate to, and partly because his poems are so well-made, with terrific turns of phrase. Some of his poems are serious and deeply emotional, and I don’t mean shallow sentiment. Some of his poems are humorous, and I mean funny stories, not cheap and easy joke poems. All his poems are authentic.

I hunted Bob up one afternoon many years ago at a rodeo arena and introduced myself (a thing I seldom do, being somewhat shy). He was cordial and kind, and a friendship grew from there and continues all these years later.

You can read about Bob (and many other things Western) in RANGE by subscribing here: http://www.rangemagazine.com/

Back in the Saddle.

In the June-July issue of Ranch & Reata magazine ( www.RanchandReata.com ), you’ll find a feature article I wrote about Amberley Snyder. But all my words on all those pages do not capture her spirit and attitude, I think, as well as the closing lines of Charles Badger Clark’s poem “The Westerner”:

For the sun wheels swift from morn to morn

And the world began when I was born

      And the world is mine to win.

Amberley has been horseback from an early age, and winning buckles and saddles and trophies in the rodeo arena for nearly as long. A truck wreck—and the resulting paralysis—that would have sidelined most of us barely slowed Amberley down. She, and her horses, learned to ride again and she is back to her winning ways.

There’s just no holding this young woman back, and her enthusiasm for making the most of every new day is an inspiration.

( The photo of Amberley and her barrel horse Power is by Lauren Anderson: www.facebook.com/Landersonphoto )

Point and shoot.

I am not a photographer. But, in the course of magazine writing I am often expected to provide pictures to illustrate stories. So, most of what I shoot is journalistic or documentary-type stuff.

But when something interesting in an artistic sense presents itself, I point and shoot and try to capture it. I look for odd angles and unusual arrangements, strange combinations and patterns of colors—things that look almost abstract or graphic in nature. None of the photos here are posed; all were taken on the fly. Only a couple of the images are cropped; the rest are full-frame just as the camera caught them.

Take a look if you’ve got the time. But remember—I am not a photographer.

At the rodeo.

The behind-the-scenes rodeo photos were taken at a high school and a college rodeo. Then there are a couple of shots representing success. Finally, a pair of detail pictures of Jeff Wolf’s monumental sculpture “Rodeo” that I think capture the art’s dynamic action.

At the ranch.

A skyline shot of gathering cattle off Midnight Creek starts this selection, followed by several pictures from a branding. The set ends where it started, with an Idaho ranch horse with a mecate and hackamore hanging from the saddle horn.

At work.

Working with leather is a job, a craft, a skill, and an art. While doing stories on a couple of those artists I captured a few behind-the-scenes photos of some of the tools and materials the artists employ, ending with saddles for sale and an extreme close-up of a maker’s mark stamped into leather.

 

At play.

Guitars can look as good as they sound. This lone photo comes from the practice pen of Mary Kaye and the Kaye Sisters as they blended bended strings and harmonized sweet voices.