The era of the trail driver had all but disappeared at the turn of the century. As the four men sipped their blend of whiskey riding on the Santa Fe Railroad, they spoke about a horse that no body could ever ride. The railroad porter took instant interest over hearing the conversation of the gentlemen. Not to appear nosy, the porter began dusting the coach seats near the dining table where the men were seated. No one, and I mean no one can ride Old Bob. The well dressed business man continued explaining, Old Bob, a black mustang belonging to Mr. Moore Davidson of Pampa has had that horse for several years, but not one wrangler has been able to ride the horse. Cowboys from all around have traveled to Mr. Davidsons ranch trying their luck at breaking the horse, but as of yet, not one damn cowboy has been able to stay on the horse, as the business man continued. The porter, excited hearing the conversation mumbled I could ride that horse. The business man, turning his head in the direction of the porter questioned, Excuse me, what did you say? The black porter replied, I could ride that horse. Puzzled, the business man said What makes you believe you could ride that horse? The black porter smiled and replied, I use to break horses. Was pretty good too. You telegraph Mr. Davidson and ask him to have his horse at the depot when we reach Pampa, Ill show you I can ride that horse. The men all chuckled and agreed to telegraph Davidson. If you can ride that horse without being thrown, Ill give you $25 stated the businessman to the porter. The train several hours later was coming to a stop as it reached Pampa. The whistle blew, the train bell rang and the steam hissed as the locomotive came to a halt. Mr. Davidson was there to greet the businessmen. It was 2PM and his foremen, J. Frank Meers had the unridable horse at the stockyard. As the businessmen step off from the train, Davidson questioned, So wheres the cowboy that can ride my horse? One of the businessmen said, Cowboy! Why hes a Porter. About that time, the black man stepped off from the train car, booted and spurs no longer wearing his Porter Jacket. So this railroad porter thinks he can ride Old Bob. No one, and I mean no one has ever ridden this horse. The Porter directed to where the horse was began walking down the train yard towards the corrals where they kept livestock for railroad shipping. Men began taking bets on the horse betting he could no be rode, to how quick the Porter would be thrown. Everyone in town was heading over to the stock yard. Even Frank Meers son, Lewis played hooky from school to watch the event. As the Porter walked up to Frank, Frank recognized the porter and said, Hello Bones. Been a long time. Yes sir, Mr. Meers. That its been, been a long time. Talking the halter rope in hand, the Porter laid the blanket under the saddle skirt, and with a quick throw, had the saddle on the back of Old Bob. One handed, the porter fed the cinch strap through the saddle ring and gave it a quick pull. The horse began bucking and the porter held on getting the horse to settle to finish saddling. He took the reins and lead rope in one hand and from the ground, threw himself over the saddle. For the next several minutes, the horse bucked, twisted, reared doing everything the black mustang could do to get the rider off. The horse slammed up along the corral railing and bucked with a fire of untamed wildness. To no prevail of throwing the rider, the porter held on and spurred like mad. As now two minutes had passed, most bets had already been lost. The porter continued to ride as no cowboy ever did and soon, the mustang began to claim. By five minutes, the porter had the horse walking along the rails and said, Told you I could ride the horse. The whistle of the train blew, and the conductor called All Aboard. As the conductor looked at his watch, the stop in Pampa had been a mere seven minutes. The Railroad Porter was Mathew Bones Hooks, born on November 3, 1867, to former slave parents in Robertson County, Texas. Bones started out as a chuckwagon cook at the age of nine years old working for Steve Donald, of Denison, Texas who used the DSD brand. He made several trail drives before he was 19. Bones would cowboy until the turn of the century for more money working as a Porter for the railroad. In 1930. he had retired from the railroad and became a civic worker in Amarillo. When cattleman Tom Clayton died in the early 1890s, Bones took a bunch of white wildflowers to the funeral. This was the beginning of a tradition with Bones, who ever afterward sent a single white flower to the funeral of every pioneer he knew. Later Bones expanded this tradition to include living persons who he felt had accomplished something noteworthy. In addition to area citizens Bones sent white flowers to several United States presidents, world leaders and religious notables. Among these were President and Mrs. Franklin D. Roosevelt, Will Rogers and Sir Winston Churchill. On the evening of February 2, 1951, Bones died in his sleep. At the funeral service for Bones, the Mount Zion Baptist Church was crowded with his friends, white and black. One by one, each person laid on his coffin a single white flower, his longtime symbol of respect. Those who loved him were returning white flowers to the black cowboy. Mathew Bones Hooks, 1867-1951. Photo titled Black Cowboy by Thomas Freightman
Posted on: Mon, 19 Jan 2015 00:02:15 +0000
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