Michael Swickard
I was talking at the coffee shop recently about the upcoming elections and I indicated that my gullibility does not run deep. I used to be much more gullible than I am now.
I was cured while taking pictures at a rodeo. At the time I owned a small weekly newspaper and was trying to get something for the front page.
It was a two-night rodeo. The first night I shot some of the action in the arena from the fence. At the rodeo dance I took pictures. A rodeo clown sauntered up. He had a hat with five playing cards on it, all jokers, so he was called, Joker.
“If’n you want good bullriding pictures you have to get in the arena and shoot at the chutes opening with the audience behind,” he said.
I thought it over. My shots so far were not good because I was stuck at the fence and was shooting the hind end of the bull as bull and rider rode out into the arena. I visualized that if I was in the middle of the arena shooting at the jump-out when the gate was opened, why that would be a great picture. Then I visualized a ton of bull doing the four-step on my body.
“Sure it would be a good picture, but what keeps the bull from breaking my camera and my neck, too?” I asked.
“Shoot,” Joker snorted, “It isn’t dangerous out there because we know what the bull is going to do. After watching them night after night for a while we know which ones are going to just spin and which ones run all over the place. We are safe out there because we stand where they ain’t going to go.”
I saw his point. If I knew where the bull was going, I could go to a spot near there. Joker saw the wheels turning and offered, “Heck, I could show you where to stand and you would be perfectly safe.”
Not what I expected
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So that’s how I happened to be out in the arena the next night. I was a bit tentative the first couple of bulls but Joker kept pointing to spots where the bull wasn’t going to be. He was right and I became bolder. I took a great bullriding shot and was jubilant. Then it happened.
Next up was a boy from my hometown and I wanted a front page shot of him. He was riding a large Brahma bull named Ol’ Strychnine. Joker waved me out to about 50 feet in front of the gate. “He comes out and spins right in front of the gate and then goes down the fence. You’ll be safe out here in the middle.” He said. I caught the hint of a smile beneath his painted on smile. Joker said, “Crouch down here so your picture can show how high he jumps.”
I got down on my knees so that I could exaggerate how high the bull was going to jump. Joker went back to the fence, “Good luck pard,” he shouted.
The local boy, Justin hunched down on the back of the bull and nodded. The gate sprang open. I got a smidgen lower and Ol’ Strychnine catapulted out with Justin hanging on for all he was worth. I snapped a great shot of the bull about two feet off of the ground and I anticipated that when Ol’ Strychnine came down he should start spinning. He didn’t.
In one awful moment I realized that Ol’ Strychnine was making a beeline for me crouched in the dirt on my knees ready to shoot another picture. At that point I would gladly have had a bazooka instead. I lurched to my feet about three hooves ahead of the bull who had completely forgotten Justin.
The three of us hit the fence at the same moment. I was pitched over the fence into the first row of spectators. My camera embedded itself in the wooden fence. Justin heard the 8 second whistle and jumped off while Ol’ Strychnine stood on my straw hat (luckily my head wasn’t in it) looking hatefully at me in the first row. I had bull slobber all over my back and a ringing in my ears.
Elections haven’t been fun since
I came to my senses to the roaring sounds of the crowd’s laughter. Joker and the rest of the rodeo clowns were leading the laughter. The crowd loved it. Later they said it was the best entertainment in many years, especially when I chased Joker around the arena with a tire iron.
The picture of Justin and Ol’ Strychnine came out fine and was on the front page of the newspaper that week. The camera, however expired, as did my gullibility. Elections have never been much fun since then.
Swickard is a weekly columnist for this site. You can reach him at michael@swickard.com.
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