Oral history as related by Bill Larson to Leah Larson.

Bill Larson was born in Ralph, SD on June 22, 1931. He was raised on his parents ranch in Harding County about 38 miles East of Buffalo, SD.

``When I was younger, all the neighbor boys would come over and try to ride horses, horses that would buck anyway. Sometimes we`d get bucked off and sometimes we`d get one rode. I was in my first actual rodeo when I was about 16, and like all beginners, I fell off. It took several horses before I got one rode. Like all fellas starting out, when that chute gate opened, I was kinda scared and I didn`t ride like I should`ve. You have to ride a bunch of `em before you can do anything with them. I used to team rope a lot. I`ve been on a few bulls, but they scared me. Bulls didn`t feel good and I had no business being on `em. I`ve rode about half dozen in my life. . . I should say, I`ve gotten on a half dozen. Actually I don`t know if I rode them or not. I was too scared to look. They`d already have the bull out of the arena by the time I got brave enough to open my eyes.``

``I started pickin` up (riders from) buckin` horses in about 1963. I went to about fifty different rodeos a year in Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska, North Dakota, and South Dakota. I`d travel with Jim Long, Pat Halstead, or Gerald McInerney, or whoever I was pickin` up with. We`d usually take two horses each when we went, or else we`d borrow one of the contractor`s old horses. I had three horses I used to pick up (the riders) with Willard, Ratchet, and Lonesome. Willard liked to pick up saddle-bronc, but didn`t want to get to close to those bareback horses. He`d give the rider just one chance to jump on, then he would just pull away and let the bronc go. Ratchet was the one I used pickin` up bareback horses. You have to be real careful when you pick up a bareback rider, because you got to wait to see that his hand is out of the riggin` so he don`t get hung up. Lonesome was the one I used whenever I had a mean job of pickin` up, like a buckin` horse sale or somethin`, because he was just mean and ornery. I very seldom had a horse throw a fit with me. Most of them were old saddle horses, and if they wasn`t very good, we`d send them to the glue factory. But if we got a good one we`d keep him. We`d also use old buckin` horses that had quit buckin`. They made damn good pick up horses. You don`t really train a horse to pick up, they knew how to save themselves. It was hard on your groin muscles, cause those fellas would grab you and you couldn`t have a hold on your saddle horn, so it would jerk the heck out of your muscles. You`d get kicked a lot, but you wore shin-guards to try to prevent that. We used to go through a gallon liniment a night, it seemed like we were always puttin liniment on some sore or ouch we had, cause if you went to a two day rodeo some weekend your legs would be black and blue from your ankles to your hips. It`s not as easy as people think it is.``

``After I quit rodeoing I had a small string of bucking horses that I would lease out to other contractors if they were short a few horses. I kept the horses either out at the Rodeo Place north of Belle Fourche, or over by O`Neil Pass. I had this bucking horse named Tombstone, got him from a man up in Montana who wanted him broke for a saddle horse. I tried to ride him one spring, but his main purpose in life was to buck. I traded that man an old saddle horse for Tombstone, and I took him to a few rodeos to see how good he could actually buck. That horse went on to win the NRCA Saddle-bronc of the Year in 1970. I also had Pretty Boy, bought him from Pat Halstead over in Spearfish, and he got him from Dale Haynes from Mud Butte. Pretty Boy was a small but honest bareback horse. They tried to break him but he didn`t want to be broke very bad. I had Ratchet. He was a seven year old stud when I bought him in Belle Fourche. He was supposed to be plum mean and ornery, but he wasn`t, he just liked to buck. I bucked him for two years, then I broke him to ride. I rode him for three years then I sold him to Bev Velure from Hettinger, ND, and she rode him until he died of a heart attack several years later.

``The least rewarding job at a rodeo, though, is judging. If you do a good job nobody thanks you, but if you do a bad job, they all know it. I judged throughout my rodeo career, for all kinds of rodeos. The North Dakota High School finals two or three times, college rodeos, and the finals for the NRCA. The first few years can be tough on you, but if they know they can`t change your mind they start to take your word for it. Even if you do make a bad decision, you have to stick with it. Mother`s are the worst at those high school and 4-H rodeos when it comes to their children being judged. One time I was judging at a 4-H rodeo and there was at least 100 barrel racers and 90-some pole benders. They were running one right after another, just bing, bing, bing. You always fouled out a percentage of them for breakin` the pattern, falling off, or some kind of reason like that. Then the mothers would come. They`d say to me, ``What did you disqualify Rosie for?`` ``Who in the heck is Rosie,`` I`d say, ``I don`t know what I disqualified her for.`` Then she`d say, ``Well, you`re a fine judge, you don`t even know what you disqualified someone for. Did you do it by numbers? Just say you are going to disqualify every tenth one or something?`` I`d say, ``Oh yeah, something like that.`` They`ll try to make you judge unfairly, but you can`t do it. I had father come up to me one time and say, ``I got two boys in rodeo now, and my youngest son has been winning all the time. It`s causing a lot of hard feelings in the family, so don`t let him win today, let the older boy win.`` You can`t be friends with nobody (parents, when you are a judge), I mean, you can be friends with them, but by golly, you have to call it the way you see it.``