Massacre Rocks, Idaho. 1966 Part 1

As a child growing up in Idaho I had the rather dubious pleasure of having a father who fancied himself a rodeo cowboy. I therefore was considered the heir apparent to carry on the great White family Cowboy tradition. Some of my earliest memories were of spending weekends during the summer at a local Rodeo located at what is now the Massacre Rocks State Park in Southern Idaho. In the 1960s it was privately owned and had a small hotel, Saloon and Rodeo grounds.

Massacre Rocks got it's name from a Indian attack that took place in 1862. This area being a part of the Oregon trail. I remember well the spectators sitting around the pine pole grounds cheering the contestants on as they competed for portions of the prize pool made up of entry fees. The mild summer afternoons at the rodeo grounds located next to the Snake River was a pleasant way for a young apprentice Cowboy to spend his week ends. The smell of Juniper trees and sawdust along with the sounds of Hank Williams, Hank Snow and Johnny Cash filled the air. The adults gathered around steel troughs filled with ice and water, containing cans of Olympia, and Ham's beer. I remember the cans were tin in those days and had to be opened with a beer opener. Yes this was a great time until the dreaded words of " Time for the sheep ride!!" rang out. That's when the shivers of terror would set in.

For anyone not blessed enough to having been raised in Americas rural west. Sheep riding or Mutton Busting is a sadistic rodeo activity where innocent children are placed on the back of equally innocent sheep and turned loose for their gleeful parents to watch and cheer on. I do not believe there has ever been a case where a child looked forward to this always embarrassing and sometimes crippling event. It was all for the adults.

I remember being put on a very angry Ewes back and griping a string placed in my hands and hearing my fathers booming voice saying " Hang on boy, she looks like a mean one"! My sense of survival quickly helped me decide that the string was not the best handle and I grabbed two fist fulls of Suffolk wool, Right then the gate flew open and the she devil of mutton launched herself into the Idaho sky. The following few seconds seemed like a eternity as the woolly kangaroo I was clinging to did its best imitation of a jack hammer. I soon found myself wrenched free of the beast and I flew through the air and landed with a resounding plop on the ground. As my senses came back I picked my self up, and started dusting off my britches realising I was unhurt! I could hear the small crowd cheering. And was about to take a bow when I heard my Dads unmistakable voice laughingly shout " run boy! Run for your life"! I stole a look over my shoulder and saw that the sheep had made a circle around the arena and was now on a high speed course to run me down. I let out a scream of absolute terror and headed at top speed for the corral fence. All around me I heard adults laughing and cheering me on. I was obviously providing them with more entertainment then they had bargained for. Just as the pole coral seemed within reach I felt a horrible burst of pain on my young butt as the Ewe collided with me and for the second time in about sixty seconds I was airborne. By some miracle I flew between the poles on the corral, not hitting them and landed in a heap outside the arena. As I was deciding if I was alive or not I felt myself being picked up and my father was dusting me off. I will never forget the pats on my back and adult congratulations heaped on me. I was just astonished that I had survived such a horrible experience and was about to take the aforementioned bow when I heard my Dad say. "Good job Son, you made the finals! you get to go again in about 10 minutes"!