Rodeos bring back childhood memories. In those days (the mid-1950s), many small real estate developers sold lots at random without required house plans. None of the homes built by the purchasers were alike and when my parents bought their lot, there was still plenty of vacant lots in between. In those days, my south Tampa neighborhood was like a rangeland, and there was plenty of construction scrap for building forts. Small herds of adolescents, sometimes only in ones and twos, roamed this terrain, seemingly unsupervised and looking for their daily “what can I do” after their parents commanded “go play outside”.

My newly built home was only three blocks from the high school I would later attend – not too far away from home to search for my “what can I do”. Besides, there were plenty of watering holes in between. I wonder today whether in those days of party lines there was constant communication between moms (yes, moms) along the lines of “Jackson’s down here. I’ll feed him lunch today if you will feed Billy tomorrow,” that’s assuming Billy and I ended up at my house the next day – we eventually would end up there.

The high school campus included a football stadium suitable for a school whose team was often state champion and always a contender. One year, which one I don’t recall, a full scale rodeo pulled up in that football stadium. Florida was and still is cow country. So, it is likely the stock and cowboys did not have to travel far to get there.

It was a magical few days, or a week, for me. My “what can I do” was solved. Instead of Mother’s answer to my question, my answer to hers was “I’m goin’ to the rodeo”. It’s funny – I don’t recall ever going to an actual performance. In those days, however, it seems there was no limit on a small boy with no previous ranching experience mingling with the stock, the wranglers, the bronc and bull riders. Maybe they sensed I had been part of a herd and would be again, as soon as the rodeo left town.

For years afterward, my bedroom was decorated with wads of cow hair and bundles of horse hair gleaned from the temporary stalls. If I had had a wagon (I recall I was between wagons at the time), I probably would have hauled loads of manure home to enhance my décor. The smell, sights and sounds of a rodeo remain magical to this day. That first rodeo is responsible for my love of rodeos and pleasure in capturing images of the stock, wranglers and contestants. Circuses are so predictable (not including the time the caged black panther marked my wife and children as his territory), I can’t understand the reason anyone would want to run away with a circus. But, a rodeo! You never know what to expect at a rodeo or the images you might be lucky enough to capture there on your “roll of film”.