Cowboy Week: Part 2 Bill Pickett

Yes, the Dragon is exploring his roots, and hoping to edu-macate himself and his lovely readership.

You might think that my attraction to the Old Wild West is an attraction to a simpler, more patriarchal, more caucasian time.

Well, pilgrim, you'd be dead wrong.

What I love most about a frontier mentality is the practicality of it. By necessity, a person was judged by deeds and character, not by superficialities.

So lest you think the blending of Country and Western Culture and African American culture is new thing, I present to you, the legendary Bill Pickett. Born in 1870, died in 1932 after being kicked in the head by a horse, Bill Picket invented Steer Wrestling, and is immortalized in the Prorodeo Hall of Fame, the Museum of the American Cowboy, the National Rodeo Hall of Fame, and a U.S. postage stamp (though they mistakenly used a picture of his brother.)

OLD BILL PICKETT

Old Bill Pickett's gone away,

over the great divide

To the place where all the preachers say

Both saint and sinner abide

If they check his brand like I think they will

It's a runnin' hoss they'll give to Bill

Some good wild steers 'till he gets his fill

And a great big crowd to watch him ride

Old Bill Pickett's a long time gone

Left me here to sing this song

Old Bill Pickett's a long time gone

Left me here to sing this song

Old Bill Pickett was a mighty black man

And he rode for the One-O-One

Way down yonder in the Cherokee Land

Around when the West was won

He'd jump a steer from a runnin' hoss

And throw him down with a mighty toss

He worked for many, but he had no boss

He's the last of the great cowhands

Way down south in Mexico

He took a great big dare

To try and hold a fightin' bull

To see how he would fare

He grabbed Old Toro by the horns

Grabbed the bull's nose in his jaws

That crowd never seen such a thing before

For an hour and a half they cheered

With the great Will Rogers and Wild Tom Mix

He rode in the rodeo

For all who paid their fifty cents

They gave a great big show

For all who paid to come and see

Bill wrestled steers with his teeth

We've never seen such a mighty feat'

Cause he left us long ago

Way down on the Miller ranch

In the year of thirty two

Bill Pickett roped a sorrel stud

To see what he could do

That sorrel stomped and jumped and bucked

And tromped Bill's body in the dust

At seventy-three, Bill was out of luck

He took eleven days to die

There was nothin' they could do

They laid him down in a six-by-three

Beneath the land he knew

And they left a cross for the world to see

Said, "Of his kind we've seen few"

That night for Bill they drank some wine

And old Zack Miller wrote these lines

And left 'em here for me to find

To put to music and sing to you