Page 4:: The Clanahan Clan Page 8:: East Coast Cowboy Page 12:: “Boots” Made for Winning at Extreme Mustang Makeover Eastern Stampede
Cover Photo: © Don Schimmel - titled "Sweetness" www. donschimmelphotography.net
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By Tina Bastian
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t is said that history is woven together with the silver threads of each person’s life and if we pull one thread, history would unravel. Recently, I had the opportunity to examine one of those silver threads more closely, and what I found was a family in southwestern Oklahoma whose rural life has been woven into events that have shaped Oklahoma history -- from World War I to the initial conception of John Steinbeck’s “Mother Road,” better known as Route 66, to the Oklahoma City bombing, to the events that shape our lives today. Five generations of Clanahan men and women have given new meaning to the word “integrity” and all that it implies. There was hardship, and they survived it. There was opportunity, and they seized it. Though it all, their sense of family loyalty and love and respect for the land and for each other has sustained them.
In the bitter cold winter of 1926, there was rumor of a new road that would be the link between Chicago west to Los Angeles, and by summer, the construction of the new road had become a reality. Freeman Bernard Clanahan was born that year near Cordell, Oklahoma, to A.J. Clanahan, a former soldier who had served in the 36th division of the 141st infantry, Company E, during World War I. He and his wife, Dolly Dimple Freeman, had been married four years. It is important to note the specifics of A.J.’s service due to the fact that he and his fellow soldiers were responsible for the famous Battle of Argonne, and this small-town Oklahoma boy was later given the Silver Star for his bravery. The battle was later depicted in a movie titled “Sergeant York” starring Gary Cooper. A.J.’s father, W.E. Clanahan, owned a cotton gin in Rocky, Oklahoma, south of Cordell, and in his later years, lived with A.J. and Dolly. W.E instilled in his family the importance of being benevolent. He generously gave to those in need whenever the opportunity presented itself during the harsh years of the late 1920s and ’30s, to the point of giving all of his money
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away. He was a man of honesty and integrity at a time when a handshake was all that was needed to close a deal, and when a promise was made, it was kept. This became the foundation on which the next generation and every generation to come would build their legacy. Route 66 continued to grow, opening a road of opportunity to those who chose to take it, however the Clanahan family enjoyed living among the fields of cattle, wheat and cotton. One day, a young Bernard filled his pocket with the rich red river-bottom dirt that he so dearly loved and approached his father. Pulling a fistful of it out of his pocket, he exclaimed, “Someday, I am going to own a piece of this land.” His father wished him the best of luck. With the 1930s came the Great Depression, and between the high winds, lack of rain and extensive farming and grazing, Oklahoma became a dust bowl. That combined with the Great Depression prompted many to leave the area, ironically using Route 66 as their route to the rich soil and opportunity that awaited them in California. It is estimated that 210,000 people from western Oklahoma traveled west in search of a new dream, abandoning what they had built. The Clanahan family stood their ground. It was what they had long done in the face of hardship. As a struggling farm family in the 1930s – several miles from town and an era away from good medical care – times could certainly be difficult. In the final stages of labor, Dolly Dimple Freeman Clanahan breathed a sigh of relief when the doctor arrived in his horse and buggy from town. The family was gathered together in the only room in the house that was heated, and young Bernard was extremely ill with rheumatic fever. “Tonight,” the doctor exclaimed after examining Bernard, “You’ve got one child coming into this world, and another one leaving it.” He told the family to take Bernard into the cold part of the
house to die. A Native American neighbor woman, a family friend, asked if she could instead care for him, and everyone agreed. There was little hope, so there was nothing to lose. While Bernard’s brother was being delivered, the woman placed poultices of herbal medicines on his chest. He survived when all odds were against him. As Bernard recovered from the fever, it fell to him to take care of W.E., who enjoyed regaling young Bernard with stories. No doubt, his strength of character began rubbing off. Following the Dust Bowl days came an infestation of grasshoppers and blister beetles and years of seeing family members and friends take the “Mother Road” west and leave the area. It is estimated that by 1940, 2.4 million people had left the plains states, but none of them named Clanahan. The people in California resented the newest residents and nicknamed them “Okies” because most were from Oklahoma. President Roosevelt incorporated, as part of the FDR
Back row left to right. Bernard Clanahan, Dollie Dimple Clanahan, A.J. Clanahan, Jay Jr. Clanahan. Front row left to right. Doug Clanahan, Nellie Jewell Clanahan, Dudley Clanahan. Photo Tena Bastian.
Tonight,” the doctor exclaimed after examining Bernard, “You’ve got one child coming into this world, and another one leaving it.”
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era, a Drought Relief Soil Conservation or DRS Service that bought up a lot of the remaining cattle for between $14 and $20 a head. The farmers were paid to learn how to conserve the soil by rotating crops and planting trees. Most were paid $1 per acre to take part in the program, and in the fall of 1939, the rains came.Bernard and his family had survived one of history’s most difficult times and grew stronger as a result. World War II dominated the 1940s and because of an eye condition, Bernard couldn’t serve but he worked. Minimum wage was $.40 an hour, so he had to work several jobs if he was going to leave his mark on the world. Bernard met and married a local girl by the name of Dorothy Mae Williams and, together, they lived over a Model T garage. They paid $6 a month in rent, which was a small fortune and eventually purchased an old school house, which Bernard moved to Cordell and renovated into a home. Dorothy learned at a very early age that in order to survive, one must live self sufficiently, so that the rise and fall of the world around her would have little impact on her immediate life. She and Bernard both did various jobs to get ahead. Bernard’s dream was farming and raising cattle. He wanted so badly to work the land and raise red Angus cattle, so he went to the bank to borrow money to buy what is now the family homestead in Burns Flat. He was abruptly turned down by that bank, as well as the two that followed. The fourth institution agreed to loan him the money, and he and Dorothy traded the old school house and some cash for 80 acres. Bernard grew cotton and wheat, and eventually bought cattle.
Bernard never considered himself anything more than a farmer, and those he did business with never considered him anything less than an honest man. Although he never went to California where they had coined the term “Okie,” he was proud of it. He referred to his abilities as “Okie engineering.” Along the way, Bernard learned his skills in the construction field, and not only did he renovate the homestead house in 1958 and build a house for his parents in the early 1960s but he also started his own construction company. He built Star Building Systems commercial steel buildings and won numerous awards for his work as a dealer. He would often work 15 hours a day building houses or commercial buildings, and then at night, he would work the land and tend to the cattle. He and Dorothy had a son named Randy and then another, Brad, and then Ellen and Holly, the youngest. It would seem that another generation of Clanahans was about to learn the hard work and integrity and love of the land that Bernard, his father and grandfather had passed down. He purchased more and more land, and at one point he traded his red Angus for black Angus, because Bernard was smart when it came to business, and he knew they would be more marketable. Angora goats were raised for a while. Horses were always present, as well, a result of Dorothy and Holly’s interest in them. By the oil boom of the 1980s, Bernard and two other men had partnered to form Three B Development Corp., and a year later, he and his partner, Bill Southard, were able to buy out the third partner. When the oil market plummeted and FDIC banks were failing, Three B was one of the only companies that paid its loans back in full. Bill explains that in the early 1990s, they had contracted 30 buildings with a man in Oklahoma City, when the government seized this man’s holdings. The partners were meeting with the government, trying to
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sort things out so they could salvage the project, and they were scheduled to meet one morning at 9 a.m. but the federal agents called to cancel until the following morning. At exactly 9:02 a.m. on April 19, 1995 -- the time that they would have been in the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building for the meeting -- 168 people were killed in the Oklahoma City bombing. The men they were scheduled to meet with were among the dead. Bill recounts that at one point, they were so busy and things were growing so quickly that Bernard came in and told him that he had sold a steel building to be constructed on a piece of their land. Bill thought about it for a moment and said, “Bernard, we don’t own that piece of property!” Bernard laughed and said, “Well, we’d better buy it,” and they did. Bill said, “Bernard Clanahan was the most honest man I have ever met.” He continued, “We did business on a handshake, and he was a man of his word”. It was reminiscent of the elder members of the Clanahan clan, W.E. and A.J. The years went by, and the operation continued to grow, and although success is sweet, it is never without hardship. Bernard and Dorothy’s eldest son, Randy, died in 1967, and Dorothy followed in August of 1996. Holly and her husband, Chad Hendrix, moved to the homestead in 2005 when Bernard started slowing down a bit. Brad, who manages an oil-field services company, now lives in the old Williams homestead that belonged to Dorothy’s grandparents, while Ellen has her own place in town, close to the hospital where she works. Holly continued her love of horses and is now editor of the American Quarter Horse Association’s magazine, America’s Horse. She tells me that her father, who had an impeccable memory, knew what he paid for everything he ever purchased. Her fondest memory of Bernard is going with him in to check on cattle in the evenings. “There are a couple of fishing holes on his property, and he would give a key to the gates to anyone who wanted to fish.” She continued, “He firmly believed that the land didn’t truly belong to him; he was just taking care of it while he was here – so it was important to share it with others and to be a good steward.”
That little boy that almost died on that cold winter night, the same one that carried a pocket full of the rich red dirt that represented the land he would someday own, died at the age of 83 this past June. The care of the land and the animals has been passed along to the next generation, and the love and the integrity is still evident in every member of the Clanahan clan. The future of the legacy their forebears built couldn’t be in better hands. While visiting the homestead, I asked a member of the fifth generation -- Brad’s son, Matt, now 25 -- what it was like growing up there, and he told me, “I went out in that pasture when I was a kid and started digging my way to China. I got in over my head and got scared and started digging steps in the dirt so I could get out.” He continued, “I want to live here for the rest of my life, and I want to raise my family here.” Route 66 is little more than an historic landmark, having outlived its usefulness since the interstate went in, but to some, it is still the “Mother Road” that leads to new opportunities and new beginnings during a difficult time in history. It has become the road less traveled in most circumstances, but to this family it doesn’t matter which road you take, because they have stuck it out for five generations now and made the best of what they had. They have worked hard, and to the Clanahan clan of western Oklahoma, all roads lead home.
“He firmly believed that the land didn’t truly belong to him; he was just taking care of it while he was here – so it was important to share it with others and to be a good steward.”
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Looking for John Wayne in all the Wrong Places By CodiVallery-Mills
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was riding down Third Avenue in a yellow taxi, eyes pressed against the backseat window, scanning the sidewalk for cowboys. The brisk September air, funneled through the city’s concrete maze of skyscrapers, moaned. Pedestrians hustled to destinations. I saw no horses. No widebrimmed hats. No spurs. The Upper East Side of Manhattan isn’t the best place to find cowboys, but I had to start somewhere. Finally, a gaudy Native American headdress, radiating with large, crisp feathers appeared beyond a storefront window. Billy Martin’s Western Wear is the most renowned vendor of “westerninspired” apparel in New York City. If there were any cowboys living in The City, I would surely find them shopping at Billy Martin’s. “Do any actual cowboys ever come here?” I asked the woman behind the counter. “We mostly get New Yorkers and European tourists,” she answered. “Cowboy clothes are like a Chanel suit, they never go out of style.” I left store. I don’t personally know any ranchers or wranglers, but I know that real cowboys, even on the east coast, don’t think of themselves as ambassadors of Parisian fashion. I rang up Pinegrove Ranch and Resort, waiting for a cowboy to pick up the phone. A man finally does, his voice mechanical, professional. “Pinegrove Ranch and Resort, this is David O’Halloran.” Owner O’Halloran then dispensed with a litany no doubt shared many times before. “No problem, I love to share information about Pinegrove. I’m the owner…We’re not just a ranch, we’re a resort with a WesternTheme package…Exactly. We offer the cattle drive without the seven days of pure torture….Alright. I hope you come visit Pinegrove.” I hung up, decidedly against ever visiting Pinegrove. It all seemed wrong, the result of some distorted fantasy. If I was going to find any real cowboys, I had to find out if cowboys had ever lived in the Northeast. Deep Hollow Ranch is in Montauk, Long Island, and is best
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Phil Trowbridge Ghent, NY. Photo by Robert Busa.
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known as the East Stop on the train. Deep Hollow is owned by Diane and Gardner “Rusty” Leaver, two people determined to maintain the Ranch’s rich history. The ranch offers a “Living History Tour,” which takes visitors, pulled by horse-drawn wagons, on an informative excursion across ranch property. The program attracts large school groups that come to educate students on the northeast’s cowboy past. “There’s a lot to be said about a place where people can live traditions,” Rusty revealed. Deep Hollow Ranch feels authentic, and Rusty and Diane Leaver feel like real cowboys. Still, as I finished my conversation with Rusty, I didn’t experience the swell of satisfaction I had anticipated. My search wasn’t over. Something was off. A week ago, still misguidedly searching for a Hollywood Cowboy, I went to the Columbia County Fair in Chatham, New York. As I wandered through a
Phil Trowbridge at work checking the herd in Ghent, NY. Photo by Robert Busa.
Phil Trowbridge feeding the herd at Ghent, NY. Photo by Robert Busa.
“No, but check this out,” he says, signaling toward a cow and another calf a few feet away. “See anything funny about those two?” he asks. The cow has hundreds of flies stuck to her nostrils. The calf lies in the grass, its long limbs and black body folded together in a moist, compact mass. “That calf is wet,” I say. “She was born an hour ago. But she’s black. Notice that? And her mom’s brown—probably a red-angus cross,” says Trowbridge. He’s right. The cow is reddish-brown and her calf is solid black. “That’s because she’s not the real mom,” Trowbridge explains. “She’s just the incubator, the surrogate mom. We can’t breed her because she’s a cross, but she’s a great mother. So we inseminate an egg and use her as the recipient.” “What defines a good mother cow?” I ask. Trowbridge stands up, leaving the tractor running, and walks over to the calf. As he does, the “mother” cow steps toward him, ominously. “She will do anything to protect her baby,” says Trowbridge, nudging the calf with his foot until it wobbles into a standing position.
barn full of sheep, pigs and dairy cows, I asked the farmhands if there were any cowboys around I could talk to. Are you a cowboy? Do you know any Cowboys? While I didn’t realize it at the time, one response would prove to be profound. “We don’t have any Hollywood cowboys. The closest thing we got is Phil Trowbridge.” Trowbridge Angus Farm is located in Ghent, New York, about 130 miles north of The City. Although Phil Trowbridge’s farm is structurally different from the conventional western cattle ranch, he doesn’t think of himself as any less of a rancher. Of course, there are some practical differences. “We drive tractors instead of horses,” he laughed. Onboard the tractor, Trowbridge and I circle a small pasture in search of a missing newborn calf. Unfound, we begin our second loop. Rolling past cows and calves, Trowbridge slams on the brakes. I ask him if he’s found the Phil Trowbridge paying meticulous attention to the cleanliness of the feed missing newborn. stations at a Ghent, NY site. Photo by Robert Busa.
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Phil Trowbridge addresses the crowd pre-auction at Trowbridge Angus headquarters, Ghent, NY. Photo by Robert Busa.
“Healthy calf,” Trowbridge mutters as he jumps back into the tractor. The fact that Trowbridge uses a full spectrum of techniques to study and breed cattle— from scientific machinery to clairvoyant comprehension—reveals that, for him, ranching is more than a profession. “A lot of people can’t wait for a week off work so they can go vacation on some beach. Well, my vacation isn’t a beach. It’s riding a horse through a field filled with cattle,” he chuckles. Trowbridge’s passion for cattle is contagious. Many of his neighbors now own between 20-25 Angus cattle, all descended from Trowbridge Farm bulls. One neighbor pours concrete foundations, while another works as a prison guard at the local jail. Every day both neighbors come home to a house, a yard and some cattle. “They have cattle because it’s what they want to see every day when they get home,” explains Trowbridge. “I’m just lucky that I never have to leave mine.” The sun has already begun its descent, subtly dipping behind the Catskills. In September, each day is noticeably shorter than the last. I look at Trowbridge, wondering how long we’re going to be out here, searching. I didn’t come to Ghent to spend the night chasing lost calves on a tractor. But it’s obvious Trowbridge doesn’t care about why I’m here. Me, my interview, my article, my pathetic search for a sexy cowboy, mean nothing to him. Not when he’s missing a calf. He would spend hours driving in circles looking for one single baby cow. At this moment nothing
else matters. Finding his calf is the only thing that will make him happy. It’s his purpose. He’s driving in a circle because he has to. Finally, I spot a tiny black snout poking out from behind an oak tree about thirty yards away. I point. He drives. We sigh. “I feel better,” Trowbridge says, turning to look at me. “That’s one of the only things in life that bothers me.“ We sit quietly as the tractor wheels tattoo the mud behind us. Trowbridge looks at the setting sun then down at the calf a few feet in front of us. Then he slowly turns the steering wheel and the tractor starts moving again. We can go home. Trowbridge has found his calf - and I’ve found my cowboy.
Phil Trowbidge closing things up after the early morning visit to one of his Trowbridge Angus properties. Photo by Robert Busa.
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B
oots Burro's life was probably on the losing track as he stood in a Bureau of Land Management (BLM) holding facility in June, but that all changed when trainer Gary Stanfill drew him as his mount for the Extreme Mustang Makeover Eastern Stampede and the pair took the win October 24 in the $15,000 Legends division. The four-year-old sorrel gelding didn't even have a name, just a number that identified him as one of 30,000 wild horses under the care of the BLM, that provides wild horses to the Mustang Heritage Foundation for adoption through its Extreme Mustang Makeover competitions around the country. Stanfill, of Lexington, Tenn., said the gelding surprised him. "I was very surprised at how athletic he turned out to be and how quickly he came around," said the trainer, who has been involved with American Quarter Horses most of his life. "This has been a great experience for me; a fun experience." Stanfill's win didn't come easy, though, as he bested a field of 28 in the Legends division. In a rare tie for first place, Stanfill had to go
up against Dillinger and Hank Hepperly of Walland, Tenn., in a "mustang smackdown" to determine the winner after both had performed and received the same score for their freestyle performance. With music selections by management and two minutes to perform, Boots Burro repeated his ease of movement and lead changes, not to mention his clear connection to the rider, to take the win over Dillinger, whose sliding stops were a crowd favorite. Stanfill earned $5,000 for the triumph, which he plans to donate
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along with funding raised through Lexington businesses to a local hippotherapy program. Boots had a strong following at the show, having already raised a fan base in Lexington when Stanfill made front page news for riding Boots into the mayor's office, as well into a local bank lobby to make a deposit. The more than 90 horses in the competition were scored on body condition, which measures the overall health and condition of the animal; an in hand course, which requires the trainer to demonstrate their ability to handle the Mustang on foot, including moving through an obstacle course, picking up the horse's feet and loading it into a trailer; and a "horse course," which requires the trainer to ride the horse through a series of obstacles and complete basic maneuvers, such as walk, trot and lope, stop and back. Three levels of competition were presented during the Extreme Mustang Makeover, including Idols and Legends, featuring three and four year old geldings, as well as Mission 008, featuring yearlings with trainers age 18 and under. Idol and Legend levels are determined by the trainers own assessment of the
horse's progress and level of ability. A total of $30,000 was offered in the competition, with a $5,000 prize going to the Legends champion, while the Idol champion will take home $3,000 and the youth champion taking home $1,500. After 100 days of work, on October 23, Jessica Davis and her four-year-old American Mustang Rock'n Red traveled from Janesville, WI to Murfreesboro, Tenn. to compete in the Extreme Mustang Makeover Eastern Stampede where they were named the champions in the Idols Division. Performing to the tune "Puttin' on the Ritz," it was hard to imagine the sorrel gelding as a wild horse with moves that included great extension at the trot and a
classical frame worthy of any dressage arena. The pair bested a field of 34 contenders and earned $3,000 of the $10,000 purse and a championship Gist Silversmith buckle for the win. A total of 22 youth returned to Murfreesboro with their young charges and inspired the audience with their dedication and effort. Taking the Mission 008 championship was 18-year-old Diane Ward of Brandon, Miss. Bringing her dance experience to the arena, Diane and her palomino gelding Docs Golden Allegro wowed the crowd with a performance the incorporated flame and finesse. The pair earned $1,500 of the $5,000 purse
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