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HISTORY Of Legends and Livestock

By KATIE SHERROD |

IN 1896, ON A SIDEWALK IN NORTH FORT WORTH, A PUB-lic relations man named Charley French met a Texas stockman named Charles McFarland and, in the manner of Texas men everywhere, began talking “bidness.”

As Clay Reynolds tells this story in A Hundred Years of Heroes, a History of the Southwestern Exposition and Livestock Show (TCU Press), French and McFarland agreed that the livestock “bidness” and Fort Worth could use the economic boost a stock show could provide. Other Fort Worth businessmen agreed. As a result, a cold, sleety morning in March 1896 found a handful of cattle-mostly bulls-huddled against a light snow near a hastily built grandstand on an “exhibition” site just east of North Main near Marine Creek,

And thus two Fort Worth traditions were born-the Fort Worth Stock Show and Stock Show Weather.

For 100 years, longer than any other stock show in the nation, the Fort Worth Stock Show (Jan.19-Feb. 4) has pulled in exhibitors, rodeo contestants, celebrities, visitors, and most important of all, “bidness,” from all over the United States. And for way too many of those 100 years, at least part of this annual event has been accompanied by what Fort Worthians, with a sigh, call Stock Show Weather-cold, wet, icy, and miserable.

It is Stock Show Weather that causes what reporters have inelegantly dubbed Stock Show Crud. This is an absolutely rotten cold resulting from being exhausted and alternately chilled and overheated from moving among events and buildings in pursuit of all the countless news stories, human interest features, society stories, sports stories, and business reports that emanate from the hectic, colorful, kaleidoscopic swirl of humanity and livestock that is the Southwestern Exposition and Livestock Show.

The event was moved to the West Side in 1948 and the date was changed from March to January. The word “Livestock” was officially substituted for “Fat Stock” in 1987 to reflect changes in America’s eating habits. But everyone, including the men and women who run it, calls it simply the Fort Worth Stock Show and Rodeo.

These events are at the heart of a tradition in countless families from an over Texas, Oklahoma, New Mexico, Colorado, Arizona, Montana, and an astonishing number of the other states. Delbert Bailey, longtime publicist for the Stock Show, is fond of saying, “It’s my personal opinion that there are three things that people do: They observe Christmas, observe annual birthdays, and attend the annual Stock Show.”

Bailey recounts stories of ticket orders coming in accompanied by letters that say things such as “This is my family’s 40th year of attending the Stock Show and Rodeo,” or “This will be Grandpa Billy’s 60th year to be there.” Ticket order-takers have instructions to make note of the date these families will be in Fort Worth and announcer will declare to everyone present that over there in Section So and So in seat number Such and Such is Grandpa Billy, who is attending his 60th Stock Show. And Grandpa Billy will be given applause the like of which his ears most likely have never heard before, and his heart will never forget.

And neither will his family, nor any other family present. Such sentimental Stock Show traditions affirm, for one brief shining moment, the importance of the “ordinary” individual, the working men and women who build lives, families, traditions with sweat, toil, and tears. Grandpa Billy is somebody and the whole world- or at least that part of the whole world under the domed roof of Will Rogers Coliseum-knows it. And in that sweet moment, what other part of the world matters?

Attention to such details also ensures that people keep coming back. Bailey says that independent surveys estimate conservatively that the Stock Show has pumped more than $120 million into Fort Worth’s economy. But more importantly, it pumps Texas pride into everyone who walks its grounds.

Record crowds are expected this year as the Stock Show celebrates its 100th birthday. Even Coca-Cola has gotten into the act, producing special commemorative Stock Show Centennial Coke bottles.

In the 100 years since French and McFarland dreamed it into existence, the Stock Show has survived floods, fires, economic downturns, two World Wars, and enough changes in livestock breeding to see the Texas Longhom, once banned from Eastern livestock markets because of the Texas tick fever it carried, return in modern glory to its show rings.

WHEN I WAS A LITTLE KID GROWING UP IN WEST Texas, Fort Worth was our Big City and men named Amon Carter, W.R. Watt, and John Justin were our legends. I was a “town kid,” daughter of the local physician and nurse, but for my friends who were “ranch kids,” the Fort Worth Stock Show was not only the stuff of legends, but also a possible source of cold hard cash. Many of my classmates got up before dawn every day for months, feeding and caring for lambs, calves, pigs, chickens, etc. All this hard labor before and after school was done in the hope of raising a prize winner whose sale would bring them college money.

And with good cause. The Junior Division is an important part of the Stock Show. The Stock Show syndicate, a group of local business people, exists only to buy animals from these kids. Stock Show president/manager W.R. “Bob” Watt Jr. says that since 1980 the syndicate has bought nearly 2,000 head of livestock at a cost of more than $4 million. Watt told me that in 1994, one poor kid’s steer somehow managed to slip in his stall during the night and break its neck right before the sale. All that hard work appeared to be for nothing. But word was passed around, and when the teen walked into the sale ring alone, bidding started at $2 a pound. Eventually, the boy walked away with a record amount for his dead steer.

These people know that sympathy is fine, but money talks. In addition to the sales, the Syndicate also gives scholarships each year to 4-H and Future Farmers of America members. And the Stock Show provides financial help for students at TCU’s Ranch Management Program.

In the mid-1950s and early ’60s, my friend Sue and I, all dressed up in our “cowgirl” outfits, would solemnly swear to her grandparents that we would not talk to strangers, that we would keep our money out of sight, and that we would meet them by the statue of Will Rogers at 5 p.m. Then we were free! On our own at the Stock Show!

Once we were out of their sight, our sedate walk turned into a run and we headed straight to the horse bams, where we would walk the aisles staring at the huge, gorgeous beasts, longing filling every pore of our bodies. We both wanted a horse of our own so badly we could hardly stand it. If we were very lucky, some kind owner grooming a horse would let us pat the silky coat. And if we were very, very lucky, one or two of these regal equine champions would deign to lower a head and snuffle at our outstretched hands with velvet lips, warm moist breath spilling over our palms like a blessing.

We would watch in awed envy as girls not much older than us mounted these glorious beasts and rode them into the ring to compete in the barrel racing, self-confidence and courage evident in every move. Oh, why were our parents so cruel?

I admired the girls and women riding horses and carrying flags in the rodeo Grand Entry as the spectacle curved its way across the coliseum floor. The Midway was a place of thrilling rides, silly games, and exotic people (of course, when you’re from a West Texas town of less than 900 people, anyone who’s not a Baptist is exotic). One year, we joined the crowd gathered around a booth to watch a cowboy’s skilled performance as he knocked over bottle after bottle with a baseball. Finally, the booth owner let him pick whatever prize he wanted. The cowboy chose a large, fluffy, pink stuffed dog. And then he just stood there, looking around. By then, Sue and I had wormed our way to the front of the crowd. He saw us. Without speaking, he thrust the dog into Sue’s hands and strode away, a long-legged, hip-less hero with two thunderstruck little girls looking after him. I suspect Sue still has that dog.

I covered the Stock Show for years as a reporter for the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, and for years, came down with the Stock Show Crud. As metro editor, I once assigned a new reporter from Pennsylvania to the Stock Show team. He came back filled with stories of friendly people speaking a strange language. 1 asked him what he was talking about. He said that people kept saying, “Hidy, kinihepyew?” After a minute, I began laughing. I told him, “They were saying, ’Howdy. Can I help you?’ “

It’s for people like him that the Stock Show and/or the newspaper publishes a glossary of Stock Show terms each year. For instance, they point out that Polled Herefords are cattle without homs, not veterans of Gallup Poll takers, and that Brahman refers to another breed of cattle, not people from India.

I live less than a mile from the Cultural District, where the Stock Show is held every year. My driveway gets blocked by some Stock Show visitor at least once each year. You’d think, after all these years, that I would have had my fill of the Show. And yet at least once every year, I walk down Crestline and make a beeline to the horse barns, where upon entering, I’m suddenly 10 years old again, rilled with excitement and longing.

THESE DAYS, THE STOCK SHOW IS SPREAD OVER MORE THAN 100 acres, 45 of which are under roof. It has 12 permanent buildings in the city’s Cultural District. Over the 17-day run of the show, hundreds of thousands of people will show up, wandering not only through the Stock Show, but also visiting its neighbors, the Kimbell, Amon Carter, and Modern Art museums as well as the Museum of Science and History. This curious combination of culture and cowboys is a source of pride to Fort Worth, and of confusion to those who think of Fort Worth as the hick’s version of Dallas.

The Stock Show Parade on Jan. 20 will continue the tradition of being the world’s longest all-westem, non-motorized parade. One year I rode on the Caravan of Dreams’ horse-drawn wagon in the parade, waving at all the excited tiny cowboys and cowgirls watching wide-eyed from the crowded curb, just as my former excited little self had done, all of us in from West Texas for the parade.

Many of the Stock Show visitors are ranchers or farmers but increasingly, the majority are like that young reporter-they’ve never set foot on a ranch or a farm. These are urban animals, more at home on the freeway than the free range. So why do they come?

For that matter, why do powerful Fort Worth men such as Ed Bass. John Justin, and corporate heads gleefully ride each year in the Rodeo Grand Entry, their mature faces looking suddenly excitedly boyish? Why are the 156 box seats in the Coliseum treasured possessions, many passed down from generation to generation? Delbert Bailey says that some families have owned their seats since 1908. Less-fortunate families have been on the waiting list for more than 20 years.

I believe it’s because this is Texas, distilled. This is the essence of who and what we are, of where we came from, This is our legacy, and at some deep level, we are comforted by the sense of continuity the Stock Show embodies. When we are besieged at every turn by Demon Change, here is Tradition, here is Stability. We come to get regrounded, reassured, renewed.

That’s why W.R. “Billy Bob” Watt was re-elected president of the Stock Show every year from 1946 until his death in 1977. That’s why his son, W.R. “Bob” Watt Jr., current president and manager, can hardly remember life before the Stock Show. And that’s why his son, W.R. “Trey” Watt III is now being groomed to step into his father’s and grandfather’s shoes.

For this isn’t hype, or glitz, or FrontierWorld at Disneyland. This is real, as real as the Eau de Stock Show wafting through the air, an aroma made up of manure, leather, popcorn, hot dogs, and hair spray.

So y’all come. You won’t be lost or lonely. Sooner or later, some friendly soul will step up and say, “Hidy. Kin I hep yew?” And you’ll know what they’re talking about.

Taking Stock

“Amon’s Cowshed,” the great floods, and the largest steer in the world: Some highlights of the century-old exhibition.

In 1911, then former President Theodore Roosevelt was scheduled to attend the opening ceremonies, but “just before the ceremonies were to commence, fire broke out in the horse and mule bams across Exchange Avenue…More than 500 horses died in the blaze along with over 200 hogs and a like number of sheep.” Bucket brigades were formed but the hay and feed fueled the fire until all the buildings on the south side of Exchange along Marine Creek burned, causing more than $500,000 in damage. Roosevelt’s speech was postponed to a later hour, but the show did go on.

In 1913, a spectacular pageant called the Kirmiss was added to the horse show, an event in which a queen and her court were presented as debutantes. It lasted in that form until 1929. Although no longer associated with the Stock Show, it still exists in Fort Worth as The Steeplechase Club, which continues to present debutantes each year.

In 1917, Lucille Mulhall’s “largest steer in the world” was exhibited. He weighed more than 3,000 pounds and stood over 16 hands high and could reportedly eat an entire bale of hay and drink a barrel of water dry at one feeding.

Also in 1917, an idea for a “contest roundup” was hatched, but needed a name, At the committee meeting, one man wrote the word R-O-D-E-0 on the blackboard, and correctly pronounced it “Rod-ay-o,” the Spanish word which refers to a cattle roundup and other such work done on a ranch. But Marion “Buck” Sansom was having none of that. ’’Hell,” Sansom said, “That doesn’t spell “ro-day-o,” that spells “to-dee-o,” And that’s how the entertaining, western show-in-a-ring got its name.

In 1918, the Fort Worth ro-dee-o became the first indoor rodeo held under electric lights. That year, World War I also made its mark. Cavalry officers in training at Camp Bowie for the American Expeditionary Force in France performed, and the 36th Division provided entries for the horse and mule competition. “Special drill exercises were demonstrated by cavalry and infantry, and two warplanes were set up for exhibition on the Coliseum grounds. Cadets answered questions about the flying machines’ role in modern warfare.”

In the 1920s, a “Klan Day” was declared and thousands of Ku Klux Klansmen arrived from all over North Texas. Women of the Klan met following a luncheon.

In the 1930s, newspaper publisher and Stock Show board chairman Amon Carter and others began working to move the Stock Show to its current location on the West Side. The North Side was outraged, and political maneuvering was hot and heavy Carter traveled to Washington to persuade the Works Progress Administration to grant the money needed to build a new auditorium and coliseum. “So fiercely did Carter assault Congress…that he was finally successful in obtaining $880,000 for those projects, plus $446,000 for other exhibit buildings. Washington officials came to refer to the projects as ’Amon’s Cowshed.’ “

In 1941, Amon Carter’s special guests were movie stars Erroll Flynn and Bruce Cabot. Their presence in the stands meant that the performance on the arena floor was virtually ignored.

In 1942, two devastating April floods swept through the North Side of Fort Worth, destroying streets, barns, and buildings, and sweeping away almost all the records of the Stock Show to that date. The earliest records of the first 50 years of the Stock Show were gone forever.

In 1946, the recendy ended World War II still dominated the pub-He mind, and also the Stock Show. Military units and bands marched in the Stock Show parade-still the world’s biggest non-motorized parade-and heavy military machinery was on display. But the most sensational attraction was Nazi Luftwaffe Reichmarshal Hermann Goering’s bullet-proof Mercedes-Benz limousine, captured and displayed by the 4th Army.

In 1955, Amon Carter died, but he left the Stock Show in good hands. He had summoned W.R. Watt to his office in 1946 and said, “Billy Bob, I want you to come over here and run the Stock Show.” Watt replied, “I don’t know one thing about running a stock show.” Carter said, “I didn’t call you up here to find out what you think you can or cannot do. I called you up here to tell you you’re going to run the Stock Show. ” Watt took over as manager. In 1957, Amon Carter Jr. became the Stock Show board chairman, a post he held until his death in 1982. John Justin of Justin Boots then became chairman.

While the Fort Worth rodeo was virtually an all-white event until the 1970s, separate “colored” events were held, and as early as 1905, the amazing Bill Pickett, an African-American cowboy, became famous for his bulldogging style-he brought bulls down by biting their lips, The Stock Show programs nearly always misspelled Pickett’s name, but never failed to identify him as a Negro.

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