TAKE THE WORLD OUT TO THE RODEO
OAKLEY, UT, JUNE 30 — The livestock came from Dallas, the audience from Utah, Colorado, and Wyoming. The cowboys and cowgirls came from small towns stretching from the Louisiana Bayou to the California coast. Elk City, Oklahoma, Maple City, Kansas, Chubbuck, Idaho, and 100 towns in Texas.
Then on opening night of the 88th annual Oakley Rodeo, in walked The World.
For the 20 teachers we met in last week’s Attic, this was, literally, their first rodeo. Rodeo has some cache in Maria Jose’s Chile and Levi’s Mexico, but the rip-roarin’, bronc buckin’ American pastime never caught on in Uzbekistan, Cambodia, Malaysia, Indonesia, Cameroon, Romania, or the dozen other countries The World calls home. So after flying to Utah, visiting Mormon sites and a Ute nation healer, we needed a trigger warning.
“What you’re about to see may strike you as cruel,” I warned the group. (This was not my first rodeo and my kids had been appalled by their first.) “Feel free to step away at any time. But be aware that the animals are well cared for, vets are on hand, and that the creatures about to get holy hell beaten out of them are the two-legged kind.”
“And if you find all this ridin’ and ropin’ cruel,” I concluded, “just look around you. This is a Western fashion show.”
Strutting in their best Stetsons and blue jeans, long plaid dresses and calf-high leather boots, The West filed into the stands. As we followed toward our front row seats, a prayer on the P.A. halted us. Then the Star Spangled Banner.
Ohhh, say can you seeee. . .
“Now I know what patriotism is,” said Gunnhild of Norway.
Just when they might have expected a “play ball!” the first bronc burst out of the pen. The cowboy clinging to his back whipped and snapped like a wet rag. Moments after he crashed to the turf, another bronc burst out. Whip, buck, crash. And another. And The World was hooked.
For the next ninety minutes, as the sun set over Oakley (pop. 1500), as the P.A. blared pop songs that had The World dancing in their seats, the Oakley Rodeo crossed cultures and built bridges.
Lean and leathery bronc riders had The World cheering. Cowgirls in spangled duds, racing horses around barrels, then sprinting to the finish line had them watching the time clock. The trick rider standing atop two horses might as well have been the sunrise for all her universal appeal.
But many drew the line at calf roping. It was one thing to watch a testosterone-fed cowboy leap from his horse to grab a steer by the horns and wrestle it to the ground in 3.2 seconds. Quite another to see a small calf lassoed and hog tied.
“Heartbreaking,” said Katherina of Greece.
“Animal abuse” said Dila of Uzbekistan.
Several left their seats to roam the concessions and enjoy the fashion show. But when the calf roping ended, all returned, many with All-American meals. Corn dogs, Dippin’ Dots, Funnel Cakes, and anything else Utah could fry, salt, and slather with ketchup or sugar.
Katherina bought a fancy hat. Hamdi of Tunisia sported a black Stetson. “Now we have a cowboy and a cowgirl,” said Maria of Moldova. And a clown.
The Oakley Rodeo wrapped up with bull riding. Back in Israel, Masha had ridden a camel. In Malaysia, Dyanthi rode an elephant. But none of The World had ever seen a seemingly sane man cling to the back of a 2,000 pound bull, snorting and thrashing till the cowboy slammed to the turf.
I explained that rodeo riders’ careers are short, and that, despite the roping of cute little calves, it’s a helluva tough way to make a living.
The rodeo ended with fireworks and a “drone show,” dozens of floating lights shaping themselves into flags, cowboy hats, and ads for a local bank. Is this a great country or what?
It was a short ride back to Salt Lake, the end of a long day. Asked about the rodeo, The World was unanimous.
“Magical,” said Mina of Madagascar. “Better than baseball.”
“Amazing,” said Youcef of Algeria. “The best thing I’ve seen in America so far.”
The livestock was corralled and shipped on to next weekend’s rodeo in Texas. Cowboys and cowgirls, bandaged and bruised, continued to follow their summer circuit. But after a final stop in DC, The World headed home.
Like fireworks flaring from a central burst, they spread across five continents. Jacinta to Equatorial Guinea. Mpeya to Belgium. Angie back in Romania, Megan in Costa Rica, Eebaraj in Nepal. . .
From their five weeks in America, The World took home plenty of souvenirs — Woosox T-shirts, DC keychains, two cowboy hats, and at least 1,000 selfies. But they also took memories — of Boston and New York and other American classrooms, of the Freedom Trail and the Lincoln memorial, a national park and two national pastimes. . .
And above all, they took the truth they taught me — that the actual world, when encapsulated in twenty faces, twenty names, twenty distinct and charming characters, is not such a bad place after all.
So long, pardners. Happy trails to you.
