Chapter 6

Deadly in the Alley - the Story of Destry Fleming

The waitress appeared from behind the beverage station. Heavily laden with menus tucked under her arm and a tray full of perspiring, ice water filled glasses, she arrived at the table rushed and flustered. The day was exceptionally hot even for Amarillo and the place was packed with truckers and cowboys seeking some sort of temporary relief from the heat. She placed a glass of water in front of each of the drivers sitting in the booth, followed by a menu, and then offered a rushed, "Be right back with you boys. I got an order that just came up." She whirled around and was gone.

In that flash the men caught sight of her nametag. A simple "Jodee" spelled out across a brass tag. Catching the light, and positioned on a revealing blouse, the tag drew attention to the eye candy that was tucked barely out of sight. Usually the tag made for nice tips. Unfortunately the 'extra' effort wouldn't even register with the table she’d just put off.

During her absence, one of the cowboys sitting at the table motioned for another to slide out of the booth so that he could use the restroom. The cowboy obliged and as he stood up from the booth, he met the same waitress returning from the kitchen.

This time Jodee carried an overloaded tray of hot food braced over her right shoulder. Looking tired, hot and over worked, she stood waiting impatiently for the path to clear. Jody occasionally blew away meddlesome loose bangs of brown hair that threatened to land in her eyes. Appearing on the verge of unraveling, the rest of her hair remained pulled up into a ponytail. Once again more hair settled into her eyes, and again she blew up with pursed plum lipstick covered lips. Her passage still blocked by the 'musical booth' seating arrangement taking place in front of her, the waitress continued bracing the tray on her shoulder while shifting the weight on her shoulders. Finally the other cowboy slid out of the booth.

As the aisle began to clear, she studied both cowboys. The shorter of the two cowboys wore his white T-shirt tightly. Fitting a defined and muscular body, the smaller cowboy seemed to be nearing the tail end of a major fit of hysterical laughter. Meeting the woman's gaze with a broad, white smile, he tipped his beige, straw cowboy hat in her direction as he left the booth.

The remaining cowboy turned to face the waitress with an even bigger smile remaining on his face. His golden blond hair was matted down across his forehead from where sweat and a white straw cowboy hat placed over wet hair left its signature. He wore a starched Brushpopper shirt, which left no doubt that it also concealed a muscular upper body. The cowboy was of medium build with a confident posture. His ease of movement affirmed his smooth and self-assured status. Standing taller than the first man, he slowly and purposefully reached down to uncrease his stiff, starched Wrangler jeans. Jodee's eyes followed his hands down to a place somewhere between the huge golden rodeo belt buckle that framed his waist and the cowboy’s knees. Her eyes grew wide and her jaw dropped. Staring in amazed silence, her eyes recorded, considered, and studied everything. Having registered the almost unbelievable, she quietly muttered a nearly inaudible, "Oh my God." Her face became pale. Paralyzed, she continued gawking at the miracle that reaffirmed her faith in a gracious creator.

The cowboy finished uncreasing his jeans, seemingly unaware of the attention. Straightening himself up, he looked directly into the waitresses' eyes, paused, and smiled a huge shit eating grin that conveyed that he knew exactly what he was doing. "Excuse me ma'am. I'll get out a' yer' way now." his voice carried a friendly southern Oklahoma accent.

As he reclaimed his seat making room for her to pass, the waitress remained stationary as if she was in a trance. Other customers curiously watching this exchange smiled sympathetically at the lone waitress and her total inability to regain her composure. They murmured quietly amongst themselves continuing to gaze at her in amusement.

A few seconds after the cowboy returned to his seat, she snapped out of it. Aware that a large percentage of the restaurant witnessed the entire exchange, Jodee blushed in horror, whirled and rushed back into the kitchen with the as yet undelivered food. The two cowboys remaining in the booth speculated whether the unfortunate waitress still knew where the original order went. Taking all the attention in stride, when two other waitresses peeked their heads around the beverage station, the blond cowboy beamed a knowing smile in their direction. His white toothed grin could have melted polar ice caps. The two waitresses disappeared back into the kitchen in a rush of blushes and stifled giggles.

Other drivers witnessing the mischievous cowboys inquired as to which direction the boys in the straw hats were headed. Sensing a good time, they hoped to tag along for the adventure. "West", the hatted ones responded.

After regaining her composure, a flushed Jodee emerged from the kitchen. Detouring far around the booth occupied by the cowboys, she took a path that kept her as distant from them as possible. Instantly recognizing her detour for what it was other patrons and the booths surrounding the cowboys were suddenly in need of new napkins, iced tea refills and filled thermoses of coffee. The place descended into a willfully orchestrated chaos as the last strands of control slipped away. Jodee dutifully honored each bogus request, doing her best to refrain from any eye contact with 'the cowboy table'. Going far out of her way to refill water and coffee in the adjoining booths, she avoiding passing directly in front of the table of cowboys. Finally, when she could stand it no more, she gave the table a quick look. Every cowboy at the table was waiting for this acknowledgment, grinned, and tipped their hats to her in unison.

Resigned to her fate, she turned to directly face the source of her difficulties.

"Ok boys. What'll it be?" She asked. Keeping several occupied tables between her and the booth of cowhands, her attempt at sternness failed miserably. As she attempted to take the cowboy’s orders ‘long distance style, her hands shook. She was busted.

To make matters worse, in a perfect deadpan voice the 'starched everything' cowhand asked, "How's the sausage?"

The place erupted into laughter as she strode toward the booth grabbed his menu, and hit him over the head with the restuarants laminated offerings.

Catching her breath she responded with "That'll depend on how starched you want it hon'," She too was laughing.

That was the weekend of my introduction to Destry Fleming. I have known many Rodeo Cowboys in my lifetime. Some of them were quiet, reserved and not known for calling attention to themselves. Others were constantly getting into fights, thrown out of honky-tonk joints and seemed perpetually just this side of losing the last of their nine lives. Pissed wives, partners or ex’s were all ready to help speed them on their way.

Some riders were humble and gracious, the definition of silent poetry in motion. Others were loud, pretentious, not knowing the meaning of discretion. Often a score came down to a re-ride and a smile from Ms. Lady Luck. Some cowboy’s 'rides' consisted of endless near miss catastrophes showcasing blind luck. On this ride, they lucked out. On that ride, they rode a stretcher out of the arena. Some rides they deserved the buckle. Others they didn’t.

Maybe their under-paid guardian angels kicked in some wonder dust along the way. Easy off judges gave these wonder riders higher marks over those with more talent and grit. Luck, whatever her name doesn’t come running to the call of logic. She usually ends up on the side of the least expecting.

Refusing to be typecast, Destry is all of these, except Ms. Lucky seem perpetually partial to him. With Destry, what you get all depends on the hour, the day and the event. He 'ain't no ordinary draw' and anyone who has ever ridden with Destry, whatever the mode of transport, won't soon forget the ride. He doesn't do "quiet".

Whether he's running an eighteen wheeler, driving his Mercedes convertible, racing a barrel horse, or on a bull, there is only one Destry. To know him is to be exhausted.

The son of legendary bullriding rodeo cowboy Sody Fleming, Destry's work was cut out for him long before he could walk. By the time he was eight, Destry was well on his way to following in his daddy’s footsteps. And not necessarily by choice. Yet no matter how it happened, whether it was by his own maneuvering or by a stubborn, 'dug in heels and dragged by his last hairs' forced march, today Destry is the spittin' image of his father. Times three.

"I want you to write about me," Destry says on a late spring Texas evening. "I don't want it to be about my winnings and awards...but about my spirit."

The pool we are sitting beside is casting surreal reflections of tranquil light, soft lapping waves and constantly changing patterns. In the glow and sparkle, Destry has an angelic earnestness in his voice. And if I didn't know Destry as well as I do, I'd have sworn there was a certain innocent light about him as well. But that innocent spirit can be deceptive. Destry isn't justly described in such simple comparisons. Descriptions of good and evil, light and dark, and to be honest, a loose cannon just this side of being lit, don't do him justice either. He is the definition of complicated. Mold broke, Mr. Fleming is an original.

On this Texas night, his voice isn't carrying the baggage of an arrogant cowhand. He isn’t restless, or higher than kite. But just the same an unridden, wild soul is speaking. His words are more focused and determined than out of control. Tonight there is a bounty on this ride. Climb on, grab hold, tie up and ride the ride, Destry's story comes from the heart of someone whose seen just a little too much for one whose lived such a short life.

He's ridden his share of out of the way trails, "taking the longest way between the two shortest points." But as he continues talking in that low quiet Oklahoman twang, this time out of the chute Destry isn't seeking fame. He just wants someone to get the story right before any more timed and untimed events takes place. Or before anymore of the details are lost. He wants it all down: the good, the bad and the ugly. He comes from the world of rough stock and in that world, any minute can be your last.

Kidnapped by his mother when he was eight, Destry spent nearly seven years on the run. Afraid of Sody's influence on the boy, Destry’s mother did her best to keep the two apart. Sody wasn't exactly the meek, silent father type. He was the parental version of a GI Joe action figure. When it came to raising his son, Sody made even the unconventional sound orthodox. He was and is, pure Cowboy and in the years that he and Destry did get to spend together in a typical father and son relationship, Sody did his best to make sure that Destry's life was memorable. His strong influence and untraditional ways of bringing the boy up, threatened Destry's mother.

Just as strong willed and determined as Sody, Destry's mom tired of her marriage. Sometime after divorcing him she turned desperate and Destry became an innocent pawn between his mother and father in an ugly and bitter tug of war. During a required custody visit the summer of third grade, Destry and his mother simply vanished from the Green Mountains of Vermont and temporarily disappeared off the face of the earth. Violating court orders, his mother first fled to New York. Then the Bitterroot Valley of Montana's Big Sky Country. Their flight did not go unnoticed and Sody didn't stay quiet about his missing son.

Turning to his parents, Sody utilized his family’s extensive oil related money for help. Destry's grandparents enlisted numerous detectives and lawyers to track Sody's ex wife and their beloved grandson. Tens of thousands of dollars were spent on rewards, lawyers and detectives. The FBI and local, state and federal law enforcement agencies joined in the search. At one point, a good portion of Oklahoma looked for Destry during his absence including long term family friend Reba McEntyre. Her career skyrocketing, McEntyre was enlisted to keep a look out for Destry at all of her concerts. When Destry was finally returned years later, McEntyre greeted the lost boy with a hug and exclaimed, "Honey, I have been looking for you all over this country. At every concert, I kept hopin' to see you show."

Even if any of the rescuers had met up with Destry or his mother, chances are Destry would have run from them. Encouraging a sense of terror towards his father, Destry's mother filled his mind with frightening images and insinuations. Terrified that if they were caught, Sody would have her arrested and that she would spend the rest of her life in prison, Destry cooperated with his mother. To an eight-year-old torn between two people that he loved, the threats were enough to keep him in line. Caught in the middle, he existed in a perpetual no man’s land where any move he made had unintended consequences. It was a well-set "emotional trap" as Destry describes it.

Yet Sody's family never gave up. If there was one thing Sody Fleming knew for certain, it was his ex-wife's' love affair with horses and the crazy breed of men who were drawn to them. According to Destry, his mother went from chasing rodeo cowboys to chasing thoroughbred racehorse trainers, some of whom were twice as violent as any of the rodeo cowboys he'd grown up with.

Pausing in his narrative and swallowing hard Destry recounts that on one occasion, in a mad rage, his mother's husband cut her wrists wide open and then drug the nearly unconscious bloody woman into a hospital emergency room. Telling the stunned nurses that she tried to commit suicide, his assault was never prosecuted. "I've never known anyone with a spirit as evil as his. He is by far the meanest man I've ever met,” Destry says softly as the pool casts a shimmering reflection on his face.

Ironically, Destry's kidnapping gave Sody the perfect excuse to continue rodeoing. Knowing Destry's mother would never be far from the horse world, the cowboy continued to ride bulls across the county as he searched for his missing son. Eventually their paths did cross. Tracking Destry and his mother to Cleveland, Ohio and a gas station, Sody attempted grabbing Destry as his mom went to pay for the gas.

It was a bittersweet moment. Destry, threw a fit. Terrified for his mothers' freedom, the boy put up an impressive fight. His mother, realizing that Sody had found them, managed to convince the gas station attendant that her son was in the process of being kidnapped by a stranger. The attendant came to Destry's rescue. In spite of his best efforts, Sody couldn't calm the boy. The resulting torment his rescue attempt had on Destry became evident in the unraveling situation. It was too much for Sody. He let go of his son and watched helplessly as his ex wife fled with the boy. The close call was enough to send Destry and his mother into deep hiding in Montana and it would be years before Destry and Sody would see each other again.

Although separated from his father, Destry's mother made sure her son was never separated from his other great love, horses. Riding on his own since he was two and a half, at eight, he was working as a wrangler at Pine Ridge Stables in Swan Lake, New York. Becoming active in 4H after his forced exile to Montana, he, his mother, and another family started the Bitterroot Cabellos 4H club in Corvallis, Montana. Within a year, the group grew to over thirty-five riders and Destry found himself working seven horses. He excelled in Western Pleasure, Equitation, and Showmanship and most timed events. Early on, Destry learned that money had power in horse circles. Some competitors entered the arena with horses worth thousands of dollars and the training to match their bloodlines. However, Destry entered the same arena with whatever horses he could get his hands on and raw determination. His "try" outdid their money almost every time.

One particular event became Destry's favorite and if the standings were at all close, it usually shot him into "the Best/ All Around" category. The Horsemanship event proved his abilities in the arena were more about talent than money. In Horsemanship, halfway through the class, riders are told to dismount and at the judges' discretion, they are instructed to mount other riders' horses and work their animals. It is a very difficult undertaking since the rider and the horse are perfect strangers. The same patterns ridden at the beginning of the class are attempted again. Yet, instead of judging the horse, the rider is judged. "It was my hardest and toughest class. The one everyone wants to win. Here performance wasn't based on money but skill. Everywhere else, even in 4H, which is only supposed to be about amateur riders having fun, money dominated. I took the class," Destry says in a reserved voice.

Yet Destry had his share of not so wonderful moments in the arena as well. Often biting off more than he could chew or just plain too arrogant to listen, he experienced the sting of embarrassment in front of crowds of spectators on several occasions. One particularly awful moment occurred when Destry entered a yearling stud colt in a halter class. Figuring that the colt was too young to qualify as a stallion, which are thoroughly forbidden in 4H classes, Destry and the strong willed colt found themselves in a halter class entirely filled with mares. If that wasn't bad enough, in the line up at the termination of the class, Destry found himself standing next to Missy, one of his most bitter competitors. She was from a wealthy family and her horses were professionally trained. Missy was the definition of snob. Giving Destry one of those "how dare you stand next to me with your mutt of a horse" looks, Missy detested Destry.

Unfortunately neither of them had an opportunity to further escalate their 'bitch fest' as each of their respective horses took matters into their own hands. Missy's mare was in heat and started winking and carrying on. Destry's colt knew exactly what that meant and before Missy or Destry could control them, their horses were preparing to do the big nasty. Destry's colt mounted Missy's mare as a grandstand full of helplessly horrified parents looked on. Missy's mother screamed. Destry's mother turned away in horror and disbelief. An entire class of 4th grade children and an arena full of spectators were locked into an example of sex-ed, 'horsie style'. Missy was motionless and Destry still believes that she didn't even know for sure what was happening.

Destry knew and jumped into action. As Missy yelled for Destry to get his horse off of her’s, Destry took forceful control of the colt and got him back in line. But Missy's mare wouldn't stop and wanted more. The mare backed up against the colt and Destry knew that whatever control he had was at best, tentative. He began hollering for the gate to be opened. The wranglers seemed to take forever to get the gate. When Destry finally got his horny, near wild colt out of the arena, a round of applause followed his exit. It was the only sound loud enough to drown out Missy's screams. Later several local ranchers, impressed with Destry's abilities handling the colt, asked him to work their animals. Even now, Destry rolls his eyes as he recalls the whole fiasco.

Reunited with Sody the summer after Destry's eighth grade year, Destry was finally old enough to know that there were two sides to a story. Managing to sneak a call to his grandparents in Oklahoma and inform them of his whereabouts, Destry sought out his father. Once the news arrived, Sody was out the door to reclaim his son. Destry's mother plea-bargained her way out of the criminal charges filed against her. Sody dropped pending civil legal actions against his ex wife in exchange for full custody of his son. After many years on the run, at last Destry was on his way home to Oklahoma to be with his father.

Destry soon found that Sody's household was as challenging to negotiate as his mother's. Sody Fleming is no light weight when it comes to both living and playing hard. Since reunification with his son no longer gave the bullrider a suitable excuse for conning money from his parents, Sody sought another gimic to facilitate their continued subsidy of his rodeo career. His parents decreed that as long as their cowboy son was pursuing higher education, he could ride the rodeo circuit. Sody majored in psychology. Spending the next fourteen years in college and riding bulls, he finally found a "real" career in law enforcement.

For the next decade Destry also rode one wild ride after another. Surrounded by rodeo cowboys who lived to instigate free for all's, Destry survived his share of drunken escapades. Accompanied by a posse of cranked out cowhands, he rolled from one rodeo to another in his father's famous pink Cadillac. The car was adorned with vanity plates simply expressing his fathers love for the number 69. From these humble beginnings Destry eventually received his own nickname, "The Queen of Understatement."

Sody Fleming’s legendary status is no secret. His rodeo winnings brought him to the International Finals Rodeo several times. Primarily a bull rider but also known as a bareback rider, Sody didn't come by his reputation without his share of pain. On one ride done when Sody was in his forties, he drew a bull that threw his back into orbit as the bull came out of the chute and spun both ways. Still seated, Sody rode the bull as it opened up, letting loose with ferocious bucking. Sody 'two footed' him, and rode him out for the full eight seconds. When the ride was complete he jerked his dally and walked back to the chute. All of this was done with his back 'cracked out' and he was in excruciating pain. His career finally came to an abrupt end when he "got stomped" in Wauconda, Illinois by a vicious bull who crushed his knee in 68 places. No longer able to run away from a 'torqued', bull Sody was forced to leave the rodeo passion that he loved for several decades.

It wasn't long before Destry found himself trying to fit into this crowd. Although not his first love, Destry became well acquainted with the injury prone, top-billed world of bull riding. As a teenager, he made his way through the circuit from motel to motel trying to follow in his fathers well-publicized footsteps both in bullriding and other even more colorful, outside the arena endeavors.

Somewhere in the hushed adrenaline rushed chutes, as he set his bull, tied up, and prepared for his rides, Destry went from boy to man and from innocent to schooled. His journey saw broken arms, bruises, busted lips and bullhorns connecting with facial tissue. Destry courageously faced the challenge of unridden bulls; wide backed and impossible to grip. In spite of awful advice from well meaning cowboys, his success at eight-second glory never compared with that of his father's. Through out all of those moments of grit, g-force and determination, he learned to cowboy up and 'try' no matter what animal or situation he was facing. Destry learned to reach and "reach deep" as he put it.

After several years of serious competition and numerous injuries requiring painful hours spent inside a horse trailer medicating himself, Destry had had enough. Shortly after drawing five of the worst roughstock bulls that he'd ever seen, he drew a rank bull in Round Mountain, Texas. That particular draw put an end to his career as a bullrider. The bull, only once ridden by Jim Sharp in the final go of the National Finals Rodeo in Las Vegas, defined large and in charge. Destry mounted the bull aware that he was in for a hell of a ride. "Tying up" he discovered that he was close to 'doing the splits' and that he had no grip whatsoever on the huge, aggressive mass of flesh that was under him. Albeit temporarily.

Nodding, the world erupted into vertigo as the gate opened and Destry did his best to stay on top. The animal spun and wheeled and lurched through the air. Within seconds he was airborne and eating dirt. Looking up from the ground stunned, he saw the bull heading directly towards him and fear introduced itself to Destry. Then came pain.

Unaware of it at the time, that Round Mountain terrorl was the last bull that he would ever ride. Shortly after that crash in the arena, Destry was further injured in a very serious traffic accident that almost claimed his life. "After the car wreck I'd been hurt for so long that I just didn't want to hurt anymore. That bull and that car wreck put the fear of God in me and changed a lot of my outlook," he said.

Yet if he found negotiating the nuances of bulls challenging, these experiences were nothing when compared with negotiating all the influences of the circuit. Destry found it necessary to sleep with a Colt 45 under his pillow. His father's running buddy and fellow bullrider Jackie Moronie was fond of teasing Destry, taunting him with tales hinting that he was "sure going to enjoy fucking Destry's pretty little ass." The young man took the threats seriously and after months of threats finally went to Sody and asked what he should do to get Jackie off his case. Sody replied simply "You got to just fight fire with fire."

That evening as the gang rode in Sody's pink Cadillac to an Ada, Oklahoma rodeo, Destry made his move. Jackie started with the standard comments about Destry's butt and Destry jumped onto his lap and began to undo Jackie's rodeo buckle. "C'mon. Let's just do it. I'm ready for you. Right here, right now. You and me", Destry spoke with intent and Jackie recoiled in terror. Trapped by Destry's weight, it was all the now terrified cowboy could do to keep his pants buttoned and over his waist. Sody watched in the rear view mirror as the tables turned on his running buddy. Jackie finally dove into the front seat to escape Destry's unwanted attention. Destry never slept with a gun under his pillow again.

Aside from horny, mount anything cowboys, Destry's education included partying with his father and meeting very 'colorful' people as Destry understates it. Intensely exposed to drugs, he saw many cowboys who used speed to get from one grueling rodeo to another. "There were a lot of drugs in certain circles. Some of it was pain related and some of it wasn't. If you got in over your head you couldn't do anything in the events. They'd consume you. There was a lot of drinking too. But I still relish all those times with my father." Reflecting for a moment he continues. "My father is a live for the moment kind of guy. Dad left for a rodeo one time with four dollars and twelve cents in his pocket. He's just that way. He doesn't worry about that stuff. His greatest gift is that he is a good read of people. Daddy is always one step ahead of everybody and as he has gotten older I see him settling down more. He is very 'deep' and a lot doesn't have to be communicated between us. Yet he is never a hypocrite. You can talk to him about anything."

But there is a certain amount of disappointment in Destry's eyes as he speaks of his relationship with his father. "For all the wonderful things my dad gave me I can sure understand how Michael Jordan's kids will feel... having to fight to get out from under their father’s shadow. They all expected me to be another Sody Fleming, which I am not. I sometimes feel like I destroyed the legacy because I can't pass on his name. When he found out I was gay he handled it well but it broke his heart too. He always wondered and he took the news with part regret and part relief. He told me that I was still his son and that he loved me. So all in all, he was awesome with it."

It is getting late and even the light bouncing off the pool seems to be fading. There is a small scar near Destry's eye, which appears to be a tear. He is tired and the stress of the last few weeks is evident across his features. Destry’s just returned from Oklahoma where he looked after Sody while his father recovered from emergency quadruple by-pass surgery. During that time Sody insisted that the majority of his care come directly from Destry. And while Destry is honored to be so trusted, he is also exhausted and tired of living in a hospital next to his demanding and impossibly stubborn father.

The warm spring Texas air seems to have quieted the stories for now. As Destry gets up from his chair next to the pool, he smiles one of those smiles that probably came lock stock straight from his fathers gene pool. In spite of the exhaustion it beckons hands to join up for the ride and adventure that is sure to come at no extra charge. Throwing off fatigue, I felt the energy from that smile wash over me. In spite of better judgement, folks will go just about anywhere with Destry. For they've learned that Life is like Destry. You never know what you're gonna get. But it sure as hell won't be boring.

Several weeks later we are in Oklahoma for a rodeo. The sky is hazed and lacks definition. The air is still and humid. Heat that passes all understanding for tolerance seems to blanket everything. All human energy is devoted to fighting the heat with the exception of Destry. The heat means nothing to him. He is up from Texas to witness the competition of the Barrel Racers. His truest passion.

Watching the barrel racing as some of the finest cowboys and cowgirls compete, Oklahoma City is about talent. While some gay rodeos are sometimes dismissed as second rate, the competitors that show in Oklahoma City are among the best. They include Pro Rodeo Cowboy Association Rookies of the Year, National Rodeo Finalists and American Quarter Horses World title holders. These cowboys, in whatever venue they compete, gay or straight, are the greats. Destry knows most of them and the stock they ride on a first name basis.

As contestants enter the arena, he identifies which horses he likes and who is working well and who isn't. At several points he stops mid sentence captivated by what is taking place. Then comes the barrel racing heats and his focus intensifies. This is Destry's passion.

Three barrels placed in a triangular formation, an 'alley' or approach where the riders race into the arena and the all-important finish line. Barrel Racing seems very simple on the surface. But as Destry begins talking about 'racing around the cans', Barrel Racing and its intricacies borders on complexity previously unimagined: For the rider, for the horse, and for the spectator.

"Barrel Racing involves movements horses are not inclined to do naturally," Destry explains "Every horse turns different and every rider brings their own problems into the arena. Riders communicate to their horses through their legs and hands; sometimes through voice and the crop. But the name of the game is speed and getting through the cans as fast as you can."

Where Destry enjoyed only limited success as a bull rider he excelled in barrel racing. Starting by working with foals on the ground for only a few hours he would 'imprint' them to get the small colts used to human contact. Rubbing plastic wrap around their ears and handling them would build their trust. His contact would continue throughout his involvement with an animal. "I don't believe in breaking a horse. I believe in teaching. If you take their personality away from them, you take their individuality away from them, and therefore their desire to win. The only time I have ever exploded on a horse is when a horse just refuses to try. And that almost never happens." He pauses as he studies a horse that has just fallen in the alley on the other side of the arena after a particularly fast run. Both the rider and the horse seem fine and he continues, "Any kind of riding...whether its barrels or poles (pole bending) or pleasure riding is a union; a team. If you're not 'on', the horse will be and they will help you through the difficulty if you have their trust. That is what I work to build with my horses. Trust ."

The "art", as Destry calls it, of racing cans is complex. The horse and rider attempt to make it through the entire pattern in the shortest amount of time. Each spilled barrel results in a five-second penalty, and as Destry explains his strategies and the hazards to the sport, the action in the arena becomes a very real visual aid.

'The Alley' can make or break the entire run. This is where communication between horse and rider becomes crucial. Some horses get 'hot' in the alley. Psyched and nervous they prance and crow hop waiting for the riders' signal that the race is on. Sometimes the horse gets so worked up, they jump the gun without any signal from the rider. On occasion, these horses are so eager that they require babysitting by other riders in the alley. They are tricked into waiting for their turn to run the pattern until its time to race.

Preferring to keep his horses 'soft' in the alley, Destry insists that both horse and rider enter the arena calm and relaxed. Considering this the equivalent to stretching before an athletic event Destry notes that a "soft" horse is able to flex instead of becoming tight and wound up. Relaxed animals help prevent injuries to horse and rider. A fall here or pulled muscle there can be costly. While some might find it extreme, Destry is so concerned about the wellbeing of his stock that he goes so far as to arrange for horse chiropractors to work with his animals.

Once the horse and rider fly down the alley and cross the starting line timing begins and the team approaches the first barrel. The horse enters the pattern and 'sets up'. Hooves are planted. Strides calculated. The fewer strides the horse takes to round each barrel reduces the time and improves the ride. Working with video recordings of each horse he trains, Destry tries to find ways to run through each barrel with a minimum of strides. Three strides is good, two and a half better, two is sweet. Skilled training, encouraging the horse to drag their right hind foot through the barrel like an anchor, lessens the strides. At two points in the pattern the horse will have to make flying lead changes. This is where the front inside hoof leads the others and it varies as to the direction of the circle or turn. Since each barrel is approached on a different side, the flying lead change is crucial.

Restressing the magic that is the art of Barrel Racing, Destry repeats himself. "You have to remember you are asking the horse to do something that isn't natural to them." Pausing for emphasis he continues, "Sometimes they step out of the barrel because they just can't bend like that. You can have an awesome first barrel and kill your second. Then when you are leaving your third barrel and 'going home' to the finish they might make up the time and fly or you can have three awesome cans and just before the line the horse stumbles. So, it's not just one event but several in a short period of time. Hopefully under 16 seconds in this size of arena." He smiles and points out a south paw rider or "lefty" who rides left handed and takes the pattern in the reverse order of the other riders.

"I've never run for second place. You can't doubt or start questioning yourself. You are your own worst critic. The same God that lets you win these things, lets you lose these things. I mean bad runs, we all have them. I always say a prayer before I run. I pray for the horses that they wouldn't get hurt. When a horse gets hurt, you feel so helpless." Destry sighs, "But regardless I always run for first."

First can have big pay out. Horses can bring five or six figures and reputations can be made or broken by a horse’s performance. Destry regards the risks and explains, "I've had renegade horses that you never knew what you were getting into with them when you set off down the alley. Yet no matter what, I consider all horses workable. Its just some of them will end up working you as hard as you work them", Destry chuckles. Yet he has his favorites: horses that he admires, horses that he'd like to ride, horses that he would love to own. Some of them are working in the arena today. And there is one in particular that is never far from his mind. Call it his first love or the horse that holds the key to his equestrian heart; a horse that he once had but he lost; a horse named Czech that Jet.

Now Destry is worlds away looking down into the stands and the spectators but seeing nothing but an image in his mind. "'Jet' was a Bay mare with a black mane and tail. She had a white star and snip on her muzzle. She would never win a halter class but no one cared about that. She was awesome 'in the cans'. “I once turned down $35,000 cash in a briefcase for her," He mutters shaking his head as if he still doesn't believe it.

"'Jet gave everything she had every time she raced barrels. She was deadly in the alley. There were times where I didn't know where my next meal was coming from and we would be out on the open circuit or racing AQHA (American Quarter Horse Association) shows and she would just know that we had to win and we would. She paid the rent on the farm. Hell, that horse came inside the house once and I just figured she was paying for it, so she could come in if she wanted to. I treated her like a horse shouldn't be!" he explained.

At one point, Jet got injured and Destry was exceptionally distraught. The vet recognized the relationship between the horse and Destry and felt that as long as the mare sensed Destry's anguish that she wouldn't heal. He tranquilized Destry and sent him home before he worked further on the mare. The mare eventually recovered and Destry escaped that close call only to plunge into an even darker one: Financial dealings which would eventually cost him every horse that he had including his beloved Jet and his dream of someday winning the AQHA World Barrel Racing title.

Once again Destry looks away and then tries to explain the loss of his four legged 'love'. "I had a false sense of security. It never occurred to me that she could be taken away. I thought I was going to win The World with Jet but to be honest I lost my way. I lost my direction, my focus. I am a hot head. I'll be the first to admit it. For all my discipline I have a very short fuse. A horse like Jet only comes around once in a lifetime and part of me wonders if I didn't lose my shot at a World title. But I also tell my self that I can do it again."

Jet's loss seems to be the final result of several questionable choices Destry made in relationships of the heart and misplaced allegiances to his mother. As he explains the costs of falling in love with the wrong people and the compromises he made to keep dysfunctional relationships going, he refuses to lay the blame ultimately on anyone but himself. When he finally realized the errors of his decisions, his mother's shame over the publicity her gay son's failing relationships might generate was a strong influence to setting things right. Prevented from fighting for what was rightfully his, Destry found the same woman who kidnapped him from Sody keeping him from something else he loved, Jet.

Shortly after losing Jet, all his tack and gear was stolen from an Oklahoma mini storage unit. It was the final straw and he found himself unable to pursue any aspect of his dream of winning The World in Barrel Racing. Destry, who is no stranger to the glory of the spotlight and the winner's circle, is even more familiar with the pain of loss and its bitter sting. "Horses compensate me for my human relationships. I've never been hurt by horses as bad as I've been hurt by people. Financially, spiritually, and emotionally people have wrung me through the ringer. And I know that part of me hasn't stepped back over that line. A fish wouldn't get caught if he kept his mouth shut but there also comes a time when you have to open up and let people in," he says as the final event of the day, Bull riding, begins. He falls silent.

Destry hasn't ridden in a few years and the absence from the arena and the Quarter Horse world he loves is slowly killing him. To get back into barrel horse training, riding, and rolling from one, 'one street town' to another one is his dream. A nice dually pick-up, with a fancy horse trailer and a good string of stock to ride would make him a happy man. But as he thinks about all the stolen tack that would have to be replaced, the irreplaceable Jet, and the now so far away dream of winning The World, it seems just about impossible to walk those trails again.

Instead he is selling cars in a Fort Worth Texas GM auto dealership. He does it in typical Destry fashion. Lying down behind frustrated customer's cars on the verge of leaving before a deal is signed, he prevents them from fleeing the dealership. "We were only $300 apart", he explains. He "borrows" an elderly customers cane and places it in the sales manager's office. Returning to the perplexed gentlemen he explains cheerfully, "I knew that you would be buying a new pick up from me today and I want to make sure your cane goes home with you in your new truck." The old man buys the truck delighted not only with the vehicle but also with Destry's showmanship.

Excelling in car sales, in spite of his sometimes questionable tactics, Destry's customers are pleased with their experience. Although many suspect they might have been 'had', they seem to enjoy it, nevertheless. He has that way with people. Somewhere in his smile and soft accent there is a genuineness that customers, competitors and friends can't resist.

One former competitor puts it like this: "Everything he does, it’s like you are dancing with the devil and dancing with an angel. All at the same time! Sometimes you want to strangle him and then he flashes one of those smiles and you can't help but love him. Part of the time he seems so beaten down but then there's that bull rider ego lying there just under the surface that can level you in a heartbeat. He is all about stubbornness. Even when you think he's finally quit fighting, he hasn't. Don't let Destry fool you! He's like one of them books that every time you read it, the book seems to have a different meaning, a different side to the story. His ending is always changing and just when you think you know what's going to happen everything changes again. That’s Destry,"

A local DJ overhears our conversation and interjects, "You talking about Destry? He is so crazy! He used to come up to me and ask me if anyone was bugging me, 'cus if they were, he would fight 'em for me. I couldn't believe it! Destry is always defending others and taking on their problems. Sometimes I wonder when someone is going to do that for him."

Looking back on the Amarillo Truck stop experience years past, and reflecting on the more recent Two Steppin' hot-rodding Destry did on the dance floor the night before, it just doesn't add up. How can the ego driven, sure-footed cowboy from those memories match the other images of Destry I’ve come to know. Images that convey a man whose dreams seem hopelessly unfulfilled and on the verge of being permanently lost. Yet it also seems precisely because of that broad reach that everyone seems to feel that there is some part of Destry they can relate to; the champion and the loser, the defender and the defenseless, the talented and the untalented. Once again the only word that really describes the total Destry experience is complicated.

Physical pain and emotional pain; set amongst the irony of watching the final event of the rodeo: The bull riders. Destry is spinning back to where he started and once again his memory is caught. Returning to older days balancing them against this one. Staying quiet, almost brooding, he watches the handsome young men take their turns in a dance with fate, fear and luck of the draw. They too are chasing glory, a moment of adoration and maybe if things go right, a gold buckle. He knows where they're coming from. He's been there. Done that. Got that buckle.

A barrel racing contestant approaches Destry and asks his advice on his ride through the patterns. Then another approaches with the same request. Destry's reputation remains. With each request for advice his posture grows straighter. They remember. They all remember. That he was good. That he knows the patterns. That he knows his horses. That he can run 'the cans' and that he isn't hot in the alley. Although I know I am still looking at the same Destry, it's also a different Destry. He is changing again. Something's up. He's got that look. This man who confidently brought an Amarillo truck stop into complete chaos on a hot summer day. The well endowed handsome son of a legend who is a legend himself. Helping these barrel racers work the patterns. Dance the alley. Set the barrels. And run home.

Destry told me recently that his father doesn't give Barrel Racing the same respect that he gives the Bull Riders, and Destry admited at the time that Sody’s attitude toward Barrel Racing really troubled him. Yet, a surprising notion overcame me as I watched the contestants crowd around Destry, seeking his counsel in the wisdom of 'the cans' and the mystery of horse and rider. Maybe Sody might just reconsider the comparison of bull rider and barrel racer. Destry has done both. I'm sure he was a pretty good bull rider.

But, watching the nodding cowboy hats and seeing the silent respect of the gathered men crowd around Destry spoke volumes now. With their dirty, shit covered boots and stepped on Stetsons, I knew their silent admiration and determination to seek Destry out in the grandstands wasn't just coincidence. This was Destry's place. I think Sody would see it that way too if he was sitting next to us now as the cowboys crouched down, their spurs jingling as they shifted their weight back and forth. Listening with rapt attention as Destry explained how to sit this bull or work that horse.

Sure Destry was a good bullrider. Able to mount a bull and put his courage to the test. Ride for eight seconds on stubborn will power, grit and determination. But he is a better barrel racer. Talent and horse sense manifested in patterns and the science of horse strides. Measured by the completion of the fastest time. These best define Destry. Just as decades of mean spirited dances with bulls defined Sody.

I hope that Destry will someday compete for the World again. It may not be on Jet. But it will be spectacular to watch just the same. He, wearing those too tight to breathe, starched Wranglers and flashing that damned if you do and damned if you don't, impossible to say "no" to smile. He will ride the patterns, dance with the cans and then shoot for home. A blur across the finish line, folks will stand and the house will come down to acknowledge the winning time. A time run by one who thought he’d run out of it. I bet that Sody will be there as well. Somewhere in the stands, watching the son that he spent years searching for. Watching him compete. Hoping he takes 'The World' in Barrel Racing. But being damn proud, no matter the outcome. Because no matter the end result, when all is said and done, Destry will always be Deadly in the Alley.

Authous note: In the summer of 2001, Destry organized the largest single day Barrel Racing Purse in the history of the sport. The event, held in central Texas, drew national, corporate sponsorship. He is currently training Barrel Horses with his partner Cork outside of Fort Worth, Texas.