RANDY WOKE UP WITH EVERYTHING to be happy about on the morning of the PBR event. A few prominent black bull riders were outside in the arena visiting with members of the cowboys and speaking about their shared interests and love for the sport.
He and the rest of the cowboys had just been invited to the Professional Bull Riders finals at the Staples Center in downtown Los Angeles the day before. They were treated like superstars as they walked around the arena to standing ovations. The Compton Cowboys were becoming the ambassadors for black cowboys in ways that they had only dreamed about.
But something was off with Randy. While the group of black bull riders from Texas continued to speak with Tre outside in the arena, Randy was alone in his room having an emotional breakdown. Tears flowed from his eyes down his face and onto his shoulders as he sat on the brown carpet floor wearing nothing but underwear, holding his head in his hands. The inside of his room was quiet, only catching some of the sounds of loud rap music that blasted in a car outside on the driveway, in competition with thousands of competing thoughts that filled his head.
There was just so much going on. So much going on, and he felt the weight and pressure of the ranch’s troubles mounting, and with every small victory, the relief that followed was only temporary. It was enough to make someone go crazy. He kept going back to his family, thinking about how they were all on the line, and how he didn’t want to disappoint them. He was figuring things out day to day—the business, the public relations, the guys, and the fate of the ranch.
The tears continued for the next thirty minutes. On the eve of their second day at the PBR event, the support that he and the cowboys had received was hard to process. People stopped them to ask for photos. They knew their names. They knew their horses’ names. It was almost like a weird form of guilt, like they didn’t deserve it. It was a form of survivor’s guilt, the feeling of questioning a sought-after success but then not knowing how to handle it when it comes. The endorsement deals and commercial opportunities were beginning to happen for the cowboys as well. Popular riding brands like Ariat had taken an interest in supporting the Cowboys, helping them become ambassadors for black cowboy culture. Brands like Boot Barn and McDonald’s had hired some of the cowboys for commercials. Randy felt conflicted about all of this, because being from Compton, they were so used to being antagonized that it suddenly felt surreal for people to embrace them like this. He had to keep it together. But he didn’t know what to tell people who wanted to help—like Mayisha, he too was now struggling to find ways of letting go of control and letting other people in.
When the tears subsided, he wiped his face with a towel. His black cowboy hat and freshly pressed black Compton Cowboys T-shirt sat on his bed next to the signature gold watch, necklace, and bracelet that he would wear that day. He put these on and came back to life, surveying himself in the mirror.
“I ain’t playing with these mothafuckers,” he said, smiling. “I ain’t playin’.”
Outside, Tre and Ezekiel Mitchell, a twenty-one-year-old professional bull rider from a small town in Texas, stood in the center of the arena while Keenan trained Sonny and Fury. The two competitors, though they grew up separated by thousands of miles, had more in common than they had differences. Both had grown up playing football and came from low-income homes.
As some of the few black competitors in a mostly white sport, the two instantly created a brotherhood that stemmed from learning how to compete in their sports by studying and watching YouTube videos.
“Do you know Chris Byrd?” Ezekiel asked.
“Chris?” Tre yelled, laughing. “Man, I went to high school with that fool!”
They both laughed and recognized just how small the black cowboy world was. At twenty-one, Ezekiel was considered one of the top ten riders in the world and on pace to becoming number one.
“Y’all ready to go?” Randy said as he stepped out of his house. The cowboys had to head back to the PBR event, this time to attend a workshop about black cowboys and to meet Charles Sampson, a local hero from Watts, one of the greatest black bull riders of all time.
THE EYES ON each of the cowboys widened as hall of famer Charles “Charlie” Sampson spoke about his experience growing up in Watts.
“Now, we all know that Watts and Compton are very unattractive places to a lot of people in the world,” he said while speaking to a group of about thirty black cowboys in attendance for the private workshop. “But even though I was from Watts, and was often the only black competitor, I felt like I had to fit in, all I cared about was becoming the best bull rider I could be. Just like the ones from Texas and Oklahoma,” he added.
Eugene, the youngest member of the cowboys, hung on every word that Charles said. “That sounds like me,” he said when he learned that Charles’s introduction to rodeo was riding ponies in and around Compton. He sat on the edge of his seat as Charles continued to speak about his heralded success in the professional bull riding circuit. Being the first African-American to win the Professional Rodeo Cowboys Association world championship in 1982 was no small feat. Neither was his induction into the hall of fame in 1996.
For Eugene, who came from a riding family of his own, meeting Charles Sampson was a dream. He continued to look around at the transformation of the Staples Center from a basketball arena into a riding arena and wondered about his own future. His family rode horses in Mississippi and were always present in his childhood; to compete in the PRCA as a calf roper had become his personal goal.
What the cowboys saw in Eugene was a younger version of themselves. Eugene was currently at an age when horse riding had helped them cope with the dangers of the streets. They saw someone whom they could mentor and teach.
For Eugene, it was also an age where the importance of the ranch became crystal clear. He too had found a new home there, a place that liberated him from all outside forces and influences. There were no worries on the ranch, just complete freedom.
Moments later, Randy raised his hand to ask Charles a question.
“What are you most excited about with the state of black cowboy culture?” he asked.
“What am I most excited about?” Charles responded with his own question. He took a moment before replying, mulling over the question.
“It’s you guys,” he finally said.