Please enjoy Cowboy & Cowgirl Life – The Code presentation Part ll – Cowgirl Prairie Rose Henderson. (or was it cowgirls?) Written by Shirley Morris – Shirley Morris is a writer/filmmaker and author of Oh You Cowgirl! The True Story of Unsung Hero’s of the West.

THE PONY EXPRESSION is proud to bring you a two part TRUE story of Prairie Rose Henderson – a story full of the Western Code of Life.

So here we go – Part ll

A FAMILY SECRET

“Rodeo is family … you don’t reveal your family secrets to anyone…” -A cowgirl performer from JE Ranch Rodeo

THE TRUE STORY of PRAIRIE ROSE HENDERSON

The world learned the sad news of the fate of Prairie Rose Henderson from newspapers across the country in 1939. She went out into a snowstorm in 1932 and her remains would not be found for more than seven years. Yet, all the time she was lost Henry Clayton tried to get the press to listen to his plea, “It is my mother, Rose Clayton, who is lost out there. Not Prairie Rose Henderson.  It was Rose Clayton-Coleman whose bodily remains were identified by the coroner and she still lies in an unmarked grave in Rawlins, WY. But what became of the famous, flamboyant cowgirl who thrilled rodeo crowds across the country, Prairie Rose Henderson?

Waverly, New York, 1939

The kitchen was warm and filled with an inviting aroma from the morning baking of breads. Tiny bits of flour danced slowly upon prisms of sunlight streaming through the window above the porcelain sink as Dolly washed the sticky dough from her hands. Grabbing the gingham towel from the side of the wood stove, she gently patted them until they were dry. Gazing out the window above the sink, she saw the hired ranch hand and part time JE Ranch Rodeo clown Pichandle, chopping wood by the shed. Taking both hands and opening the wood framed window, she called out, raising her voice just loud enough for him to hear,

“Pichandle! Come on over here when you have a minute. I have a chore or two for you to do for me.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there shortly.”

Pichandle didn’t mind at all doing chores for Miss Dolly. He knew she would repay his efforts with her baked goods and that was better than any amount of money. He smiled wondering what kind of “chore” she would come up with to justify her fine gift of warm bread and muffins. Pichandle looked back toward the reflection in the window of the almost fifty year old woman affectionately. She had always treated him fairly and with the kind of respect usually reserved for workers of much higher stature. But then, that was simply her nature.

Dolly closed the window tightly and walked over to the square wooden table in the middle of the room. Pulling out a heavy wooden chair, she sat down and moved the large yellow mixing bowl over to the side. Hoping to ease the pain of age and years of youthful abuse, she cupped her hands around a badly swollen left knee rubbing gently, but as usual, the pain persisted.

A newspaper, The Lethbridge Herald from Alberta, Canada was still on the table where she had left it along with several other newspapers from across the country, all exhibiting the same frontpage headline. Dolly knew the story well. Even so, it was unbelievable to read the words in print. Picking the folded paper up and holding it just far enough away so her eyes could focus upon the words, she read the story one more time. Up and down, side-to-side, her eyes moved with purpose, desperate to see those words again. And there, on the front page, they were. The bold, black, hot set headline confronting her eyes, challenging her to read on.  Furrowing her brow she read; “SKELETON OF MISSING RODEO STAR IS FOUND”

Squinting, with eyes now affected by years of Diabetes, she blinked twice trying to refocus upon the words from the beginning. The news article continued; Rawlins, Wyo. July 25 –(AP) The skeleton of “Prairie Rose” Henderson, rodeo star who disappeared in a blizzard seven years ago, was found in the Green mountain section yesterday…”

She read it again and again. God willing she would somehow believe it. She could feel her racing heart all the way up her neck and down into the tips of her fingers. Closing her eyes tightly, she held the paper a moment longer before returning it to the table. Gently placing both hands upon the story Dolly covered the black words, so exposed upon the stark, white sheet of newsprint. She sat quietly, barely breathing.

Finally, resurfacing from oceans of thought, she gasped and captured a long, deep breath of warm air. Everything that meant anything to this woman was there at that moment; her husband, Col. Jim Eskew,  sons Junior and Tom, the ranch, the show – everything she loved, everything important. All she and Jim had worked for in a lifetime. Recalling all she had surrendered, left behind in the past, she cloaked herself in the wonderful baking aroma, the smell of home, the light that filtered into her soul from the golden morning sun, streaming into the kitchen. Somehow, this sanctuary offered safety and permission to raise her closed eyes and move deep into a memory hidden long ago. A faint smile lifted the corners of her lips and just like that, she was away in another time, another place, another life.

Cheyenne, Wyoming 1911

“Over here, boys! You want pictures of the great cowgirl, Prairie Rose?  C’mon over here, she’s a-waitin’ for you.”  C B Irwin, a giant of a man and one of the founders of Cheyenne Frontier Days, smiled and with one hand atop her shoulder, pointed with the other hand to the young, pretty, feminine girl standing beside him. He looked down at the girl, no more than nineteen, twenty years old and instructed her, “OK. Now you smile and tell ‘em what they wanna hear. Don’t you forget, they are here for the show – you make sure you give ‘em a show.”

At the same time, an older, suntanned and weathered woman was exiting the arena, far away from the crowd now surrounding “The Prairie Rose”. Rose Henderson had just finished riding Gin Fizz in the Ladies Saddle Bronc Riding Contest and the crowd had gone wild. She made her ride in expert fashion and walked away from the cheering crowds without fanfare. C B called out to her as he left the rodeo arena, “Good ride, Rosey. You and Jimmie comin’ out to the ranch for supper Sunday?”

Beating the dry, white dust from her purple split skirt, she nodded yes, she would be there. Still feeling somewhat wounded that C B would bring in a ‘ringer’ for her, someone younger and prettier, to talk to the press, she just could not bring herself to make eye contact with the consummate showman, C B Irwin, owner of Irwin Bros. Wild West Show. She thought to herself, “I’m still the better cowgirl and that’s what the blasted newsboys and photographers should be interested in.”

The woman known as “Rose Henderson” had been born in 1875 in Nebraska, Lillian Rosetta White. She had always used her middle name, Rose, and liked it better than her first. She married a blacksmith, Ira Mealman, a Swedish Immigrant who spoke little English and the couple had two children. Her youngest child died in childbirth and Lillian decided she could no longer stay in a loveless marriage. She gathered her five year old daughter, Daisy, and left to join her married sister, Hattie in Colorado.

It was in Colorado she met a cowboy by the name of Tom Henderson. He told her she could make some money, good money, enough to support herself and daughter, if she were willing to get on the back of a buckin’ horse and stick for just a few seconds. “It’s not that hard, Rosey, we’ll tie your stirrups and with hobbled stirrups, you won’t be goin’ nowhere ‘til the pickup man comes to get ya.” Tom thought for a minute and realizing she was a divorced woman, unchaperoned, traveling alone, she may have a problem gaining admittance as a rider in the show. It was a common problem and good heartedly suggested they become “married” for the sake of the towns folk who objected to loose women and poker. The name stuck and Rose Mealman, by way of jumping the proverbial rodeo marriage broom stick became Rose Henderson for the rest of her professional career. Much to the consternation of Tom’s true wife, Maude Tarr, another rodeo cowgirl.

Rose found she loved the thrill of riding saddle broncs and became quite good at it. There weren’t many rodeos at the time but there were scores of wild west shows and circus’ and she had no problem finding work.

She was hired as one of the cowgirls for Irwin Bros. Wild West and C B had a habit of only hiring the best cowgirls; Ollie Osborn, Fanny Sperry Steele, Goldie St. Claire, Fox Hastings, and his own expert cowgirl daughters, Pauline, Joella and Francis.

Rose not only found fame and fortune with Irwin Bros. Wild West, she found her husband, cowboy and ranch hand, Jimmie Danks. The cowboy and cowgirl were married in Nebraska in 1908.

The best of the best. Fox Hastings, Joella Irwin, Tillie Baldwin, Ollie Osborn, Rose Henderson, Gladys Irwin, Pauline Irwin.

Dolly Michaelis posed in the middle of the arena for all the newsmen and rodeo photographers. A German immigrant and runaway from Pennsylvania, she embraced the persona of “The Prairie Rose”.

Dolly learned to ride rosined horses and became a ménage rider before becoming a headliner and star for the stage production “Young Buffalo”. Her act was described as:

“Display No. 12.

Roping and riding the wildest and most untamable horses procurable anywhere, introducing the world’s greatest subduer of the outlaw equine, Prairie Rose, Beyond cavil the greatest and most intrepid female rider in the known world.”

Her job also included being in charge of all cowgirls in the show. She not only was beautiful, she was the feminine match to C B Irwin and a natural at marketing her abilities and talents.

She told the newsboys what they wanted to hear – all about her ride on the bucker Gin Fizz and offered advice to American women in the process: “Riding is good for you and will help you keep a glow to your cheeks and your girlish figure.” The newsboys wrote, “ Prairie Rose is beyond a doubt the most fearless lady rider in the world. Dolly smiled as Ralph Doubleday told her to look into the camera and show America who “the sweetheart of the rodeo” really is.

Her costume was unlike anything anyone had ever seen, soft velvet cordouroy with sequins, Maribou feathers, Mink and the largest, most flamboyant Sombrero-like Stetson hat anyone had seen. Her smile was wide and inviting. Her eyes danced as the newsmen and photographers asked their questions and camera’s captured the image of what America wanted and needed to see, a very feminine, perfectly coutured young woman exhibiting the strength and courage of the western cowgirl.

The persona of Prairie Rose and Rose Henderson have combined along with the cowgirl who lost her life in the Wyoming snowstorm in 1932, Rose Gale-Clayton-Coleman to become a larger than life legend. All three women, unsung heroes of our Western past and heritage.

Cowgirls of the JE Ranch Rodeo with Miss Dolly Eskew, The Prairie Rose

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Our third entry for Cowboy & Cowgirl Life – The Code comes to us in two parts about famous Cowgirl Prairie Rose Henderson. (or was it cowgirls?) Written by Shirley Morris – Shirley Morris is a writer/filmmaker and author of Oh You Cowgirl! The True Story of Unsung Hero’s of the West.

THE PONY EXPRESSION is proud to bring you a two part TRUE story of Prairie Rose Henderson – a story full of the Western Code of Life.

So here we go – Part l

THE STORY OF ROSA ANNA GALE
by Shirley Morris

A Rose Is A Rose, Is A Rose …

February, 1933. Snow was beginning to fall fast as Sheriff James Thompson drove up into the Green Mountains of Wyoming. Temperatures had been dropping and he wanted to get this business done before the mountain roads became impassible. The heavily rutted dirt road was now coated with snow as he made his way toward the ranch house. Stopping under the big Pine, he stepped down on the floor break and turned the motor off. Thompson opened the car door to a bone chilling wind and pelting snow to his forehead. Quickly placing his hat upon his head, he stood up and pulled the heavy woolen collar high on his neck, adjusting his belt and holster,  checking to make sure the cold, metal cuffs were in place on his belt.With wide, heavy stride, he stepped up to the wooden porch and knocked hard on the front door. Readying himself for whatever should come next, he cocked his head to the side and listened to the sounds of footsteps coming toward him from within the small house. Slowly, the door opened revealing the darkness of the room. A woman’s voice inquired softly from the other side of the door, “Sheriff?” “I need to speak with your husband, ma’am.”

Sheriff Thompson spoke kindly and quietly to the woman. Fifty, Fifty five, no more than a spit of an old woman, she carried herself slightly hunched at the shoulders. Thompson recognized her face and deep brown eyes and recalled how they had appeared years ago on a much younger and athletic body .

“She was really somethin’ then,” he thought to himself.As a young girl, Rosa met and fell in love with A.C. Clayton a young, good looking cowboy raised on the Kansas plains. A.C brought Rose to Wyoming from her home in Bristol, Ohio. The two of them married and were happy for a time. They had two children, May and Henry. Competing in the annual Frontier Days events was a family affair. A. C. won the cowboy’s saddle bronc event a couple of times. May and Henry both won their events. But Rosey was the real star. She entered the 1904 Cowgirls Relay Race with three borrowed horses and won in a thunderous blaze of glory narrowly beating out Joella Irwin. Two years later she participated in the very first official Cowgirls Saddle Bronc Event and took home the winners Gold Cup for her efforts.

Hailed  a local hero for a time and known throughout the area as “Prairie Rose” Clayton, she had been among the first of many local girls who competed in the Frontier Days celebration. As a young woman, Rosey was a strong willed, adventurous spirit and some swear they can remember the time she demanded a ride on a bucker at the festival in 1901. She questioned the judges and told them “If you can’t produce a rule that forbids me to ride then you must let me have a spot in the contest!” The judges were hard pressed to come up with any ruling that would prohibit girls from riding with the boys in competition. They simply could not understand why in tarnation she would want to! Rosey pressed her point and legend has it  the judges let her ride. But nothing was recorded in the official results. In fact, nothing was ever reported in the local papers and the event was for the most part forgotten.

A.C. and Rose weren’t carnies or shipped in by train from some wild west show in the east. They were hard workin’ local folk, come to town for some fun, escaping from the day to day sameness of the ranch, just showin’ how they do it on the ranch, just showin’ how they do it real. Rose Clayton poses with the three borrowed horses she rode and won the 1906 Cowgirl Relay at Cheyenne Frontier Days.

Photo courtesy Marge Earlywine, Mabel Strickland Cowgirl Museum.

Somewhere along the line, the marriage unraveled and the two very unhappy participants had different versions of a failed and hard marriage. One version may be just as true and no truer than the other but the sad reality was simple; Rose became a divorced mother of two. She was left on her own and it was her duty and sole responsibility to support herself and her children. As any mamma bear would do, she resigned herself to go wherever and do whatever needed to be done to feed and clothe her children. Someone told  her about a job in Utah for a cook in a mining camp and without any further thought, she and the children were packed and on their way to a new future. It isn’t known how long she stayed but eventually, she found herself in California where  son Henry eventually became a plumber in Los Angeles. It was in California that Henry would find his wife, Anna Robbins from Ohio and Rosa would find and marry Charley. Life always seemed to find it’s way.

Sheriff Thompson found himself smiling, recalling those early days of the famed Frontier Days celebration. He wondered how she ever ended up with the likes of Charlie Coleman, a man who was no stranger to trouble or the inside of a jail cell.Thompson rushed quickly back into the present moment as Charley came to the door and stood behind Rose. Coleman had become a familiar figure in town. He had been trying without much luck or skill to make something of that small piece of dirt he and Rose had bought a couple years ago but it just wasn’t meant to be. Money ran out and he butchered another man’s property. Now he had to pay the price.

Thompson opened the screen door and took Coleman by the arm leading him away from any sanctuary the man may have found inside his home. “Charley, you’re under arrest for cattle rustling and butchering.” He glanced back into the doorway of the house toward Rose, now visibly shaken, tears rolling slowly down her cheeks. Not really surprised, she silently accepted her husband’s fate. She watched as the the cold cuffs clicked shut on her husbands’ wrists. Thompson led him down the steps, across the snow and into the backseat of the car.  Without protest, Colman adjusted his body and lowered his head shamefully offering a barely audible  explanation, “We were hungry, sheriff.”

Thompson glanced back at the woman standing on the porch, wrenching a dish towel between her shaking hands. Knowing there was nothing more he could do for her, he focused his eyes squarely on the road ahead and drove away.

Rose stood on the front porch crying as the car slid down the driveway and out of sight. She had been the one to talk Charley into trying his hand at ranching and move with her, back home to Wyoming. It hadn’t worked out well. Charley was not above expressing his displeasure with his fists and had let Rose know many times how unhappy he had become in Wyoming.

Looking through her tears Rose allowed thoughts of freedom to enter her mind, in maybe a small way. She wondered how she could escape her husband’s wrath if she somehow rekindled her courageous spirit and left this place. Her mind raced forward to a safe place with her son in California. Just as quickly as her spirit soared out of Wyoming, fear and guilt would bring it back and once again she would find comfort and familiarity in finding yet another reason to stay with the man. It simply never occurred  to her that Charley was who he was and there was nothing she could have done to change him. Snow was falling heavy in a frenzied, sideways journey, rushing across the pasture and sticking to anything in its path. Mrs. Coleman knew there was little, precious time to bring her pony to safety and out she headed toward the barn for a halter. Grabbing the halter, she held it close to her body and disappeared into the cold, blinding whiteness.

Once back at the office, Sheriff  Thompson’s thoughts returned anxiously to the woman up on Green Mountain. His deputy had just returned to the office and was warming his hands above the fired up wood stove. “I had to bring Charley Coleman off the mountain today but his wife is up there all alone. Would you pick up some supplies and take ‘em on up to her? I’m worried about her bein’ there all by herself. The snow’s getting’ real bad and she’s gettin’ up there in years. Knowing the nearest supply store was several miles away from the folks who lived on the mountain the young deputy didn’t hesitate. He swaggered over to the coat rack by the door, grabbed his heavy green jacket, still wet and soggy, and headed back out into the storm.

The deputy loaded the car with several boxes of  food and supplies and drove back up the mountain to deliver the package to Rose Coleman. “Oh, man it’s a comin’ down now.”  He took his hand and wiped the wet foggy mist away from the windshield. Slipping up the driveway and skidding to a halt, he was surprised to find the house empty with no sign of the woman anywhere, inside or out. He cupped his hands around his mouth and called loudly, “Rose! Mrs. Coleman!” Squinting, he  attempted to focus through any small space in between the barrage of blinding white flakes. He looked desperately for the woman loosing hope with each passing moment. Finally, he acquiesced to the cruelty and power of the storm.

The ride back to the office was devastatingly slow. Fearing the worst, he dreaded facing the sheriff with the bad news. Thompson’s words boomed off the walls and echoed throughout the office as he heard his deputy’s report. “Damn it! I knew I shouldn’t have left her up there.” The next day Thompson and two additional men returned to the ramshackle ranch to look, once again for Rose Coleman. Time and again he would make the trek back up to the harsh, loneliness of the mountain country, now blanketed with deep snow, hoping in vain to find some trace of her. Sadly, he would concede; Rose Coleman was forever lost somewhere on Green Mountain to the winter storms in the season of 1933. Charles Coleman pleaded guilty to butchering cattle and spent more than one year in the state prison.

Newspapers reported the missing woman as Prairie Rose Henderson. They reported  the world famous rodeo cowgirl was lost in a snowstorm and died in the Wyoming Mountains. They recounted her marriage to Charles Coleman and the report was carried by many national newspapers despite the protest by Henry Clayton, Rose Coleman’s son. In fact, the local paper even ran a story quoting Henry as saying, “It was not Prairie Rose Henderson,” but his mother, Rose Clayton-Coleman who died in that snowstorm. He went on to say “I’m sure the real Prairie Rose Henderson is quite surprised to be reading her own obituary. She is living in Burbank, California.” Still no one listened and the story of the death of the famous Prairie Rose Henderson persisted and gathered momentum.

Fog Horn Clancy, the famous promoter and rodeo announcer picked up the story and wrote about it in his column in Hoofs and Horns. Oddly, no report or story can be found of the many friends or colleagues of Prairie Rose Henderson who were to offer condolences at a funeral or graveside service. Nor could any words of remembrance be found in any of the many papers that had covered her every move and action at the various shows and rodeo’s she performed in. Close friends Mabel Strickland, Florence Hughes, Bonnie Gray and  Lorena Trickey said nothing and nothing was ever reported about any grieving family members. There was never any kind of memorial or funeral service for the great Prairie Rose Henderson. No official obituary. No death certificate. No coroners report.  Not for the great Prairie Rose Henderson. A woman died in a terrible blizzard in 1933 and Prairie Rose Henderson ceased to exist.Seven years later a fire broke out in the Green Mountains on July 17, 1939.

Charles Coleman was out of prison, putting his life back together and was one of the firefighters battling the blaze that day when a sheepherder named Martinez, also battling the flames ran toward him. “Coleman! Come over here quick, come now!” Charley could see the man was peering at something heaped beside a rock and he ran fast down the hill, kicking the hot, dry smoky dust into his eyes and sucking it deep into his lungs with every open mouthed breath he took. The sheepherder looked up and into Charlie’s eye’s as he rushed up, just within two feet of a small bit of half buried, crumpled blue material. Bones, barely recognizable as human could be seen within the torn trousers. His soul aching with the chilling certainty of what he was looking at, Charley couldn’t take his eyes from the gruesome discovery. It was all that remained of Rosa Gale, daughter of Ezra Gale from Bristol, Ohio. A.C. Clayton’s first love, Henry and May’s mother and his wife. Charley looked over, just to the right of the body and recognized the leather remnants of what was a pony halter. It was the one Rose had grabbed from the barn that stormy morning seven years ago.

“Ah, no. Oh, my Rosey.”  It was more guilt than sorrow that brought Charley to his knees as he wept beside her body.

The bodily remains were formally identified as Anna Rosa Gale-Clayton-Coleman by Rose’s son, Henry and her brother, Elmer Gale in the official coroners report. Cause of death was listed as “exposure to the elements. ”Unbelievably, amidst Henry’s very vocal protests, as well as the coroners report, newspapers across the country continued to report the death of Prairie Rose Henderson. Bold headlines screamed, “Body Of Famous Rodeo Star Found.” Finally, the world was convinced with absolute certainty the fate of  Prairie Rose Henderson and Henry Clayton returned home to California to grieve his mother.

Rumors spread that the skeletal remains of Prairie Rose Henderson were identified by a championship belt buckle she had won was still shackled to her body. Some say she had conquered her fear of storms and after her husband was arrested went out to look for her favorite pony to bring him to shelter. People would agree, “Yes, that does sound like the Prairie Rose. She did love those horses.”

Once away from the house, she became disoriented and snow blind and perished for eternity. It is curious that the famed rodeo cowgirl, Prairie Rose Henderson had many friends but not one came forth, as friends do in these times, to remember her and maybe even shed a few tears as they said goodbye.

No one came forward to claim the bones of Prairie Rose Henderson, World Champion Cowgirl and Saddle Bronco Rider, the Sweetheart of the Rodeo. Rosey Clayton’s tragedy was forgotten in the apathy of time just as completely as if it had never happened, there on Green Mountain.

The legend of Prairie Rose Henderson lived on in newspapers, stories, books, all continuing throughout the years to report the hard end of the great cowgirl up on Green Mountain, in a Wyoming snow storm.

Coast to coast news of her death shocked the fans who had watched her ride the pitching bronc’s, winning countless championships, dressed in her own remarkable creations of Mink, Maribou, ribbons, sequins, velvet and beads, always wearing her famously large Sombrero.

Knowing the true identity of the ill fated woman who died on Green Mountain, Rose Clayton-Coleman offers little comfort for, if it wasn’t Prairie Rose Henderson who died in that snow storm, what did happen to her? Why did she simply vanish, never to be seen or heard from again?  If she didn’t die in that snowstorm, what did happen to Prairie Rose Henderson? Why did she leave her great legacy behind in the west? – Shirley Morris

Stay tuned for Part ll – Prairie Rose Henderson – The Secret

Shirley Morris is a writer/filmmaker currently in production for the film, “Oh, You Cowgirl!” In 2007 her research took a 180º turn when the path led her to the true identity and story about the famed cowgirl of the early 20th century, Prairie Rose Henderson. The rodeo cowgirl known for her flamboyant, sometimes outrageous costumes and unstable, unpredictable personality, may have had a good reason for being unpredictable, there were more than three women who made up the persona and legend of Prairie Rose Henderson.

The best known and most photographed of the Prairie Rose characters turns out to be a true unsung hero of the west. An entire generation of cowgirls owe their career and ability to continue riding rough stock well into the mid 20th century to this woman who was matriarch of a family known as a “Rodeo Dynasty”.

Because of her research into the Prairie Rose Henderson Legend, “Oh, You Cowgirl!” will feature this very special woman in the hour long documentary to premier early this summer.

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The second of our Cowboy & Cowgirl code series posts: please welcome guest blogger John Brand of Buckaroo Leather.

THE COWBOY SOCIAL WORLD

Over time, the cowboys of the American West developed a personal culture of their own, a blend of frontier and Victorian values that even retained vestiges of chivalry. Such hazardous work in isolated conditions also bred a tradition of self-dependence and individualism, with great value put on personal honesty, exemplified in songs and poetry. Over the years many of us have developed a romance with old west songs, poetry, stories and movies…

I have many fond memories of my grandfather Del, and father telling me family history and stories while taking me fishing and hunting. And not realizing until later in life when it was time to teach my children the values of the code of the west and the cowboy way, how much I had learned from my fore fathers. Important things like how to treat animals, respect guns and their use, and other people. Guns have become a big social issue because it is easy to blame the gun and not the core reason of the person using it and their upbringing…

My grandfathers family the Bradford’s homesteaded in Hemet, California in 1903 in a tent raising cattle and dry farming crops relying on mother nature.

After time and hard work they were able to afford to build a shack and my grandfather was born in 1912.

He had 2 sisters and 2 brothers who all learned family values while doing their many daily chores.

(Plowing in Hemet)

As now in tough economic and social times it becomes more apparent how society would benefit from parents and kids of our future taking to heart the values of the code of the west and the cowboy way to the core of their everyday lives. Here is one of my favorite hero’s-

HOPALONG CASSIDY’S CREED FOR AMERICAN BOYS AND GIRLS-

1. The highest badge of honor a person can wear is honesty. Be truthful at all times.
2. Your parents are the best friends you have. Listen to them and obey their instructions.
3. If you want to be respected, you must respect others. Show good manners in every way.
4. Only through hard work and study can you succeed. Don’t be lazy.
5. Your good deeds always come to light. So don’t boast or be a show-off.
6. If you waste time or money today, you will regret it tomorrow. Practice thrift in all ways.
7. Many animals are good and loyal companions. Be friendly and kind to them.
8. A strong, healthy body is a precious gift. Be neat and clean.
9. Our country’s laws are made for your protection. Observe them carefully.
10. Children in many foreign lands are less fortunate than you. Be glad and proud you are an American.

DOES A CODE OF THE WEST STILL EXIST?
Self reliance continues to be a Western trait. For the first time since the Civil War, the federal bureaucracy is being seriously challenged. Washington is being asked to prove why it is a more effective trustee of Western lands and their resources than the locals who live, work, and play on those lands. I think welfare especially rankles Westerners because of its implied insult — that men and women are incapable of earning a living on their own, or are unwilling to help those temporarily down on their luck to get back on their feet. In the West I believe there remains a willingness to trust a person rather than trust fine print. Unquestionably, the Westerner’s symbiotic relationship with the land has never been lost. The value placed on the region’s traditional industries, like ranching, has never diminished, even among many urban Westerners. The West was as much a state of mind as it was a historical phenomenon. And the Code? Like I said, it’s unwritten, how are you to prove it still exists?

Quote by: William H. Forbis. The Old West: The Cowboys Time-Life Books. 1973.

I heard about a lot of this after the 911 attacks…

BEING NEIGHBORLY

The story is told of an elderly couple approaching the night clerk in one of Philadelphia ’s older hotels. The man indicated that he and his wife had been looking all over town for a room, but because of a convention, none was to be had.

The night clerk had pity on the couple and, although there was no vacancy in his hotel, offered them his room for the night.

The next morning while the elderly couple was eating breakfast, they asked to see the night clerk. When the clerk arrived, the gentleman astonished him by asking, “How would you like for me to build a big, beautiful, luxurious hotel in the city of New York and make you the general manager?” Astounded, the clerk simply responded, “Wonderful!”

The elderly man introduced himself as John Jacob Astor. The Waldorf-Astoria was built, and the night clerk became its first manager.

Be a good friend and neighbor. It can be a reward to everyone.

At Buckaroo Leather American Made is not just a sales slogan, standing tall behind our Buckaroo logo is honesty, hard work, dedication, sacrifice and integrity. In our journey of the last 30 years we have met many amazing artists, business horseman and women , craftsmen and customers who still live, as us by American Made. Our family has been dedicated for 30 years in serving the Western Horseman the safest most durable Quality
American made leather horse tack.

Thank You, John Brand – BuckarooJohn
Cell #530-545-0139
1-800-873-0781 Fax #888-652-6621

Twitter: @buckaroojohn

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Several months a go I had planned on beginning a series on cowboy or cowgirl code of ethics. The way they lived – life as it were in the day when people survived because they stuck to solid values.  Donna Ridgway sent in the first post and due to internet issues I was unable to post it.  Well those issues have been resolved and I am now ready to embark upon this new adventure. Please  welcome Donna Ridgway, guest blogger, and enjoy her story about her grandfather painting a picture of the code by which he lived his life.

TOM HOWE

Born in 1906

When I think of my grandfather, my early memories are of the smell of horses, leather, cigarettes, and whiskey…and a big grin.  His sense of humor was lively and legendary.  He was a great husband and father, neighbor and friend.

He had his own code of honor, along with a strong sense of mischief.  When he was 15 years old, he lived in Conrad, Montana with his father, brother, and three sisters.  His mother had passed away when he was 6 years old.  The family ran a boarding house/hotel and shared the work equally.

A friend who lived out of town, asked my grandpa to do chores for them for a month, because they wanted to go on a vacation.  They’d bought a new Model T car, and told Grandpa he could have the car in exchange for doing their chores.  The only condition was, they didn’t want him to drive the car, until they returned!  Being 15 years old, (and possessed of a strong inclination for mischief) temptation got the best of Grandpa and he backed the Model T out of the garage, he got it out just fine, but dinged a fender when he drove it back into the building!

When the owners of the car returned home, his conscience wouldn’t allow him to take the car, he had to tell them what he’d done.  As it happened, they laughed and let him keep the car…but this code of ethics remained with him all his life.

My grandfather’s sister, Della married an electrical engineer about the time Grandpa became high school age.  Della’s husband, Benny, insisted her brothers and sisters needed a college education.  Grandpa’s brother, and one sister, took Benny up on his offer.  Grandpa said, “No thanks, I’m going homesteading with dad.”

They sold the hotel, and moved west of Dupuyer, Montana to the very base of the Rocky Mountain Front.  The wall of the front formed the back fence of the ranch, which was handy in that rocky land.  With the bit of money they had from selling what they owned in Conrad, they bought cattle and supplies.  They built two cabins, one for each parcel of homestead land.  In summer, they lived in the upper cabin, which was very small, in winter, they’d return to the larger cabin.  Both cabins were built on Sheep Creek.

Before my Grandpa met my Grandmother, he and a friend decided to attend a dance at Heart Butte, which was approximately 10 miles away.  Along the trail, they engaged in a horse race where they ran through an opened gate.  They enjoyed the dance, and headed home, after dark.  Got into a horse race at about the same place.  The only problem was, someone had come through the fence and shut the gate, while they were at the dance.  Grandpa’s horse saw the gate in time to stop easily, his friend wasn’t so lucky, he flew over his horse’s head and over the gate.  This was a great source of mirth to Grandpa, and he never let his friend forget that night.

Later on, my grandparents married and my grandmother came to live in the homestead cabins, my mother soon joined them.  I love hearing the stories of the life they lead on the homestead.  As far as my Grandpa was concerned, the door was open to all, and there was never a time, when a meal wasn’t ready on the table.  They were known for their hospitality far and wide.  People from town loved to come to the mountains on the weekends, and my Grandma’s favorite saying back then was, “I’d better cook, or git!”

When my grandparents married, my Uncle Bill (my Grandma’s brother) moved to the mountains with them.  His mother tried her best to keep him in school, and home, but he repeatedly ran away to the mountain cabins.  He became a fixture at the ranch.  His help was welcome, he worked extra hard, so he wouldn’t get sent back to Dupuyer to school.

Even though there was an abundance of work to do on the ranch, if a neighbor spoke up, needing a hand, my grandpa answered the call. He never minded helping someone out and he and his neighbors worked closely together.

My grandparents went through the Depression living in the homestead cabins.  They “wintered” on $100 worth of supplies.  And lived mostly from the huge garden they raised, and beef they canned.  Life followed a set pattern, according to what work needed to be done.

When my mom was seven years old, my Grandparents bought a ranch in the foothills of the Rockies.  This ranch had a nice house, barns and corrals, and allowed them to expand the cattle and horse herds.  In the fall, the calves were put in the corrals, and fattened before shipping.  Feeding them wasn’t a large problem, but back then, Grandpa hauled water to the troughs with buckets, a stone boat, and the team.  Late in the fall, his best friend came along, and wanted to go hunting in the Bob Marshall.  My Uncle Bill was going to go along also.  They begged my Grandpa to go with them.  He refused, he said he couldn’t leave the women to water those calves, it would be to much work for them.

My grandpa branding the calf, his dad looking on, my Uncle Bill on the horse.  I believe the guy holding the calf was a friend and neighbor.

My Grandma wanted him to go hunting, she and my mom and the best friend’s wife could do those chores!  Grandpa held steady to his thoughts he needed to stay home.  The friend and my Uncle took off with the pack horses without Grandpa.  It took a while, but the women finally convinced Grandpa he needed to go hunting.  They hurriedly loaded his horse with his bedroll and some food and off he went.  By this time, it was late in the day so he was riding along, concentrating on making good time, to catch up with his buddies.  Just as his horse broke over the top of the cliff face above Swift Dam, he saw his friend riding toward him, he’d ridden back all that way, to convince Grandpa he needed to go hunting!

There was never a time when Grandpa didn’t think about how much work my Grandma had to do.  He kept the water hauled in, slop buckets emptied, and the wood split and hauled in.  They didn’t have running water at the ranch until I was in the seventh grade, so they went a long time, packing water in and out of the ranch house.

The outhouse was part of life at the ranch.  My Uncle Bill married, and he and his wife had three girls.  They were the same age as my brother, sister and I were.  We loved getting together at the ranch.  Part of our entertainment, was to wait for Grandpa to go into the outhouse, which we then pelted with rocks.  He hadn’t lost his spirit of fun, he always came out roaring and chasing us around.  And he usually found ways to get even with us.  For as hard as he worked, he was never crabby or tired acting.

When I was six years old, my grandparents bought a Shetland horse for me and my brother and sister.  I was there to visit, I suppose it was during Christmas vacation…  A blizzard was raging.  Of course I wanted to ride my new horse.  Grandpa bundled me up in warm clothes, and out to the big calving barn we went, to ride the horses round and round…  He wasn’t impatient, he wasn’t ornery about it, he just took me out and did what he knew I wanted to do.  It was a lesson that stayed with me, and I try to remember when my own grand-kids come to visit!

Homesteading on the Rocky Mountain Front, during the Great Depression, created a special breed of people.  The winters were harsh and long, summer work was never ending.  Hospitals and doctors were almost non existent.  Families and neighbors depended upon each other, for basic human needs.  Entertainment was not in a television or computer, it was in playing practical jokes on your friends…or in sitting down to a meal together, with a game of cards afterward.  Many times, entertainment, was as simple as working with neighbors to brand their calves, or gather a crop when the threshing crew came around.

I’ve felt a special connection to that part of our countries history, through the stories and memories of my grandparents.  Grandpa chose to go homesteading, when he was young.  He never once changed his mind when the going was hard.  He loved the ranch, his family and his neighbors.  He was always the best kind of hero to me.

Donna’s Website: Nature of Montana

 Donna Ridgway is a participating artist in Le Cadeau du Cheval, the Horse Gift Mural, published in Horses in Art, award winning artist.  Montana photographer.  Member of the Equine Art Guild, World Wide Women Artists and the Canine Art Guild.  

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Been thinking…
There are so many topics that I would love to explore on this blog.  So I made a list.

• Unique Restaurantettes – little hole in the walls that incorporate their local farmers markets and cook their foods from scratch.  Such as The Deli.  I drop in at The Deli often for lunch when I’m over on that side of town.  Their food is absolutely to die for! It’s always ample in portion. For example, I bought a salad yesterday it came in a bowl as large as a dinner plate. I ate almost half and was stuffed to the gills.  The owner/chef came over to the table, always friendly, sat himself down to visit telling me the yellow pear tomatoes in my salad he and his son picked fresh that morning.  I brought the rest of the salad home which had ample portions of turkey in it and made a turkey salad sandwich on sprouted flaxseed bread for dinner. There is enough left over for two more sandwiches.  The Deli has been getting quite a bit of attention lately with business growing at a constant pace as folks learn about its existence.  Check them out at the Arizona Republic for a grand slam review.
• I’m considering beginning a category for Cowboy and Cowgirl Life.  Write about real people past and present.  Mostly though I want to explore things like  cowboy code and cowboy character.  I’m going to add a picture of my Great Uncle Fred to my banner.  He was an ultimate cowboy who made a living wherever he laid his hat.  He worked as a fire watchman up on the Mogollon Rim on mule back for years.  My aunt told stories of waiting for him to return knowing his mule would get him home if he could mount up.  If the mule came back alone she would set out to retireve my uncle. He use to walk down wild horses in the desert, riding them back to the ranch fully broke and ready to be used for ranch stock.   He was my favorite person in the whole wide world, and was my original mentor  in training horses.  To this day I still use some of what he taught me about wild horses.  My first experience in Arizona was at age twelve when my parents brought me to visit my great aunt and uncle. Uncle Fred took me out calling in coyotes using a rabbit in distress whistle.  It was a major day in my life.  When I returned to Arizona some 27 years later I wanted to go back to the old Preston Ranch where my Uncle had worked, but of course it was already under a subdivision.
• Outdoorsmen and Women .  Recently I have ran across some Outdoorsmen who write and are quite good at it. I’m thinking of guest writers who would like to spread the love so to speak and have more folks have access to their work.  It will be on a submission basis and I’ll have to read the piece and post it for them.  I want to be sure anything I post is appropriate for all my readers.  My love of outdoorsmen and women comes from being raised by them. My father and mother were bigger than life types who are hard to find these days.  They are out there, I have ran across a few, and I am drawn to them like bees to honey as it reminds me that really solid, quality, tough and capable people are still sharing this world with us. People I would feel safe with in any situation, like when my dad saved a river boat full of people from capsizing by jumping into a raging river grabbing a nearby limb and pulling the boat to safety with his brute strength.  I was in the boat and wasn’t a bit afraid for my dads safety or mine. It wasn’t just his fearless act that saved us, it was his knowledge of the boat and in particular the water and how to read it and how to maneuver the boat correctly.  As the women wearing their fear tears  and the men with their red faces crawled from the boat to the bank, my dad stood in chest high raging water holding onto a limb with one hand and the boat with another with a big smile on his face. He was liviing life to its fullest right at that very moment.  Or when he helped his best friend stay alive when they both were stranded in the Alaskan wilderness, eventually making it to a remote lodge.  Or when he faced down a cow moose charging him. All he had with him was his shot gun, he was rabbit hunting with a cane having had a double total hip surgery. When he shot the cow square between the eyes the shotgun spread was less than 2 inches in size.  She bowled him over but landed dead about 10 paces behind him. These are the kind of people I want to feature here.

I’m thinking adding these categories will open this blog up to a broader audience and keep it fresh and interesting.  Well it will be interesting for me at least, and since it’s my blog… well hey anyone for catfish tarragon soup?

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