Column Chronicles: The life and times of a rodeo clown, part six

The life and times of a rodeo clown, part six

Frank Cotolo
March 12, 2015

As a rodeo clown working for The Rootin' Tootin' Wildcat Rope and Revolver Rodeo I survived a great number of performers. What I had not been told when I began my rodeo clown performances was that rodeo work, in general, could be fatal. I knew it was dangerous from the first time I went into the rink and faced any number of possible injurious scenes. But I didn't know that death was always in the rink with us?

Death by rodeo?

I learned the hard way, during my third week of clowning for the show. It was then that Scoot "Trigger Happy" Smythe was performing for the umpteeth time. He was a crack shot, indeed, and he could shoot the clubs off of a ten-of-clubs card while riding a bronco in circles, with he and the horse blindfolded.

Scoot's act was timed and honed and he pulled it off with perfect timing and honing every show - except for one night in September in Kansas. I remember that night even before Scoot left his mortal shell because I had taken a walk before the first show, a walk in the dust of twilight and it was more eerie than the Erie in Pennyslvania.

Kansas is flatter than a peapod on a tractor's wheel and miles in the distance one can witness a thunderstorm, lightning and all, raging beneath a black cloud. I stood outside the rodeo tent and watched as streaks of electricity from the sky hit the ground.

Festus, another rodeo clown, walked up behind me and said, "Sure enough, someone's gonna die in the rink tonight."

"Why?" I said, "Is the distant storm's lightning an omen?"

"No," Festus said, "it's been a month since anyone died and that's too long for death to be gone from a rodeo."

It wasn't two minutes into Scoot Smythe's act when his left foot slipped out of the stirrup and he lost his balance, causing arm to loose control of his six shooter, pull on the trigger and fire four of the six bullets in its chamber into Scoot's chest. His horse freaked, bucked and threw him off, causing him to fall on his back, which broke, while he bled profusely. Scoot was dead before the rodeo first aid team got to him.

Festus stood beside me as we watched Scoot's body taken away. Festus said, "Told ya it was about time for someone to catch the last breath outta here."

Over the next month, accidents or generally bad health habits took the lives of three ropers, two rodeo sweetheart gals, Mole the Bull Jockey, Tease the clown and O'Ryan the Mad Dog Trainer.

Death by rodeo became a way of life.

To be continued.

Frank Cotolo can be found hosting the talk and interview programme Cotolo Chronicles. You can send him an e-mail at this address: frank@148.ca.