Brahma Bulls and Prison Blues

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November 17th, 2017
Back Brahma Bulls and Prison Blues

There are a lot of cowboys in Arizona who wear silk shirts, leather boots and Stetson hats who have never sat on the back of a horse or a Brahma bull. Larry Mahan is not that kind of cowboy.

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Born in Salem, OR., Larry started his rodeo career at the age of 14. His mother was always in his corner rooting him on at the junior rodeos as he developed his riding skills.

Mahan was an all-around cowboy. He started with saddle broncos and graduated to bull riding, winning state and national awards in both categories. He won the all-around champion cowboy title five times and was unbeatable on the bull riding circuit.

I met Larry in Phoenix during my reporting years with the Phoenix Gazette. He was a poker player and we competed against each other in games around the Valley of the Sun. While Mahan was a good player, he was a better rider. He later launched his talents into creating his brand of boots and western wear and was highly successful in that business arena.

One day he called me at the Gazette.

'How'd you like to go to prison with me, buddy?' was his opening remark.

'Spell out the details,' I said. 'I'm listening.'

He had contacted the warden at Arizona State Prison in Florence and had made arrangements to hold a rodeo inside the prison. There would be bronco riding, Brahma Bull riding, rope tricks and other categories to draw in the customers.

'I'm going to teach the maximum security inmates how to ride bulls,' he said. 'Want to come along on my adventure?'

How could I say no to a proposition as intriguing as that?

I contacted Argosy Magazine and the editor gave me the assignment to cover the story. Vic Thornton, the city editor of the Gazette, also said the Gazette would publish it.

The following Saturday, Mahan and I made the 40-mile trip from Phoenix to the state prison near Florence. We drove up to the massive barb-wire enclosed facility and the steel prison gates swung open for us with an ominous clanging. A guard armed with a machine gun was on the roof keeping an eye on the prisoners in the yard.

We went through several checkpoints and were escorted into the office of the warden. From there we traveled under armed guard to a room where about 30 inmates were waiting for us.

One of them was a large man with a red beard and tattoos over his arms and upper body. He shook our hands and said, 'I'm Booger Red. Don't ask me how I got the nickname. It ain't a very clean story.' The other prisoners roared with laughter. Larry and I just smiled.

For the next hour and a half, Mahan shared his knowledge of bull riding with the inmates. They listened attentively and took down notes.

Larry stopped teaching for a moment to make a point. 'How many of you fellows consider yourself macho?' he said.

All the men in the room raised their hands.

Mahan smiled. 'A Brahma Bull is 2,000 pounds of pent-up fury. He doesn't understand the meaning of the word macho.'

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When our session with the prisoners had ended, I asked a guard what Booger Red was serving time for.

'Murder,' the guard said. 'He's a serial killer. He'll never get out of this place.'

Larry made several trips to Florence to educate the inmates and to improve their rodeo skills. When rodeo day arrived, a large crowd made up of their families, friends and the general public showed up and paid admission to watch the prisoners and the animals perform.

It was a brutal show. The bulls and bucking broncos were wild and thrilled the crowd with the way they bucked. The prisoners had profited from Mahan's teaching and performed well. Several of them were injured and ended up in the prison infirmary with cuts, bruises and broken bones.

After the rodeo was over, Mahan told the prisoners he was proud of them.

'You boys did a brave job with some tough stock,' he said. 'You gave the crowd their money's worth.'

The prisoners lined up and surprised Mahan by giving him a number of gifts they had made for him. They included a hand-carved wooden cross and other items they had fashioned in the prison workshop. Larry was deeply touched.

They followed us to the big gate. As the doors swing open, Booger Red shouted, 'You ain't going to forget about us, are you, Mr. Mahan?'

A guard whispered to me, 'I think that's the first time he ever respected someone to call him 'Mister' in his life.'

Larry turned and looked at the inmates.

'I'll never forget you guys,' he said. 'That's a promise.'

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