Cattle came to what would become the Livermore valley back in 1797 along with grape vines for wine production both brought into the valley by the Spanish Missionaries after they established Mission San Jose in what is now the eastern foothills surrounding the San Francisco Bay. Cattle were raised for their hides and tallow which were the only exported items in early California’s history. The grapes were because the Father’s had a penchant for “a touch of nectar” as they said. Subjugation of the indigenous population was the means to the economic engine that drove the Spanish Missionary period in California’s history.
Some 40 years later, an English seaman jumped ship in Monterey California and after gaining citizenship moved to the valley. His name was Robert Livermore and had been awarded a Land Grant for most of the eastern end of the valley, building an adobe house in what is now the north central part of Livermore and began raising cattle and later making money supplying the vast numbers of “49ers” that traveled through the Livermore Valley on their way to the mining camps in the Sierras.
Cattle remained a business foundation in the Livermore Valley right up through the time my brothers and I grew up there. While the ranches had mostly sold off all of the valley floor acreage, they still occupied the rolling hills that completely surround the valley. Out south of town was the big N3 spread and dozens of smaller outfits, north was the Biel Cattle company surrounded by smaller brands, and east the Neisen family still ran cattle out past the Lawrence Livermore Laboratory and Sandia National Labs properties.
Cowboys, real cowboys, walked our streets, shared seats in our classrooms, and hung out around the saloons, pool halls, cinemas, and swimming holes of our youth.
It should come as no surprise then that Livermore has a long rodeo tradition (pronounced Row-Dee-Oh). By the beginning of the 1900s cowboys had been informally testing their skills against each other at round ups and because of bar bets for over one hundred years in the Livermore area. The formal Livermore Rodeo actually came into being as a result of events almost six thousand miles away in France. It turns out that in World War I the Red Cross was in such dire need of funds to care for the vast number of wounded in the trenches of France that every city and town in California was assessed $ 1,200 to supply the needed support.
John McGlinchey, then president of the Livermore Stockman’s Protective Association proposed a rodeo to raise the levied funds. Once organized, that first rodeo was held in June 1918. The gathering was held on a ranch just north of the town near the current intersection of Interstate 580 and North Portola Avenue and was actually filmed by Universal Studios to be used in a Newsreel about how communities were rallying in support of US servicemen.
The Livermore Rodeo has been held every June since then and is now about to be held for the 98th time. My brothers and I gloried in the shows every year. We watched the parades, we hung up against the old post and rail corral, we hung out at the nighttime events, and dreamed of riding in the arena; we were even known to have roped and rode a stray wild cow now and then in the hills around the Valley.
The Livermore Rodeo is known as the “World’s Fastest Rodeo” and has held that title for decades. More rides, more bucking, more competition in any one afternoon than at any other rodeo. If a contestant is thrown from a bull, or bucked from a horse, he hasn’t even hit the ground yet before another bucking chute gate has been swung open and another rider and critter are leaping across the arena.
The Livermore Rodeo is an important rodeo on the national circuit. Competitors come from far and near to try their hand and win notoriety in their exclusive fraternity. Seldom is a national champion in any event crowned that didn’t first win that event in Livermore. I’d always known the Livermore event was important, but never new exactly how important until several years later.
Several years after I moved away from Livermore I found my way down to the canyon country just north of Salinas. The first thing I noticed was that Salinas had a big week-long rodeo event; the second thing I noticed was they didn’t pronounce it Row-Dee-Oh, they pronounced it Row-Day-Oh.
At the time I was managing the Orchard Supply Hardware store in Salinas California and one of the Salinas Rodeo Association board members approached me at the store wanting to get Orchard to sponsor the “row-day-oh”. He had a whole pitch ready, and the pitch included a breakfast get-together at the Rodeo’s main office with some other business leaders also being recruited.
Growing up, whenever Mom put food on the table, Dad would say “eat up, no telling when she’ll decide to cook again”. So, free breakfast? Sign me up. And I must admit that the breakfast was outstanding. Of course, any time you can have as much bacon, sausage, eggs, and pancakes as you want, it just has to be outstanding.
And the building and conference room was beautiful what with pictures of old ranches in the area, signed photos of past Rodeo Champions and Rodeo Queens, and ranch brands burned into the rich wooden wall panels. The Rodeo Association members had a full court press on. Slideshow and movie and pitch; filled with community leaders and Hollywood stars, and business leaders all praising the benefits of being a “row-day-oh” sponsor. Benefits such as free tickets to the events, and a pavilion tent (though somehow the words pavilion and rodeo just don’t seem to fit together for me), and never-ending beer.
Foolishly, in an effort to “close the deal” the president of the association turned to me when the presentation was over and asked me what I thought. What he thought was since I was the youngest of the business people there he was most likely to get the ball rolling with me. And he was right.
Just not in the direction he expected.
I told him it all sounded like a great thing.
Encouraged, he asked me if I had any questions.
I deadpanned:
“Only one I can think of”.
“Where I come from we have “row-dee-ohs”, “I know what they are”
“But just exactly what is a “row-day-oh?”
Silence decended.
Smiles disappeared.
The room chilled.
The faces became stern.
They were all between me and the door.
Luckily for me, there was a past president of the association in the room.
He looked at me and asked: “And just exactly where do you come from?”
When I told him I was bred and born in Livermore, the room thawed back out immediately.
The past president smiled and looking at the rest of the association members said; “well, I guess we do pronounce it a little differently at that”.
I still believe that if I had grown up anywhere other than Livermore, Cheyenne, or Calgary, I just might have been found hung from a tree right then.
© Copyright 2016 Marty Vandermolen
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