A Knife and a Barn

As I followed the brother-in-law to Rocky’s house, I tried to recall the number of times I had seen Rocky and could only remember once, maybe twice, and he had been a small boy. But he, like his father, was famous in our family because of his cowboy prowess. Rocky had been a rodeo bronc rider and world champion steer roper and his grandmother (my aunt) told stories about his victories on the rodeo circuit often. He had followed a path I dreamed of as a boy.

I didn’t see how I could have passed by Rocky’s place without seeing it, but I had. It could not be seen from the farm road. The only evidence was a gate that looked like it led to a pasture, not a residence. When we entered the gate opening, the road sloped sharply down into a valley or meadow. I saw a barn with a carport on the front sitting on the incline. 

A small pickup and a dualie, both well-used, and a pickup hitched to a horse trailer sat out front. The horse inside the trailer nickered when I walked by. Two young boys about ten or twelve were roping a practice dummy in the yard. After all that glory, all that success, was this where the former world champion lived—in a barn? 

As the brother-in-law opened the front door without knocking, I hesitated. It was the middle of the afternoon, and I was a long-lost relative barging in, uninvited and unannounced. But I did have something to talk about. Henry Bascom Alexander, my great-grandfather, was Rocky’s great-great grandfather. I would begin with the story of finding his tombstone in nearby Antlers. It was a flimsy excuse, but I used it. The inside of the barn was not what I expected.

Rocky sat in an easy chair with his hat in his hand, son Cody sat at a kitchen bar. I was drawn to a beautiful stairway complemented and supported by a huge, finished tree trunk. A pair of Peet’s boots and his hat sat on top of the trunk.

The place was so cowboy I could smell saddle leather and horse sweat—right down to the bathroom mirrors and bunkhouse doors, interrupted only by an incongruent flat screen television that hung on the rock wall by the fireplace. 

The kitchen cabinets were also made of wood that matched the stairway and tall tree trunk. Late in life, Rocky discovered a talent for carpentry and finish work and had done all the work himself.

Upstairs and downstairs made about 4000 square feet of a beautiful, warm and rustic home.

Rocky showed me his trophy saddle and award for the national championship.  

Using photographs from actual competitions, renowned artist Jana Sol had painted images of Rocky riding a bronc and roping a steer on the head and foot boards of the master bedroom bed. 

Rocky’s wife Sharla arrived just as we came back down the stairs. 

We exchanged stories about Peet and Peet’s dad I had not heard before and I told a few of my own family stories. Sharla shared stories of her family. It had been her brother who guided me to their place. Both of her brothers had been rodeo cowboys, too. 

I learned Rocky and Sharla are raising two grandsons. When the boys came inside from roping practice, I noticed one was limping. Seems a horse had fallen on him that morning. His knee was swollen, but he tried to hide the pain because he did not want to miss a trip to Hugo where Cody was entered in a steer roping. His name was Pecos and his brother’s name was Colton. 

When I shook Pecos’s hand, he asked if I liked knives. I said, “Sure. Why?”

“You want one?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer, but I nodded. A few minutes later, he placed two knives in my hand. “Which one you like best?”

I figured it was some sort of prank, but I pointed at the one with images of ducks on the handle. He placed it in my hand.I was not sure how to react. “Are you selling these knives?”

“You said you wanted one. I’m giving you that one.”

I looked to Rocky and Sharla. They signaled for me to accept the knife saying, “He’s a good boy."

The men and boys left a few minutes later for the Hugo roping. I visited with Sharla about Mary Evelyn and Peet, her parents, and hers and Rocky’s history as childhood sweethearts. 

I left for Ada to find another ancestor’s grave and ran into another blind alley. Decided to head home and stop in Hugo to see if I could catch Cody roping. I arrived just as they called his name.

A few weeks later, my grandson Gray Boy was scheduled to have serious surgery on both legs. I took my pictures of Rocky and his family and their home and told the story to him just before the surgery. I told him about his distant cousin Pecos, showed him a family tree so he could connect the dots, and gave him the knife Pecos gave to me. 

So Pecos’s kind and generous gesture, his story, and his knife have traveled to Texas and are in the hands and mind of a boy about his age. Thanks, Pecos. A few weeks later, I sent both boys hoof picks with bone handles.

Steeped in Tradition

Anyone who has read any of my articles or books knows that I am all about legacy, tradition, history, and antiquity. I gaze upon old things with reverence, touch them with awe. I feel a connection when I wander through an old graveyard and find the grave of a long-gone ancestor that died a century before I was born. 

When I attended my first event in the new Sam Rayburn Student Center on the campus of my alma mater shortly after it was built, I didn’t see any of the old presidents’ pictures and some of the history that had been displayed in the former student center. When I asked about them, I was referred to a kiosk where I could key in information and see university history. 

Soon after, I casually mentioned (okay, maybe it was a sarcastic comment) to Randy VanDeven, Vice President for University Advancement, that if one were blindfolded and brought into the building, especially to the second floor, a first-time visitor would not be able to name the campus or the building they were in when the mask was removed. I might have even offered a small wager. 

Four years later, Randy invited me back to that same spot during Homecoming weekend and the celebration of the 125^th anniversary of the university where I earned my degree. He proudly pointed to the photographic display of the history of what is now Texas A&M University-Commerce from the days when it was East Texas Normal to today. It changed from East Texas State College to East Texas State University during my time as a student.

The display is impressive and well, it did bring feelings of nostalgia, even on a day when my mind was on other things. As Randy and I discussed and examined each of the displays, I watched students and campus visitors take them in as they arrived. The display widened eyes and brought smiles.

Some would say that we are being too sentimental, that students, especially young ones, don’t care about such things. I beg to differ. I was about as unsentimental as they come during my college tenure, remarking often that I just wanted that sheepskin. I vowed to never return to campus after I earned my degree. But as the sheepskin started to become less a dream and more a reality, I began to appreciate the traditions, the legacy of those who had gone before. 

I stared at paintings of former presidents that hung on the walls (they seemed to stare at me—challenge me). I perused old yearbooks, looking at the faces of former students who had distinguished themselves in some fashion, wondering if I would ever be worthy enough to follow in their footsteps. I am fairly certain, however, that I would never have approached a kiosk to learn my university’s history. It I had, I doubt that it would have brought the same feeling of respect.

  

In addition to Randy, we owe gratitude to Paul Bryan, Terry Goen, Wendy Morgan, Robyn Price, Shanna Strunk, and Andrea Weddle for this impressive nod to tradition. They put a lot of work into this display and it shows. 

Now, students can step into their student center and know that others have blazed a trail for them, that the university they chose is steeped in tradition—that they are part of something bigger than themselves. This university may have had several names, but always the same trunk, the same root system, and they can take pride in becoming a branch of that honorable tree.