golden anniversary diamond jubilee - denver · nation’s biggest spread under one fence and when...

2 0 0 5 N AT I O N A L W E S T E R N S T O C K S H O W • 1

Keith and Cheryl Chamberlain

NOTE: This is the third in a series of fourarticles recounting the colorful history of theNational Western Stock Show, Rodeo andHorse Show, which celebrates its 100thanniversary in 2006.

Lots of folks have a specialchildhood memory from theNational Western. For ReneeElkins it’s a bunny in a shoebox. “I

was 12 years old and had gone down tothe National Western with mygrandfather,” she says, her eyes lighting

up as she remembers. “We visited all theanimal exhibits including the rabbits. Ibought one and the person gave me ashoe box and we poked holes in it and Icarried the little baby bunny rabbit homeon the city bus.” It was the start of a four-year rabbit raising venture and a life longaffection for the Stock Show.

Renee, whose business these daysincludes running horse shows at theNational Western, isn’t alone in herfondness for the show. Recalling Denver’sreaction to the January extravaganza in the1950s, Sandy Dennehey, a longtime horseexhibitor here, says, “The city sort of

turned itself over to the Stock Show.Everybody talked about it at school;everybody wore western clothes for aweek. It was just really a big deal.”Summing it up for many, Denver Postcolumnist Red Fenwick wrote in 1958,“Don’t you just love Stock Show time? OldDenver’s always all a ‘twinkle and Gussiedup like a schoolmarm at the Saturdaynight shindig. It’s wonderful. It’s Western.”

One way the city gussied up was bykeeping the Christmas lights burning atCivic Center, a tradition begun in 1945that continues today. The DenverChamber of Commerce ran special Stock

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

The stockyards, seen here in 1976, were the destination for adventurous young men who traveled to the National Western in railcars with their livestock.

FROMTO

The National Western Stock Show, Rodeo and Horse Show – 1956 to 1981

GOLDEN ANNIVERSARYDIAMOND JUBILEE:

2 • 2 0 0 5 N a t i o n a l We s t e r n S t o c k S h o w

Show trains from ColoradoSprings and Cheyenne andbusinesses welcomed out-of-town guests with special sales.According to a fanciful newsreport of the era, local eaterieswelcomed stockmen by puttingmore hat racks in the lobby,more shot glasses on the bar andmore ketchup on the tables.Chefs cut down on the saladsand whomped up more Frenchfries. It was said that the high-booted guests didn’t care aboutprice, they wanted their meat inchunks right off the critter andserved thick and rare. For theStockmen’s Ball, Denveritesdonned their fanciest westernget-ups to mingle with theirrural cousins. Inaugurated in1957 with Montie Montana andRex Allen entertaining, the ballwas a highlight of Stock Showseason for 15 years.

Ridin’ the RailsSitting on a bale of straw in a

stockyards pen and soaking upthe brilliant January sun, theysmile when they recall riding the railswith their cattle in days gone by. KennethEppers, who began traveling with theNorthern Pump Company’s show stringin the late 1950s, recalls, “We would loadon Saturday noon and the railroad wouldswitch us around until sometime duringSaturday night. We were always in theDenver stockyards ready to unload onMonday morning.” Stanley Stout, a topauctioneer at the National Western thesedays, had a two-day trip from Brookville,Kansas, with C-K Ranch bulls.

Another C-K hand, Rex Seibert,explains the particulars of traveling withlivestock. “We always tied the cattle tothe right-hand side of the boxcar. Thatway we could keep the left-hand doorswide open [to keep the cattle fromgetting too hot]. We just put some boardsacross there in case the cattle got loose.They couldn’t get out and we couldn’t fallout. We fed in the boxcar, we carriedmost all of our own grain and some hay.”

An elevated wooden deck at the frontof the car provided living quarters for thecrews. Stout and his companions, whotraveled an extended show circuit, “had

an old time icebox that you’d put achunk of ice in and it would be good fortwo or three days until we neededanother chunk. We even had a gasgenerator and an electric skillet. We werekind of the envy of the guys on therailroad,” he says with a smile. Seibert’screw used a car battery to power lightsduring the long evenings. “We also hadour water barrel up there with a faucet sowe could water the cattle. We alwayscarried our own sleeping bag and that’swhere we slept. You know, you’d besurprised, you’d ride on them rails andbouncing and everything, it just put youto sleep.”

“Most of the time it was very, very coldgoing across Iowa and Kansas,”remembers Eppers. Merle Mills, recalls,“Oh, it was just cold in there. You couldride in the caboose, but in a lot of cases itwas colder there than it was in the carwith the heat of the animals.” GeneWiese, who railroaded bulls to Denver

from his family ranch inManning, Iowa, recounts thetime his crew got caught in asnowstorm in McCook,Nebraska. “It held the train upfor a day and that was a coldride. My brother and I learnedan awful lot on that trip. Thanksto a few other people who werefreighting out by rail we wereable to get some warm coffeeand into a warm place once in awhile.” Stanley Stout’s crewbrought “plenty of blankets, avery, very heavy coat and a lot oflonghandles.”

Some fortified themselves inother ways. “We alwaysbrought a half-gallon of wine‘cause water could freeze if yougot in one of them storms,”says Seibert. “You didn’t wantto be without something todrink.” Arrival in the yards wasexciting. Rex laughs and tellsof a friend whooping it up. “Hewas up in the engine with theengineer, driving that thingand pulling levers and makingit whistle and really making

our arrival noticeable.” Outfits that soldall their cattle at the Stock Show could“ride the cushions” going home. PaulPeterson of La Jara, Colorado, recallshis first caboose ride. “I was just a littleboy and it was all night. Oh, I wastired! Those old guys smoking cigarsand drinking a little and it was all theold ranchers from down there [at theStock Show].”

In spite of the rigors, Gene Wiesesays, “it was still a lot of fun and I’veloved the railroads ever since.” Stoutsums it up for many of those youngmen when he says, “These guys on theroads today never got to do that and I’mvery fortunate that I did. It was a freespirit way to travel.”

Busy Times in the YardsAbout the first thing long time

exhibitors will tell you is how big andbusy the stockyards were half a centuryago. “These yards were really loaded,”recalls Paul Peterson, who’s beencoming to the Stock Show since he wasa boy of 10. Perry Blach, anotherveteran, says “When I started bringing

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Yearling Hereford bulls from the powerhouseC-K Ranch parade before watchful eyes inthe yards in this 1959 scene.


bulls to Denver in 1952 there would befrom 2,500 to 3,000 head come in forprivate treaty sales.”

Denver was “the place to be,” for theWiese family, who have been selling at theStock Show for 55 years. “This is wherebusiness took place and that was thepurpose of coming– to conduct business.”Gene calculates his family has sold over amillion dollars’ worth of cattle, semen andembryos here. Three generations of MarkMills’ St. Francis, Kansas, family have soldHereford bulls at the show. “We’ve missedonly two years since 1920, and since 1930we haven’t missed a year.” he says proudly.“Nobody down here can touch that.” Theybrought big strings, with a single-year highof 98. Ranch records show they sold over1,700 bulls at the Stock Show between1942 and 1983 alone.

Some outfits loom large in stockyardslore. The ones to beat in those days in thecarlot [judging] was the WyomingHereford Ranch out of Cheyenne,” says

Rex Seibert. “For five or six years theyhad grand champion loads.” Rex workedfor the C-K Ranch of Brookfield, Kansas,another legendary competitor.

Then there was John B. Holly’sNorthern Pump Company. Holly got hisstart making bombs and bullets for theNavy in World War II, but it was stumpycattle that got him into the Herefordbusiness. In the 1940s and ‘50s the goalwas to produce animals with short legs soless growth was wasted on unmarketablebody parts. Holly was appalled by theoccasional dwarfism that resulted.Kenneth Eppers, who showed bulls forHolly at the National Western for 20years, explains: “He bought some heifersand took them to a little bitty farm hehad next to the ordnance plant inMinneapolis and got several dwarf calves.He decided that he was going devote hismoney and lifetime to ridding Herefordcattle of dwarfs.” Holly bought a largerspread in Illinois and it was soon clear

that Northern Pump meant business.Their first two carloads of yearling bullscame to Denver in 1957 and one placedseventh among 62 carloads. NorthernPump showed until 1977, winning twocarload grand champions, one of whichwas the first from east of the Mississippi,and many other honors as well. “TheNational Western was our basic,” saysEppers. “That was the only place that weshowed carloads.”

Bull buyers at the National Westernran the gamut from modest, family-owned ranches to gigantic corporateoperations. “In those days the rancherswould come in with their calves oryearlings for the market and after theygot their money they’d come down andbuy their bulls to take back home,”explains Seibert. At the other end of thespectrum were the heavyweights. “Theyards were where you’d see the bigranchers from Texas, Colorado and NewMexico,” says Stanley Stout. In yards lore,

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Perry Blach, right, had good reason to smile in 1967 after selling 51 Hereford bulls to power shopper E. Paul Waggoner, left. Dale Richardson,commission agent for John Clay and Company, helped smooth negotiations. Photo courtesy of Perry Blach.


a gentleman from the Lone Star Statetowers over all other buyers.

The Man From TexasE. Paul Waggoner was the most

influential bull buyer in the 1950s and‘60s. When he came to Denver hisentourage occupied an entire floor at theBrown Palace. “He was very much acharacter,” recalls Eppers. Roger Tuell,longtime exhibitor and chairman of theFed Beef Contest, agrees. “He was a classydresser. He wore a scarf with a diamondstickpin right in the middle of it. Silverhair.” Another bull man smiles, “Iwouldn’t say he dressed clear out of thisworld, but he didn’t wear bib overalls,put it that way.”

The Waggoner Ranch in Texas was thenation’s biggest spread under one fenceand when the larger-than-life Waggonerarrived, it sent a wave of excitementthrough the yards. The National Western

was the only show where he bought bullsand at $1,000 each, he typically tookhome 100. He set the market and it waseverybody’s dream to sell to E. PaulWaggoner. He arrived in Denver early,toured the pens and bought all his bullsthe day before the show opened.According to Tuell, “His son-in-law JohnBiggs looked after him, and them two,whatever they wanted, you did, ‘causeyou wanted to sell. We’d sell 30, 40, 50bulls in one whack and everybodywanted to get Mr. Biggs and ol’ PaulWaggoner into their pen.”

“He wanted to be the first in the pen,”says Perry Blach of Yuma, who often sold toWaggoner. “If you’d sold one bull out of thebatch, he wouldn’t even look at the rest.”Consequently, most outfits wouldn’t sellanything until Waggoner had been through;a lesson Merle Mills learned the hard way.“One time he came down and he made usan offer for a dozen or something like that

and we didn’t think it was quite what wewanted, so he left and in the meantime wesold 10 or 12 out of what he was lookingat. He came back about an hour later andsays, ‘Well, I guess I’ll just take them.’When we told him we’d already sold thosehe was angry and he wouldn’t buy nothingthen. The next year he forgot about it,” saysMills, who sold bulls to Waggoner for yearsand speaks well of him.

Former Waggoner Ranch managerG.L. Proctor of Vernon, Texas, says, “Hedidn’t just buy from one feller. He’d kindof split it up and get different breeding inhis bulls. We got our pick of whatever wewanted. He always wanted to be first atanything he done, but he was a prettynice old feller.” Proctor adds, “The oldman that run the ranch ahead of me,Tony Hazlewood, was quite an old cowman and he knew his cattle pretty good.So he would go with Mr. Waggonerbefore me so he had pretty good trainin’.”

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Continental breeds like this1979 Grand Champion Simmental bull made their first appearance at the National Western in the mid-1960s,changing the look of the cattle show and the quality of the beef on America’s tables.


Kenneth Eppers recalls, “He had fouror five commission men that went withhim and they would recommend whatbulls for him to look at and they’d drivethem out in the aisle and he’d take aquick look and just say ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Makean offer and that was it. It was no bigdickering deal with him. He knew whathe wanted and what he was going to pay.”Tuell adds, “If you could get E. Paul in tolook at your bulls, you never wanted totell him what you wanted for them oranything. You didn’t want to ask him anyquestions– just open up and run them outand let him look at them. You didn’t try toconvince him. Nope. If anything I believeit would probably tick him off a little ifyou tried to persuade him on things.”

One day in the early 1960s Waggonercame into Perry Blach’s enclosure after avisit to the C-K Ranch pens and sat downon a bale of straw. “He sat there juststewin,’” recalls Blach. The C-K, anotherof his regular suppliers, had raised theirprices. With the miffed Texan fuming,Blach gently suggested, “’I’ve got 52 bullshere and there’s not a bad bull among‘em. He wanted to see ‘em out in thealley,” says Perry, whose heart must haveskipped a beat along about then. Blachhad a couple of herd prospects he hadn’tintended to sell but Waggoner wantedone in order to clinch the deal. “Ofcourse, he picked the best one,” chucklesBlach. Waggoner bought 51 bulls. “As faras I know, I still hold the record forselling the most bulls to one buyer at theNational Western,” says Blach. An eraended when Waggoner departed Denver’syards for the last time in 1965.

Arm Twisters and Hay ShakersIn the 1950s and early ‘60s, the yards

show had to be squeezed into the DenverLivestock Market’s already-bustlingoperation, which stayed in full swinguntil just two days before the showopened. Then, pens were emptied andcleaned and aisles were washed down. ByThursday, show cattle, which had beentemporarily stalled in outlying pens, werebrought up to display enclosures nearerthe Livestock Exchange Building.

Buyers were so eager for a look at theyear’s offerings that many showed up onWednesday or Thursday. The yearlingbull show on Saturday opened the StockShow. “That was the main event in those

years,” says Kenneth Eppers. “Thatcarload Hereford bull show was justwhere everybody went. Then onSunday, the calves and the championbulls were shown.”

Another highlight came about halfway through the show’s nine-day runwhen ranchers brought in their steer andheifer calves for the commercial cattleshow and sale. Feedlots bought the largerones, about half the total, while thelighter animals went to outfits that tookthem home to grass pastures for moregrowth. The carload feeder calf sale wasknown as the Bellringer for the practiceof ringing a bell when the auctioneerbrought the hammer down. Lee Sheard,who was a livestock agent for the half-dozen railroads shipping from Denver,remembers an especially big one. “Fortydouble-deck carloads of feeder cattle, 90head to a car, went out of here in onenight after a Bellringer,” he recalls.

Most bulls changed hands in privatearrangements between seller and buyerafter some gentlemanly negotiation.Francis Rogers, who along with his wifeMary has been selling Angus bulls at theshow for over half a century, says, “Youjust try your best to be a salesman andbrag up everything you’ve got and hopeyou can make a sale. But,” he adds witha wry smile, “you don’t get ‘em downand ‘rassle ‘em.” Merle Mills describes

the haggling this way: “You’d say whatyou wanted, and they’d say, ‘Well, I justcan’t do that,’ and next they’d say, ‘Well,maybe if I buy another 10 head whatwould you do?’ or they’d say ‘I have aneighbor that’s going to be in here in aday or two and I want him to look atthese, too.’ Then the two of them wouldget together and try to buy 20 or 30from you. You pay attention prettyquick, because there’s a lot of differencein selling 10 and selling 30.”

The hectic pace sometimes led toembarrassing goofs. “The worst thing Iever did,” Francis Rogers admits with asheepish smile, “was one time a buyercame in and I sold him three or four bullsand I didn’t write it down. I thought Icould remember.” Another rancher camealong and Rogers sold him one of thosesame bulls. To patch things up with thefirst fellow, Rogers says, “I gave himanother bull and he’s been buying fromme ever since.”

Most of the larger outfits hadherdsmen to care for their show string.They called themselves hay shakers, turdpitchers and brush hands, but herdsmenwere crucial. They rode the rails withtheir cattle and lived with them at theshow, putting in days that began wellbefore sunup and sometimes ended inthe wee hours of morning.

Early mornings, before the yards got

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

National Western General Manager Willard Simms, left, and stockyards manager CharlieKirk examine carcass entries in the Fed Beef Contest, which began in 1964.


busy, saw a parade of bulls driven up anddown the long alleys for exercise. Theanimals constantly needed fresh waterand feed and the pens had to be beddedwith straw and kept clean. Not manyoutfits did much grooming in those days,but for those that did there was extrawork. “It didn’t make any difference howcold it was, you still had to wash thebulls and get them cleaned up,” says RexSeibert. Cattle from the Western Slopearrived with soot on their backs from theride through the Moffat Tunnel andneeded a wash job. The days were fulland evening brought another round ofchores: feed and fresh water, a finalcleaning of display pens after the animalshad been led to nighttime tie outs.

When the herdsmen could finally kickup their heels a bit, the Exchange Bar inthe Livestock Exchange Building was apopular spot. A place for a hot cup ofcoffee and a warm-up during the day, itgot livelier when darkness fell. FrankPadilla, a livestock judge at the NationalWestern now, started out showingcarloads of Hereford bulls here in 1972and recalls a special customer in the bar.“There was a group talking and prettysoon this fella’ from Nebraska disappearsand next thing you know he’s got aHereford bull coming up the stairs. Hebrings the bull in, everybody tries to buythe bull a drink and we kind of hootedand hollered for a little bit and then heleaves with the bull.”

Sleeping arrangements were often a bitcasual. “We had our bedroll and we sleptin the pens,” recalls Stanley Stout. “Afteryou tied your cattle out at night, you’dredo their stall and bed down yourselfright there in the straw.” Others foundlodging on the Hill. “We slept in the barnwhere the show animals were tied,”recalls Kenneth Eppers. “It wasn’t socold.” The show barns on the Hill weregathering places at all hours, he says. “Inthose days, it seemed like you could gothrough those barns until ten o’clock atnight and sit down and talk to cattlebreeders and people that worked withcattle. Everybody just spent their timethere. You sat in the barns and that’s allyou talked about, fitting cattle and thecattle business.”

Although frigid Stock Show weather ismore myth than reality, the wintry climesometimes made for tough sledding. “I can

remember one year out here, the warmestit got in the daytime was 10 below zero,”says Rex Seibert. Bob Milligan may berecalling that same year when he says, “Isold to Waggoners one year and it was 10below zero. They took those bulls out ofthe pen and put them through the dippingvat ‘cause all the bulls going to Texas hadto be dipped. I saw them coming downthe alley, ice hanging off of them and onebull had broke a horn off. You wouldn’teven recognize them.”

Until 1967, sales and judging wereconducted in the long alley running thelength of the yards. “We saw bull salesout there and it would be snowing sohard you couldn’t see from one end of theyards to the other,” recalls Milligan.Stanley Stout remembers cattle shows inthe yards when “they paraded them downbefore the judges with snow on theirbacks and on the fur coats of the ladiesthat owned them.” Cattle sales finallycame indoors when the Livestock Center,with its 500-seat auction arena, openedfor the 1967 show.

In the 1960s the livestock industrywas undergoing a drastic transformationthat brought changes to the Stock Show.Denver’s packinghouses moved away andbusiness in the once-bustling yardsslowed. Commission firms and thevenerable Denver Union Stockyards

Company went bust. The historic pensfell silent for good in 1978. Withoutfacilities to handle the cattle carload showthe National Western would be “justanother stock show,” so the associationstarted buying the vacated yards. It beganin 1969 with a three-acre purchase on theHill and within a decade the NationalWestern owned much of the formerlivestock market. In the mid-’70s the oldyards got a $100,000 facelift thatincluded 1,750 gallons of red, white andblue paint. Packing House Road becameNational Western Drive.

Affairs in the stockyards continue tobe a big part of the Stock Show and eachJanuary they once again fill with cattle.The buzz of activity offers visitors awindow on a historic era and rekindlesmemories for folks who knew the yardsin their prime.

The Continentals ArriveNearly half the cattle shown when the

National Western celebrated its GoldenAnniversary in 1956 were Herefords andthe breed enjoyed a big lead over Angusand Shorthorns in Stock Showchampionships. Angus accounted fornearly four of ten cattle exhibited andShorthorns were a distant third. Had thoseplump Herefords, Angus and Shorthornspeered a few years into the future, they

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Crossbreeding transformed winning steers at the National Western between the GoldenAnniversary and the Diamond Jubilee. It’s a long way from Dorothy Fae Siehl’s thousand-pound Grand Champion, a Hereford, in 1956…


might have snorted in alarm. By 1981,cattle exhibitors would increase five-foldand they would be showing a dozenbreeds. (Nineteen breeds are appearing atthe National Western this year.) Thechange brought a new look to the cattleshow and, through crossbreeding, newvigor to the livestock industry.

The Big Three moved over in 1966 tomake room for the first of theContinental breeds, so called becausethey hail from places like France, Austria,Switzerland and Italy. Charolais, a cream-colored French breed, was the firstnewcomer, joined the next year by SantaGertrudis. According to then-GeneralManager Willard Simms, by the early1970s new breed organizations “werepounding on our doors for a place toexhibit ... and above all to sell.” Between1970 and 1981, Galloway, Gelbveih,Limousin, Simmental, South Devon,Pinzgauer, Polled Hereford and RedAngus also joined the ranks.

Crossbred cattle were so rare in the1950s that when one turned up at theNational Western, show organizers werestumped. Roger Tuell, who showed hisfirst steers here in 1952 and laterramrodded the Stock Show’s Fed BeefContest, recalls a crossbred his brotherbrought to the show. “He was a blue roan.He wasn’t an Angus and he wasn’t aShorthorn and they didn’t know what thedevil to do with him,” chuckles Tuell. In

the 1970s, crossbreeding withContinentals revolutionized the industry.Dan Green, publisher of the RecordStockman, explains: “When you cross twobreeds you get what’s called heterosis. Youget the energy from both animals thatresults in one that grows better than eitherbreed would have individually.”

The average consumer probably doesn’tknow a Pinzgauer from a Polled Hereford,but folks with a taste for beef benefitedwhen cattlemen began crossingContinentals with Herefords, Angus andShorthorns. “The Continental breeds aremuch bigger, framier cattle,” says Green.“Herefords and Angus are not as big butthey make much juicier, more tendermeat.” The genetic mixing resulted in abigger carcass with better meat. “To get themaximum heterosis in a cross,” Greenadds, “you need two purebred animals.That’s why there’s Angus breeders who stillbreed 100% Angus and there’s Limousinbreeders that breed 100% Limousin.”

In 1964 the National Westernlaunched its Fed Beef Contest toemphasize better beef. Exhibitors enterpens of six animals that are evaluatedbefore and after slaughter. “They countthe best five carcasses and they’ve gotto be uniform,” explains Roger Tuell,chairman of the contest. “They areUSDA quality graded, yield graded andthen a panel of three judges placesthem. We’re food producers and this is

the end product.” The cow-calf manfinds out how his cattle stack upagainst other ranchers while feedersassess their performance at finishingcattle for the consumer.

The National Western puts up$10,000 in prize money and entry feessweeten the pot even more. “It’s a fiercecompetition,” says Tuell. “There isprobably more prize money in the FedBeef Contest than any other contest, soit’s worth going after. They’ve got atrophy that I think weighs at least 200pounds. It takes a dolly to move it!”

The introduction of new breeds andfierce competition also produced one ofthe Stock Show’s less glorious moments.

Bum Steer or Real Champ?One evening during the 1972 Stock

Show, Jack Orr was finishing up choresdown in the yards when his son and afriend came rushing into the pen. “Jeep’sup there on the Hill!” they blurtedbreathlessly. The steer with the funnynickname had started life on the SkylarkRanch at Kremmling, Colorado, whereone of the boys had prepared him for ashow and sale in Kansas. He had been acreamy white Charolais back then, butnow he was jet black and entered as anAngus in the Junior Show. So began amelodrama that still evokes smirks anddiscomfort. “No story created morepublicity in National Western history,”wrote former General Manager WillardSimms, but it’s a story the Stock Showwould sooner forget.

“They took me up there and except forbeing black, it sure as heck looked likeJeep,” Orr recalls. If it was Jeep, this was abombshell. Only steers sired by an Angusbull were eligible to enter the Angusdivision and Jeep, if that’s who he was, hada Charolais poppa and momma. A dye jobcould be the only explanation for hispresent hue. Soon, the barn talk was allabout the steer and a protest challenging hisright to compete was filed with Stock Showbrass. When the owner tendereddocuments showing an Angus sire, the steerwas allowed to stay in the competition. Heconceded to using black dye to touch up afew light spots but this was a commonpractice and not against the rules.

John Grisham might have scriptedwhat happened next. The Angus judge,unaware of the hubbub behind the

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

…to Julie Lebsack’s 1,268-pound Grand Champion, a crossbred, in 1981.


scenes, picked the animal over 86 otherentries as the division champion. Twodays later, a second judge chose him overHereford and Shorthorn winners tobecome the Junior Show’s grandchampion steer, one of the highesthonors at the Stock Show. “He was agood animal, no doubt about it,” saysOrr. The award put the critter in theheadlines and when McDonald’s laiddown a record $14,250 at the JuniorLivestock Auction and dubbed him “BigMac,” he was a celebrity.

Ordinarily, their appearance at theauction is the last curtain call for JuniorShow champions, but Big Mac got areprieve. Documents had turned uppurporting to prove his Charolais ancestryand he was sequestered before he couldbe slaughtered. Blood samples weredrawn to probe his links to the claimedCharolais and Angus sires. Branding ironsfrom the Skylark Ranch were brought in.A vet had a gander up the champion’snostrils for signs that pink membraneshad been dyed black. “As far up as wecould see, he was black,” the vet said.Investigators flew to Kansas to interviewthe owners and 4-H officials. A brandinspector clipped hair and photographedbrands from other Skylark cattle tocompare with the marks on Big Mac.

Separate labs turned up nary a trace of

Angus blood in Big Mac’s veins. He was,they said, descended from a proudCharolais lineage. The brand inspectorconcluded “beyond a doubt” that Skylarkirons had branded him. The owner’saccount of the animal’s provenance beganto unravel and the steer started showingwhite around his eyes as the hair grew out.The vet peered up his nostrils again, stoodback with a surprised look and proclaimed,“He’s just as pink as he can be.”

Then the lid blew off the unfoldingdrama. “It hit page one of the Post noonedition,” Simms would later write, “andthen about every newspaper, TV andradio station in the country, and the APand UPI wire services.” To theaccompaniment of media guffaws, Simmscalled in Big Mac’s ribbons and awardedthem to the reserve grand champion.McDonald’s asked for a refund.

Months passed and the stormsubsided while Big Mac grew out acreamy white coat in pens of theColorado Brand Board, which held himas an unclaimed stray. He hadcontentedly munched his way through600 pounds of hay and 300 pounds ofcracked corn by August when Iowanewspaperman Eddie Collins boughthim at auction– but not to turn himinto patties. “Practically everybody inthe United States and a lot of Europe

had heard about Big Mac,” laughs JackOrr. That fall he checked intoWashington, D.C.’s, Mayflower Hotel tohelp stockmen dramatize low cattleprices. In a Cadillac and horse trailerCollins and Big Mac toured the country,appearing at fairs and 4-H clubs toillustrate what happens whencompetition goes too far. The storiedsteer, a champion at heart, lived to aripe old age and might have said thatthings turned out just fine.

Youngsters in the Big TimeWith chortles all around, the 1973

Junior Show’s grand champion steer wasnicknamed Honest Mac. And though theNational Western was still smarting, theembarrassing fraud brought some neededreforms. First, the Junior Show, whichhad lagged in adding new breeds, openedup to the increasingly popular Charolaisand added a class for “Other Breeds andCrosses.” Now any steer sired by aregistered bull could be an Honest Mac.Steps were also taken to thwart so-called“steer jockeys,” exhibitors who wouldbend or break rules in pursuit of the bigmoney paid for top animals at the JuniorAuction. Jack Orr, a key figure inexposing Big Mac and later a Chairman ofthe Junior Show, says, “We simply triedto make rule changes to where it’s a good,honest show and the kids are reallydeserving and you’re teaching honesty,respect and responsibility.”

There were other changes in theJunior Show as well. Beginning in 1974,girls could share in the bruises andexcitement of scrambling after a calf inthe popular Catch-A-Calf contest. Kidslucky enough to collar one of the friskyrodeo calves exchange it for a prospectfeeder calf and spend months halterbreaking, grooming and fattening it. Theyreturn at the next Stock Show to bejudged on the animal’s weight gain andimprovement and on their own recordkeeping and monthly letters to thesponsor who provided the calf.

The Junior Show also grewtremendously. In 1956, youngstersshowed 628 lambs, calves, and hogs. By1981, cattle entries were up 64 percentand both steers and heifers were beingshown in seven cattle breeds plus an“other breeds and crosses” category. Insmall livestock there was an even bigger

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Like all National Western Junior Show exhibitors, Durene Howard faced big-timecompetition to earn her right to pose proudly with her Grand Champion and Reserve GrandChampion wethers in 1963.


boom. Barrows totaled 655 in six breedand crossbred classes in 1981, while 486lambs competed in seven categories.

If their animals’ names are anyindication, the kids had a lot of fun in1956. Among the lambs were Ike, Spikeand Mike, Huey, Dewey and Louie andDonald Duck. Hogs seemed to inspireless imagination, with the most popularname being simply “Entry.”Among Hereford steers therewere several Reds and a trio ofPee Wees, as well as Mickey,Pluto, Stinky, Smarty Pants, andSir Loin– this last perhapsbelonging to a youngster with aneye on the bottom line.Predictably, Blackie was thefavorite Angus moniker, butthere were also two Snowballs,showing the kids’ ironic sensehumor. Snap didn’t make it tothe show but Crackle and Popwere there.

The names may have beenwhimsical, but showing at theNational Western was seriousbusiness. Morgan CountyCommissioner Mark Arndt, whobrags that he’s never missed aStock Show in his life, says, “Alot of us grew up with our StockShow experience. I showed a pigin 1977 when I was just 16.Four of us kids went and I was the oldest,the one in charge. We stayed in a hoteland we were on our own. It was quite anexperience to take that responsibility.” TheNational Western was also a lot morecompetitive than county fairs. “We werein the big time. You had better know whatyou were doing.” Show pressures didn’tkeep them from a bit of youthfulexperimentation, he admits. “They usedto sell these cigars around the Coliseumthat were probably two inches in diameterand a foot long and all of us had to tryone. Boy, they would sure make you sick,”he says with a laugh. These days Markbrings 4-H kids to the show and says, “Itmakes responsible young adults out ofthem.”

“We don’t eat tofu, of course.”The first thing you notice is their

forearms. Popeye had forearms like that.Broad shouldered and muscular, they’reloosening up with 360-degree neck rolls

and bending double at the waist to placetheir flat palms on the floor. These guysare stout as oaks and limber as willows.They’re wearing tee shirts, suspenders,well-worn britches and hand-madesheepskin slippers. The buzzer soundsand the Stock Show’s InternationalProfessional Sheep Shearing Contest isunderway.

Each man pulls a squirming lambfrom the small pen beside the shearers’platform, turns it expertly onto itsbackside, cradles its head between histhighs and goes to work. The woolycritter goes limp and tolerates its haircutwith hardly a wiggle. With razor-sharpshears whirring, both barber andcustomer are at risk if this turns into awrestling match. They start with a deftpass down the belly from chin to groin,then trim out the legs. Each successivestroke lays back more of the pelt. It’s as ifthe lamb is being peeled. Near the finishthe lambs are reclining on thick cushionsof their own wool. A little cleanup

around the ears and in less time than ittakes to boil a three-minute egg the job’sdone. Released, the sheep scrambles to itsfeet and scampers off the platform,leaving behind an intact pelt that’sgathered and judged. The shearer grabsanother critter and starts again. Beforehe’s done, five pink lambs will be jostlingin the exhaust pen along with shorn

companions from other shearers.Sam Haslem is a big guy with

a ready smile and anencyclopedic memory. He lovesto talk about the Sheep ShearingContest, an event he helped startat the National Western. Afterstints helping with the Seed,Wool and Junior LivestockShows he was tabbed in 1968 tostart the shearing contest.“Down in the stockyards at thattime in the sheep market was awild Irishman by the name ofMike Hayes,” Haslem recallswith a broad grin. “Mike was aninstitution here in the Denvermarket when it was probably thebiggest sheep market in theUnited States. He said, ‘Hey, Iwant to help on this thing,’ andhe bought a whole bunch of realnice Columbia replacement ewelambs. They were beauties. Mikewanted them to look good for

the first shearing contest so he hired myoldest son, Richard, to shear the facesand across the back ends. We were all abunch of greenhorns but it wentextremely well. We had youngcontestants from here in the RockyMountain Region and they were awfullygood sheep to shear– turned out just realgood looking animals.”

With help from the SunbeamCorporation, maker of shearingequipment, and the Indiana State Fair,which hosted the InternationalProfessional Sheep Shearing Contest, thejunior event was so successful that asenior division was soon added. In 1976the Stock Show lured the internationalevent away from Indiana and it’s beenheld in Denver every January since.

Shearing is a contest of speed butthere’s more to it than the stopwatch.Penalties are added for cuts in the pelt andor nicks on the sheep. “If it’s got a bunchof nicks on it, you’re not going to win,”

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Flanked by swine show judge Tom Conoverand superintendent Forest McWilliams,Rodney Russell shows off his GrandChampion barrow in 1976. Small livestockentry numbers exploded during the NationalWestern’s third quarter-century.

1 0 • 2 0 0 5 N a t i o n a l We s t e r n S t o c k S h o w

says Haslem. “We had one shearer fromthe Pacific Northwest. He was ratedextremely high there. A big guy and he wasfast, there was no getting around it, but hewas a bit rough and there was enoughnicks on his sheep that it was pink in lotsof places. Of course, with the lanolin in thewool that would heal up right away, but,needless to say, he never came back.”

Haslem remembers special events downthrough the years. There were OtisSneethen, the poet-shearer, and GandyHidalgo who offered a prayer before eachcompetition. “He’d pray for the sheep, he’d

pray that the judges would be fair andhonest, he’d pray that the contestants wouldbe good sports and that the contest wouldgo well and the best person would win,”recalls Haslem. He smiles remembering thetime they entered shearers in the rodeo.“One year we tried a showmanshipgimmick. We had a generator on a trailerand we went all the way around the rodeoarena in the Coliseum while the four topshearers had to shear one sheep. A lot ofthat crowd had never seen a sheep shornbefore in their lives.”

A rodeo of another sort occurred the

time some lambs bolted into the middleof a Hereford judging in the StadiumArena. “They were a bit nervous ‘causethey were freshly shorn and somehowthey knocked the gate down and here wehad this whole bunch of lambs all of asudden out underneath these Herefordcattle. We had quite a free-for-all gettingthose lambs corralled ‘cause they werewild. They weren’t 4-H lambs, they wererange lambs and they’d just lost aboutfour or five pounds of wool and theycould really move. The cattle were tied tothe fence and the lambs were running upand down and underneath them andthose cattle were jumping as high as theycould on the end of the their lead straps.We had irritated Hereford breeders sayingfour-letter words about our sheep.”

The highlight of each year’s event is theshearers’ feast. “It’s always an excellentbanquet, good food and, of course, wedon’t eat tofu,” Haslem chuckles. “It’sgood legs of lamb and you have a chanceto visit with the judges and enjoy a littlefellowship.” The International SheepShearing contest has drawn big crowdsfrom 1968 to the present day, and it’s ingood company with other crowd pleasers.

“Greased Grasshoppers”and Versatile Purebreds

With the Stock Show Band belting outtunes, stock contractor Verne Elliott’sgnarly critters kicking up their heels anddaring rodeo clowns dancing beforesnorting bulls, the Coliseum rocked foreach rodeo. Three hundred cowboyscompeted in the Golden Anniversaryperformances and by 1981 over 900cowboys and cowgirls were annuallymaking the trip to the January show tocompete for a quarter-million dollars inprize money.

Bronc riding champion Casey Tibbs,a top cowboy and rodeo’s most eligiblebachelor in 1956 wrote Denver Postcolumns detailing behind-the-chutesaction. In one article, he described howhe felt before getting on a really ranknag. “It’s a funny kind of feeling. Nomatter where you are or what you’redoing, everything seems kind of quietand nothing seems important but thathorse. You make the ride in your minda hundred times, getting him out of thechute, getting him ridden, letting himhave more rein if he needs it without

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

A deft hand with the clippers and a strong back are crucial to success in the Sheep ShearingContest, which first came to the National Western in 1968.

losing it all.” Writing aboutWar Paint, a top bucker at the1958 rodeo, he said, “I’ll haveto admit that sometimes I go alittle weak before I get on arough one like this pinto. He’swell rested and grained upsnuffy as a prize fighter at hispeak. The pinto comes out likea greased grasshopper and ifyou get with him for a goodride, it’s the greatest feeling inthe world.”

Rodeo clowns in outrageousget-ups performed sometimes-politically-incorrect comicroutines to the delight of Denveraudiences. In 1956, WilburPlaugher poked fun at the city’sproposed leash law. When heceremoniously placed a tinyChihuahua in the arena,announcer Cy Taillon remindedthe clown of the ordinance.Plaugher stomped purposefullyoff, returned with a heavy broncrider’s rope, hooked up his pet and led himaway to a chorus of cheers from the crowd.

Behind the comedy it’s always beenserious business for the clowns who canmake the difference between a cowboyfinishing in the money and going homeempty-handed. Jim Shoulders, rodeosuper-star who made his reputation onthe hurricane decks of bareback broncsand bucking bulls in the late 1950s,says, “If they get in front of him or turnhim back, that can help you a lot.” Oneof Jim’s favorites was George Mills.From the 1950s through the ‘70sbullfighter Wilbur Plaugher and barrelman Jimmy Schumacher teamed up tohelp Brahma riders get their money’sworth and save the necks of those whogot more than they bargained for.Famed African-American rodeo clownLeon Coffee delighted Stock Showaudiences in the 1970s.

A good rodeo announcer, with a westerndrawl broad as a Brahma’s shoulders and avoice that rumbles like gravel in a gold pan,can add a lot to any performance, and theNational Western has always attracted topmicrophone men. The tradition began withAbe Lefton at the Stock Show’s first rodeo in1931. Perhaps the greatest of all was CyTaillon who called arena play-by-play from1946 to 1978.

The Westernaires, a mainstay in thearena today, first appeared at the NationalWestern in 1956. The equestrian groupwas formed in 1949 by Elmer Wyland toprovide training and equine recreation foryoungsters aged nine to 18. Even kidswho didn’t own a horse could join theriding program designed to teachcharacter, discipline and physical andmental stamina. The group has broughtthousands of kids into the Coliseum overthe decades and no rodeo at the StockShow is complete without theWesternaires blazing around the arena incolorful drills that demand split-secondtiming and no small amount of courage.

Rodeo and horse show events wereblended and that posed interestingchallenges for horse show exhibitors.Jumping, the horse show high point, andbull riding, rodeo’s big crowd-pleaser,were placed at the end of eachperformance. “The bulls were all in thechutes and the horses go in the arena andthese bulls are banging around and thehorses were not fond of that,” says SandyDennehey. “They ended up putting usafter the bulls and that was better. Wedidn’t get the crowd that we got when wecame before, but we had a little betterbehavior out of the horses.”

In addition to hunters and jumpers,

Palominos, Quarter Horses, Arabians,Appaloosas and Paints enlivened theNational Western’s horse shows.Beginning in the 1940s, trends in thehorse world were reflected at thoseevents. It began with breed registries forPalominos and Quarter Horses but soonspread to other breeds. “As theseregistries and associations got going thehorse shows started growing,” saysRandy Witte, publisher of WesternHorseman Magazine. “It just kept gettingstronger and stronger as the horsepopulation increased. The horse showswere one outlet for people to dosomething with their horses.” Horseowners competed in halter classes toshowcase the physical quality of theiranimals and performance classes todemonstrate their working abilities. Inshowmanship classes it was the humanon the end of the halter rope who wasscrutinized by picky judges. Many of thebreed shows culminated with a livelyauction where breeders and exhibitorspaid top dollar for top equine prospects.

Back in 1938, Palominos held a breedshow at the National Western and theycontinued until 1963 when they weredropped due to declining entrynumbers. Parade classes, with theiremphasis on physical beauty and fancy

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

2 0 0 5 N AT I O N A L W E S T E R N S T O C K S H O W • 1 1

An ornery Brahma bull weighs his options during a staredown with barrel man Jimmy Schumacher andbullfighter Wick Peth.

1 2 • 2 0 0 5 N a t i o n a l We s t e r n S t o c k S h o w

tack, were a highlight of Palominoshows. Arabians trace their ancestry tothe deserts of North Africa and wereshown in Denver from the mid-1940suntil 1968. The Appaloosa Horse Clubheld its first show at the NationalWestern in 1959. The dramaticallyspotted Appies, developed in the vastherds of the Nez Perce Indians, were sopopular that they outnumberedPalominos and Arabians combined. TheAmerican Paint Horse Association heldits Denver debut in 1967 and entriesquadrupled by 1981. The Paints still puton a big show each January.

The American Quarter HorseAssociation began regular shows atDenver in 1944 and for sheer numbersno breed at the National Western canmatch them. Quarter Horse entriesquadrupled between 1956 and 1981.Changes in the Quarter Horse reflectthe importance of shows like those atthe National Western. Renee andDauane Elkins have seen an evolutionduring their 30 years as horse showmanagers. “They’ve gotten larger, taller,heavier and more defined,” Elkins says.“They aren’t as much of the short stockyquarter-mile runner that they wereknown for before. They’ve had toexpand in their conformation toperform all the diverse things they do.”

Participants and spectators at today’shorse shows might be surprised at thedifferences of half a century ago.Recalling her first years at the NationalWestern, Elkins says, “It was definitely amuch looser environment for showinghorses.” Sandy Dennehey, who has shownhunters and jumpers at the Stock Showsince 1952, agrees. “I showed in the bigjumper class. I can’t imagine a 12-year-old doing that today. We jumpedhowever high our horses would jump.We’d have one horse and show him inevery class– be a hunter one night and ajumper the next. You would no more dothat today than fly to the moon.”

The National Western’s Events Centerhas made it a top horse venue in thecountry, but things were a bit rougherback in the 1950s when exhibitors stalledtheir horses in metal Quonsets and a two-story barn. Ken Ochs, whose familyshowed horses at the National Westernuntil 1963, recalls the unique climate inthe metal buildings. “I always stayed outof there because when it got cold themoisture would go up to the top andfreeze and during the day time when thesun hit it, it would rain.” It sometimesgot so cold in the unheated buildings thatwater buckets froze solid.

Although the Coliseum was a greatplace to compete, it had no staging

paddock so exhibitors warmed up theirmounts as best they could. “They let usgo over that old bridge thing to the oldarena if they weren’t showing cattle orsomething. You’d go over there, jump afew jumps and then come back across theramp and wait outdoors. You combinethat with the fact that you’re going fromoutdoors to in, light change and thewhole thing. I think about it now and Idon’t know why any of them did it.”

The Diamond Jubilee saw the returnof the gentle giants to the NationalWestern. Draft horses had been big atthe show in its formative decades, butwere dropped in the 1930s. By the1970s, interest in the powerful equineswas on the increase. According to RandyWitte, “People realized that those reallyare beautiful animals. They’re differentthan other horses and there’s just afascination being around something thatlarge and that gentle.” Whether it waspurebred Percherons, Belgians orClydesdales in dazzling harness pullingfancy rigs, or all-business grade horsesdragging heavy sleds across the arena,the huge horses were a hit with Denveraudiences. “It was great,” says Witte.“They would just pack that stadium. Itwas instantly popular.”

When the National Western marked itsDiamond Jubilee in 1981, it had manyreasons to celebrate. The show’s run hadexpanded from nine to 11 days andattendance and entries were climbing. Theshow featured 99 judged events foreverything from rabbits to draft horses and36 sales for cattle, horses, lambs and hogs.New cattle breeds were adding interestand the show in the yards remained strongin spite of industry changes. Youngexhibitors were flocking to the JuniorShow and the Fed Beef and SheepShearing Contests were going strong. Therecently returned draft horses were clearlygoing to be a big favorite and the horseshow and rodeo were still real crowdpleasers. Best of all, the show was stillmaking special memories, whether it was aHereford breeder selling a big batch of hisbest bulls to a top buyer, a family enjoyingthe action and antics of a Saturday rodeoor a proud 12-year-old cradling a bunny ina shoebox on the bus ride home. ■

NOTE: Next year’s program will chronicle theNational Western’s fourth quarter-century.

SP

EC

IA

L

SE

CT

IO

N

Snappy Appaloosas stand for judging in the Stadium Arena in 1959. Originated by the NezPerce Indians, the breed was a hit at the National Western.