Not my first rodeo

I am headed back to Eastern Oregon for the Pendleton Round-Up, and as the saying goes, this is not my first rodeo.

A few years ago, Pendleton was my first rodeo. This will be my second.

I’m from Chicago, and when I prepared for my first Round-Up, I worried that our alumni in Eastern Oregon would view me as a city slicker . . . since that’s exactly what I am. 

To look the part, I found a western clothing store that set me up with a Stetson, an enormous belt buckle, and some boots that cost slightly more than my car. 

I tested out my new duds at the office, lingering in the doorway and trying my best to channel Gary Cooper. My colleague Megan happens to be from Texas, and after a minute she glanced up from her work and looked at my outfit. There was a long silence.

Finally, Megan nodded. “You look like a legit cowboy,” she conceded. This was high praise.

It’s a long way from Eugene to Pendleton, and I don’t mean just the distance. Politically and culturally, the cities are pretty different. The University of Oregon hosts a breakfast at the Round-Up where local Ducks and those like me from out of town gather to raise scholarship funds for UO students from the area. The group doesn’t divide itself into red and blue; at the rodeo we’re all yellow and green.

During my first Round-Up, breakfast was emceed by state senator Bill Hansell, who represents Umatilla and neighboring counties in northeast Oregon. Bill is a proud UO alumnus, and he likes to be called “Senator Duck.” He’s about the friendliest person you’ve ever met.

After breakfast, it was rodeo time. I watched with awe as cowboys and cowgirls roped calves and rode broncos. At one point a stunt rider rode two horses bareback as they jumped over a row of flames. I’m not sure exactly how this skill is used on a ranch, but I was certainly impressed.

Senator Duck came by to check in, and a colleague let him know that this was my first rodeo. The senator’s face lit up. “Well, you’ll want to come back behind the chute and see things up close,” he said. He gestured for me to follow him around the stadium.

We emerged onto a narrow stage, in front of which were the wooden gates where animals and riders filed in. There was very little room. If we had been on a subway platform, I would have preferred to stand a little farther back from the edge.

An enormous bull was led up the chute, and a cowboy gingerly lowered himself onto the agitated beast. The gate sprang open and the rider was flung around like a rag doll just a few feet from where we stood. I was anxious for him, but also for myself because that rider was surely about to become a projectile.

Meanwhile, Senator Duck was politely getting to know me. “Raphe, you got any kids?”

The bull bucked the rider off right in front of us. Several tons of future hamburger danced around, nearly trampling him. I had a hard time focusing. Do I have kids?

“Uh, yes sir, a daughter. I think.”

Rodeo clowns tried to distract the bull. Was this normal? It seemed like an emergency but everyone besides the bull was totally chill. 

The cowboy, who I thought by now was an ex-cowboy, miraculously popped up and vaulted over the fence. I tipped my Stetson to him.

Senator Duck and I spent the afternoon repeating this pattern: friendly chatter, angry bull, rider nearly trampled, back to chatter. By the end of the day, it didn’t faze me at all.

So, if you find yourself in Pendleton for the Round-Up, I hope to see you there. If I feel like it, I just might jump a couple of horses bareback over a row of fire. Don’t laugh—I’m a legit cowboy.

Raphe Beck is executive director of the UO Alumni Association.

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